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amyzworldds · 3 months ago

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Title: A Tale of Unsaid Love

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3

During a rare break, Y/N connects with Vernon via facetime, his tired grin beaming from a hectic post-show dressing room as he playfully ropes her into his world. Pairing: Vernon x reader Genre: Fluff, lil bit of angst cause it's one-sided love??

The phone screen flickered as Vernon adjusted the angle, propping it up against a makeup palette on the cluttered counter. The dressing room buzzed with activity—stylists darting around, the low hum of a hairdryer, and Seungkwan’s voice cutting through the chaos as he argued with someone about the setlist. Y/N watched it all unfold from her cozy spot on her couch, her blanket pulled up to her chin, a mug of tea steaming on the coffee table. It was her day off, a rare moment of peace, and yet here she was, tethered to Vernon’s world through a FaceTime call.

“Yo, Y/N, you still there?” Vernon’s voice pulled her attention back to the screen. His face was half-covered as a makeup artist dabbed foundation across his cheeks, but his eyes flicked toward the camera, catching her gaze. He looked tired—tour life was no joke—but that familiar lazy grin tugged at his lips.

“Yeah, I’m here,” she replied, forcing a smile. “You look like a mess, though. Did you even sleep?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Barely. Last night’s show ran late, and then we had to catch a flight. But it’s the last day, so I’m pushing through. You good, though? You’re quiet today.”

She shrugged, hoping he couldn’t see the way her heart twisted at how effortlessly he cared. “Just chilling. It’s my day off, remember? No work, no stress.”

“Lucky,” he teased, tilting his head so the makeup artist could blend something near his jawline. “Meanwhile, I’m over here getting poked in the face.”

“Poor baby,” she shot back, her tone playful despite the ache in her chest. This was their rhythm—her yapping, him chilling—and it had been that way since high school. Back then, she’d been his loudest cheerleader, the one dragging him out of slumps with her endless energy. Now, he was Vernon—global star, surrounded by screaming fans and flawless backup dancers—while she was still just… Y/N. His best friend. Nothing more.

She glanced away from the screen, pretending to adjust her blanket. The truth was suffocating her lately. She’d liked him for so long it felt like a permanent part of her, like a tattoo she couldn’t scrub off. And these FaceTime calls? They were torture. Seeing his face, hearing his voice—it was like pouring salt on a wound she couldn’t let heal.

“Hold up, don’t you dare hang up,” Vernon said suddenly, his voice sharp. She froze, her finger hovering over the red button. She’d mumbled something about letting him focus, but apparently, he’d caught it.

“I wasn’t—” she started, but he cut her off with a mock glare.

“Liar. You always do this when I’m getting ready. Just stay, alright? I like having you here.”

Her stomach flipped. I like having you here. He said it so casually, like it was no big deal, but to her, it was everything. Too much, even. She swallowed hard and nodded, settling back against the cushions. “Fine, fine. But don’t blame me if I distract you and you end up with eyeliner on your forehead.”

He snorted. “Deal.”

In the background, Seungkwan popped into frame, leaning over Vernon’s shoulder to wave at her. “Y/N! Tell Vernon he’s wrong—‘Holidays’ should totally open the set tonight, right?”

“Uh, sure?” she laughed, grateful for the distraction. “You’re the expert, Seungkwan.”

“See? She gets it,” Seungkwan said triumphantly, nudging Vernon before disappearing again. The other members were the same—always roping her into their chaos, treating her like part of the family. It made her feel special, but it also sharpened the line between her and Vernon. She was the best friend they all adored, not the girl he’d ever look at differently.

The makeup artist finished up, stepping back to reveal Vernon in full concert mode—sharp jawline accentuated, eyes smudged with dark liner, hair tousled just right. He looked unreal, like he belonged on a magazine cover, not her phone screen. He caught her staring and smirked. “What? Too pretty for you now?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, cheeks heating. “You’re passable, I guess.”

“Passable? Wow, I’m wounded.” He clutched his chest dramatically, then leaned closer to the phone. “Seriously, though, you’re coming to the afterparty next week, right? We’re back in town, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Her heart stuttered. “Vernon, I don’t know… I’m not exactly VIP material.”

He frowned, his laid-back vibe shifting to something more stubborn. “You’re my VIP. Always have been. Just say yes, Y/N. I haven’t seen you in person in forever.”

She hesitated, torn between the thrill of being near him and the dread of watching him shine in a world she’d never fit into. But his eyes were on her, soft and insistent, and she couldn’t say no. She never could.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But if I trip over a celebrity and embarrass myself, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” he grinned, victorious. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

The call lingered a little longer, with Vernon rambling about the tour and her chiming in with sarcastic commentary. But as she watched him—laughing, glowing, surrounded by a life she’d never be part of—the ache grew sharper. He’d catch her if she fell, sure. But who’d catch her heart when it kept breaking for him?

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Y/N jolted awake to the sound of her phone buzzing insistently against her nightstand. She groaned, blindly reaching for it in the dark, her voice thick with sleep as she mumbled, “What the hell… it’s, like, 2 a.m.” The screen lit up with Vernon’s name, and despite her exhaustion, her heart did that stupid little flip it always did. She swiped to answer, squinting at the sudden brightness.

“Yo, Y/N, you asleep already?” Vernon’s voice came through, way too chipper for someone who’d just finished a world tour. Behind him, she could hear the muffled chaos of the members—laughter, shouting, and what sounded like someone banging a water bottle against a table.

She rubbed her eyes, sitting up slightly. “Uh, yeah, because normal people sleep at this hour, Vernon. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, grinning into the camera. He was still in his stage outfit—black leather jacket, smudged eyeliner, hair a sweaty mess. “Concert just ended, and I missed you. Had to call.”

“It’s been, like, an hour since we talked,” she deadpanned, flopping back onto her pillow. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely devoted,” he corrected, winking. Before she could retort, a chorus of voices erupted in the background.

“Vernon, give it a rest—let her sleep!” Seungkwan’s face popped into frame, his stage makeup still on, making his expressions even more dramatic. “Y/N, tell him to chill. He’s been yapping about you all night.”

“Shut up, dude,” Vernon said, shoving Seungkwan out of the shot with a laugh. “She loves it.”

“I do not,” Y/N protested, though her lips twitched upward. “I was having a great dream about not being woken up by you clowns.”

“Clowns?” Another voice chimed in—Joshua, leaning over Vernon’s shoulder with a teasing grin. “That’s harsh, Y/N. We’re your favorites, admit it.”

“Debatable,” she shot back, pulling her blanket higher. “Why are you all still in costume? Don’t you have, like, a van to catch?”

“We’re heading out soon,” Vernon said, plugging a power bank into his phone with a triumphant little smirk. “But I’m not hanging up. Battery’s at 10%, but I’ve got backup. You’re stuck with me.”

She groaned dramatically. “Oh my God, Vernon, go live your rockstar life and let me sleep!”

“Nope,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair as the makeup room buzzed around him. “You’re my rockstar life.”

Her cheeks burned at that, and she buried her face in her pillow to hide it, hoping the dim light of her room masked her reaction. “You’re so corny,” she muttered into the fabric.

“Only for you,” he replied, unfazed. The members burst into laughter again, and she could hear DK’s voice now, loud “Two best friends hanging out, they might—”

“Shut up,” Vernon said, swatting at the air, but he was grinning too hard to sell the annoyance. “You’re all jealous.”

“Of what? Your clinginess?” Seungkwan reappeared, snatching Vernon’s phone for a second to point it at himself. “Y/N, seriously, how do you deal with this guy? He’s been whining about missing you since soundcheck.”

“I have not,” Vernon protested, yanking the phone back. “I’m just… keeping her updated.”

“Updated on your every breath?” Y/N said, finally sitting up properly, her hair a mess. “You’re ridiculous. Go change or something—I can hear you sweating through the screen.”

“Fine, fine,” he relented, standing up and walking toward a corner of the room. He set the phone down on a table, the camera angled awkwardly at the ceiling. “But I’m not hanging up. Talk to me while I change.”

“Vernon!” she yelped, scandalized. “At least mute the video!”

“Relax, I’m not stripping on camera,” he laughed, his voice slightly muffled as he pulled off his jacket. “Just keep me company. What’d you do after our last call?”

She sighed, resigned to her fate, and leaned back against her headboard. “I ate some leftovers, watched half an episode of that drama you hate, and passed out. Thrilling stuff.”

“See? You need me to spice up your life,” he said, his voice closer now as he picked up the phone again. He was in a plain black hoodie now, stage outfit gone, but the eyeliner still made him look unfairly good. “What’d I miss in the drama?”

“Nothing you’d care about,” she teased. “Someone cried, someone yelled, you’d probably fall asleep.”

“Probably,” he agreed, slumping into a seat as the members started piling out of the room. “Alright, we’re heading to the van. You’re coming with.”

