#Bob & Bob – I and I

[military-newsboys]

Ice: You remember how to operate as copilot? Slider: Follow orders and curse when things don't go as planned, which they never do.

[zemaribeiro]

Bob and Bob: obra de Marley e Dylan celebrada em mix de show e recital

[release. Da assessoria] O poeta Fernando Abreu e o guitarrista Lucas Ferreira em apresentação no Teatro Cazumbá, ano passado – foto: divulgação Fã incondicional de Robert Nesta Marley e Robert Allen Zimermann, os dois “Bobs” mais influentes da música mundial, o poeta maranhense Fernando Abreu acalentou durante anos a ideia de fazer um recital com canções dos dois artistas entremeados com…

[chelseeebe]

wanna be yours

18+. smut. voyeurism ig? eddie, steve and reader are all freaky little fucks;) steddie x reader.

this is just something short and sweet to ease myself back into posting lol. idk if anyone read my post, but i will be going ahead with my plans for a spooky week on my blog!! i'm super excited about it!!!! i need to organise everything but when everything is finalised, i'll update you all :)⋅

───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───

eddie had known he and steve were never going to be the best of friends, that was clear from the moment he’d moved in. 

donning a basketball and a polo shirt rather than a bass guitar and an amp. 

when his girlfriend had started coming around, he didn’t think she liked him much either. 

there wasn’t a day where you weren’t arguing or bickering over something stupid.  

eddie just kept his head down, sliding his headphones over his ears instead of listening to the yelling. 

he did that a lot while you were around, keeping his head low so as to not make it completely obvious that he had a serious boner for you. 

he doesn’t think that steve was the type to take lightly to something like that, more likely to beat his ass than to fist bump over your appearance. 

well. 

maybe you’d caught him looking a few times. gormless in staring at your tight jeans or the tiny skirts you went out in. but that was all. 

you’d usually smile a little, maybe even twirl to give him a better view and then flounce out of the door on steve’s arm. 

but now, his eyes stay clamped shut. 

he’s not stupid. 

the blanket rustles in a certain way when you’re doing something you’re not supposed to be. 

contrary to popular belief, eddie had had sex before. he knew about the little sighs and muffled grunts, that’s why he could tell instantly what was happening five feet away from his bed. 

you whisper something to steve, too mumbled for eddie to really make it out. 

“nah.. he’s asleep,” steve reassures, louder than you had been. 

he wasn’t. but he doesn’t want to look now, squeezing his eyes shut tighter and attempting to control his rapid breathing. 

the mattress creaks as steve pulls your body closer, his chest pressed against your back as his hand fusses with your tiny pajama shorts. 

you exhale softly, signaling that this was no longer just a raunchy make out session and instead a manifestation of both his biggest dream and worst nightmare. 

there’s not much you can do on a university of chicago single bed. but you were sure giving it a try. 

“shit,” your voice shudders, now accompanied by the unmistakable sound of skin against skin.

eddie doesn’t mean to, honest. 

but his eyes flicker, forcing themselves open to witness the x-rated scene in front of him. he can’t help it, his mind going positively crazy trying to picture what was happening. 

he just needed a reference image, something to help him fall asleep. 

you’re already looking back, eyelids flitting shut with every stroke of steve’s cock, your mouth hung open with wetted lips. 

he can’t pull his eyes away. not with your gaze solidly meeting his, not when you were already looking at him. 

your lips quirk into a smile, throwing your head back against steve’s shoulder but your eyes steady on him. 

the blanket bobs up and down, consistent with the rhythm of the old squeaking mattress and steve’s low grunts. his face buried into the back of your neck, acting as a muzzle. 

his hand snakes around your body, fist wrapping around your exposed neck. 

eddie almost chokes on his breath, his fingers curling around his blanket. his cock was throbbing at this point, aching in his tight boxers. 

fuuuck. 

how is he even in this situation? he should be out partying or pulling an all-nighter in the library or maybe even meeting his very own girlfriend. 

no. 

he’s laid up watching his roommate fuck his girlfriend instead. 

your eyes glitter in the low light, just before you pull out the big guns. 

“oh fuuck steve,” breathlessly whining into the room, zero regard to the volume of your mewls. 

steve hums, the hand that enveloped your neck now sliding down slowly to your tits, grabbing hungrily at the flesh. 

eddie’s own hand palms at his skin, pawing pathetically at his thigh in a bid to divert some of the blood rushing to his dick, elsewhere. 

steve’s pace fastens, his own moans getting louder, deeper even. his mouth sucking at the taut skin of your neck. 

you weren’t trying to hide it anymore, blinking slowly as steve pounds into you. the headboard now joining in on the chorus of sounds, repetitive and loud in the otherwise quiet room. 

eddie’s cock twitches, forcing a strangled huff from his throat. he needed to touch you, badly. fingernails leaving half-moon markings in his thigh, counteracting the gnawing ache settling in his cock. 

what steve does next very nearly sends eddie to fucking mars. 

his hand leaves your chest, sliding back up your neck, his middle and fore finger circle your glossy lips before sliding slowly into your mouth. 

holy fucking shit. 

“just like that, honey,” steve coos, his lips cock to the side.

he’s known this entire time.

eyes peering out from over your neck, watching eddie watch you and your performance. 

eddie’s eyes flicker between the two of you, unsure of where to settle. 

this all felt so strangely intimate, like he should get up and go join the two of you. he would, of course, if that were even an option. 

to steve, this was probably some weird power play. a real, dirty kink, maybe. he’d hold this over eddie for the rest of the year, goading and taunting him about the time he watched him fuck his girlfriend. 

but you, he can’t figure out. 

you were looking at him first. 

that had to mean something. 

you draw him out of his thoughts with a thick, raspy moan, stifled by steve’s fingers still between your lips. 

“c’mon baby,” steve groans, averting his eyes back to you, “you gonna cum? give it to me princess,” his thrusts becoming more sporadic as he obviously nears his own orgasm. 

your eyes close fully now, leaving eddie to watch on his own. squeaking out intoxicating mewls with every stroke, every slap of skin. 

your body goes limp in steve’s hold, “ohh shit- don’t stop, please.. please don’t stop,” desperate pleas turning to whimpers as steve comes to his own climax. 

throaty gasps for air mix with your whining words, frazzling eddie’s poor, hopeless brain for the rest of his inadequate life.  

his dick hurts, straining in his hole-y boxers, begging to be touched. he’ll have to tiptoe out to the bathroom once he’s sure you’re asleep. not that it even matters now. 

eddie can’t help but let his mind wander, had he cum in you? was it dripping out of your pussy?

he’s disgusted with himself for even going there. 

steve sighs, placing a lazy kiss to the back of your neck, glancing at eddie one last time before embracing sleep and letting his eyes flutter shut. 

it takes longer for you to come back down to earth, still reeling from your orgasm when your hazy gaze meets his again. 

there’s something different about your eyes, something that was missing from steve’s. the warmness, the friendly crinkle that sat on the corner. he’s not sure but it makes his heart thud even faster. 

you blink a couple times before turning over and nestling into steve’s chest. 

eddie’s left reeling. 

a churning in his stomach that he’s not sure he’ll ever be rid of.  

he waits until your breathing slows completely and steve starts snoring before padding out of the room, an obvious tent in his boxers and a dying urge to make it disappear. 

life wouldn’t ever be the same again. 

[matchpointfaist]

hii could you do an art donaldson rockstar au? not necessarily in a band with tashi or patrick like ive seen other fanfics but one where he's just in a band if that makes sense :')

ive been thinking about him as the underrated guitarist or drummer for a bit now shfhshd. maybe reader is a huge fan of the band and goes to a lot of shows idk

hope you find the time for this request and i love your fanfics xx

i'm just a teenage dirtbag baby, like you! 💿

rockstar! art x groupie! reader

tw for smut, drinking, drug mentions (indie sleaze art i love you)

the first time you'd seen art's band live, you'd been half drunk and unable to tear your eyes away from the bright blonde daydream of a guitarist. he was captivating in a way no one around you seemed to notice, pulling you into a trance with each movement of his fingers on the chords. the show was at a shitty dive bar littered with posters peeling from the walls and discarded cups decorating the floor, but he played like he was somewhere else, somewhere bigger. ever since that night, you found yourself seeking them out, snagging fliers from bars and asking around within your friend group. nearly every friday night, you found yourself at the edge of the stage, screaming along to the lyrics like you'd been a longtime fan. and each time, your eyes lingered on art, on his bright eyes and smug grin, like he knew he was the highlight of the evening. your friends kept pushing you to make a move, to make him see you among all the other girls in the crowd. eventually, you worked up enough liquid courage to try.

as their set ended, and you watched him unplug his guitar, the thought of approaching him pushed to the forefront of your mind. "hey!" you surprised even yourself by waving at him, feeling embarrassingly giddy when he turned to eye you curiously. "me?" he asked with one brow raised, resting his guitar against the amp. you just nodded, smiling in a way you hoped was sultry. "what's a pretty thing like you doin' talking to me?" his tone was light, teasing, as he jumped down off the stage, standing just inches from you. "i just wanted to say you guys are cool," you tried to ignore the heat in your stomach at the height difference between the two of you, "i've been coming to the last few shows," "i know," he grinned, "i've been wondering when you'd say something. what's your name, pretty?" you told him, unable to stop the flush from spreading across your face. "i like that," he hummed, "i'm art. art donaldson,"

you got swept up in the conversation, asking him a million questions about the band just to hear him speak, to watch his lips curl around the words. "little loud," he glanced up at the band that had taken the stage, "wanna get out of here?" you hesitated, but nodded anyway, following him as he grabbed two beers from the bar and led you to a side door, pushing it open with one arm as he held your drinks in the other. “you smoke?” he asked, handing you your drink as he fished a pack of cigarettes from his jean pocket. “yeah,” you nodded, watching as he placed one between his lips. he lit it with ease, taking a drag before passing it over to you, the smoke casting a fog over his features. “so how’d you like the show?” he asked, tipping his head back and letting it rest against the wall, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “oh, it was good,” you smiled, “i liked that cover you did, teenage dirtbag is a classic,” “yeah? you like that?” he grinned, watching you through lidded eyes, “hey, why don’t i show you our van? give you a little sneak peek into where the magic happens,” you knew it was bullshit, a plot to get you alone, but you went anyway, giggling as he pulled you along.

he made it through approximately two minutes of showing you around the equipment filling the back of the dingy black van before his lips were on yours, his hands fumbling with the door as he closed it behind you, laying you down on the floor of the vehicle. “god, you looked so pretty out there in the crowd,” he mumbled against your throat, littering it with kisses, “like watchin’ me, baby? hm?” “yeah,” you exhaled, your hands in his air, “yeah, i like it,” “my little groupie,” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, “you gonna let me fuck you in my bands van, hm?” you responded by pulling him back into a kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer as you pulled at his shirt. it grew more heated, needy sounds leaving the both of you as it got messier, more desperate, gnashing teeth and tongues laving at each others. he pulled away slowly, sitting up on his knees to look down at you, his pupils dilated as he traced the shape of your hips. “pretty thing,” he murmured, his voice thick and raspy. “want you,” you practically whined, reaching for him. he grinned, not even hesitating before pulling at the sheer tights you wore under your jean skirt. you gasped as you heard the material rip, swatting his hand, but relaxed as soon as his fingers slid beneath your underwear. “soaked for me,” he hummed, one hand on your clit and the other fumbling with his belt, undoing it clumsily and pushing down his jeans.

