#artist: flood of red

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

The Edge Of The World (Prelude) • The Harmony • A Place Before The End • Like Elephants • The Heartless And Loving • Little Lovers • Paper Lungs • Electricity • I WIll Not Change • I Am The Speechless • Losing All Balance In Fells Point • Hope Street • Home Run (1997) • The Edge Of The World

Spotify ♪ Youtube

[hannah-the-red-head]

Mauga: Yep! Sometimes I gotta beat the simps off me with a stick! Mauga: *frantically swinging a long stick at a mob of rabid Overwatch fans* BACK! BACK I SAID!

[wwiiiart]

Genesis 7:24. Acrylic Painting

[bth3cowboi]

paint me in lovely red, mv1xreader

masterlist

pairing: max verstappen x artist!reader

summary: a tiny slip can make your most beautiful secrets public. Sometimes the slip comes in the form of a painting, sometimes the secret is a relationship with a world champion.

format: social media au

a/n: all paintings used here were made by Malcolm Liepke! Part 1/?

( instagram )

verstappen1updates

liked by fanuser and 500,233 others

verstappen1updates Max just admitted that he’s in a relationship on stream! Transcript of the clip for those asking:

G: Max, they’re asking about the new painting in the background. I haven’t seen it before either.

M: Ah yes, that was a gift for the championship win from- [Stops to keep driving]. Well, my girlfriend really.

G: [Laughs] That’s cute, she’s great at painting. Oh- they’re surprised now- [Laughs] about your girl.

M: Ah- We just like to keep to ourselves, mate.

see all comments

user1 YO WHAT???

user2 and just like that we’ve lost him🥲

user3 u don’t know that man

user2 a girl can dream…

user4 sooo whos the girl?? I want to know noww

user5 a whole picture of his winning car??? she must be HOOKED

user6 after that season i cant blame her

( twitter )

( instagram )

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername Spring is coming so new prints are out on my online shop!! Make sure to check them out💛🧡🍋

From the vault: “my yellow mirror II”, oil on canvas, 18x24. Also: my bike, me.

see all comments

user1 I just came expecting more Max honestly

user2 SAME

user3 the only thing interesting on this page

user4 ok seeing her now I get why Max let her paint him like that😂 shes cute

user5 paint me like one of your french girls- max, probably

yourfriend beautiful as always Yn🥹🫶 only focus on that

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

yourusername thanks bby🫶

user6 oh girl stop being so dramaticcc

user7 drop the painting of the car instead, this is boring

user8 i get it know, date rich so you can afford to do your silly paintings🤯

maxverstappen1 just lovely

this comment has been deleted

comments on this post have been disabled

( messages )

( instagram )

inthef1paddock

liked by fanuser and 876.334 others

inthef1paddock Max Verstappen and girlfriend Yn Ln caught together after she arrived to Melbourne for the Australian GP.

The driver had to ask through his instagram stories for fans to respect their privacy and Yn’s career after people flooded her social media with disrepectful comments, he did so by posting this selfie.

Mean comments will be deleted.❤️

see all comments

user1 People are so rude, its obvious they love each other

user2 Oh that hug🥹 what a lucky girl

user3 Did you see the video? He RAN to her, shes blessed

user4 idk she still seems weird…

lando.jpg

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 698.442 others

lando.jpg 🇦🇺 nights

tagged charlesleclerc, maxverstappen1 and yourusername;

see all comments

user1 last photo made me SCREAM, MAX???

user2 Lando is so crazy for this lol

user3 From Charles dropping it low to a hard launch he knows his public

charles_leclerc 😎😎

yourusername 🕺🕺📸📸

charles_leclerc You mean 💋💋📸📸?

maxverstappen1 Lando wont post those because he is lonely and he will cry

landonorris mate thats not true

yourusername its ok to be single lando we dont care you cried to our happy photos

landonorris I did NOT cry 🤢 you guys made me sickkkkk

charles_leclerc sick to tears

maxverstappen1 😂😂

landonorris Stoppp

landonorris Dont know what its worse, the kissy photos or the porn paintings

yourusername not porn🖕

maxverstappen1 Dont be rude🖕

yourusername I will paint you crying now idc you crybaby

landonorris Sure😂

charlesleclerc Famous last words

user4 its ok Lando I will take 💋 pictures with you

user5 me toooo, I volunteer 🤩

maxverstappen1 Please send me the rest of Yn’s photos👍

liked by landonorris and 5021 others

user6 oh wow i get lando now this is so sweet its sick😭

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc and others

yourusername “Lando Norris, the crybaby”, oil on canvas, 24x30.