“Great,” she said sarcastically, but she didn’t hang up either. She could hear the shuffle of footsteps, the low hum of the van’s engine starting, and Vernon’s quiet breathing as he settled in. The members’ chatter filled the background, and every so often, one of them would lean over to say hi to her—Wonwoo’s soft “Hey, Y/N,” or Mingyu’s loud “Tell Vernon to stop hogging you!”

“Never,” Vernon said, pulling the phone closer to his face. “She’s mine tonight.”

“Gross,” she muttered, but her heart was doing somersaults again. She tried to distract herself by fidgeting with her blanket. “You’re so annoying. I should mute you and go back to sleep.”

“You won’t,” he said confidently. “You love my voice too much.”

“Delusional,” she shot back, but she didn’t deny it.

An hour later, the call was still going. The group had stopped at some late-night diner, and Vernon had his phone propped up on the table, showing her the spread of burgers, fries, and milkshakes. He was mid-bite when he suddenly pointed at the screen. “Wait, you’re not eating. That’s not fair.”

“It’s 3 a.m., Vernon,” she said, exasperated. “I’m not hungry.”

“Too bad,” he said, pulling out his phone to tap at the screen. “I’m ordering you something. What do you want?”

“Vernon, no—” she started, but he waved her off.

“Too late. Pizza good? You like pepperoni, right?” He grinned, already confirming the order. “It’ll be there in, like, 15 minutes. Eat with me.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re insane. Certifiably insane.”

“And you love it,” he said, popping a fry into his mouth. “Come on, it’s a virtual dinner date.”

“A what?” she sputtered, her face heating up again.

“Dinner. Date.” He repeated it slowly, like she hadn’t heard, then smirked. “You, me, food. Perfect.”

“Stop flirting with her, it’s embarrassing,” Seungkwan called from across the table, making the others laugh.

“I’m not flirting,” Vernon said, but his eyes stayed on her, soft and playful. “I’m just taking care of my best friend.”

Y/N buried her face in her hands, torn between annoyance and the overwhelming sweetness of it all. “You’re impossible,” she mumbled through her fingers.

“Yeah, but you’re still here,” he said, leaning closer to the camera. “So I win.”

The members kept teasing, the food kept coming, and the call stretched well into the early morning. Vernon didn’t hang up once—not when the pizza arrived at her door, not when he made her take a bite on camera so they could “cheers” with their food, not even when his eyes started drooping from exhaustion. And as much as she complained, Y/N didn’t either. Because as infuriating as he was, he was still Vernon—her Vernon—and she’d never been good at letting him go.

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The van’s engine rumbled faintly through the phone speaker, a steady hum that had lulled Vernon into silence. Y/N watched the screen, her own eyes heavy as the clock ticked past 4 a.m. The camera was tilted awkwardly, showing Vernon slumped against the window, his head bobbing with the motion of the road. His stage makeup was still smudged under his eyes, but his breathing had slowed, soft and even. He was out cold.

She smiled faintly, her thumb hovering over the “end call” button. This was her chance—finally, a clean break to let him rest and herself breathe. She’d text him something simple, like, “Goodnight, congrats on crushing the tour, you’re the best.” Short, sweet, safe. She shifted to grab her charger, ready to call it a night, when the screen suddenly jolted.

“Vernon?” she whispered, startled, as the camera swung around. The van had stopped, and he was blinking awake, rubbing his eyes like a kid who’d just napped through a car ride. The other members’ voices filtered through—muffled goodbyes and groans about sore muscles—but Vernon ignored them, fumbling with his phone.

“Don’t hang up,” he mumbled, voice raspy with sleep. “We’re at the hotel. Gimme a sec.”

“Vernon, you were literally asleep,” she said, exasperated. “Go crash in a real bed.”

“I will,” he said, already tapping the FaceTime button again as he climbed out of the van. “Just… stay with me, okay?”

The call dropped for a moment, then her phone buzzed right back. She sighed, swiping to answer, and there he was again—alone now, trudging through a hotel hallway, his hoodie pulled up and his power bank dangling from his hand. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, but there was no bite to it. She was too tired, and honestly, too weak for him.

“Not ridiculous,” he countered, pushing open his room’s door with his shoulder. “Just missed you.” He kicked off his shoes, tossed his bag onto the floor, and flopped face-first onto the bed with a groan. “Tour’s done. I survived. Barely.”

“You’re a hero,” she teased, propping her phone against a pillow so she could lie down too. “Now sleep. You look like a zombie.”

He rolled onto his side, peeling off his hoodie to reveal a plain t-shirt underneath. His face was bare now—he’d wiped off the makeup, leaving him looking softer, younger, without the sharp edge of eyeliner or the smudge of shadow. Tired, too. His eyes were half-lidded, fighting to stay open as he propped the phone beside him, resting his head on his arm. “Long day,” he mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion, but there was a small, lazy smile tugging at his lips as he looked at her through the screen.

“Vernon,” she said gently, “you’re dead on your feet. Sleep.”

“Nah,” he murmured, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Wanna hear you talk. Tell me something. Anything.”

She sighed, sinking deeper into her blankets. This wasn’t new. It happened every tour, every stretch of time when they couldn’t meet face-to-face. He’d call, clingy and stubborn, and she’d ramble until he drifted off. It was their unspoken ritual, one she both loved and dreaded. Loved, because it was Vernon needing her. Dreaded, because it made letting go of him that much harder.

“Fine,” she said, resigned. “Uh… work was boring yesterday. My boss keeps mispronouncing ‘espresso’ like ‘expresso,’ and it’s driving me insane. Oh, and I almost tripped over a cat on my way home. Black one. Super cute, though. I named it Shadow in my head.”

“Shadow,” he repeated, his voice a sleepy drawl. “Solid name. What else?”

She kept going, her voice soft and steady, weaving a thread of mundane stories—how she burned her toast that morning, how she found an old mixtape they’d made in high school, how she still couldn’t believe he’d survived a world tour. His responses dwindled to quiet hums, his eyes fluttering shut, then snapping open again like he was fighting a losing battle.

“Vernon,” she said after a while, watching his chest rise and fall. “You’re asleep. I’m gonna hang up now.”

“No,” he mumbled, barely coherent. “Keep going. Please.”

She laughed under her breath, a mix of fondness and frustration. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, eyes fully closed now. “Love hearing you, though.”

Her heart stuttered at that, a familiar ache blooming in her chest. She waited, counting his breaths until they deepened, until his face went slack and peaceful. He was out—really out this time. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of sheets as he shifted slightly, his phone still propped beside him.

She should’ve hung up. She meant to. But instead, she stayed there, watching him sleep, the glow of her screen casting soft shadows across her room. It was a habit she couldn’t shake—staring at him when he couldn’t see her, letting her guard slip just enough to feel what she always buried.

“I love you,” she whispered, so quiet it barely broke the silence. “You don’t even know, do you? How much I’ve loved you this whole time.”

His chest rose and fell, undisturbed. She’d done this before—confessed to a sleeping Vernon when he got like this, too clingy, too close, too everything. It was her secret release, a way to say it without ruining what they had. Because he was Vernon—big, bright, untouchable Vernon—and she was just his best friend. The yapper to his chill. The shadow to his spotlight.

“You’re so stupid,” she muttered, her voice cracking with a sad little laugh. “Calling me all day like this. Ordering me pizza. Making me feel like… like I’m special. And then you just sleep, and I’m stuck here loving you, and it sucks.”

She pressed her lips together, blinking hard against the sting in her eyes. “I keep thinking it’ll go away, you know? That one day I’ll wake up and I won’t feel like this. But it’s been years, Vernon. Years. And you’re still… you.”

He didn’t stir, didn’t hear. Just slept, oblivious, while she poured her heart out to a screen. She rested her cheek on her pillow, mirroring his position, and let herself look at him—really look. The curve of his jaw, the faint freckles she knew by heart, the way his hair fell over his forehead. He was beautiful, even exhausted, even unaware.

“Goodnight, Vernon,” she said finally, softer now. “You did amazing. I’m proud of you. Always.”

She didn’t hang up. Not yet. She left the call running, the sound of his breathing a quiet tether between them. It was foolish, maybe—holding onto this, letting herself love him in silence. But it was all she had, and for now, it was enough. Someday, she told herself, she’d move on. Someday, her heart would let him go.

Right?

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jubileeeeee · 10 days ago

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I realized I was being a hypocrite by always drawing and encouraging people with their tf ocs and being too shy to share my own soooo.

this is Peril !!! She's an autobot special ops agent who deals in espionage and lives for the thrill of the hunt. Her design is meant to convey a nonspecific predator, though I like to call her coyote-like. Her alt-mode is a stealth bike ! she looks kinda scary and mean but actually she's the chillest ever, has a great sense of humor and knows how to have fun. She's also just really good at her job and takes it very seriously. (and she likes intimidating people bc she thinks its really funny that they're scared of her)

Peril works in a team of three, consisting of herself and 2 minibots she's taken in and personally trained- Kit and Spotter, who act as combat medic and reconnaissance respectively !