he pulled a condom from somewhere you didn’t even see, putting on with practiced ease before leaning down to kiss you sweet and slow, like he wasn’t about to fuck you in the back parking lot of a dive bar. “oh, art,” you gasped softly as he slipped inside of you, tentative and gentle at first, letting you adjust. “you feel so good, baby,” he mumbled in your ear, one hand resting lightly around your throat, the other busy between your thighs. as soon as you relaxed around him, he sped up, his thrusts getting rougher as you gasped and moaned beneath him. “there you go. fuckin take it,” he panted, his hand around your neck tightening just enough to have you clenching around him, “look so good, pretty,” you let out a mewl as he hit a particularly deep spot, your eyes rolling back. “god, art, right there,” you scratched at his back, nails snagging on the cotton of his beat up old t shirt, “m so close,” “let go f’me, i got you,” he panted, nearing the edge himself, “come on baby, show me,”

you came with a gasp of his name, your nails digging into his back hard enough to have him groaning as he filled the condom, his hips bucking. “oh, fuck,” he groaned, his head falling to your chest as he caught his breath, his hips stilling, “god, if i woulda known you felt that good i woulda called you out at the first show,” you smiled to yourself, humming, “well now we’ll just have to make this a regular thing,” he sat up, pulling out of you slowly and tying off the condom, tossing it, “yeah, maybe. i don’t really do the whole commitment thing, but i definitely wanna see you again,” you ignored the sting of rejection, sitting up and adjusting your skirt that he’d shoved up around your waist, “yeah, we can keep it casual. sounds good,” “you gonna come to my show next week?” he asked, passing you the clip that had fallen from your hair with a grin. “mhm,” you nodded, kissing his cheek, “wouldn’t miss it,” “just like i said, my little groupie,” he grinned, pulling you into a quick kiss, “here, i’ll even give you my number,” he made it sound like a favor, humming to himself as he typed it into your phone before passing it back, “get home safe, pretty girl,” “yeah, mkay,” you let him help you out of the van, straightening out your clothes. he reached around his neck, pulling at one of the necklaces before unfastening it. you furrowed your brows when he brushed the hair from your neck, putting it on you carefully. it was a short black chain, with a guitar pick dangling from it. “there ya go. somethin to remember me by till next week, hm? it’ll keep those other guys from messin with you,” “oh, thank you,” you smiled up at him, your fingers tracing the shape of it, “goodnight, art,” “night, baby,” he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your head, patting your ass with a grin as he waved you off.

the next week, you were front and center, a fresh pair of tights for him to rip and his necklace dangling on your chest, right above the neck of your low cut top. his eyes fell to the shirt, his pupils dilating when he saw his band name etched across of it, homemade merch just for him. yeah, he’d have to be sure not to tear that off of you later.

[https-bobreynolds]

six strings to save a god

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x enchantress! reader

summary: bob nearly blew his cover in an undercover mission where you both absolutely cannot use your powers at, so you save him with metallica instead.

author’s note: rewatched stranger things and got inspired by THE eddie munson, you will be missed💔

UNDERGROUND CLUB BELOW THE VIENNA STATE OPERA HOUSE, WESTERN EUROPE - 11:32 PM

private auction night

the air tastes like ozone and old bourbon. velvet curtains cover cracked plaster. there’s an antique chandelier above the bar flickering with blood-red LED bulbs, casting shadows like broken glass across the crowd.

somewhere in the crowd: mercs, arms dealers, hydra defectors, and warlords who don’t technically exist.

and at a table just beneath the second mezzanine, is robert ‘bob’ reynolds, looking perfect in a slim-cut black suit, nerves unraveling by the second.

you sit beside him, swirling untouched whiskey, watching him come apart thread by golden thread.

“he’s looking at me,” bob murmurs, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “he knows. the madripoor guy in the corner, he keeps- he’s not blinking.”

you glance up.

the man in question tilts his head, one brow raised. hands drifting way too slowly toward the holster under his coat.

bob’s about to snap. you can feel it under your skin like the low thrum of the void stirring.

“we got what we need, we have to leave this place now.” you whispered, giving him a look.

you didn’t say anything more, but he understood quickly, giving a nod.

“under any circumstances, do NOT engage and do NOT use any of your powers.” you remember bucky say, right before the mission.

you cannot let sentry, void or enchantress lose it here.

this is not the place for sun gods or eldritch abominations, so you do the only thing that makes sense in a room like this.

you stand, smooth as static, and quickly vanish into the shadows behind the stage, where a two-piece synthwave duo just finished their eerie, looping set.

and waiting backstage, among broken amps and stolen crates, you see it:

a scratched jackson king v custom.

you pick it up. test the weight. check the strings.

you walk out slow.

the crowd goes quiet for a beat. spotlights flicker to follow.

you nod at the DJ, who knows not to mess with it.

then, you slam into the intro to “master of puppets.”

the distortion screams.

the riff punches through the smoke like a fist. dirty. loud. real.

people down on the floor cheer, some boo, some start laughing in disbelief.

the suits look confused. a few start pulling out phones.

one of the auction security guards near bob’s table mutters, “what the hell-“

bob exhales like he’s been underwater for five minutes, he slinks out with the crowd’s attention squarely on you.

and you?

you shred.

“end of passion play, crumbling away

i’m your source of self-destruction…”

you sing like it’s prophecy, like the world’s about to burn and you’re the one lighting the match.

heads are banging, drinks are spilled, the tech auction upstairs is forgotten.

that guy from madripoor? he’s now two whiskeys deep and head-nodding like you’re doing a private concert just for him.

your fingers blaze through the solo like they were built for this. the guitar’s raw, snarling. just perfect.

and in the dark corner of the second tier, where no one’s watching anymore?

bob slips through a side door. free and clear.

you hammer the final riff with one last scream of strings.

“MASTER! MASTER!”

silence crashes like a wave behind it. the crowd roars, half of them think you’re just the best part of the party, the other half are too dazed to care.

you bow low, tossing the guitar off-stage like a mic drop.

and walk out like you own the world, panting as you slam the door behind you.

“you-” he starts, breathless. “you just-”

“i shredded,” you say, breathless and smug. “and saved your ass.”

he huffs a laugh, still dazed.

“i was gonna blow it,” he admits. “i could feel it coming… like the whole thing was about to fall apart.”

“well,” you smirk, brushing your hair back. “good thing i know how to play the hits.”

he looks at you, really looks at you.

the city glows behind you, the music still ringing faintly from the club.

and he says, “you’re kind of unreal, you know that?”

you shrug. “takes one to know one, sunshine.”

you look at each other for a second too long.

and somewhere in the club behind you, the next DJ starts spinning, but nothing could top what you just did.

tag list:

@lovetoalll

[sugardollcurse]

ok this one is kind of silly but i've been into the beatles for awhile & over the past few months getting into more 60s music. watched some documentary about bob dylan to see what the hype was & didn't realize just how involved him & the beatles were?? (if you've seen that clip of john razzing an obviously hung-over bob in a car...lol)

ANYWAYS all that to say could i request maybe some headcanons or whatever you want about on a reader who's a folk singer in a bob dylan kinda vein (maybe they're even close friends like john & the reader in your absolute STUNNER of a fic under your nose) and one of the boys ends up absolutely fixated on the reader??

𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔

𐙚 summary ; george has never believed in fate more than when you handed him your half-broken guitar

𐙚 note ; hello anon!! i know what ur talking abt.. those few years where their paths tangled feel so electric... and messy LOL. i chose george for this because WHY NOT!! also thank you for the lovely words about under your nose too!!

𓂃⋆ you caught his ear before you caught his eye

George heard you before he ever really saw you.

Some scratchy tape Paul had of you playing a half-finished song in a kitchen, a little drunk maybe, laughing between verses

Your voice wasn’t perfect. It was rough and raw, full of things unsaid.

He listened to it more times than he’d admit

When he finally saw you in person, talking to someone, gesturing with a cigarette, he realized you were exactly what your music sounded like

𓂃⋆ your friendship started in backstage corners

You had that same surreal cadence Bob had.

Like you were halfway between mocking everyone and revealing the secret to the universe

You weren’t supposed to stick around after the show, but you had a knack for blending in

George found you sitting on an amp once, scrawling lyrics on a napkin.

He offered a pen. you barely looked up

Conversations started slow.

Bits of philosophy, shared books, musicians you loved.

𓂃⋆ he started tuning his guitar to match yours

You had strange, particular tunings.

George started mimicking them just to see what your chords felt like under his fingers

He kept “accidentally” bumping into you with his guitar nearby.

Wanted to play with you but never quite asked

Once, you handed him your battered acoustic. He held it like it meant something. It did

𓂃⋆ he didn’t know if he wanted to kiss you or become you

You and Bob shared notebooks, lyrics, smokes.

Talked in shorthand, laughed at things George didn’t get

It made him insanely jealous.

Not of Bob, but of whatever world you both came from

Once he found a lyric you left behind.

He folded it up and kept it.

Still has it, creased and ghosted with your scent

𓂃⋆ he was obsessed, quietly and completely

He didn’t flirt. Wasn't sure how with you. Instead, he listened.

Watched the way your fingers curled when you rolled your sleeves.

Memorized your lyrics, your coffee order, the little frown you made when tuning

When you disappeared for a while to “clear your head in Scotland or maybe Sweden,” he missed you like a toothache. Persistent, dull, impossible to ignore

𓂃⋆ you saw through him like clear glass

When you came back, he didn’t say much.

But you touched his wrist like you knew

You played him a new song. No title. He knew it was about him

You were easy to be around.

𓂃⋆ he found excuses to give you things

A spare pick, an obscure poetry book, a battered cap you’d admired once backstage.

“Didn’t need it,” he’d shrug, pretending not to watch your face light up.

Once, he left a pressed flower inside your lyric notebook.

You never mentioned it, but you did start tucking dried petals between your pages after that.

𓂃⋆ he thought about kissing you all the time, but not just that

Thought about your fingers in his hair.

Thought about waking up with your hand still resting on his chest.

Thought about how you might say i love you if you ever said it.

Once, he dreamt you kissed his knuckles.

When he woke up, his hand was clenched tight around the blanket, like it was the only thing holding you there.

𓂃⋆ he started writing you a letter once. never finished it.

The first line said:

You make everything feel like it’s already been forgiven. The rest is still folded in a drawer somewhere, untouched. But he remembers it. every word.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels

[harbours-lighthouse]

SHATTERED STARLIGHT

— PAIRING: Cal Kestis x F!Reader

— SUMMARY: It's difficult to say the words that you know can ruin everything, but you're hanging by a thread. You need Cal to hear you, but will he listen?