Prints will be available online soon🧡

see all comments

user1 Oh she ate this one up😭😭

landonorris NO YN

landonorris YN THIS IS SO MEAN

landonorris why would you do this😭😭 I didnt think you were serious

yourusername See, crybaby

carlossainz55 Dont worry Landito you dont look too bad

landonorris 😭😭😭

user3 LMFAO THIS IS SO FUNNY

user2 the devil work fast, but yn works faster

danielricciardo Jesus how much for this one, I will give ANYTHING

charlesleclerc No man ask for your own, this one is mine

maxverstappen1 This is not leaving my house👍 good luck

charles_leclerc WHAT? NOT FAIR, YN I WILL PAY TOO MUCH

danielricciardo Whatever he pays I will give double

yourusername Sorry its been bought already

charles_leclerc ???

mclaren Thank you Yn, this will look great in our hall 🧡🧡

yourusername 🧡🫶

landonorris WHAT

charles_leclerc oh my god

landonorris NO WAY

user4 SOLD TO MCLAREN? this is a fever dream

user5 I, too, want a portrait of me kissing max verstappen

user6 I respect Yn so much, cause she went from making tittie art of her bf to paint their friend crying while they makeout in the background

maxverstappen1 Lovely😂

maxverstappen1 Can I request one but without the crybaby?

yourusername I have a few already 🤔 whats one moree

user7 DROP THEM, I KNOW YOU HAVE THE HOT ONES TOO

charles_leclerc Dont drop them please think of the children

yourusername wow youre so boring

maxverstappen1 Make fun of him on a painting for that baby

danielricciardo I will pay for that one this time

charles_leclerc God no have mercy

yourusername dont worry i wont do that, being a ferrari driver is punishment enough

charles_leclerc 😐

landonorris LOL DESERVED

maxverstappen1 Love you my Yn❤️❤️

yourusername love you too🥹🥹

——

a/n: Thank you for reading!!! I might do a second part to this fic, I think there is so much more to do with the plot so if anyone is interesed make sure to stick around❤️🥹 My inbox is now open if anyone has suggestions or ideas they want to se me writw!

[starsinscript]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ rabbit princess ; op81

summary ; oscar gets decked out on stickers via your nieces, and you have a very 'serious' talk about kids.

"oscar stop moving!" your oldest niece squeals, the younger one intent on trying to get a sticker in exactly the middle of his forehead. they're both sat on his lap, his arms swung around them protectively as they place glitter-y stickers on his face. your younger niece nods her head, the shiny princess tiara sticker a little off center, but it must look perfect in her mind. she starts grabbing shimmery dog stickers, placing them like a wobbly halo around the tiara. the oldest is decorating his cheeks with kiss stickers and smiley faces.

"i can't believe he's letting them do this," your sister chuckles as you zoom in on oscar with your phone camera. he's got a bright smile on his face that you're thankful for, even though you already knew he liked your nieces. oscar raises his eyebrows when he spots you filming him, no doubt for blackmail against him. his cheeks get a little rosy, but then he's distracted by your younger niece almost falling off his lap. he catches her, soothing her nerves with a gentle hand running through her hair.

you end the video, stomach fluttering with something new. your sister smirks, "he's great with kids." you glare at her, "are you a little wine drunk? they can stay here if you need." your sister rolls her eyes, but the same smirk is on her face. "i bet you would love that. you can't lie that looking at oscar taking care of kids makes you think."

she notices the embarrassment that floods through you, and gently touches your shoulder. "you can talk to him, you know? i don't think he would let them sit in his lap that long if he hadn't thought about it." she reassures before sneaking off to the kitchen, where her husband is.

"y/n!" your older niece exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward your boyfriend. "we made oscar pretty!" she giggles, arms splayed out in presentation. oscar's cheeks are burning red, and he fights off a smile.