Kit is curious, soft-spoken but easily excitable, and always strives to make the lives of the bots around them a little bit easier, any way they can. When not acting as a battlefield medic, they serve as an assistant to the bigger medics. They turn into a medical droid that can compact into a portable med kit to be carried! They're loosely designed like a beetle

Spotter is incredibly observational, notices everything, sees all, and uses it to absolutely terrorize everyone. A horrible little prankster, he gets along well with Whirl. She didn't undergo empurata, she just looks like that lol. Her eye functions like a camera shutter. His favorite activities include lurking in shadows, annoying kit, and driving everyone insane. And then acting like a perfect angel in front of Peril. She turns into a security drone/camera and is designed after dragonflies !!

there's my team !!! They're a found family and I love them dearly <333 if you would be so kind as to prompt me to yap abt them more, my ask box is open....

#theyve been lying around for a while #my babies!! they finally see the sun...#transformers #maccadam #tf oc #tf oc art #transformers oc #tf mtmte #tf ocs

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2-eeillustration · 7 months ago

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Thundercracker design WIP for my #Return_0 x #Transformers

AU! ! He took on a more Earth-styled alt mode compared to Starscream so I wanted to accentuate that in his design the best I could! (He looks like a flying fish with the extra biolights lmao) ⚡🌊

His alt-mode is a Widgetworks Airfish-8! He and his puppy partner Buster travel around 30XX Earth to rescue stranded humans and mech from the flooded conditions the planet has wound up in due to over-industrialization.

Done live with my fellow Vtuber friend Happypaca on Twitch! (You can check out her awesome Thundercraker redesign here!

I've been pretty sparse online since I got a new dayjob repairing medical instruments ; I'm completely new to delicate repair-work so it requires a lot of my mental energy- but you catch me live on the weekends yapping about robots, doing art or playing games!

I'm also much more active and yappier on Blusky!! Will be posting way more WIPs and concept art on there as well 🦋

#vtuber #thundercracker #transformers #tf #mech #robot #seaplane #aerospace #plane #cyberpunk #maccadam #fanart #concept art #character design

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rabbits-bad-habit · 2 months ago

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Evan Myers Headcanons- SFW & NSFW

TW: Knife play, pred/prey, and talk of blood

A/N: Hello Evan (not Habit) nation! Hope you enjoy!! This is long as fuck because Ev is one of my favorite characters literally ever. I haven't rewatched in a bit so I hope it's not too ooc. As for the Rory followers, welcome to the source of my user, hope this inspires you to look at EMH :p

Sfw-

Evan Myers possibly takes the cake for the most protective and caring partners you could have. He’s not dating anyone he doesn’t care about, and when he cares about someone or something he will go to whatever lengths necessary to protect that. We’ve all seen him take a swing at literally Slenderman, he’s not afraid to stand up for his loved ones, and especially you. It breaks him to see you the least bit uncomfortable, if you get hurt- god forbid if someone hurts you -it fills him with such an indescribable seethe. Not at you, never at you, more at whatever may have harmed you. He thinks you are amazing, practically worships you. Not only does he see you as absolutely stunning, but you're with him, willing to put up with him and all the shit that comes with that. The only thing he wants is for you to feel safe and loved with him, it becomes his full time job because you just deserve it.

Will drag you to the most random places because he found them and think they would be nice to hang out in. An entirely off-the-path clearing in the woods right next to a stream, an abandoned diner that still has its power on, a hotel that he knows keeps their roof door unlocked. His constant wandering gets him to the most interesting, romantic in the way the apocalypse is romantic sort of way, types of places. Every time he finds a new one he hangs around for a few days just to make sure that it's safe, maybe brings Vinny and Jeff around to see what they think, and then will bring you. Just the two of you, so you can walk and talk and poke at one another with no interruptions, for as long as you like. He knows how dangerous some of the nooks and crannies he finds can be, he makes complete sure that it will be safe for you, in whatever way that means, before he even thinks about bringing you. There are a good few of these spots of his that you’ve never even heard about because he just doesn’t trust the area enough.

He's gonna do things for you, he always is. He likes taking care of people, he likes making sure he is useful. Again, it’s his job to make sure not only are you safe but looked after. That you feel like you’re cared for. If you're on a hike and you get tired, he's hoisting you on his back and carrying you the whole way back. Wanting something specific for dinner? Don't have the energy to make anything? He's sitting you on the counter and forcing you to yap at him while he cooks. He’ll drive you wherever you need to be, even if you have your own mode of transportation. Even if you could do it yourself, why would you do anything when he could? That’s his thought, at least. He has a love for showering together and that falls under this. Something about running soap over your body or working shampoo into your hair makes him feel like he's genuinely useful. It’s so intimate and he hopes it allows you the little escape from the world that it does for him. He'll let you wash his as well if you offer but it's kind of for him to begin with, he'll never expect it. He tries not to baby you or come across as condescending, he certainly isn't doing any of this because he thinks you are incapable or anything. He just likes being useful for the ones he loves, making their lives that much bit easier. Definitely big on the acts of service above anything else, he's a typical guy in that way.

You are either actively together or you aren't speaking. That isn't because he doesn't want to talk, rather, this fucker barely knows how to use his phone for phone reasons. Getting any more than a few simple responses from him over text is impossible. He'll call you, for sure! He can do that! In fact, he loves phone calls when they come from you. Late at night, you're both bored or working on things. Talking about absolutely nothing at all for hours at a time. Long distance parallel play, if you will. You can't catch him on AOL or anything of the sort, though, any form of instant message is kinda overwhelming. So he simply doesn't until the advent of smart phones, and simpler to use keyboards. He is still the type to just call you to relay something he could have easily said over text, though. He mostly uses texts for sending photos back and forth, or simple information, but he will use it! Video calls are the one thing he's truly down for with the changing of times. If you haven't been able to be together for a bit for any reason, he can still see your sweet face while you talk, and he honestly couldn't ask for more from a handheld computer.

Evan is always getting you to wear his clothes. Despite his height, dude is stupid amounts of jacked. Not to mention he gets a lot of stuff oversized for him. Everything still ends up being bigger on you. It gives him cuteness aggression. He gives you his t-shirts and hoodies all the time, and yet he still nearly tackles you every single time. It's actually something Habit ends up leveraging against him. Pretending to be Evan, giving you something that he's added to Evan's closet, just so he can have the memory of you in Habit's clothes and not his. Just a way to torment him in his own brain good god ow.

You don't HAVE to get along with his friends, but the first thing he's gonna do is introduce you. He's always around them, so you're likely just going to meld into the group like you were always there. He loves when you just hang out with them, even if you aren't participating in whatever they are doing. Sitting next to him and watching as they play video games, having to put up with his lighthearted yelling. Being nearby when they make videos, or observing their live streaming habits just off screen, maybe providing bits of commentary when you feel up to it. Evan wants you to fit into his life like you have always been there, wants you to feel so comfortable with every aspect that you forget there's anything bad outside of the time you spend with him. He gets so giddy when you start opening up to his friends, too.

Music is incredibly important to him, the albums he sees as his favorites have influenced him more than he knows how to explain. He honestly couldn’t date one of those people that doesn’t listen to music, it’s too integrated into his life. Animal Collective, Rob Zombie, Nine Inch Nails, and of course Motörhead, just the tip of the artists he listens to in his day to day. Having the same taste as him isn't entirely required, his music taste spans a lot further than you'd think, but he lights up when you show interest in the music he likes. He's always putting together playlists and burning CDs, he will actually jump at the opportunity to make you one. If you aren't into the kind of music he is, but if you're looking to get into it, he puts together such detailed playlists for you to introduce you to it in a way that won't just throw you into the deep end of mid-00s metal. It's one of his main ways of communicating his feelings, pointing out songs and albums that correlate with whatever he's going through.

He loves all sorts of horror and disturbing media. Movies, shows, books. All sorts of sub-genres. His whole friend group does, they're always watching and discussing horror. He likes comedy horror, slashers, and exploitation films the most. Though, he'll engage in just about anything that includes zombies. He has extremely detailed thoughts about zombies and how they should be used in media, and what they should represent. He will love you forever if you listen to all of his opinions and rambling. If you're afraid of horror, he actually finds that kind of adorable. Pulling you into his side when you're watching them together, reminding you that he'll keep you safe, letting you hide your face in his chest when you get too scared. He can't help himself, seeing you scared like that makes his heart melt, and he won't pass up the opportunity to protect you even if it's a fictional threat.