— A/N: I'm just feeding you guys my old drafts that I'm going through and finishing...anyway. I love Cal, but if you've played the games...then you'll also know he's a bit of an emotional guy that shuts down around others when he's stuck inside his head - or lashes out (especially is Jedi: Survivor). So, I wanted to play around with the idea of Reader running out of patience and willpower to keep up with Cal's depressive state, and the argument that transpires between them because of it. Hope you enjoy! (I listened to Searows the entire time I wrote this, so that definitely amped up the angst for me lol).

content tags: angst, arguments, no use of y/n, just overall...sadness, minute amounts of comfort :)) wc: 2.4k

Rain taps against your scalp, the sky spitting sharp rain that leaves you shivering beneath the layers of wool and leather you’re wearing. Thunder rolls in the distance, but it’s not lightning that charges the air around you. Instead, it’s the pair of expectant green eyes trained on you as Cal stands at the top of the Mantis’ ramp with BD-1 sitting on his shoulder, and the stifling silence between the two of you.

You’re standing on the landing pad, feet rooted to the ground. Your fingers are shaking at your sides, and you know that’s not because of the cold.

The silence stretches, painful and slow like putty, and you know you’re the one who will have to say the first word. Otherwise you’ll both stand here in silence. Unmoving. Falling apart without saying anything.

“Cal,” you swallow thickly, fingers flexing at your sides. “I know you don’t want me to go, but...I can’t stay here.” 

With you, is what you want to tack on, but you know that’ll be a nail in a coffin, something that will sear itself into Cal’s memory as something unforgivable. You wait, hoping he’ll say something. BD-1 trills quietly, obsidian-glass eyes zipping between you and the red-head. 

Cal looks at you with flickering eyes, seafoam irises wandering across your face rapidly. You have the sinking feeling in your chest that he’s trying not to stare at one thing, because that just might let the burn settle in and the tears start gathering.

You breathe out a trembling sigh, keeping your chin up despite yourself.

Cal shifts, brows flinching inward. You watch as his Adam’s Apple bobs, hands moving to sit heavily on his hips. His gaze slides to the floor, before he shrugs his shoulders. You don’t expect the way his voice cuts out. 

“I—I don’t understand why.” 

You bite back the immediate retort that forms on your tongue. 

You should know. You should understand. 

Instead, you settle with something quieter.

“Maybe you won’t understand—not yet anyway—but I have to do this.” 

Cal scoffs harshly, and you wince knowing that it wasn’t the right thing to say—not to Cal. He wants answers. He always has. To deny him that is to wake up the injustice that burns inside his chest. The betrayal that’s been sitting with him since the Order fell. 

You open your mouth, hoping you might smooth out the ripple you’ve caused, but Cal beats you to it.

“It’s not that hard to tell me why you want to leave. You know? You’re leaving behind the crew, leaving behind—” 

He cuts himself off, jaw clenching as he looks away from you quickly. BD-1 whines, and you see the way Cal briefly glances at the droid with something that could be called reassuring, but it’s overshadowed by something else that has your gut knotting itself. 

“What is it, Cal?” You ask softly, hoping he’ll talk to you like he used to—without anything barring him from telling you what’s sitting on his mind so heavily. But that hope has long since buried itself. You and Cal haven’t talked to each other like you used to in months. There’s no honesty. No transparency. No desire to have someone—even just one singular person—know everything that’s going on inside your head. 

No, somewhere along the line, Cal has severed that sort of communication between the two of you. You know it’s because of what he does—his fight against the Empire. You know that it’s slowly consuming him, and that it’s torn him away from you. 

You’ve wanted to help him—so much so that you’ve been running yourself into the ground. But there’s only so much you can do when someone doesn’t want to let you in—doesn’t want to give you a glimpse of the tempest raging inside of themselves. 

“Forget it,” Cal mutters, his voice strained. His face is tense, brows furrowed deeply.

“No,” you say, stepping forward. You don’t mean to—in fact, you want to run. “I don’t want to just ‘forget it’. I want to know what you’re thinking, Cal. I always do—” 

“Then why are you leaving?!” Cal hisses through gritted teeth, and you nearly mistake it for anger. It isn’t, and that realisation hits you like a rampaging bantha.

It’s grief. 

“Because you don’t tell me!” You cry. “I ask you what’s wrong and all I get is this cold front. I don’t need the Force to feel you shutting me out—which is pretty kriffin’ cruel after all that we’ve gone through together—” 

“Like what?” Cal scoffs, palms outstretched. “We’ve gone through as much as the next person. Everyone who’s fighting in the Rebellion goes through the same thing—” 

You point a finger at him, “That’s bantha fodder and you know it.” 

The red-head’s jaw clenches, eyes snapping away from you like you’re blinding him. Something that burns. Inside, you can hear yourself screaming.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go! It wasn’t supposed to be like this! 

You trade weight on your hips, fidgeting as the lump in your throat aches, feeling like a pebble lodged inside your esophagus. It’s getting harder and harder to keep yourself together. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to curse—I shouldn’t, I just—” 

“Just what?” Cal asks, and you hate how his voice wavers, only a breath away from a whisper that you might not have caught. But you’re attuned to Cal like a pilot is to a plane. A jedi to a lightsaber. 

You inhale sharply. Rain slaps against your cheeks.

“I can’t do this,” you murmur, waving a weak hand between you and Cal. It’s not just physical space, anymore. It’s everything in between, and it’s leaving you cold. 

“Do what?” 

“This,” you stress, “this whole thing where I try to talk to you and you won’t let me. This wall you’ve built—” 

“I haven’t built any walls,” Cal says softly.

You might’ve scoffed if it didn’t feel like your lungs were collapsing in on themselves. It feels harder to breathe with the weight that’s sitting on your chest, and you wonder if maybe it really would have been a better idea to have just left without saying anything. Maybe leave a note behind, but other than that? You could’ve left without a word. No argument. No tears.

Nothing. 

But you’re not that kind of person, and no matter how much this hurts, you know you have to tell Cal. You can’t up and leave and not give the one person that’s been with you since the beginning a head’s up. That’s even more cruel than the torture you’ve been put through for the last few months.

Your attention is grabbed by BD-1 as he tilts his head between the two of you, and you inwardly shrivel at the low, saddened beep he whines, before settling closer to Cal’s nape. 

Cal shakes his head, feet shifting.  “I’m not shutting you out. I talk to you—” 

“No, you don’t,” you refute, and the back of your eyes are burning. Your voice wobbles; you’re tearing yourself apart from the inside, but the strings that link you to Cal means he’s feeling the same shred of flesh and sinew. Bile rises up the back of your throat, hot and gross, and you glance away briefly, sucking down air that feels sharp. 

“You don’t,” you struggle to speak, the words small as they seemingly fall to the floor. “You’ve entirely closed yourself off from me…me, Cal.”

“So leaving is going to fix this?” 

“Yes.”

It’s as if your words echoed inside a large cave, silencing everything else. But it had only been a desperate murmur, something said quietly with far too much emotion behind it. 

You hate how Cal sucks in a trembling breath, and how BD-1 hides his glass eyes into Cal’s copper hair. Resignation falls over the two of you, and you wish you could shoo it away as easily as a flock of birds. But it sits heavily, weighing down the air, and you can almost swear that it’s pulling the rain down faster too, stabbing into your skin like cold shards of ice.

This might just be the end of it.

“I—” you swallow, chest shivering as you inhale, “I think I need to leave for a bit. Just get some…space. Do my own thing for a bit.” 

Cal’s eyes find yours, seafoam quivering like a still pond that’s been disturbed by a rock—one that you’ve thrown…though maybe it’s because you needed something to happen. Movement. A response.

Anything. 

You watch as Cal blinks rapidly, fists clenched by his sides. You can’t tell through the rain if he’s crying, but the way he can barely look at you for a second confirms it all for you, anyway.

“Okay,” he whispers, and that singular word steals all the air from your lungs. 

“O-Okay?” You parrot, voice catching on the word like you can’t fathom how easy that was. You thought he’d argue more, maybe yell—though when you think about it, he doesn’t yell at you. He never has, and you can’t truly see him doing that.

Not even now. 

Cal swallows hard, nodding his head shortly. “Yeah, okay. I…if you need to go, then...” 

Your throat throbs, and your heart is punching against your ribs. BD-1 perks up, large head balanced on his thin metal neck as he looks quickly between you and Cal.

You can’t stop the way your vision blurs with tears as BD-1 trills sadly, body sagging as he realises what’s happened. Cal gives the droid a weak smile, murmuring, ‘it’s okay, buddy.’ 

You quickly swipe away the tear that drops down your cheek, but it doesn’t matter anyway with the rain. A chill slithers up your spine, and you shake even harder.

“Where are you gonna go?” Cal asks, and you can tell that it pains him to say it. 

“I don’t know yet,” you admit. “Probably catch a ride to Naboo.” 

“There’s a lot of Imperial activity there—” 

“I know,” you sigh, blinking away tears as your chin dips down. “I know. There’s something I need to do there.” 

“Like what?” 

You lift your head, fighting the quiver in your chin, and give Cal a strained smile. 

“Nothing important. Not yet anyway.”

Silence follows, broken only by the sound of rain slapping against the Mantis, and your heavy, sob-choked breaths. 

Cal shifts on his feet again, a restless habit you know he has when he’s upset.

“You’ll still stay in contact, right?” He asks, and there’s a glimmer of hope seeping into his voice that you don’t dare stomp out. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’ll keep in contact as much as I can.” 

Cal’s chest visibly deflates, though his stance remains tense, rigid.

There’s more that you want to say. A thousand words, really, but they stay unsaid, and your chest is aching as if your heart has imploded inside your ribs. Maybe if your stomach lurches again and you vomit up the turmoil wrestling inside you—you might taste shattered starlight on your tongue. 

What terrifies you the most is the three words that sit the heaviest on your mind, and if you say them out loud, you’ll gladly walk off the landing pad and plummet down the cliffs into the awaiting sea where the waves might swaddle you and hide you forever. 

“You don’t have to leave…” 

Cal’s murmur has a fresh wave of tears flooding your vision, and you instantly shake your head while your chin quivers. 

“N-no,” you argue quietly, “I have to. I-I definitely have to.” 

Cal’s eyes sweep across your face, and you know that he can see right through you. He can see the way you’re barely holding yourself together, feet aching to spin around and run. 

Run to a place where Cal can’t find you, not even in your dreams. 

His jaw clenches, fingers flexing like he wants to reach for you. Maybe if he touches you, he might bring you back—gather up the parts of you that are cracking like marble. You look cold, and it hurts that you’re not running to him, arms engulfing him in a hug that he would have expected from you months ago.  

“I’m gonna—” you sniffle, jabbing a thumb behind your shoulder, “I’m gonna go.” 

There’s a terrible wail from BD-1, muffled against Cal’s head, and your knees nearly give out. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go,” you say again, like you need to repeat it in order to make it true. Make it real. You can barely see through the rain and your tears, and you glance behind you to make out where the path to the town is, but you’re immediately ripped back to Cal when something warm curls around your wrist. 