"doesn't he look so pretty?" your younger niece gushes, patting his head affectionately. oscar laughs, and you hide your smile behind your hand. "he looks very pretty guys," you compliment. "i like the tiara."

"i did that!" your younger niece gasps, her small hand patting the tiara. "because oscar's a pretty princess!" she grins, and you let out a laugh that has oscar's skin burning up.

"oh, yes. he's such a pretty princess. you did such a good job." you bring them both in for a hug, kissing their cheeks. "we gotta show papa!" the older shouts, grabbing her sister's hand and pulling her toward the kitchen.

"hi, pretty princess." you tease, sitting down next to oscar on the floor. he chuckles, "you're not gonna start calling me that now, are you?" you hum in fake thought, "i don't know... it kinda suits you, right?" oscar grins, kissing your cheek. you feel the stickers brush up against you and you giggle.

"you're great with them, you know? they love you," you add shyly, like it wasn't obvious. "i'm glad. i'd be a bit worried if they didn't," oscar laughs. you look at him oddly. "what?"

"i don't know. i was worried maybe you wouldn't like them? i mean, they're very energetic." you add, eyeing him for some sort of slip up. "they're great, no need to worry." oscar smiles, getting up from the floor as he hears them approach. you follow, and laugh at your brother in laws shock.

he laughs as the girls jump around, explaining their artistic design. they're quickly whisked home as it's getting closer to their bedtime, but they don't leave without hugging oscar. you almost melt at the way he crouches down to hug them, squeezing them tight and wishing them a goodnight.

you're cleaning up some dishes as oscar comes back from the bathroom, face freshly washed after peeling off the stickers. you look back and smile, and then he's pressing his body against yours, head tucked into your neck. he winds his arms around you, pulling you close. "you sleepy, oz?" you tease, a hand desperate to scrape through his hair. but you keep cleaning, laughing as he lets out a tired hum. "just one minute," you smile, getting to the last dish. you go quick, and as soon as it's placed in the drying rack you whisk him away to the bedroom.

he gets under the covers as you change and do your skincare, scrolling idly through his phone. as you leave the bathroom, he puts his phone on the nightstand. you lay against him, face squished in his chest. "have you ever thought about it?" he asks after a beat of silence.

"what?" you ask, the answer already floating around your mind. "kids, us having kids particularly." he commented, and you could imagine the little pout on his face as he finished. you giggle, "i'd love it, especially if they got your little rabbit teeth! they'd look so cute."

"right, my rabbit teeth. am i rabbit princess then? do i rule the carrots?"

"oscar piastri, princess of the rabbit hole. i can see it now."

notes made the convo a little unserious bc. happy father's day! i did not write this piece with that in mind haha

[sarawritestories]

I Will Be Watching For Your Enemies.

Cassian X Reader

Summary: After being attacked by a fae in the streets of Velaris. Cassian comes to check on you. And feelings come to the surface.

Content Warning: depictions of violence, hurt comfort

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

ACOTAR Masterlist

The cool breeze of the fall evening kissed your skin. You leaned against the balcony railing, releasing a sigh. Your eyes fluttered shut, and images of the events earlier in the day came flooding back. Images flashing in rapid succession.

Head slamming against the brick, causing your vision to blur.

The taste of copper coating your tongue from your blood.

Hands roaming freely as you were in a daze: defenseless.

Flashes of raw red power.

Wings flaring to block you from the sight of your attacker.

Warm hazel eyes meeting yours.

The muscled arms wrapping around you.

Your vision going black as unconsciousness consumed you.

The soft texture of a blanket wrapping around you brings you back from present, and you stiffen. "It's me, Sweetheart." The scent of leather and sandalwood settled over you as Cassian moved to your line of sight, his hand sliding down to your back. "Sorry. I should have announced my arrival."

You shrugged, allowing yourself to focus on the warmth of his blanket. "It's okay."