He keeps you away from the dangers he and the guys are in until he literally no longer can. He recognized what was going on immediately, he clocked it the second it happened. As far as you will be aware, though, there was a break in at his house from someone that had seen their Youtube videos and they had it sorted. On the occasions he got hurt, or was just so tired he couldn’t handle it anymore, he would blame it on his job or a bad hike or some unspoken-of family issue. You are the most important thing to him, he isn’t going to drag you into all of it. There’s also a part of him that’s afraid you’ll think he’s insane and leave him, especially in the earlier days. He’d likely end up telling you once people start dying, he may wait long enough that Habit can take the chance for him, though. Under no circumstances is he letting you help them unless you are given something, and once they figure out Habits symbiotic nature, he will refuse to see you. Whatever it takes to make sure you’re not one of those that’s killed or worse as a result of his situation.

At the end of the day, he's a rough around the edges kind of guy. He hunts for fun, he gets himself into fights, he can be easy to anger. His favorite objects are hunting knives, he finds joy in fictional bodies being torn apart. He drops a lot of that around you, though. Not entirely, of course he's still Evan no matter who he's speaking to, but when he finds himself liking someone romantically, he just ends up treating them softer than he does others. Being a bit softer than he usually is. Trying his best not to piss people off when he's with you, trying even harder not to piss you off, because the last thing he wants is to see you truly upset. His teases become a lot less mean-spirited, even if still an attempt to annoy you. He gets as vulnerable as his brain allows when he is with you. He'll actually talk through his feelings instead of always turning to a punching bag or chucking knives at trees, even if he's not very good at verbalizing his feelings, he tries because he knows you will let him and you will understand. When he just can't force himself to speak, he'll curl up with you for hours, pressing his face into your chest and listening to you breathe. That’s enough for him.

Nsfw-

For the most part, he’s a soft-dom. Not that he won’t participate in harder kinks, but he always goes about these scenes with some sort of visible affection. Always with the interests of his partners in mind and less his own. He gives the utmost praise and respect he can to who he is with, even if he's playing a cruel part, he could never be truly cruel. A certified service top, who specializes in brats, masochists, and prey. That’s all. He is extremely knowledgeable in kink and BDSM, as well. Often the “buzzkill” in the room, making sure everything is proper and safe. He takes “safe, sane, and consensual” so very seriously. Which is a good thing, all things considered, but there are times it can feel like he’s the erotic hall monitor about it.

Just because he's dominant doesn't mean he is exclusively a top. He is far from afraid to let you fuck him, he's down, but know it will be so humiliating for you. He's a fan of leashing his sub-tops, yanking them closer to pull them further inside of him. Groaning into your ear, biting into your shoulders and neck. Saying shit like "Just keep fuckin' into me. Good bitch." and "You can do better than that. C'mon- harder." He is also so unbelievably fond of convincing bottoms to top for him. Telling you over and over that it's okay, that you're just being dramatic and you can do it. He's still in control, you don't have to think any more than you normally do. Just try it once. Keeping his hands on your hips, guiding you into his, teasing at every opportunity. His language gets a lot softer, saying everything with an almost-proud smile. "That's your dick inside me, hon." and "Ya' gonna fuck me good, huh?" He is a menace when he gets the chance to bottom, frankly.

Getting the obvious out of the way, he’s a fan of knives. In fact, maybe more than just a fan, it’s his absolute favorite kink to participate in despite how rarely he gets to truly indulge. The entire process is a turn on for him. Procuring proper blades, cleaning and maintaining them, dragging their sharpened edges across skin, drawing blood. The pause in breath when someone is waiting to see if he'll cut or not, the way they hiss when he does. The way little pricks of blood pop through the shallow wounds. The only less-safe kink habit of his is licking cuts, he just can’t help himself. It’s so erotic, you’ve already trusted him enough to let him pull a knife on you, and now he’s lapping up your blood and it’s all because he loves you. He likes the aftercare just as much, though. Holding his partner to his chest after it's over, repeating praises. "You did so fuckin' good for me" and "you don't know how hot that was" in that low, loving voice of his. He always makes sure to bring cleaning and dressing supplies wherever you’re doing this so you don’t have to move a single inch once he’s done with you.

Of course, he’s got his sadistic side, but that doesn’t mean he’s entirely opposed to pain himself. If you were to drag your nails across his back or bite into the side of his neck, he couldn’t hold himself back. It’s the only time you can ever actually get him whiny, you may even get a whimper out of him if he’s close enough to climax. He’s only ever really for it if it’s incidental like that, but when it does happen, it drives him crazy. He has a thing for seeing the marks on himself, the small bruises and scratches, something about it makes him feel nice. He likes having the little reminder throughout the day! You’re etched into his skin until it heals, he thinks it’s so sweet! It’s also a good contrast to the frequent unpleasant pain he experiences, it’s different when it comes out of such intense need and love.

King of the chase, he absolutely thrives in a predator role. He can't help who he becomes if you agree to a predator/prey scene, it’s a time he can safely explore the part of him that craves that kind of hunt. He becomes a feral little monster once he has you labelled as "prey" in his mind. Tends to prefer doing something of the sort inside, one of your houses is ideal, but he wont inherently say no to a chase through the woods. He knows the chances of either of you getting hurt is a lot lower if you're inside, somewhere you both know the layout of, however, the realism of being out in the woods makes it all the more exciting. More places to hide, much easier to conceal your location. Especially in the early fall when it’s briskly cold at night, seeing your breath in the air when he pounces is addicting.

He always, always, has music on when you fuck. Hell, he probably had it on before anything was even initiated. Absolutely not the usual bedroom soundtrack. Of course it's not, this is Evan. No sultry pop or jazz, he always puts on the most vulgar rock or metal if he has any say in it. A lot of it is the same stuff he listens to elsewhere, it's just a whole lot easier to notice how unbelievably horny these lyrics are when you're actively being touched. White Zombie, Nine Inch Nails, he'll pull for Korn at times. If you're in a chase in the house, or he's got a blade to your skin; in some intense scene. The music choices can totally change the energy, and he takes pride in getting the exact situation he wants laid out, down to the soundtrack.

Cannot help but love overstimming partners. He can't get enough of seeing them come undone, unable to think about anything outside of the room. Why do it once when he can do that thrice! Or more for that matter!! You actually have to be the one to tell him when it's getting too much, because he could pleasure you for as long as you will let him. His favorite sight is you fucked out, calling his name, clawing at him, not even sure if you’re asking him to stop or keep going anymore. If there is ever a time you don’t want to cum so many times over that you can’t even speak, you gotta tell him ahead of time, or he will get carried away.

He never shuts up, ever, and that does include during sex. Praise, a few insults here and there, so much shushing and false sympathy. He isn't exactly great at what most would consider "dirty talk" either, but that doesn't stop him from simply letting whatever come out of his mouth. "Fuck- you're grippin' me, dude." and "Do you know how fuckin' hot you are?" He's fond of mixing praise with insults. Saying the sweetest thing, but punctuating it by calling you "bitch" or "whore" or talking to you with a tone that's so utterly caring while he's saying stuff like "You're nothing but a dumb slut, do you know that?" He loves seeing the emotional whiplash as his partner tries to figure out whether they should feel degraded or loved. The intention is to fuck with your head in a way that says- both!

Roleplay! Oh my god please engage in cheesy roleplay with him! He doesn't exactly take it too seriously, but it's Evan we're talking about here. The guy who canonically leads DND campaigns and plays RPGs, of course he finds himself enjoying a little bit of roleplay in the bedroom. Never the serious stuff, no costumes or anything, but the idea of having some prompt is just appealing to him. It’s fun to be different people for a little while! You're no longer established partners, you just met at a bar and are having some wild one night stand, or you're both having some secret affair, or he's an incubus and you've summoned him. Whatever you haven't thought of yet is always going to be his first pick, it's fun to just be in A Situation to him. He's also unbelievably good at making this feel natural, on all fronts. He wasn’t a theater kid, but you’d think he was with how easy he makes it.

As much as he participates in serious kink, elaborate scenes and learned skill, he's a sucker for simple sweet sex. Pulling you as close as possible, keeping you between his arms, mumbling about how much he loves you. Going on about how beautiful he finds you, how utterly lovely you are. Slow movements and grabbing at each other, not a moment lacking contact. Your bodies going warm, and the only sound in the room becomes your shared gasps and desperate moans. No crazy rules or roles, just pleasure and loving touch. It doesn't happen that often, but it definitely happens more once the events of the channel start. Just a need to be close to you, be reminded that you're still there with him, make sure you know how much he treasures you, even when he's so occupied with the serious circumstances he is in.

#haiii old emh moots i know ur gonna see this #i literally could go on about him #i could do another full one of these #mine #evan myers #evan myers smut #evan myers x reader #everymanhybrid #emh #everymanhybrid smut #emh smut #emh fanfic #everymanhybrid fanfic #headcanons #smut

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fishymom-art · 9 months ago

Note

yapping mode ACTIVATED. devious mode ENGAGED. mischievous levels 100%.