With wide eyes, you stare up at Cal as his fingers tighten around your wrist, thumb pressing against your pulse. It’s gentle, almost delicate. You can't believe how quickly and silently he'd descended the ramp, how he practically materialised in front of you.

Cal looks at you with eyes that bore straight through you, and you’re like a sandcastle crumbling. A sob hitches inside your throat before tumbling past your lips. Tears flood your eyes, and they mix with the rain as a trembling hand reaches for the back of your head, pulling you closer.

Your forehead bumps against his chest, and your fingers latch onto his vest. You’re shaking, and you know this is the worst thing he could have done because now you can’t leave. 

How can you when he’s this warm?

“I have to leave,” you hiccup, and Cal only breathes against your wet scalp. 

“I-I have to go—because it hurts, Cal…more than anything.” 

BD-1 skitters out from Cal’s nape and perches himself on top of your shoulder, metal feet gripping onto your clothes gently. The weight of him is grounding, just as Cal’s thumb brushes against your wet hair.

BD-1 trills, head tilting, before he nuzzles closer to the crook of your neck. His beeps and trills have your choked sobs filling up your throat, and you bury your face further into Cal’s neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Cal murmurs, his own voice thick with tears.

You know it’s hard for him to say the things that he wants—that’s why you’re here in the first place—so something cracks deeper inside of you when he speaks, knowing he’s desperate to fix things. 

“We’ll figure this out, okay? I promise.” 

You grapple Cal closer, and BD-1 presses his cold, rain-slick head against your cheek. 

“Promise, okay?” You gasp. 

Cal’s lips brush against your hair. “I promise, starlight.”

Thank you for reading, God bless!

© harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[rimatsu]

ok but what are YOUR 8b specs? 🫵🏽

mmmm so many options i fantasize about idk which one to share. i do dream of a big reunion on a call later in the season, complete with a heaping dose of arguing followed by a heart-to-heart once fiery emotions cool down, but i could go for something more understated, and as early as episode 10.

offscreen and through the grapevine, tommy hears about maddie’s kidnapping and eventual rescue. she was roughened up a bit by her assailant, enough that there’s some bleeding (miscarriage scare for amped up madney drama) so she’s admitted to the hospital for an overnight stay.

while she’s getting checked out, buck is taking a breather in the waiting room, the physical exhaustion and stress and worry of the past few days finally catching up to him. maybe eddie has already left for texas earlier in the episode, so buck had to deal with the kidnapping fiasco without his best friend's support, and the rest of the 118 was understandably more concerned about the han family's safety than buck’s fraying mental health. so he’s in the waiting room — head in his hands, rubbing at his dry, tired eyes — when someone sits down in the chair to his left, too close for comfort in a rather empty space. buck looks up to find tommy staring back at him, quiet but assessing, wordless but visibly concerned. he doesn’t ask if buck is okay because he doesn’t think he has the right to ask anymore, but he’s here in case buck needs a shoulder to lean on. buck remains silent as well, but we see his throat bob as he swallows around the painful lump in his throat, and then he knocks his knee against tommy's in acknowledgement.

and that's it. a 15 seconds interaction with minimal effort. next episode they're tentatively dating again and we, the starved audience, are left to piece the rest together in coda fics.

[sapphicandgraphic]

The Girl Next Door

Synopsis: A new neighbor turns Melissa’s world upside down.

Chapter: 4/10 (The Addict)

Series Warnings: Slow burn, angst, drama, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, protective Melissa, fem reader, age difference, WLW

Chapter Warnings: Minor violence, mentions of drug use, homophobic slur, sibling rift, protective Melissa has arrived

—————————————-

You had purposely chosen a neighborhood far removed from the streets where you grew up, carefully avoided all your old haunts, kept your head down. But you knew you couldn’t hide forever. It was only a matter of time until the past came knocking.

Which is why, when you rounded the corner one Friday night in April, you weren’t entirely surprised to see your little brother Mikey standing outside your apartment building. His face was thinner than you remembered, but you recognized him instantly.

“Hiya, sis,” he said, a flicker of that old smile ghosting across his features as you approached. “Heard you were back in town.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Ouch,” he said, scuffing his shoe into the ground. “We ain’t seen each other in how long, and that’s the first thing you—”

“What are you doing here?” you repeated loudly. A muscle in Mikey’s jaw jumped as he ground his teeth together. He hated to be interrupted.

“You gonna invite me in?” He plastered a fake smile on his face as a group of people walked by, nodding hello on their way to the bars. “Or should we just yell on the street like animals?”

You hesitated, sizing him up. He was practically a stranger to you, and you’d bet your entire paycheck that he was still spending every hour of the day getting high. But you didn’t care. Suddenly, you were eager for a fight.

“Why not?” A corrosive fury simmered in your veins as you pushed past him and unlocked the door.

“You got a nice place,” Mikey said once you were both inside. He looked around, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. His eyes were restless, hungry.

You grabbed two beers from the refrigerator and handed him one.

“How’d you find out where I live?”

Your tone was blunt, unfriendly. He looked away.

“Duncan said you had a party here last month.”

“Duncan Davies?” you laughed darkly. “That little shit stain always had a big mouth.”

“Yeah well,” he said. “Guess my invite got lost in the mail.”

You scoffed, opening your mouth to say fuck yes it did. But suddenly your phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, you saw it was Boone.

“I gotta take this,” you said. “Work.”

Mikey bobbed his head, took a sip of beer. You stepped into the kitchen and answered the call, not even bothering to say hello.

“Your surprise party is the gift that keeps on giving,” you hissed.

“What do you mean?” You heard the rustling of papers and pictured your friend sitting on his sofa, rolling a joint.

“I mean,” you said, trying to keep your voice low. “Word got back to my burnout brother, and now he’s standing in my living room.”

Boone swore softly.

“I told you I wanted to keep a low profile, but you just had to be a goddamn social butterfly.” You knew you were being unfair, that you were just amped up and looking for someone to blame.

“What does he want?”

You ran a hand through your hair. “I have no idea.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Boone said. “But you can’t exactly avoid your family forever, can you? Maybe this is a good thing.”

“Trust me,” you sighed, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “It’s not.”

You hung up, sagging against the counter for a moment and taking a few deep breaths before you walked back into the living room.

Mikey didn’t hear you come in. He was hunched over the table by the front door, rifling through a drawer. Your wallet was in his left hand, a wad of bills in his right. Outrage licked its way up your spine, dull and painful. Of course.

“Looking for something?”

His head snapped up so fast it almost made you wince.

“I can explain,” he said. “This ain’t what it looks like.”

“No?” you laughed darkly. “Because it looks like you’re still a junkie and a thief.“

Fury clouded his features. He had been handsome once, but his face had a wasted look to it now. The hollows of his cheek were overly pronounced, almost skull-like.

“I just need something to get through the week,” he said, gripping the cash tightly in his fist.

“Where have I heard that one before?” you mocked. “Oh, right, at dad’s funeral, when you showed up loaded and begging mom for money.”

His cheeks flushed bright red. “You’re such a bitch.”

You slammed your beer down on the table hard enough that the bottle shattered. For a second, neither of you moved. His eyes glittered with malice, shame, sorrow. You remembered a time when you would have done anything for him, your baby brother with the same irresistible smile as your dad.

“Put the money down,” you growled. “And get lost.”

His lips twitched. “Make me,” he taunted.

The words were barely out of his mouth before you lunged. You’d always been faster when you were kids, and you were pleased to see you could still get the drop on him. You grabbed his neck, dog-walking him toward the door with his head squeezed tightly under your armpit.

“Let me go!” he yelled, voice strangled by your chokehold. “Get your fuckin’ hands off me!”

You spilled out into the hallway together, a clumsy tangle of arms and legs and fists. You threw a rogue punch toward his midsection. Blood was pounding in your ears.

He twisted in your grip with a roar of pain and frustration, his elbow catching you square in the ribs. The impact was hard enough to knock the breath out of you, and he pushed his advantage, gripping you by the throat and throwing you against the wall. He was scrawny, but still strong. Your jaw smacked against the hard tile and you slid to the floor, winded and dazed.

“You think Dad would be ashamed of me,” he half-shouted, straightening his jacket. “Look at you, fucking psycho dyke.”

He was almost unrecognizable in that moment, towering over you with a hateful sneer on his face. He stepped closer and you scrambled backwards, unsure what he intended to do. Luckily, you never found out.

At that moment, a baseball bat swung through the air, missing Mikey’s face by inches.

“Touch her again and I’ll break your kneecaps.”

>> Read the rest of this chapter right now on my Patreon! <<

[sleepanonymous]

Remember when I made this post talking about Jaws? A good friend found one for Thread The Needle.

George Lever, the man that you are.

Intro

Sleep Token are different, like super major big time different. Softly spoken pop aesthetic meets discordant percussive metal different. Different is great. It tests and pulls at the boundaries by which we choose to asses music by. All in all ST (sleep token) is very close to my heart in terms of what its intentions are and how it tries to achieve it. I worked very closely with ST on the song framing and ensuring that every phase of each song was being presented in the way they originally intended. Much like a prog record there isn’t any sense of an ABAB type repetition that’s common in pop music, instead it’s a textured journey down multiple avenues and pathways, showing and highlighting different perspectives of the song along the way. I could write about this project for some time but I’m very aware that this is supposed to be an engineering / mixing focused blog so I shall move on.

Tracking // Drums

In terms of the space, we ended up at Monnow valley. This happened to be my first ever solo flight session at MV, although nerve wrecking I think it came together rather harmoniously without any negative turns.

The initial outline from ST was to achieve as much as humanly possible without the need for rigid quantisation after the fact. Every play / part, had to emphasis what else was going on. Tricky, but great fun to achieve.

Tracking // Guitars & Bass

All tracked back here at G1, using an array of options like the Kemper, Axe fx and plugin amp sims. The attention wasn’t so much on ‘authentic amp sounds’ but more along the lines of ‘how cool can this sound, can it sound more cool?’ Quite a different approach considering some would be more enclined to try and ensure that ‘this does definitely sound like a 5150’ over what it actually does for the context that it is sitting within (the songs DNA)

** Cool bit, for the end part of TTN, the guitars were tracked 6 times. 3 different takes / tones each side. More tone, more drone.** – George

Bass, I think is a combination of my jazz bass and some software stuff, obviously my poor 4 string won’t handle going down to drop ZZZZ so that’s when the synth stuff needs to kick in, however I do believe at those parts the Jazz is playing the upper octave for that sense of movement and clank.

Tracking // Vocals

How freaking amazing is this dudes voice? Seriously? I used a different mic for each song, each time he sounds amazing. This is what it’s all about, right here. A great voice always sounds great. We used my modded Oktava m319 for one track, the AKG c414 b-uls for another and the sm7b on one more. Who cares what processing went on, just listen to how mega dope his voice is. Can you tell I appreciate his voice? Haha!