Cassian's jaw clenched, his wings twitching, "it's not." He instinctively pulled you closer to him, and you obliged his thumb stroking circles along your back. "I should have walked you home. I should have been-

You pressed a finger to his lips, "Shhhh. This wasn't your fault." You noticed his free hand splayed on the railing, and you wrapped your fingers around his. "Cassian." He eyes darted away to the the lights of Velaris. You heightened hearing caught the general grinding his teeth. "Cass, I'm fi-"

Hazel eyes snapped to yours, "Don't lie to me." His tone was clipped. "You were hit so hard you fell unconscious. Rhys could hear his thoughts." The hand on your back moved to cup your face. "You were hurt. I thought..." Your friend sighed and pressed his forehead against yours. "I thought I was too late."

You opened your mouth to speak, but words failed you. "Cassian." You whispered as tears welled up in your eyes.

Cassian pulled away from you, his hazel eyes held such determination. The hand that was gripped in his was lifted to his lips. Gently, he kissed it as he said, "I promise you, Sweetheart, as long as I live to make sure what happened today never happens again." He looked at your hand and placed another kiss to it. "I will be watching for your enemies to let them know that they contend with me."

Overtook with emotion, you cupped his face as tears continued to fall and slammed your lips to his. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. Your chest collided with his. His lips were soft and gentle, and you could taste a hint of the whiskey on his breath. You never felt more at home than in his embrace.

Safe.

Loved.

Cherished.

Needing air, you reluctantly pulled away. Before you could say anything, Cassian said, "When it comes to you. I would rage war to keep you safe, and I wouldn't fight fair. I love you, sweetheart."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I love you too, Cassian."

Cassian pulled you into a hug as he began stroking your hair. "Mine."

You smiled as your head laid against where his heart was. "Yours."

General Tags: @milswrites @lady-of-tearshed @tsunami-of-tears @readychilledwine @ceoofyearning

@velariscalling @daycourtofficial @prythianpages @writingcroissant @itsswritten

@illyrianbitch @acotarxreader @pit-and-the-pen @nocasdatsgay @labyrinth-of-stories-and-stars

@ninthcircleofprythian @lilah-asteria @artists-ally @mybestfriendmademe @awkardnerd

@kylaisra @nickishadow139 @aelincaddel @nighttimemoonlover @demirunner

@marvelbros-oneshots @riddlesb1tch @thelov3lybookworm @hellodarling1357

[bullet-prooflove]

The Farm: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @wabi-sabi1090 @lostinwonderland314 @turtle-cant-communicate @fallout-girl219

Companion Piece to:

Pears - It starts when Carmy makes an order he doesn't remember.

Mornings - Carmy sleeps better with you around.

Bubble - You have no idea that you saved Carmy's life.

Crazy, Stupid, Fucked Up World (NSFW) - Carmy tells you he lvoes you for the first time.

Carmy loves spending days at the farm, he loves walking through the fields, his fingertips skating over the fresh produce that you’ve been cultivating. He loves the vibrance in the colours. The depths of the green, the brilliance of the red, the pops of yellow. He loves all of it, each and every fucking thing.

More than anything he adores the flavours. The rich burst of texture on his tongue as he bites into a blueberry he’s picked fresh from the bushel, the crispness of a ripe tomato he’s plucked from the vine, the crunch of lettuce between his teeth as the taste floods his senses.

Being here inspires him, it has from the moment he’d stumbled onto the eight acre property in search of somewhere to get fresh produce at a decent rate. You’d found him, sitting cross legged in the middle of one of your fields, sketching out a new idea when you sat down next to him, thinking he was a member of the homeless community.

“I can make you a bag up if you want.” You’d said softly. “I know how hard it can be to get fresh stuff when you’re sleeping rough.”

He turned his head towards you then, his brows furrowing into a frown.

“I’m not homeless…” He’d said looking down at himself  in a ratty white t-shirt and sneakers that have seen much better days. “Fuck, do I look homeless?”

“You kinda do.” You agree before you take his hand in yours and drop a couple of blueberries onto his palm. He pops one into his mouth and he swears he’s never tasted anything as good as that single piece of fruit. “It’s all organic, free from GMOs…”

“You can taste it.” He says, eating other blueberry and then another.

You give him some of the overstock to take home with him that night. Some strawberries and raspberries, along with the leafy greens you’ve been growing. He stares at the colours, using the small artist’s set Luca gave him before he left New York to capture their essence as he designs dishes around their flavour palette.