For fiddlestan:

ford being utterly and totally clueless of fidd's quite obvious crush, internalized homophobia (for both of them because >:3 ),, maybe also them just passing out after a long night of calculations and hard work and just coincidentally ending up next to each other/cuddling.... yeah guys total coincidence :33 also maybe fidds and Ford having a nice jolly day off together after fidds has to drag him away from his work and ford's clawing at the ground like "noooo my math!!!!" But fidds knows he needs a mental health day bruh is about to combust into flames!!! RAHHH I love this ship RAHHH SCIENTIST YAOI !!!!!!!!

BONUS NOW WHAT SUGGESTION

because he deserves it after that last chapter bill getting comforted in some way (maybe by me,,, I usually hate bro but like he's going through it I'll give him a pass....)

Anyways you don't gotta do all of these pick and chose favorites etc etc yapping mode deactivated

I meant Fiddleford and StanLEY but WHATEVER, FIDDAUTHOR IS GOOD TOO

also some hurt/comfort for Bill :))

#fishymom-ask #fiddauthor #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #gravity falls #gravity falls au #now what au #bill cipher #mabel pines #dipper pines #pacifica northwest #gideon gleeful

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bunnithechubs · 6 months ago

Text

🐰 about me:

hi, my name is bunni (31, she/her, hispanic) and welcome to my pixel world! My blog is a mixture of story telling, building, game play, and sometimes straight yapping. I’m very friendly and I do not gate keep, feel free to ask me anything!

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⚠️ warning:

my blog does contain 18+ content. do not follow me if you are not above the age of 18. I tag all nsfw posts as “sim spice”

any anonymous hate or harassment will be automatically deleted. i’m too old to be arguing with pixels on my screen.

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🔗 links:

far: frequently asked resources

wcifs: please check this before sending a wcif

resource asks- asks that ask about processes or gameplay

downloads- builds | templates

bunni 2.0 - blog dedicated to other games

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📖 projects:

slate (active): rotational gameplay in story mode chrono | recent | extras | asks

pennys bachelorette challenge (completed) chrono | recent

personal gp: this content is subject to change and is just me sharing my personal gameplay chrono | recent

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📽️youtube & streams:

if you would like to follow me on youtube you can do so by clicking here. currently, i only stream but eventually will begin to make videos. my stream schedule: Thursday June 19th @ 7 pm (est) Friday June 20th @ 6:45 pm (est) Saturday June 21st @ 7 pm (est)

#navigation

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souperbloom · 10 months ago

Text

oh, honey! [A.I.]

roadie!reader x Ashton Irwin

the sequel to the coveted ‘being in love’

a/n: you guys asked, so i delivered. i’m so glad you guys love being-in-love-shton as much as i do. he’ll always have a special place in my heart. huge day for souperbloom nation i can’t believe i finished this.

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut!, angst, very angry reader, semi-public nefarious activities, shit that’ll make your heart race, pet names, fingering (f!receiving), choking, lots n lots of dirty talk, smart mouth ash (as always), lots of inner turmoil but also how could you be mad at that face? once again, i went overboard but how could i not with being in love!ash ????

WORDCOUNT: ~6.7k

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There was no way in hell.

You were surely going crazy. Another month of that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach?

Not a fucking chance.

It was early September now, and tour was in full swing. You had traveled to eight more cities, and yet nothing felt right.

Eight incredible shows, eight smooth rehearsals, eight company meetings— since that one fateful night.

Your mind was in work mode, sure. And your physical being was somewhere in the midwest— but that passion you found in your work, and the love you felt from putting on a show.

It was missing.

Your heart was still in New York.

The clipboard in your lap was barking at you, reading cues and call times, as you flip a pencil between your index and middle finger.

It was so quiet backstage. It always was. Especially before the arrival of the band. You always ended up curled up on a loveseat in one of their dressing rooms, one dressing room in particular, before you were eventually ushered away to start running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off.

"We need road crew on stage."

You took advantage of the moments like these. The measly little moments in which you got to be alone with yourself.

Moments where your mind wasn’t so damn loud.

"Y/N, where are you?"

Your eyes scanned down your perfectly crafted schedule, reading it for the millionth time over and ignoring the crackling call of your name through your headset.

"Y/N, we need you on stage!"

With a huff, you roll your eyes, smacking your pencil down onto the clipboard and using that free hand to push the button down on your headset.

"Fuck, alright! I’m coming, I’m coming!"

The walk down the hallway lined with doors hadn’t felt the same since that night in New York. Something you were usually so comfortable with had turned into a feeling of a racing heart and a spinning head.

You never knew who you’d run into. Who’d be walking down this same corridor at exactly the right moment.

It was all a waiting game.

"There you are! Did you not hear me calling your name forty times?!" Your manager starts yapping the moment you step foot onto the stage, but you just ignore him. Your mind was too preoccupied with that sinking, impending doom.

"I heard it, don’t give me shit. I’ve had a rough day."

You slowly start to make your way across the stage, ducking your head down and trying to ignore the set-up of that pearly green drum kit; the one that liked to taunt you every time you were around it. In fact, his drum kit being the first piece of equipment to be set up on stage felt like some sort of sick joke. Just looking at it made your stomach turn.

Whether the drummer was behind it, or not.

All of the sound equipment was just about perfect in its places when suddenly, you hear a familiar commotion of voices from the opposite side of the stage, towards the outside door.

"Band’s here," your manager deadpans, barely lifting his head up from the clipboard he was writing on.

Those two words sent an unshakable chill down your spine. You knew better than anybody what those two words meant for you, but whether or not you wanted to acknowledge the grip they had on your conscience was something you’d toy with all too often.

"Can somebody go help them unload?" Your manager scans the stage towards the crew, his eyes stopping directly onto yours, "You. Miss “Rough Day”— Go."

He shoos you away with his hand, nose still buried deep into whatever the fuck he was writing down. So, of course, as a good roadie should, you listened. Trying to ignore the intrusive thoughts about inevitably being called that nickname that makes your stomach twist in knots.

Or, about how that nickname sounded in your ears while being fucked against a bathroom counter, only few nights ago.

The silence was louder than anything you’d ever heard, walking down the empty halls to the outside door. You were sure there was some sort of dog whistle that only you could hear, ringing incessantly and telling you that whatever feelings you choked down on that rooftop was just your mind playing tricks on you.

Duh, you never said anything at all. Ashton didn’t know a damn thing.

Unless he was wise enough to piece everything together.

Or maybe, he was a mind reader.

The midwestern sun was scorching, brutal enough to make you feel as though you were getting sunburnt just by walking out into it. There was no sign of a breeze, not a single cloud in the sky. It was a considerably perfect day.

Yeah, a perfect day to lose your fucking mind.

You stepped out into the parking lot, which was already stock full of vans and crew; all of them running around and lugging out bags like the Queen was in town.

You weren’t entirely sure why you were sent out here in the first place. The band’s personal crew seemed to have everything under control, and there was nothing more for you to do besides stand as you were and look pretty.

Surely that’s what he wanted, though, wasn’t it?

"Y/N!"

A familiar voice scares you out of whatever lamppost you were blankly staring into; as precaution to avoid making eye contact with anyone of distaste.

"Oh, hey Luke."

Luke takes long strides towards you, the t-shirt on his back clinging to his slick skin that had already began producing sweat the moment he stepped off the bus. You try your hand at smiling; but you weren’t sure if it read more as an ‘uncomfortable yearbook photo’.

"She’s a scorcher today, isn’t she?" Luke comments, taking the back of his hand to wipe a droplet of sweat off his forehead before adjusting the strap of his guitar case.

You look down at his attire and compare it to yours with a scowl. He was prepped for the weather with thin basketball shorts and the aforementioned t-shirt; yet you opted for your usual uniform. A pair of black jeans and the black CREW tee. You swore you owned a million of these things; in every color of the rainbow.

Not like you paid any mind to the weather channel today. You had other things on your mind.

"The sun? Yeah, tell me about it. It’s fuckin’ brutal out here."

"Yeah... ‘Been out here for like, five minutes and I’m already sweating buckets."

You nod slowly, your eyes sneakily wandering behind Luke’s head as this attempt at small talk was making you more antsy than before. There’s a brief awkward silence that falls between you and the singer; one that was definitely more obvious than you’d thought.

"Well, I don’t mean to distract you. Go do your job, or— whatever. I’ll see you backstage, right?"

"Huh?" Your gaze whips back to meet him, cheeks flushing red, "Oh, yeah. Of course. I’ll see ya’."

Luke flashes you a froggy smile before spinning on his heel to walk away, making you cringe at how mortifying that exchange was.

Your heart wasn’t the only thing stuck on that rooftop in New York. Your charm had ran along right with it.