Gear Used

Drums – Tracked by G1 at Monnow Valley Kick In – Beta91a + D112 Kick Out – U47 Snare Top – 57 Snare Bottom – 441 Toms – md421 HH – 7b Ride – c451 China – c451 OH – Modded Oktava mk012 in ORTF RM1 – R121 RM2 – C414 RM3 – U87

Guitars Kemper / Driftwood Profile Pack (along with other bits and bobs too for the multi tracked parts) Bass Dingwall Darkglass > FabFilter Saturn

Vocals Different mics for different sections C414 BULS / 7B / Oktava m219

[biblical-chronicles]

Back to you

_________________________________________________

where Noel finally returns from tour, and in the quiet of their little flat, him and the reader take the next step in their relationship [18+]

_________________________________________________

The tour was finally winding down. After weeks of endless driving, lugging gear, and crashing on questionable sofas, Noel was ready to be back home—to see you. The Inspiral Carpets gigs had been mad, as usual, and while he loved the buzz, the energy, and the music, his thoughts always wandered back to your little flat and your laugh, the way it could drown out even the loudest amp in his head.

He let himself in quietly, the key turning in the lock with that soft click he’d missed hearing. The smell of your home hit him immediately—a mix of your favorite candles and just... you. It made his chest feel tight in the best way.

You must’ve heard him, though, because before he could even drop his bag, you came flying out of the bedroom, your socks sliding across the floor as you threw yourself at him.

“Noel!”

He caught you just in time, your arms locking around his neck as you kissed him full on the mouth. He laughed against your lips, a little breathless, but didn’t waste a second before kissing you back. His bag thudded to the floor as his hands settled on your waist, holding you as close as he could.

“Bloody hell, love,” he mumbled when you finally pulled back to breathe. “Missed me, did ya?”

“Missed you?” you repeated, your voice pitching up in mock disbelief. “You’ve got no idea, Gallagher. I’ve been losing me mind without you.”

He grinned, cheeks going a bit pink under your scrutiny. “You’re makin’ it sound like I’ve been off for years.”

“Feels like it,” you huffed, tugging him by the hand into the living room. “You’ve been gone ages, Noel. Ages. I mean, how’s a girl supposed to cope without her boyfriend, huh?”

“Dunno,” he said with a smirk, “seems like you managed alright. Flat hasn’t burnt down or owt.”

“Cheeky bastard,” you muttered, but your smile gave you away.

You sat him down on the couch and immediately curled up next to him, your head finding its usual spot on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, the tension in his back easing as he leaned into you. This—this was what he missed.

“Tour alright?” you asked after a moment, your voice softer now.

“Yeah, same old,” he replied, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Lads are mad as ever. Good gigs, though. Couldn’t wait to get back here, sick of havin’ no decent brew.”

You laughed, pressing a hand to his chest. “Ah, so that’s what you missed most. Me tea.”

“And this.” He squeezed you lightly, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Reckon I’ll put up with you if you keep supplyin’ the brews.”

You pinched his side, making him yelp and laugh.

After a while, the two of you moved to the bedroom. Noel stripped down to his boxers while you rifled through a drawer for your comfiest pajamas, the ease between you two so natural it was like he’d never been away. When you finally crawled into bed, you tugged him down beside you, tucking yourself into his side.

“God, I love you,” you murmured, the words tumbling out like they’d been waiting for weeks.

He blinked, a bit caught off guard even though you’d said it before. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him. “I’ve missed you so much, Noel. And not just in the ‘wish you were here to do summat for me’ kind of way. Like... properly missed you. The flat felt so empty without you. I’d just sit there thinking about you, wondering if you were okay, if you were tired, if you were eating enough—”

“Christ, you sound like me mum,” he teased, though his voice was softer than usual, his cheeks coloring.

“Oi, I’m being serious!” you said, poking him in the chest. “You’ve been lugging around gear for weeks, Noel, and I know you don’t take care of yourself like you should. I just... I love you, alright? And I want you to know that.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as he gave you that small, shy smile you loved so much.

“Love you too,” he said, the words quiet but firm, like they’d been there all along. “More than you know, love.”

Your heart swelled, and you leaned down to kiss him, soft and slow. He pulled you closer, his hands splaying over your back as he deepened the kiss. When you finally broke apart, he was grinning up at you, his shyness giving way to his usual cheeky confidence.

“Right, you’re stuck with me now,” he said, his voice playful but warm. “No gettin’ rid of me. Not after a speech like that.”

“Good,” you said, your smile matching his. “I don’t want to get rid of you.”

The moment hung between you like the soft glow of the streetlamp outside the window, its light filtering through the thin curtains. Noel’s eyes searched yours, his hand cradling your cheek as his thumb brushed lightly over your skin. There was a gentleness in his touch that made your heart ache in the best way, and before you could overthink it, you leaned in again, your lips meeting his.

This kiss wasn’t soft or tentative like before. It was deeper, fuller, charged with a longing that had been building for weeks. Noel responded instantly, his hand slipping into your hair, holding you steady as his lips moved against yours.

You shifted closer, your fingers trailing up his chest before wrapping around his neck. The heat between you grew, and when his tongue grazed your bottom lip, you opened for him without hesitation. The soft groan that rumbled in his throat sent a thrill through you, and you pressed yourself tighter against him.

It was a blur of hands and lips and quiet sighs, your bodies moving like they’d been waiting for this moment all along. When his hand slid down your side, resting just above the curve of your hip, you gasped into the kiss. It wasn’t planned or deliberate; it just happened—a small sound of want slipping out before you could stop it.

Noel froze, pulling back slightly as his eyes flicked open. His cheeks were flushed, his lips kiss-bruised, and his chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice husky but tinged with concern. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t apologize.”

His brows knit together. “But—”

“I want this,” you said firmly, your voice soft but steady. “I want you, Noel. I’ve never been more sure about owt in me life.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, and you saw the conflict flash in his eyes—hesitation, protectiveness, and something deeper, something tender.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean... I know you’ve not... y’know.”

You nodded, your fingers stroking his cheek. “I know. But I trust you, Noel. I love you.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, all he could do was look at you, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. Then, with a shaky exhale, he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, your hand cupping his face. “Takes one to know one.”

He let out a breathy laugh before capturing your lips again, his touch more deliberate this time, but still gentle—always gentle. He took his time, his fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of your clothes, testing and teasing as though he was afraid of rushing anything.

“Does this feel good?” Noel asked, his voice low and rasping, barely louder than a breath. His blue eyes met yours, searching for reassurance, for a sign that he was doing it right.

You nodded quickly, your heart racing, but the shyness that crept into your chest made it difficult to speak. You bit your lip, your gaze flickering down as heat rose to your cheeks.

“Oi,” he said softly, tilting your chin up with his fingers so you’d look at him. “Don’t get all shy on me now, love. Just tell me, yeah? Want to get it right for you.”

His honesty made your stomach flip. Taking a deep breath, you whispered, “It’s good. Really good.” Then, swallowing your nerves, you added, “You can... you can touch me a little more, if you want. Just, um, here.” You guided his hand to rest on your waist, the contact sending a spark of warmth through you.

Noel’s lips quirked into a small, reassuring smile. “Here, yeah? Alright.” His hand flexed slightly, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your side through the thin fabric. “How’s that?”

You nodded again, your voice catching. “Perfect.”

Encouraged by your response, Noel leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then another just below your ear. “What about this?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and a quiet sigh escaped your lips. “It’s nice. I like it,” you managed, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he said, his own confidence growing. He shifted closer, his hand trailing higher along your side, careful and unhurried. “If I do anything you don’t like, just say the word, alright?”

“I will,” you promised, your hand resting over his as if to anchor yourself. “But you’re doing everything right.”

As his fingers brushed the bare skin where your top had ridden up slightly, your breath hitched, and Noel froze. “Too much?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s—it’s good. Just... maybe slower?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “Slower it is.” His touch became even more deliberate, his movements tender and precise. “You’ll have to keep bossin’ me about, though. Can’t be fumblin’ through it like a clueless muppet.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you glanced up at him, your shyness melting under his warmth. “You’re not fumbling. You’re... amazing.”

“Yeah, well,” he teased gently, his lips brushing your temple. “Got a decent teacher, haven’t I?”

You smiled, your hands moving to rest on his shoulders. As his hand continued its soft journey, your nerves ebbed away, replaced by a sense of closeness that felt both thrilling and comforting.

For a few moments, you simply enjoyed the way he touched you, his calloused fingers so careful as though you were something precious. But there was a small ache in your chest, a yearning that made your voice tremble when you finally spoke.

“Noel?”

“Yeah, love?” he murmured, his lips now pressed softly against your jaw.

You hesitated, your hands tightening slightly on his shoulders. “Could you... um... touch me here?” You reached up with shaky fingers and gestured to your chest, your cheeks burning as you avoided his gaze.

Noel froze for a second, his eyes darting to yours as if to confirm he’d heard you right. “You sure?” he asked, his voice hushed but steady, his hand hovering uncertainly.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I’m sure. I just... I trust you.”

Those three words seemed to undo him. His expression softened, and he exhaled deeply, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “Alright,” he said, his voice a quiet promise. “If that’s what you want.”

Slowly, his hand moved to your chest, his touch featherlight at first as though he was afraid of overstepping. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low but filled with care.

“Yes,” you whispered, your breath hitching slightly at the sensation. “It’s good.”

His thumb brushed experimentally over the fabric, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. His eyes darted to yours again, checking in even as his confidence grew. “Still good?”

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice trembling slightly. “Really good.”

Encouraged, Noel leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips that was both tender and deeply passionate. You clung to him, your fingers threading through his dark hair as you pulled him closer, needing more of the warmth and safety that only he seemed to provide.

“Noel,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling but sure.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to search your eyes. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breath mingling with yours as he studied your expression. “Yeah, love?”

“I want... more,” you murmured, your cheeks flushing as you fumbled for the right words.

Noel’s brows lifted slightly, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “More, eh?” he teased gently, his voice low but still tinged with that cheeky edge that made your heart flutter. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific, sweetheart. I’m not exactly a mind reader.”

Your lips parted as a nervous laugh escaped, but your hands betrayed your intent, sliding down to the hem of your top. With a deep, steadying breath, you started to lift it, exposing more of your skin to the cool air of the room. “I just... I want you to touch me here,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced down toward your chest.

Noel’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed frozen in place. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice more serious now as his hands moved to gently cover yours, stilling your movements. “I don’t wanna rush you into anything.”

“I’m sure,” you said, looking up at him with a mix of nervousness and yearning. “I trust you. I want this—I want you.”

His breath hitched at your words, and he nodded, his hands releasing yours but remaining close, ready to pull back if you changed your mind. As you slid the fabric up and over your head, leaving your upper body bare before him, Noel’s eyes softened, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of awe and tenderness.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. One of his hands reached out hesitantly, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin. “God, you’re beautiful.”

The reverence in his tone sent a warmth flooding through you, and you smiled, leaning into his touch. “You can use your mouth, too,” you whispered, your cheeks burning as the words left your lips.