The next time you see him, he’s tossed out the white t-shirt and the sneakers. He’s wearing a soft grey sweater and a pair of jeans Mikey left him instead. His hair is freshly washed and he’s used a little of that moisturiser that Sugar’s been trying to shove down his throat for the past couple of months. He feels better than he has in years and he thinks it’s because of the fruit. He’s been stagnant since coming to Chicago, focusing on keeping his head above water. There hasn’t been time to relax, to take joy in the things around him.

“That’s really sad.” You tell him as you sit beside him once again in what becomes his favourite field. “That you lost your joy.”

“I don’t think that I ever had any to begin with.” He tells you as he stares out across the plush greenery. “I don’t think I feel things the way that other people do, everything feels muted, it has for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly.

And he shrugs his shoulders because at this point he doesn’t know any different. It started back in New York under the tuition of David Fields. The constant barrage of abuse he suffered, it fractured something deep inside of him. His self-esteem had  withered away with under every comment until there was nothing left but this trembling mess.

“Do you worry you’ll never get it back?” You ask him, studying the profile of his face.

“I did.” He tells you before he tilts his head to look at you. His vibrant blue eyes capture yours and you don’t think you’ve ever seen a colour as beautiful as that. “But then I came here and it’s like something inside me just woke up. I’m starting to feel things again, so yea that’s what’s happening right now.”

“I’m glad the farm could help you like that.” You say sincerely.

“I’m guessing the farm helps a lot of people like that.” He says, gesturing to some of the folks out harvesting in the field. “I looked you up, read about some of the mental health programs you run. You’ve got a good rep.”

“Do what you can, for who you can, where you can, am I right?” You say and he thinks that’s one hell of a philosophy to live by in your day to day.

He considers that now as he watches you in the field. You’re wearing yellow wellies over black leggings because it’s potato season and you always get a little muddy. You have his baseball cap turned backwards on your head, your hair spilling out underneath.

It’s in that moment he realises just how truly happy he is, how happy he’s been over the past year and he knows that’s because of this place, because of you.

You’re surprised a couple of minutes later when his arms wrap around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck inhaling the scent of earth that clings to your skin as he draws you back into the shelter of his firm chest.

“What’s up Bear?” You ask as he snuggles in close, his lips ghosting over skin.

“Nothing.” He whispers. “I just fucking love you.”

“That’s good baby…” You smile as you tilt your head towards him. “Because I fucking love you too.”

Love Carmy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[http-tokki]

nasty dog- choso kamo

~ tattoo artist!choso kamo x fem!reader ~tags/cw: mature content, explicit language, sexual tension ~ wc: 740 ~ not proofread - part of the tattoo artist! choso AU - "I can't stop looking at her ti-ti-ti-ti- face"

Choso knew he fucked up.

The second he spins the roller chair around, bringing you face him, Choso is so beyond screwed. His intention was to continue the conversation front on, fed up with talking through a mirror, plus he wants to get a closer look at your pretty face. He knows he won't be able to stop the blush rising, cheeks glowing red with excitement at being so close to you, but he will talk with you, flirt a little before spinning you back around to finish the tattoo and think about all the different way he would love to make you cum. What Choso isn't expecting is to get a face full of boob. Somehow his mind had forgone the fact you are wearing a pretty sundress cut a little too low, not that he is complaining, well maybe now he is because Choso can’t seem to tear his eyes away from your chest.

“Choso?” your voice is distant but his name is a life jacket pulling him back to the boat.

His gaze snaps up, cheeks burning and dick aching.

Fuck.

“I’m so sorry” he apologises without prompt but you know what he is alluding to.

You giggle, light and airy and shake your head. “It’s okay. they’re right there.” You look down at your chest and shrug. “Plus, I was looking at yours so we’re even.”

Choso tilts his head. “Mine?”