You couldn’t bear standing out in the sun for any longer; practically cooking like a fried egg in a pan with your entirely black outfit. It was in your best interest to head back inside, and you knew that. But something was keeping your boots nailed to the concrete.

A gut feeling.

The people move around you, but you stay still, occasionally catching their eyes and sparing them a meek smile. There was no sign of that pair of sparkling jade irises that you were hoping for.

Not until the moment you turned around.

"What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here in this hellish heat?"

Almost as if it were some sort of cue, Ashton appears. Out of thin air. You swore he wasn’t there just a moment ago. Then again, you also swore you knew a lot more about yourself than you actually do.

"My job," you reply, plainly. As if his presence wasn’t effecting you in the slightest.

"I can tell… Really puttin’ in the work just standing there n’ looking cute…. ain’t ‘ya honey?"

A rumble of nerves roll down your spine as soon as the word leaves his lips.

Honey.

The nickname, although endearing, never failed to drive you up the walls. No matter the context.

"Standing and looking cute is at the top of my resume. It’s what landed me the roadie spot, actually."

Ashton nods at your blunt sarcasm, an eyebrow raised in intrigue as his confidence bounces off of your shoulders. You pause for a moment to take in his appearance, speaking on the fact that each time you looked in his direction lead you to deafening heart palpitations.

His reddened, sun-kissed cheeks were adorned with sunglasses, resting beneath a netted trucker hat which allowed his chestnut-honey-blonde curls to peek out from beneath the brim. His broad chest was complimented by a worn Def Leppard tee, which he had taken the liberty of sloppily hacking off its sleeves to make it into a tank top.

He looked ravishing, as always. It was hard to look away. But you knew in your mind that he was ogling at you with similar intentions.

It was always so fucking obvious.

"Hey," Ashton breaks the silent stare-down, "I forgot some shit back in the van… Mind waitin’ up for me?"

You stutter for a moment, tugging at the hem of your t-shirt, "Uh, yeah. I don’t mind. I’ll be right here."

His face morphs into a small smile as he holds up his hands, "Don’t move an inch. I’ll be riiiiight back."

It was hard to bite back your giddy smile as Ashton scurried towards the van, holding onto the top of his hat as he jogged away.

You felt so dumb, waiting up for him. Dumb was the only word to describe it. Absolutely smitten. Lovesick. Just fucking dumb.

Then again, the entire situation was dumb. And quite frankly, you were tired of feeling that way.

"Got it," Ashton returns, holding up a single pair of drum sticks.

"Don’t tell me you ran all the way back over there just to grab one pair of fuckin’ sticks."

The two of you start to walk as Ashton brushes off your scrutiny. "This isn’t just any pair of sticks. These are my lucky sticks. I use ‘em to warm up. Gives me an extra boost before each show."

You cross your arms, feeling oddly small next to his towering stature.

"Sure. Whatever you say, Ashton."

"Don’t sass me. I don’t like that shit," he frowns disingenuously, sliding in front of you to hold the door open for you, "But then again, I do love it when you say my name."

It was getting harder now to fight the urges inside of you. The itches begging to be scratched by the only person who knew exactly where to reach.

Once you both entered the backstage area, your mind began to race with all the thoughts that had been plaguing you since the moment you locked eyes with him in the parking lot.

How long until soundcheck? Where’s the nearest exit? How fast could the two of you get undressed and get this shit over with?

"You should put your stuff down," you say to him calmly, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

Ashton stops short in front of one of the dressing rooms, readjusting the strap of his bag. A wicked smirk sprawls across his cheeks as his eyes flick down to your lips.

"How about you stop worrying about me, and start worrying about that pretty head on your shoulders. Looks like it’s about to fuckin’ pop."

You roll your lips inwards, feeling yourself take a self-conscious step back as he subtly leans in closer. He gazes at you, oddly softly.

"My head’s fine," you reply, "Worrying is my job."

"Is that so?" Ashton’s quick quip has you stumbling back further, to the point where you’re backed completely against the wall. He towers over you, to no surprise, before anchoring a subtle hand on your waist.

The touch alone sends a shock wave through your body. You felt frozen in time. Frozen in this moment. He ducks down to whisper into your ear, lips barely grazing your cheekbone.

"If it’s your job to stress n’ worry, I’d say I could help with that, at least a little bit. Don’t you agree?"

You swallow hard before replying. Damn you.

"I— I suppose."

"Good," you could practically feel his menacing smile against your skin, "Bathroom. Ten minutes."

A desperate sigh barely escapes your larynx as he draws his gaze back into yours. Your eyes go doe, yet his intensity never falters.

In a shoddy attempt at pushing him away, you place your palms flat against his chest. But he just gazes at your fingertips in amusement, before scooping up your hands, and placing a tender kiss onto your knuckles.

"Don’t be late."

You weren’t sure how much time had passed while you stood in the same spot, right where he had left you. But as soon as you’d noticed that he had rounded the corner towards the wings, you hit the ground running.

The beating of your heart was traveling up to your throat as you stalked the halls in your squeaky old boots, completely oblivious to your surroundings. You were one track minded, to put it simply. And running was super embarrassing.

But who really cares?

You skidded to a stop in front of the bathroom door, latching onto the handle and shaking it to ensure your privacy.

"Anyone in there?" You shout, your voice weakening.

To your relief, nobody replied, so your first order of business was to body slam the door open and lock it behind you.

A sigh tumbles past your lips the moment your back presses against the steel clad restroom door. You couldn’t bear to look in the mirror, to see how much of a disheveled mess you’d become from standing in the hot sun, combined with the frenzied actions that lead you into this bathroom.

Your foot tapped impatiently against the tiles, occasionally checking your watch while you continued to second guess how many minutes was exactly ten of them.

But as you spiral on behalf of the hands on the clock, you hear a quadruple knock at the bathroom door. It was disembodied, no voice behind it asking if it was occupied, nobody wondering if it was you.

You knew what that knock meant.

It was fucking game time.

With a collective breath, you spin around, hastily undoing the lock and cracking open the door.

First, you see the trucker hat. Then, the golden chains. The sunglasses discarded and hanging on the collar of his shirt and the tattooed biceps that accompanied the lack of sleeves.

"Mind if I come in?"

"What’s the password?"

There’s a brief pause from behind the door, followed by a quiet chuckle.

"The password is: let me the fuck in, honey girl."

The door swings open and suddenly you’re stumbling back. You’ve lost all control of your movements and Ashton was finally holding you up by the strings. Like a sad little puppet.

As the door slams shut behind the commotion of Ashton pressing you up against the bathroom wall, all you could think about was how the echo of it slamming was about to make the ringing in your ears much, much worse.

You don’t even get a moment to process how quickly these events were unfolding, before Ashton’s hands are cradling your waist and his stubble is rubbing against your jawline as he nips gently at your neck.

"Been thinkin’ about you," he murmurs, followed by a trill of goosebumps running down your spine.

"Have you really?"

"Mhmmmm." His satisfied hum leads you to give into whatever was holding you back. Your fingers tangle into the hair at the base of his neck, sliding up to knock the hat off of his head and run through his unruly curls.

“Gonna prove it?”

The words fall short coming out of your mouth, said with the least confidence you’d ever felt in your life, but you hadn’t the soul in you to care. His lips were running rampant towards the neckline of your t-shirt and the only thing you could think about now was how soft they felt.

“M’gettin’ there, yeh,” Ashton bumbles, the stubble on his upper lip brushing against you as he smiles into your skin, “You’re talkative today, aren’t you?”

Your face falls flat, thrown off guard by that snide comment, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

It was moments like these that had you questioning whatever the hell was going on in that thick skull of his; you couldn’t tell whether or not to feel used, flattered by the fact that he’d noticed something off about your character, or just plain offended.

His head pops up when he feels your body freeze, hands dropping off of your hips to cup your cheeks and force your eyes into his. “Nothin’ bad, honey. You just— don’t usually do the talking around here. Thought that was reserved for the ‘blabbermouth’.”

You could feel your jaw tense when the calluses on his palms caress your cheekbones, awfully flushed by his condescending tone yet still enjoying it nonetheless. He was referring to the one single time where you snapped, and told him he talked too much. In which he then proceeded to hold onto that statement for a week, and remind you of it every chance he could.

“So what if I wanna talk? Not like you listen to me anyway.”

Ashton’s face drops lightly, a twinge of a smile still left beneath the outgrown stubble gracing his jaw. His broad palms still cupped your face, your words that oozed ambiguity giving him all the means to squeeze your cheeks together until your lips pursed.

“Oh c’mon, you don’t mean that. Do you really think I don’t listen to you?”

His thumb brushes against your top lip, still squashed between his hands, “Doesn’t seem like it, no.”

“Honey, as long as words are falling from those pretty lips, I’m all fuckin’ ears.”

Jesus.