Noel’s gaze snapped up to meet yours, his cheeks coloring slightly even as a slow, cheeky grin spread across his face. “Me mouth, eh?” he teased, though his voice was tinged with shyness. “You’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone before his lips finally found their way to your chest.

Noel’s lips moved slowly, almost reverently, over the soft curve of your chest. His breath was warm against your skin, sending tiny shivers dancing down your spine. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every moment, every reaction you gave him.

When his lips finally closed around the sensitive peak of your breast, a sharp gasp escaped you, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders. The sensation was both tender and electrifying, a mix of heat and softness that sent your pulse racing.

He hummed softly against you, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation that made your toes curl. His tongue flicked gently, tentative at first, as though testing what you liked. When your fingers tightened in his hair and a breathless whimper slipped from your lips, it seemed to spur him on.

“Like that, do you?” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin but still carrying that cheeky charm.

“Y-Yeah,” you managed, your voice trembling with both nerves and pleasure. “It’s... so good, Noel.”

Encouraged, he took more of you into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before gently sucking, his hands bracing your sides to steady you as you instinctively arched closer to him. The combination of his mouth and the way his hands held you—strong but tender—made your head spin in the best way.

The quiet moans and sighs you couldn’t hold back seemed to fuel him further, and he alternated between gentle sucks and soft kisses, his teeth grazing lightly just to see how you’d react. When your breath hitched and a quiet, broken moan escaped, he pulled back slightly, his lips glistening as he looked up at you with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Didn’t think I’d have you makin’ sounds like that,” he teased, his voice low and husky, though there was an unmistakable fondness in his eyes.

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed, not when he was looking at you like that. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice soft but sure as you gazed down at him.

His expression softened at your words, the teasing edge giving way to something more serious, more intimate. “Don’t plan to, love,” he murmured before lowering his head again, his lips and tongue lavishing the same attention on your other breast.

The way he explored you, so attentive and eager to please, made your heart ache with affection. You couldn’t help but thread your fingers through his hair again, holding him close as he worked, every touch and flick of his tongue sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were flushed, his breathing heavy as he looked up at you. “You alright?” he asked, his hands gently rubbing your sides. “Not too much, yeah?”

You shook your head, a dazed smile spreading across your face. “It’s perfect,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him

The kiss grew sloppy but no less intense, all wet heat and stifled moans. When your fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, he groaned against your lips, the sound making your thighs clench around him instinctively. You arched into him, your body pressing flush against his chest as if trying to get closer, though there was no space left to close.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, his voice thick and gravelly, as your movement caused your chest to brush against him. His hips twitched beneath you, the involuntary reaction drawing a surprised gasp from you.

You pulled back just slightly, panting, your lips swollen and slick as you gazed down at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes blown wide with desire as he looked up at you. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, his accent even thicker than usual, his voice a low rasp.

A shy smile tugged at your lips, but before you could respond, his hands slid up your sides again, and he leaned forward to recapture your mouth in another searing kiss. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you dizzy, your body responding instinctively to the overwhelming closeness.

When his hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding you to settle more securely in his lap, you gasped into the kiss, the sound turning into a quiet moan when his tongue dipped into your mouth again. His groan in response was just as guttural, the vibrations against your lips making you arch into him again.

“Noel,” you breathed when he finally pulled back, his lips trailing down your jaw and along the column of your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that left you trembling.

“What, love?” he murmured against your neck, his voice laced with a teasing edge as his hands skimmed your sides again, his thumbs brushing just under the swell of your breasts.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with enough need to make him shiver against you.

His hands tightened on your waist, and he pressed another kiss to your neck before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “Not plannin’ to,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, cheeky grin. “Long as you don’t start shyin’ up on me now.”

His cheeky grin widened as he saw the way your eyes darkened, your breathing uneven, your lips swollen from his kisses. You didn’t hesitate, surging forward to kiss him again, a deep, desperate kiss that left no doubt about what you wanted.

“Noel,” you murmured, breaking the kiss just enough to meet his gaze. There was a hunger in your eyes that made his teasing grin falter for a moment, replaced by something deeper, more serious.

“Yeah, love?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, his hands steady on your hips.

“I want you,” you said, your voice breathy but sure. “I really, really want you.”

He blinked, his expression shifting to something unreadable for a moment. “You sure?” he asked softly, his hands pausing their movements to hold you steady. “I need to know you mean that.”

You nodded, your hands trembling slightly as they moved to his chest. “I mean it, Noel. Please.”

His grin returned, softer this time, as his hands slid down to rest on your thighs. “Alright, then,” he said, his tone both teasing and reverent. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hands gliding up your thighs to the waistband of your bottoms. His fingers toyed with the fabric for a moment, his grin turning wicked as he felt the heat radiating from you. “Fuckin' hell, love,” he murmured against your lips, his voice dripping with teasing amusement. “You’re soaked already. Didn’t know I had that kinda effect on you.”

You flushed, burying your face in his shoulder with a groan. “Shut up,” you mumbled, but your hips shifted instinctively, pressing against his hands.

“Oh, no, I’m enjoyin’ this far too much to shut up,” he teased, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband to tug your bottoms down slowly. “Guess you’re just as mad for me as I am for you, eh?”

You didn’t answer, too focused on the way his hands moved, the way he touched you like you were something so precious. He helped you lift your hips to slide your bottoms and underwear off, tossing them aside carelessly before settling back to look at you. His eyes swept over your body with an intensity that made you shiver, a mixture of reverence and desire that left you breathless.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said, his voice almost reverent as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your stomach, then lower, his lips trailing over your skin in a way that made you tremble.

“Noel,” you whispered, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way back up your body, his hands steady on your hips.

“Alright, love,” he said softly, his tone turning serious as he shifted to align himself with you. “Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?”

You nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders as you looked up at him. “I won’t,” you said, your voice filled with quiet confidence. “I want this. I want you.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss you again, his movements slow and deliberate as he pushed into you. The stretch was unfamiliar but not unwelcome, and the way he watched your face, gauging your every reaction, made you feel safe, cherished.

“You alright, love?” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing as he paused to let you adjust.

You nodded, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you exhaled shakily. “Yeah,” you whispered. “You can move.”

He did, starting slow, his movements careful and deliberate as he found a pace that made you gasp. His hands roamed your body, his touch both grounding and electrifying as he whispered soft praises and teasing comments against your ear.

His hips moved with a steady rhythm, but his breaths were erratic, loud moans slipping free despite his best efforts. The sound sent a rush through you, knowing he was as undone as you were. “God,” he groaned, burying his face against your neck.

You arched into him, your hands running down the planes of his back, urging him closer. “Noel,” you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling gently. “You’re perfect. You’re making me feel so good.”

Your words sent a visible shiver through him. He lifted his head, his pupils blown wide as he looked down at you, his expression a mix of awe and desperation. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly, his vulnerability stark and beautiful.

“Of course I mean it,” you replied, your tone filled with earnest affection. You pressed your forehead to his, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “You’re everything, Noel. Everything.”

His breath hitched, and he leaned down to kiss you, messy and fervent. He moaned against your lips, the sound deep and guttural, making you feel as though you were the only thing holding him together. “Fuck, love,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smiled, pulling him closer with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. “And you’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” you whispered back, your lips brushing against his. “So good to me, don’t stop, please.”

The praise made him falter for a moment, his rhythm breaking as he let out another moan, this one louder, raw and unrestrained. “God, you’re killin’ me, sayin’ things like that,” he admitted, his tone shaky. His hands gripped your hips as though grounding himself, his breath hitching as he moved deeper.

You clung to him, tilting your head back as waves of pleasure coursed through you. “Noel,” you gasped, unable to stop yourself, “you feel so good, so perfect. Please, don’t stop. I need you.”

His response was almost immediate, his movements growing more urgent as his forehead dropped to your shoulder as he let out another loud, desperate sound. “Christ,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whimper.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as the tension building within you suddenly snapped, another loud cry of his name spilling from your lips. The sound seemed to push him over the edge, his body trembling as he followed, his voice a mix of ragged gasps and broken moans.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of your mingled breaths. Then he looked at you, his cheeks flushed, his expression soft but filled with a shy sort of pride. “You alright?” he asked, his voice still shaky.

You smiled, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. “More than alright,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “That was everything, Noel, I love you.”

His lips curved into a small, bashful smile as he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “I love you too” he murmured.

_________________________________________________

Bit long, maybe, but there you go, roadie Noel lovers (I’m right there with ya—give me all the Noel eras tbh).

Just felt like he’d be proper sweet and gentle, takin’ it slow and all that, hope you lot like it xx

[bandgie]

okay but could you do a gamer beomgyu and fem reader trying to distract him?

a/n: I literally can, I love this prompt thank you

synopsis: Both you and Beomgyu tend to get a little competitive when playing against each other. There's nothing you won't do to make sure you win.

warnings: MDNI 18+, handjob and boobies or whatever

1.3k words

Tetris is a fun, simple game. You're given randomized shapes one at a time to fit perfectly in a line within a confined area. If you run out of space, you lose.

Beomgyu and you love playing against each other. Even if he's your adoring boyfriend, he never goes easy on you. His competitiveness gets in the way of that even being an option, but you never minded it.

You now do though, considering that he's perfectly placing the blocks in strategic positions. You always thought yourself to be above average at Tetris, but Beomgyu quickly diminishes your confidence.

Both of you are seated facing his PC monitor on separate gaming chairs. It's torture like this, you're basically forced to watch Beomgyu climb up to your highest score while doing nothing about it.

You've already begged him to take it easy on you, but he just gave you a shit eating grin instead.

Fine then, two can play at that game.

Beomgyu can see out of the corner of his eye that you're adjusting your shirt. At first, he thinks you must be getting uncomfortable from sitting for so long. Then he sees you take off your top. Okay? Maybe you're just hot and wearing a tank top underneath.

"Hey Gyu...look."

He turns to you for a brief second before going back to the screen. It takes less than a second for it to click in his brain before he does a double take.

You're completely nude from the top, breasts bare for his viewing. Hands and fingers grope at your tits, pushing them together. You even jiggle them a little for extra effect.

Beomgyu can hear the game music in the background, but it's all becoming white noise. You can see him practically salivating at the sight. Just when you think you have him, he forces his head to swivel at the PC.

"I know what you're doing," he manages to choke out. "It won't work."

He's lying. It is working, even if it's just a little bit. His fingers stutter on the arrow keys as he misplaces a block. "Fuck."

"I'm not doing anything Gyu." Yet you are. You let your thumb roll over your nipples, pulling a soft moan out of yourself. You catch your nipple between your thumb and forefinger, gently pulling on them.

"Just wanna play with myself while you're playing with that. Is that bad?"

Beomgyu's adam's apple bobs as he thickly swallows. He remains silent.

As cute as it is that he's caught between being too flustered and too focused to reply, you decide to amp it up a bit. One hand remains at your chest while the other travels down his torso. Beomgyu squeals at the contact, looking at you exploring his body before he snaps back to the monitor.

He shivers and shifts in his seat when you dip lower. Fingers finding the band of his sweat pants and quickly going underneath them.

"You said you were going to play with yourself," Beomgyu is quick to remind you.