Another giggle, your cheeks dusting pink. “yeah, your pecs.” your eyes flicker down to his chest before back up to his face. “you’ve got nice…..” you inhale a shaky breath. “muscles”

It’s Choso’s turn to laugh and he does flex a little bit to show off a little more, feeling the black shirt tighten over his chest. He likes the way your face turns bright red, how your eyes are trained on him, breathing turning a tad heavier as you cheat heaves. Choso is now also staring at your chest; again. Images of all the ways he could worship you flood his mind, sending blood rushing to his cock. He knows your skin is soft from when he placed the stencil on but he wonders how soft your tits would feel in his large hands, fingers rolling and pinching your nipples before biting down on the soft flesh. do you moan? whimper? or do you sigh? little whines as he sucks and licks and bites.

“Umm….guys?” Choso hears Yuji’s voice and he is instantly whipping his head away from you and towards the door.

There stands his brother, leaning against the door frame staring into the room with furrowed brows.

“Yeah?” Choso’s voice breaks, unable to stop the crack as he coughs. “What is it?”

Yuji stands there for a few seconds longer, eyes darting between the two of you suspiciously before he nods once then announces the reason why he came into the room.

“I'm getting lunch, did you two want anything?”

Choso turns back to you. Your skin is flushed, eyes cast down and away from him.

Fuck. He really fucked up.

“I’m okay, but do….?” his question trails off as you shake your head, still unable to look at him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Okaaaay… i'll be about 15 but I could be longer if you want anything from the cafe down the street?” Yuji waggles his brows at his brother.

“we’re okay, thanks.” Choso cuts off his brother's teasing.

“Could go to the Italian place the next suburb over if you guys want. might be a bit longer with that one though."

"We're good, Yuji." Choso is losing his patience.

His younger brother winks before pulling away from the door frame.

"Might even go downtown be even more of a wait."

"Bye, Yuji," Choso shouts at his brother, sending him off with an air of irritation.

the sound of bells signal his departure and only after not hearing the sound of footsteps coming back up the hall, does Choso turn to you apologies already falling from his tongue. He doesn't know where to go from here, do you guys talk about the very obvious attraction between the two of you or do you ignore it and continue with the tattoo?

Choso's phone buzzes with a text.

Yuji: Do u guys need alone time? ;)

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

Saw that Daisy Ridley's new movie, Young Woman and The Sea, has come out, and I got curious about it as it seemed to have a high IMDB score, and then I clicked on the reviews, and among all the "wonderfuls", "outstandings", "poignants" and "masterpieces" - most of which come from bot accounts with not a single other review - was this:

So it turns out it's yet another made-up bit of ahistorical revisionist propaganda like that Aeronauts one in 2019 and so many others, that the corrupt critics have to mandatorily praise for ideological reasons, and thousands of women leave theaters believing to be true.

---------

It often strikes me that women's approach to, and understanding of, art is most often a kind of emotional voyeurism: Female-created works seldom scratch much deeper into the human condition or the nature of truth or the flow of history or any of the most longstanding questions of life, the universe and everything than the subjective feelings of a single female protagonist, and the majority of female audiences seem to be perfectly happy with the plot or facts or internal logic of a story making no sense whatsoever, just as long as they can get that emotional hit of feeling outrage or "empowerment" or a flood of sugary comfort and well-being.

This is why it disturbs me to see so many catastrophically bad female-created fantasy TV shows being churned out today like The Acolyte, Ms Marvel, She-Hulk and Thelma, all of which are simply very badly written first-time fan-fictions, ideological propaganda and self-insert revenge fantasies. The women making them don't need - indeed, are not even capable of envisioning - anything more than that, and the dwindling female audience that gobbles them up and incoherently defends them can't even see and don't even care that they are being lied to and manipulated in any way. All that matters is the feelings: to them, truth and greatness and genius itself are simply nice feeling-provoking noises, with no further weight or significance, that can be applied to any lumpy bowel movement you drop off on the red carpet of any awards show.

There are women artists possessed of genius - not many, but some - but feminism erases their achievements by relentlessly elevating mediocrity and making their possession of a set of ovaries the only thing of interest about them. By denying and rejecting any objective set of criteria to judge the worth of any works of art, feminism destroys beauty, history, truth and the greatness of human spirit.

[passivenovember]

Steve's never tried a weed brownie before.

Hasn't really wanted to, if he's honest, because the rag-weed shit he gets from Tommy all throughout high school is fine. Even though it's mostly shake and stems and seeds, and the bag Tommy puts it in always looks like it's been mauled by Scotty, his 15 year old schnauzer.