You couldn’t stand to entertain whatever this weird, poetic drabble was about, it was getting you oddly worked up and now, your time left in this bathroom was at the mercy of the poet himself.

“No reply? Damn, I worked hard on that one,” Ashton says with utmost seriousness, taking his hands from your cheeks and moving them back to their original position on your waist, “To think I’ve wasted some of my best material just to bomb my set.”

For some reason, the typical witty remarks that you’d grown so accustomed to were making you seethe. A characteristic that was so unapologetically’ ‘Ashton’ left you feeling like there was an anchor tied around your neck.

You swore you’d loved everything about him. Maybe your manifestations of these feelings one day disappearing were finally coming true.

“Ash, can we just get this moving? My boss is already on my ass about running late from earlier and I just—”

“—Your boss, huh?” his head tilts to the side, his towering frame reinstating its power in this given moment, and your inner monologue from before becoming null and void, “And here I am thinking I was your boss.”

Okay, now you just wanted to reach up and wring out his neck.

“You know what I meant, dickhead. Y’know the guy who runs around with a big headset and bitches me out because your dumbass decided to run off and go missing 5 minutes before curtains? That’s my boss.”

Ashton chuckles, although you can’t quite place the tone, “So then— what does that make me?”

Your jaw ticks again, fighting everything inside of you to shut him up with either a kiss or a sucker punch.

“You don’t even wanna’ know what I think you are, Ashton.”

Something about that comment dropped the tension from between your bodies, Ashton’s steel-faced gaze suddenly disappearing and leaving you practically cross eyed whilst he slammed his lips against yours. You melt into him, albeit a bit sheepishly, letting his tongue roam your mouth and taste every inch that he’d been torn from while you were speaking.

“Like when you’re mean t’ me,” his words knock against your bottom lip before he’s sinking his teeth down into it, “You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“Just— shut up. Please.” you retort, pressing the front of your body against his torso and rolling your hips to get a semblance of the feeling of him.

“Is somebody mad at me?” He pops up for a millionth time, although you really wished he’d just shove his tongue down your throat instead.

“No.”

“Is there something that you’re not telling me, hm?” There was that bullshit, devil-may-care attitude again. Coming right back around to bite you.

“No.”

You stand your ground, trying to fight the invasive thoughts of telling him everything you truly felt. The good, bad, and ugly.

“I have a feeling you may be lying but, I won’t pry. Unless— that meant I’d make you angry. You’re sexy when you’re mad at me.”

Ashton’s hands had wandered beneath your t-shirt, now traversing the soft flesh of your torso while he continued to poke every single goddamn one of your buttons.

“So, I’m not sexy all the time?” you try to earn back your playful crown.

“‘Never said that. But, I’ll admit you’re at your sexiest when you look like you want to crack me in the jaw.”

Unable to argue, you shrug, still ticked off by his pestering yet just about ready to tear the already hacked up shirt off of his back. You kiss him again, a bit more forcefully this time, hoping things would stay that way.

A moan rips through your throat when his grip on you tightens, unable to control the volume of your noises yet still, not finding it in you to care. After holding you hostage against the cool bathroom tiles for the entirety of this exchange, he slowly began to back you away from it.

A blind stumble leads you, Ashton, and your ass straight to the lip of the countertop. He used his strength against your limp body to hoist you up onto it, giving you a nice perch and an even nicer slot for him to slide between your legs.

“So good for me, my girl,” Ashton coos, his lips still practically in your mouth, “Always knows exactly what to do for me.”

My girl.

“Your girl?”

The moment freezes. With Ashton tucked between your legs and the back pockets of your jeans damp from being sat on the sink. “What was that?” he asks, still a bit drunk on the taste of your lips.

“You just called me your girl.”

“I did say that, didn’t I? Don’t I always?”

You raise an eyebrow, debating biting your tongue and pretending like you didn’t let your inner monologue slip into your reality, “Well, yeah.”

“And— you’re my girl, aren’t you?”

The way his sweaty curls flopped into those dumb green eyes made them shimmer even more, you were starting to get pissed off simply by his existence. The taunting, the teasing, the ‘making you feel worthless without really even trying’, it was becoming too much to bear.

The cord that held up your heart strings and any last bit of patience you possessed had finally fucking snapped.

“Y’know what, Ash— how about you tell me? Am I really your girl?”

A low chuckle takes up the empty space left behind your pressing question, Ashton’s hands now restless against your hip bone as his eyes searched your face for something to say.

“Is that what this is? Why you’re so mad at me? C’mon, honey girl. Don’t do this t’me right now.”

“Do what to you? Ask a question?” your words bite, and they bite hard, “Don’t you think this is all a little unfair?”

Ashton’s jaw twitches. You’d never seen his face drop so quickly from that shit-eating grin but low and behold, you seemed to have struck a nerve. Maybe even a few nerves. His hands fall from your hips, although still inches away from your face as he huffs through his nose in frustration.

“We can have this conversation another time.”

“Ashton, I don’t think there’ll be another time. Not if you keep pulling this stupid, elusive bullshit—”

“Y/N, please—” His voice gets weaker as he cuts you off, you could practically feel him trembling.

“No. I’m tired of this shit dude! I’m tired of feeling like there’s no end in sight when it comes to you. You string me along like your gross little puppet— Don’t you ever feel sorry? For me? For yourself? God, do you feel anything at all?!”

Your throat began to burn up, that awful chest pain closing in on you as tears begin pricking at your lower lash line. God, please don’t cry, you thought, please don’t fucking cry.

“I can promise you, I feel things. Please— don’t paint me as heartless.”

He reattaches his hands to you, like a moth to a flame. His touch reignites that fuzzy feeling you get whenever he’s around and you’d just wished for even a second it would go away. But as you’d said, finally vocalized out to the man who keeps you up at night:

There really was no end in sight.

“I’m tired, Ash. Tired of feeling so fucking— used.”

As though you’d lost control of your senses, your hand finds its way to his curls. Those curls you love to tug, and play with. To inhale and exhale on the rare occasion that he lays on your chest to listen to the sound of your heartbeat. The thought of him was intoxicating, despite the fiery red fury you’d just unleashed into his now sad, glassy eyes.

You’d hoped you didn’t ruin the moment, because you were now afraid it’d be the last.

“It’s complicated.”

That was it?

That was all he had to say for himself?

“Are you fucking serious?” you bite, those words hurting more than any pain you’d ever felt in your life.

“Just— give me some time. Please? If you give me time I promise, I’ll have a better answer for you.”

“Time’s a fucking illusion with you. I’ve given you all the time in the goddamn world, Ashton. Y’know what— fuck this. I’m leaving—”

Before you could even attempt to slide off of the countertop, his arms stiffen before your boots reach the floor. He holds you between his hands with force, digging his fingertips into that soft skin on your waist.

“Honey,” the nickname drips with persuasion, “don’t get yourself all worked up now. You’ve had a rough enough day already.”

Ashton manages to prop you back onto the counter, after using enough force to keep you in his arms. It was painfully clear that he didn’t want you to leave, and if you’d really wanted to, you would’ve.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mutter, the end of your sentence cut short by his hands moving down to your ass and pulling you into him. Your gaze was now glued to the floor, unable to face those stupid eyes that look like the forest and feel like home.

“You don’t mean that.”

His tone is sharp, but you double down. “Yes, I do.”

Before you could even exhale, Ashton grabs your chin between two fingers, forcing you to look back into his own. You tremble between his fingertips, bottom lip quivering like a desperate, desperate mess.

“If that’s how you really feel— look at me and say it again.”

Although you’d seemed to have lost your senses when it came to Ashton months ago, right now was no exception. You couldn’t control just how quickly your lips reattached to his, let alone how mindlessly you had begun feeling up his broad shoulders and taut back like they were the last two things you’d ever touch.

He groans into your mouth and it’s like music to your ears, ringing true like church bells and finally earning back those weakening heart palpitations.

“God fuckin’— dammit—“ you curse out in frustration; Ashton’s wide, calloused hands snaking beneath your shirt and squeezing the soft sides of your hips.

“Baby, move with me,” he orders, pulling you off of the counter while your lips are still attached. Of course, you oblige. No questions asked.

As your tongues tangle sweetly in that rough, frenzied kiss, Ashton is positioning your limp body around like there was no tomorrow. His hands moved from your shoulders, to the small of your back, all the way down to the pockets of your jeans; where his slender fingers staked claim before he was whipping you around to face the mirror.

A gasp escapes your chest when you catch your own reflection, having been ripped away from such a heated moment. You felt as though you were even more disheveled than you were angry, just a few moments ago.

“Look at how beautiful you are, honey,” Ashton coos into the mirror, his hands plastered to your waist as he stoops over your shoulder.

“Mhmmm.” There was no room left in your right mind for words so, sounds should do just fine.