You hum in response, feeling his growing erection through his briefs. "Wanna play with this too."

Beomgyu is hardly focusing on the game at this point. He's continuously missing his chances to place the blocks correctly. His fingers moving either too fast or too slow.

His hips move in circles when you start palming over his underwear. Your hand moves up and down in a fluid motion, even dipping far enough to cup his balls. He whines when you give them a squeeze, hair falling over his eyes from moving so much.

"You're so mean," he pouts.

You stop your movements briefly, "Should I stop then?"

"I never said that."

God, you love him. There's no ounce of retaliation when you slip Beomgyu's cock from the slit of his boxers. Though you can't see it directly, you can see the tent form in his sweatpants.

It's tempting to reach down with your other hand and play with your folds, but you would get too distracted from your real mission. You'll have to settle with playing with your tits for now. Still, you're dreaming about being on Beomgyu's lap. Humping against his groin to relieve some of the pressure growing between your legs.

The feeling of Beomgyu's cock in your hands makes a whole new rush of arousal go through you. Your nipples harden from anticipation, and you satiate them by giving a harsh pinch to your chest.

Despite having your hand down his pants and softly stroking his cock, Beomgyu is heavily concentrating on Tetris. The veins on his neck are popping out and he's letting soft moans leave his lips, but his eyes are trained on the screen.

You grip him tighter, pumping him at a faster pace. Your thumb slides over his tip to collect some of his arousal to use for lubrication. You make sure to pull his skin down with every move of your hand.

Beomgyu is never quiet when you jerk him off, and that's ever present even now. He groaning more than anything, biting his lower lip in concentration rather harshly. One of his hands is gripping the underside of his desk while the other roughly punches the arrow keys.

"After I beat your stupid fucking score, I'm gonna fuck your stupid little cunt," he threatens.

Rather than feeling intimidated, you find yourself moaning at his words. There's nothing more you want than for Beomgyu to do that, but you can't give in. Not yet.

"If you beat my score," you correct.

He laughs, though it sounds strained, "When."

You glance at the screen to see that Beomgyu's right, he's awfully close to reaching and potentially beating your score.

Now you're nervous. Your pre-cummed hand stroking him with determination. His tip is sensitive. You can tell when he hisses every time your hand engulfs it.

Both of your hands now find their way to his cock, one on top of the other. You squeeze the crown of his dick forcefully, earning a cry from him. It's tempting to make fun of the way his hips keep jerking upwards, matching your strokes. However, that's working in your favor.

Beomgyu is using your hands as a fleshlight. You're not even moving your hands at this point, just watching him rut into your palms eagerly.

"Oh good boy," you purr. "You're gonna cum all over your pants aren't you?"

That drives him over the edge. Beomgyu completely abandons his game and uses his hands to move yours. He's guiding you to his liking, uncaring for how messy it's getting inside his sweatpants. Your hands are so sticky, so warm that he's moaning at every drag of your hands.

You feel his cock twitch a few times before he cries out, his sweatpants collecting a dark patch where his crotch is.

His hot cum slides down your hands, onto his boxers. His hands fall limp by his sides, letting you coax out his high. You give Beomgyu slow, tender strokes to his cock, careful to not overstimulate him.

Once his hips start stuttering you pull your hands away. You spread the cum over your chest, slipping some fingers into your mouth to get a taste of Beomgyu.

He moans at the sight, his hand reaching for your boob to further spread his arousal on you.

"Sucks you didn't beat my score. Least you got to cum." You say, sucking off the remaining orgasm from your digits.

Rather than seeing a pouty, upset Beomgyu, he smiles wickedly at you. "Nuh-uh. Look at the score."

Your heart drops when you see the final result. Yes he was close, but you didn't think he'd actually pass you. With a score of 342,019, Beomgyu beat you by three points.

Three fucking points.

He howls with laughter, finger pointing at you mockingly. It's even worse that you're totally topless and covered in Beomgyu's cum, but that doesn't stop him from taunting you in the slightest.

He wipes a fake tear from his eye and lets out a loud Ha-ha before settling down.

"Alright babe. Lay on the bed so I can fuck that stupid little cunt."

a/n: I hope I captured beomgyu's personality right??? I know he can be a little shit and that he's super competitive.

[kingkatsuki]

Barely got his GED hard working Kaji who helps keep the streets safe finally has a girlfriend now that he's in his mid twenties. Hard to get one when he always has headphones on or a sucker in his mouth but more and more he found himself placing his headphones by his neck music playing softly until it didn't play at all as he hoped to hear your cute voice better.

But now that he's got you underneath him, finally about to lose his virginity that he lied to you about the tip of his leaking dick slides into the wrong hole

If we’re on this wrong hole hype today I won’t survive it.

Warnings: 18+, virgin!Kaji, wrong hole, painal.

Word Count: 0.8k.

It’s not his fault, and you can’t blame him when you look this pretty beneath him. Your lips pouty and bruised from his rough kisses, cheeks flushed with heat and your chest heaves with anticipation. Your fingertips leave sparks of electricity across his skin as pretty manicured nails drag up his sternum to curl around his neck, desperately trying to pull him down for another sultry kiss as you whine his name against your lips and he’s certain he won’t survive this.

Kaji’s cock feels hot and heavy where it rests against your pelvis, leaking thick globs of pre that drool down the swollen tip and leave pools against your skin. He’s far too amped up and needs to ground himself, or he’s certain he’ll cum with the first sensation of your warm wet heat wrapped around his cock. If you were that tight when he slipped two fingers inside, he’s not even certain you’ll be able to take his full length. But god, he wants you to try. He wants to feel every single inch of you wrapped around his cock, clamping down around him like you had his fingers when he pushed you over the edge. God, you look so pretty when you cum—

“Ren,” You’re practically mewling now, the saccharine lilt to your voice sends a jolt directly to his cock, “Please, I need you.”

You need him, and he needs you.

Kaji hisses as he wraps himself in a fist, giving himself a cautious pump to try and allieviate the tension that sits in his pelvis as his balls threaten to empty all over you before you’ve even started. He had to push your smaller hands away moments earlier because the moment he felt your soft palm wrapped around his length his hips were bucking uncontrollably as he exercised every ounce of restraint he’d built over the years to stop himself from coming undone.

He chances a stroke through your sopping heat, dragging his leaky cockhead through your messy folds as you soak him in your slick. His lashes flutter as he has to close his eyes when your pouty lips part in a sultry whine as he knocks against your puffy clit, and you look so utterly fucked out beneath him when he hasn’t even breached your little hole.

“Fuck.” He mutters beneath his breath as he tries to focus, fingers tangled in the sheets by your head as he swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he feels his slick tip catch against your entrance.

Your hips buck wildly at the contact, trying to coax him in and Kaji ruts his hips forward with a guttural grunt. The heat that engulfs him is tight, and he covets the sensation, despite the fact it clouds his brain and and has his heady balls throbbing for relief.

“Ren— fuck,” You cry out, and he panics.

He’s heard it hurts the first time, so he expects you to feel an ache from the stretch. Leaning down to pepper kisses against your jaw as the change of angle has him pushing another inch inside you, thankful his cock has leaked so much pre.

You’re squeezing so tight, and he can’t stop himself as his cock jumps. Pulsing with need as he finds himself succumb to the pressure that roars inside him, unable to hold on as he moves his hand to your hip, his upper lip doused with sweat as he tries to remember to breathe—

“No, ow— wrong hole, Ren.” Your pretty nails are clawing at his chest, leaving messy crimson lines against his pale chest as the painful ebb pushes him over the edge.

He can’t stop his hips from bucking when he cums, spilling his hot, thick spend into your unprepped asshole as he barely manages to pull out. More pearlescent ropes of cum land on your slit and pelvis as he moves back as though he’s burnt you. Wide eyes now glancing down at you with worry as he sees the look of pain that morphs your pretty features, teeth biting down on your bottom lip as he hates how his body reacts— you’re in pain and it still has his spent cock throbbing with want.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, pressing lingering kisses to your warm cheek as he smooths calloused palms along your sides.

“It hurt,” You gasp out, thick tears clumping in your lashes as you stare up at him and oh god, he really is a sick fuck for getting off on it.

And what makes it even worse is the moment when Kaji pulls back to glance between your parted thighs to check if you’re okay and he sees what he’s done. Your tight, fluttering asshole pushes out the thick globs of spunk he’d pumped inside you moments earlier, drooling down the curve of your ass and pooling on the tousled sheets beneath you. It takes every single fibre of his being to stop himself from reaching out to push the moisture back inside your abused little hole.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He coos, “I didn’t mean to—”

But he’s not really sorry, not even close.

[bisexualmcqueen]

I'm sorry if you already posted this, but this is about the details of the first cars movie, what was the car Pixar used for Lightning McQueen's sounds, bc I cannot for the life of me remember

ONE OF MY FAVORITEST TOPICS!!!!!!!!!!

so lightning, being a 2006 model/cars being in production in the early aughts, is based off of a gen4 NASCAR build. specifically a chevy monte-carlo of the early aughts, as seen in some of his early designwork:

[jogen klubein, 2000]

[bob pauley, 2002] [the art of cars]

some stats:

(from some sketchy assed 2000 website i wont link it but i do have it written down)

i used to swear up and down that there was a special feature that showed a few of the guys from skywalker sound recording one of the g4s (maybe a blue and white dodge??) at skywalker ranch in california (or at the airstrip with the other cars). it may have been an old interview or its on a blu-ray special feature somewhere, but i havent been able to find it. i either dreamt it up or its been lost?? no idea.

but what i have been able to find is some of the stock audio used in Cars. Supposedly this is work done by Ben Burtt at skywalker sound [lucasfilm] in the late 70's??: [link]

For NASCAR purposes, as far as i could tell their engines didnt change drastically from the 70s-2000's, so its not wholly inaccurate to use older clips.

a thing in my notes:

[mixonline. photo dead from link rot]

and now some examples of real-life mcqueens (an excuse to show you cool old stock cars) :

and a few various other references:

(note the flywheel sound we also hear in Cars!)

^video ive only skimmed so far but seems very informative.

and a few canon refs while im here:

[image mine, circa 2020. official 1:18 scale BANDAI replica with certificate of authenticity, approved by jay ward]

[time travel mater] (his carbon fiber cowl induction cover is very funny to me)

SO. to answer the question: its a mix of custom sound design and stock audio. its based in reality heavily, but i believe its also tuned for fiction/per character personality. i forget which interview said that it might be the mixonline one mentioned above or this old autoweek one. he's got something along the lines of partly SB2.2 and an R07. this does not mean pixar recorded specifically these motors, but prooobably something close.

and cars 3 pisses me off because they very clearly did not use any audio off of the g4s, which had a more specific screaming sound to them at high RPMs. COTR actually portrays his exhaust note more accurately than cars 3. Cars 2 is decent also, but the first film is chefs kiss.

i have more various unorganized lmq references but this ask is long enough now and probably doesnt make much sense because i am literally so amped about this topic. please note that this research is partly accurate and partly speculative/opinion. rejoice, mcqueens be upon ye.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Can you please write a classic trope of reader overhearing black album/load James calling her “clingy”? Like guys in the band joke about it and he is fed up? So she stops coming over to studios and bringing food over, stops asking him to pick her up from work, if he wants to go to a bar, she always has a “headache”? Maybe it’s not until Bob Rock mentions that he likes when she’s over cause James always does a better job in her presence? - that’s when he gets that something is off???