It has to be the same bag, Steve thinks, but maybe that's the 20 minute high talking.

So he's never tried a brownie.

But. Billy Hargrove comes into his life like a storm cloud. Black and gray with impending doom, snagging the air around him with little fish weights until everything is heavy. At first.

But. Then Steve makes him laugh once during a game of shirts and skins, and. It's like the belly of the thing has ripped open, y'know, and the streets of the thing flood with rainwater, and all that existed before is washed down some swallowing, insatiable gutter along with mulch and twigs and the shaky belief that Steve's straight.

They're friends and Steve watches Billy laugh and smile, feels all ten fingers against his chest when Billy shoves him, some sort of atomical reaction to Steve making him laugh, and.

Steve can't believe he ever thought Heaven was in Nancy Wheeler's pants.

--

So.

Billy Hargrove is the Earth after the flood, and the ark carrying everyone to safety. He's the animals inside and the God that sits, watching the world swallow itself.

He feeds things, to Steve.

Lines. You got a really pretty mouth, Harrington. You're smart, you know that? Not. Book smart, but street smart. Dirt road intelligent, I guess, in this shitty fuckin' Hickville hellscape--

Feeds Steve art. That's Samuel Baruch. He's my favorite. Look how he paints cloth, how he tracks the divets and the folds and the shadows. It's like a photo. It's like a window--

Steve makes Billy laugh when he says, "That lady kind of looks like you." Feels all ten fingers on his arm, pushing, when he says, "You'd look cute in a bonnet." Steve nearly falls over. Almost goes easy, but he doesn't.

Billy grabs him. Holds him as he smirks, "Where the fuck would I find a bonnet?"

Steve looks around the art hall, eyes wide and owlish, "Indiana?" He says, out there. In here. And.

Billy stares at him. He's the canvas and the lady in her bonnet, the divets and the folds and the shadows, the artist himself when he wets his thumb and sticks it in Steve's ear. "Dumbass," He says.

Steve finally gets everyone's thing about art.

He snaps a mental image of the afternoon and tries not to smother it in his hands.

--

So.

Steve. His eyes open, bit by bit. And what he finds is blinding. Like he fell asleep in the back of his mother's station wagon and awoke to the screaming light of high noon.

Billy's like the sun, longer Steve knows him. Storm clouds be damned.

Like. He talks about art. And he feeds lines and compliments for shits and giggles, never really noticing that Steve falls for it, a dumb catfish stuck on Billy's sharp, unforgiving hook.

He does all that but he smokes. Weed and cigarettes. He drinks.

He takes Steve to parties and says, "Ever try this before, Bambi?" But it's just Jack Daniels. But. Billy leaning with his elbow on the wall next to Steve's neck, close enough that he can smell Billy's sweat and cologne. He's smiling and his lips are cherry red, rio red, and.

He wants to roll in it.

So. He says, "No," Because, "I haven't."

It's the truth.

So Billy feeds it to him right out of the bottle. Makes him get on his knees. Slaps Steve's wrists away when he tries to hold the vessel himself, because.

Something's happening. Here. There.

Steve stares up at Billy through his eyelashes, trying not to go blind.

--

He blacks out and wakes up in the face of some bitch in a red bikini.

He's still drunk, so it takes him longer than it should to realize she's a poster tacked to somebody's, and he's not at home, and someone's snoring on the rug next to him.

Steve wiggles his toes. Fingers. Tries to remember what happened after Billy's hair caught the dining room lamplight but it's all a blur of sea stone eyes and bright white teeth and all ten fingers, rubbing at him while he threw up under the four way stop on Douglas Street.

Steve groans.

He rolls onto his side and tucks into himself and falls asleep, hoping Billy got home okay.

--

It's silver when a warm, flat palm shakes him alive. "You gotta go," Someone says, their voice rough like flannel bed sheets.

Steve blinks up, into the silver light, and sees Billy. Considers padding from the mattress to sleep inside of Billy's throat, where he'll be warm. It's a familiar urge. It's entirely new.