“Want you t’ watch,” he begins, along with his hands that had started their journey of lifting your t-shirt to expose your midriff, “Look how fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You do as you’re instructed, watching how your lips part and your face falls flush when Ashton moves in on your breasts. He massages them gently over your bra, squeezing them before trailing blistered fingers down your stomach to the waistband of your jeans.

“Pretty like a painting,” he taunts, fiddling with your button before popping it open and unzipping the fly, “‘Could do this all day.”

A smile sneaks out of you, but is immediately wiped away when he starts to tease just below your navel. Soft whines slowly begin to float past your lips and right into Ashton’s ears as he traces lines across your skin— he was nodding to the rhythm of your voice.

“Ashton—” you squeeze out, but his mouth is preoccupied by the sensitive spot on your neck that drove the both of you wild.

He hums in delight, “Sounds s’ pretty when you say my name.”

You could barely stand the teasing but he seemed to read your mind; Ashton was never one to keep you waiting. He takes his hand and slowly pushes it down into your underwear, taking his index finger and dragging it up your slit. You wince at the sudden contact; how aroused he’d made you by merely teasing and feathery touches.

“God, so fuckin’ wet for me— already?”

It was virtually impossible to pull your eyes away from the obscenities that were happening below your waist. You attempted to snap back at him, maybe even slip in a little nasty comment about how you were still angry at his dumb face and stupid green eyes. But as his fingers stretched and curled, sending shockwaves through your entire body, the most you could do was slump backwards. Right into his arms.

“Oh my God,” you manage to weasel out the words lodged behind your tongue, that index finger of his working magic and making circles around your sensitive bud.

Your eyelids were getting heavy now, overstimulated by Ashton’s nimble handiwork. Would it be the worst thing to close your eyes and forget that conversation from moments ago?

Why the hell not.

“Ashton.”

His name catches on your teeth as you fight the feeling of him. Ashton, Ashton, Ashton.

He dragged one more line up your folds, collecting your wetness onto his fingers.

“Mmhm?”

Right as you open your mouth to speak again, he curls his finger inside of you. You writhe and squirm, pushing back onto his chest that was seemingly going nowhere if not to support your weakened body.

“Holy shit—“ you whine, eyelids finally giving up their fight and lulling closed once he’d found the rhythm of you at his fingertips.

“Ah ah ah, no,” Ashton tuts, one hand still working around the clock while the other shoots up to the top of your throat, just below your chin. He forces your eyes back open and when you’d met him in the mirror, the most you could do was moan.

“Eyes on me, honey girl.”

Your senses were lost, your legs were going numb; you were shaking and moaning like a desperate mess and once again, you were held up by strings like the sad little puppet you were.

Were, and always will be.

“C’mon, don’t lose me now,” he mumbles, dipping down to sink his teeth into the base of your neck, “You’re doin’ such a good job.”

The face staring back at you in the mirror was barely your own. It felt like torture to watch yourself unravel for him, let alone watching everything unfold at the mercy of his fingertips. This wasn’t one of those thoughts that you could just stare at the ceiling to forget about; it was real, and it was now.

And a part of you felt the need to just smile.

As Ashton trails kisses up your neck to the side of your face, he catches that lazy grin of yours in the mirror.

“There she is, there’s my fuckin’ honey girl.”

The thrusts of his fingers were growing sloppier, your stomach contorted in knots as you writhed in his hold. The sounds of your arousal echoed against the matchbox walls of the restroom, making your face fall flush as the smell of his cologne had you dizzy enough already.

“Gonna cum’ for me baby? I feel it— you’re fuckin’ close now, aren’t you?”

There was now a heated staredown taking place in the mirror. One hand of his wrapped around your throat while the other worked away at your core beneath your jeans. God, it was an obscene sight to behold. And Ashton seemed to agree.

His eyes zones in on yours, hypnotizing you with those speckled irises as the corner of his lips perked up into a smile. He was egging you on, knowing that his face and encouraging words alone could lead you toppling towards the finish line.

“Ashton— oh, Ashton—” you whine, your breathy words causing him to press into you and push your body against the counter. He was rough around all edges yet gentle in the way that he handled you, making sure you were comfortable enough for him to kick your leg open wider and clamp down on your neck like it was nothing.

“Fuck!” you cry out, that familiar feeling of butterflies entrapped in your lower stomach starting to brew.

“Give it t’ me, baby— Nice n’ easy— Fuck yes, you feel incredible— So fuckin’ tight…”

His voice started to sound like a siren’s song, still drowning in his strong cologne and now feeling the raging hard on of his pressing against your backside, it all had you doubled over in ecstasy. You never wanted this to end, truth be told; and Ashton wasn’t going to let that happen.

Not quite yet.

“Look at you,” Ashton growls, his face welded with concentration, “So fuckin’ dirty… Watchin’ me fuck you with my fingers in the mirror. You like that, don’t you?”

You nod sheepishly, opening your mouth but wincing as his thumb and index finger squeeze the sides of your neck.

“Honey, you— you gotta’ answer me when I ask questions.”

“Yes— I— I like it, Ashton.”

He’s still working at you with his fingers, now paying the most attention to your clit and rubbing quick circles against it.

“Oh c’mon, is that all you’ve got? Tell me how much you love bein’ a dirty fuckin’ slut for me.”

Right as you’re about to answer his pressing demands, your orgasm begins to rip through you like a bullet to the chest. You cry out, slumping against his back, your legs twitching uncontrollably as he matches the timing of your high with his magical fingertips.

“I love it! Fuck, yes— I love it!”

Although your ears were ringing from the orgasm that just came crashing down onto you, you could faintly hear a chuckle from the base of Ashton’s chest. He was laughing.

Maybe you were overthinking it, but could it be that he was laughing at you?

“God, you are just— sensational,” Ashton catches your limp body, his hands quickly finding and supporting your waist as you stumble backwards like you were made of jello.

“Wh—what?” you reply, hoping you’d heard him correctly and weren’t just hearing voices.

“I said,” he begins, grabbing your chin once more and forcing your eyes back into the mirror, “You are fucking sensational.”

“I— I don’t—” Your head was cloudy, so to speak. And Ashton suddenly switching from one tone to the other had it messed up even more. That damned pearly smile in the mirror was almost mocking you, acting like he hadn’t just had your livelihood at his fingertips.

Literally.

“You alright?” Ashton asks you gently, after a few moments of unresponsiveness.

“Yeah I— I’m good…”

What Ashton didn’t know was that you were, in fact, not good. Maybe even worse than before. As cliché as it all seemed, having him so close made you only want more of him— and you knew that desire would be dust in the wind once the curtains fell.

Your time with Ashton never had a set clock, but this time felt oddly short. Change was weird, change was hard. You weren’t sure you liked that.

“You’re just a peach, aren’t you? Feeling any better?” He leans down to the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your ear as he plants tiny kisses in his trails.

“I suppose so,” you mumble, leaning into him one more time before the inevitable end of this tender moment.

“I told you I could help ya’. Maybe your job’ll be a little easier tonight, honey. I know mine will.”

The irony of his statement almost made you chuckle, but you couldn’t stand to be staring at your own reflection anymore. You spin around to face him, cupping his face in your hands and letting your thumb trace the stubble on his cheek.

His eyes found your lips almost immediately, that gaze of his was telling enough.

“Have a good show tonight, Ash— Feels like I don’t say that enough.” You weren’t sure what in your somewhat right mind led you to say that, but the pit in your stomach seemed to be taking the lead.

“Oh, well, thank you. I— I appreciate that.”

You caress his face for a few more moments, debating whether or not to kiss him. But he makes that decision for you, grabbing your hips sweetly and pulling you in.

The kiss is tender; not hungry like before. There’s better intentions behind his lips and his tongue was about as sweet as ever. You close your eyes, savoring the moment since you never quite remember to do so.

“I always have a better show when I know you’re there watching, y’know.”

You chuckle, his voice was soft like cotton and almost brought a tear to your eye. He presses his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours gently.

“Well then, I’ll be there,” you whisper sheepishly, letting his hands roam your hips one last time before he’s pulling away, “I have to be, anyway. I get paid to do so.”

“Good. I’ll be looking for you before curtains so, I better find what I’m lookin’ for.”

An exasperated sigh leaves your chest as you watch him step away from you, his footsteps taking him towards the door. This was the end, you thought, but the cycle must continue.

Life goes on once again, as usual.

“I’ll see you out there,” you wave, remnants of your conversation from earlier plaguing the back of your head as you try to savor your last few moments alone with him.

Ashton just smiles. That stupid, dumb, idiotic smile. The one that drives you up the walls and keeps you occupied whenever your head hits a pillow. He waves back at you, like a high school crush, his face gleaming as per usual which only made you want to curl up into a ball in the corner and die.

His voice is once again that soft, tender tone. You wished you were dreaming but unfortunately, you were wide awake.

“I’ll be waitin’ for ya’, my honey girl.”

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