I hope you like it❤

Hurtful Word

The studio has that same familiar smell—beer, lingering cigarette smoke, and the electric hum of amps running hot. I balance a bag with burgers and a beer as I push open the door, knowing James has been holed up here for hours. I just wanted to show up, bring him something he’d actually eat, something other than junk food and coffee. It’s a small thing, but I’ve always thought it meant something.

But as soon as I walk in, Lars glances over and smirks at Kirk. Their eyes flick to me, exchanging that look they always get when they’re about to make a joke.

“Damn, man,” Lars says, his voice loud enough to carry. “You got yourself a personal chef now? Can’t even get a sandwich without her delivering it?”

Kirk snickers, crossing his arms. “Yeah, dude, she’s here more than we are. Got a whole support team working for you, huh?”

The teasing makes my chest tighten, but I keep my head high, hoping James will laugh it off. But instead of a joke or a roll of his eyes, he glances at me, looks away, and mutters, “You don’t need to keep doing this. It’s kinda… clingy.”

Clingy. The word slices through me, and I freeze. I don’t even hear the guys teasing him further because the room goes silent in my head. Clingy.

Lars laughs. “Oh, she’s clingy now?” he grins. “Better watch out, man, she might end up moving in next.”

“Yeah, at least keep some space, Hetfield,” Kirk chimes in. “You don’t want to be tied down yet.”

My smile falters. I feel my face heat, and I force myself to nod. “Right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hover.” My voice is too tight, too fake. I turn to leave quickly, wanting to get out before anyone can say anything else.

I don’t even make it to the door before I hear James mutter something, but it’s too late. I’m already out.

____

James Hetfield POV

The next few days are strange. She’s not at the studio, hasn’t called, hasn’t stopped by. When I wanted to go at bar she said that she had a headache. I figured at first she’d just been busy. But by the second day, I realize it’s more than that. She’s actively keeping her distance. I try to shake it off, thinking it’s just her way of taking some space, but there’s an unease gnawing at me.

My concentration is shot. The guys are noticing. I can’t get anything right during practice.

Bob Rock finally pulls me aside one evening, looking at me like he knows something’s wrong.

“You okay, James?” Bob asks, his tone casual but concerned. “You’ve been off the last couple of days. It’s like something’s not clicking.”

I rub my face, trying to avoid admitting it. “Just tired, man. It’s been a long couple of sessions.”

Bob gives me a look, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I get it. But, uh... I’ve noticed something, and I’m gonna be blunt with you, alright?”

I look up, a little surprised. “What’s that?”

Bob leans in slightly, his voice dropping. “When she’s here, when she’s around, you play better. Hell, the band’s tighter, too. There’s something about the way you focus when she’s here, like she brings out the best in you. But now that she’s gone... it’s like you’ve lost your spark.”

I stare at Bob, the words hitting harder than I expected. She makes me better? I never thought of it that way. But Bob’s right. Every time she showed up with lunch or a little note, I’d felt more grounded. More centered. The music flowed easier. And now? It’s like the fire’s gone out. The sessions feel lifeless. I’ve been distracted, unfocused.

Suddenly, I feel a deep pang of regret. I hadn’t realized how much she was actually keeping me grounded, how much her quiet presence affected me. I’d taken her for granted, pushed her away with my stupid, careless words. I can’t take it anymore. Not the silence. Not the distance between us. I’ve been calling her all week, and every time, it goes straight to voicemail. It’s eating me alive. I don’t care how bad I fucked up—I need to fix this. I need to see her, to hear her, to make sure she knows that I’m sorry. 

I jump in the car, my hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly. My thoughts are a jumbled mess. “Clingy” I said that word to her. And now I can't stop hearing it echoing in my head. The guys had joked, but I could see it in her eyes—she wasn’t laughing. I pushed her away, and now I can’t reach her. 

I don’t even think as I pull up to her building. I park quickly, my heart pounding in my chest, and rush to the door. My breath catches in my throat as I knock, then ring the doorbell. There’s no answer. I knock again, harder this time, and then… nothing. 

I press my ear against the door, and I hear movement inside. My stomach tightens. I don’t know if it’s hope or desperation, but I feel the overwhelming need to be with her, to fix what’s broken.

Finally, the door opens just enough for her face to peek through. Her eyes are tired, and she looks… fragile. Like she’s been holding herself together, but just barely.

I swallow hard. “Can we talk?” My voice cracks a little, betraying the anxiety twisting in my gut. “I need to talk to you.”

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even step aside at first. For a second, I think she might slam the door in my face. But then she opens it wider, just enough to let me in. I walk past her, my heart hammering in my chest, and she follows me in silence.

The air between us is thick—heavy with everything that hasn’t been said. I turn around to face her, and for a moment, I can’t find the words. The look on her face… It breaks me. It’s like she’s shutting down, like she’s already made up her mind to walk away.

“I was stupid,” I blurt, the words tumbling out faster than I can control. “I shouldn’t have said that. "Clingy". What the hell was I thinking? You’re not clingy. You’re—God, I don’t even know how to fix this. I can’t take it back, but I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

She just stands there, her eyes cold and distant. I hate it. I hate seeing her like this—like she doesn’t care anymore. The silence between us stretches out, making the weight of what I said feel heavier than ever.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Her voice is quieter than I expect, almost like a whisper. “You made me feel like I was too much. Like I wasn’t even wanted. I was just trying to be there for you, and you… you pushed me away. In front of the guys, James. You made me feel like a joke.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I can see it now—how badly I hurt her. How wrong I was. She’s standing there, so small, her shoulders slumped like she’s carrying the weight of everything I’ve said. 

I feel my chest tightening, my throat burning. “I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean to do that. You’ve never been too much, not for me. I don’t know what I was thinking. You’re everything to me, and I—God, I don’t even know how I got so fucking stupid.”

I take a step toward her, my hand reaching out, but she pulls back slightly. “I don’t know if you even understand how much you hurt me,” she says, her voice shaking now. “You made me feel like I was suffocating you. And I can’t keep trying if you’re not going to see me. If you don’t want me around…”

The words trail off, and I can hear the tears in her voice. My heart shatters, and before I even realize it, I’m moving toward her, pulling her into my arms.

“I didn’t mean it,” I say, my voice breaking. “I don’t ever want to hurt you. I was a fucking idiot, okay? Please, don’t walk away from me.”

She stands still for a moment, then gives in, her body relaxing as she buries her face in my chest. I feel the wetness of her tears against my shirt, and it kills me. I never wanted to make her feel like this. Never.

“I miss you,” I whisper, holding her tighter. “I need you. Please don’t leave me.”

Her hands clutch the front of my shirt, and for a moment, we’re both just standing there, tangled up in the mess of emotions between us. The silence is raw, but it feels real.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to look me in the eyes. “You’ve gotta promise me, James. Promise me you’ll never do this again. That I’m not just some fucking joke to you.”

“I promise,” I say, my voice steady now. “I swear to you, I’ll never make you feel that way again. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I had until I almost lost it.”

And then, suddenly, I feel the need to say something else. Something that’s been weighing on me for a while. I pull her back into my arms, my hands gripping her tightly as I press my lips to her hair. “You know, I always appreciated you showing up at the studio. I never said it, but you always brought something with you—something that helped me focus.

When you’re there, I can think clearer, the music just comes to me better. It’s like I’m myself again, you know? And when you weren’t around these last couple of days, I realized how much I’ve been taking you for granted. I need you there. Not just because I like having you close, but because you make me better.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, but I feel her body soften against mine. “I didn’t know that,” she whispers.

“I should have told you sooner,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I need you in my life. Not just in the studio, but everywhere.”

Her hand rests gently on my chest. “I need you too, James. But you’ve gotta prove it.”

“I will,” I promise, brushing my lips against her forehead. “Every day, I’ll show you.”

We stand there in the quiet of her apartment, the weight of everything between us slowly lifting. For the first time in days, I feel a sense of peace. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know that as long as I don’t let her go again, we’ll find our way through it together.

[seat-safety-switch]

I love my fireworks, say all my neighbours as they cram a flimsy plastic tube full of low-yield explosives. Surely everyone in my community will also appreciate them. If not, they are some kind of Grumpy Gus and are not invited to the block party cookout. Friends, I can tell you this right now: I am not going to that barbecue.

As you might have imagined, the residents of my area of the world like to shoot off a bunch of Roman candles when they feel like it. Sure, fireworks are fun and all, but I feel like if you're burning three or four hundred dollars worth of illegal noise-and-light generators every couple of weeks, you might as well just take up smoking again.

At first, it was a lot of fun. Very festive. It helped the community spirit, even if all the dogs were constantly terrified and kept trying to chew through a fence to escape. Ol' Ray down the block lost a finger trying to grab onto what he called a "Winky Sprinkler," though, and then everything changed.

Once there was a scent of blood in the air, it became a competition. Ray needed to "make it worth" his sacrifice, so he started amping up his production. Bigger shows. Coordinated by electronics. More frequently. This drew the ire of another rich asshole (Bob Winsome, who used to own the Ford dealership) with poor impulse disorder, and soon the two of them were getting up to a night-time artillery show that the police were not equipped to stop, mostly because they were at the doughnut store or trying to knock over a casino for some quick cash in the retirement fund at the time.

Nearly every night became a terror of pop-pop-pop. although I am very good at ignoring troublesome noises, those noises are usually generated by my own car while I'm driving them. Not constantly happening while I'm trying to focus on my usual problems: things like "why is this bolt stripped," and "where did this pile of wires I just cut through go to?"

As the Constitution says, though: "fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." After one particularly rough night of having exploding munitions going off directly over my head while I was trying to find the origin of some faint valve clatter, I decided to respond in kind. A friend of mine, who will be called Millie Teri for reasons that are about to become clear, loaned me a couple pieces from her private collection. I had myself a patriotic parade that night. Courtesy, of course, of some army bases didn't really pay too close attention to what they listed on eBay. That's what they call "taxpayer value," even if I did have to technically buy the low-shrapnel M107 flash shells twice.

I had expected to draw a truce after demonstrating my superior firepower, much like how French tourists can shut down any discussion of cheese. After bombarding both rich pricks' homes, however, it soon became apparent that the dickheads blamed each other for the massive destruction wrought on their properties, and refused to believe that a belligerent third party could have done such a thing to them just for "several months of sleepless nights courtesy of constant 120dB outside noise."

After the mutually-assured destruction finished, though, I never saw or heard another fireworks display from Ol' Ray or Bob Winsome. If they ever find an identifiable chunk of either of their bodies, we'll probably have a pretty cool tribute at the funeral using up whatever unexploded fireworks they have still left in the scorched remnants of their family homes.