Steve aches. "What time--"

"--Just before five. My dad gets up early for work," Billy says, like that's supposed to mean castles are crumbing in their kingdom, but he's staring at something on Steve' face.

Really puts things into perspective, because maybe it's supposed to be an emergency. The first wisps of smoke from a forest fire, but Billy has bed head. And pillow lines on his face. And he's looking at Steve like there's something stuck in his throat.

Steve rubs at himself, trying to clear exhaustion and embarrassment. Really, just rubbing it into himself like lotion. "It's Saturday." He says.

"We're poor," Billy tells him, "My dad--"

"Where am I?"

Billy stares at him for a moment and then chuckles, shaking his head, "With me," He mutters.

Steve wants to curl into it like a cat.

--

He's rushed out of the room. He has to climb through the window while Billy keeps watch like a guard dog, and Steve lands on his ankle funny so it isn't until later when he's showered and hung over and falling onto his own mattress that he realizes Billy was in a panic.

That was Billy panicking, like Steve gets when his dad tells him to clean his room before he gets home from work, but Steve was full of concrete and wouldn't do it. Just like that, but worse.

Steve tosses and turns and tries to decipher what there was to be panicked about. Billy's room was clean.

Not just clean but spotless, like someone took a billow pad soaked in bleach and scrubbed every wall and baseboard until nothing remained except that bitch in her red bikini.

The only witness to Steve crawling out through an open window.

--

The more he thinks about it the more it feels like an episode of The Twilight Zone.

He combs through the memory of waking up in Billy's room. He tries to piece together hazy, half-baked image of beige carpet and the bookshelf and the little makeshift vanity that housed all of Billy's hair products.

Steve searches for a spot of the boy he knows. He calls Samuel Baruch's name and hears it shatter against empty, maroon-colored walls and the bikini girl's airbrushed rack.

He tries to envision a wayward sock, left out in the cold. A cup of water on the bedside table. Used tissues on the bedsheets.

Anything.

Steve blinks around his own room and wonders if clutter is a luxury only afforded to boys in houses paid by Monday through Friday workweeks.

He tries to imagine Billy in that room inside the house on Cherry Lane, happy, sleeping until noon in his own boyhood nest while his father gets ready for work.

It sits heavy in Steve's chest. A fairytale.

--

So.

Billy asks him during homeroom on Monday if he's ever had a weed brownie. Really, he scribbles it on a note and has Mary Sandoval stick it under Steve's elbow on her way to the bathroom.

Steve presses the note open on his desk until it's delicately wrinkled, mulling the question over in his mind. He spent the weekend driving himself crazy trying to come up with a reason to invite Billy over, a nook to slip into so he can ask the hard questions.

This could be it.

Steve peeks over his shoulder, flushing pink when Billy wags his tongue.

He has a black eye.

Steve snaps like a piece of rotted driftwood. He turns back to the note and scribbles no, but I'll try one if you have it. Has Mary take it back with her.

Figures. Billy should see his room. Steve should open his eyes.

--

"Why does it smell like that?"

"Like what, pretty boy?"

"Like. Gasoline."

Billy tilts his head back, laughter shooting like fireworks against Steve's ceiling, "It's just the dope. It's how it smells when you bake it into the--"

"--I don't like it."

"Why not?"

"I just think brownies are supposed to smell like chocolate," Steve says, handing the bag over with a wrinkled nose, "It's not a very appetizing smell."

"It's just weed."

"Weed smells gross, too."

"You don't like weed?"

"No, I just--"

"--We don't have to do the edibles if you don't want--"

"--I want to," Steve tells him. "Please." Instead of I'd do anything you asked me to. You're the influence my grandma warned me about. You're the lighter and the cigarette and the smoke in my lungs. Getting me high.

Billy nods, "Since you asked so nicely," and severs the baggy, tearing the first brownie in half.

"Woah," Steve says, embarrassed, "I know I've never had one before but I think I can do more than half."

"They're strong."

"I'm strong too," Steve says. When Billy blinks at him, confused, Steve flexes.

The noise Billy makes is like a duck getting run over by a clown car. It reverberates off the walls and Steve aches to stand and chase it. "You can always start out small and take more if you need to, hot rod."

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. "How strong are they?"

Billy shrugs, fiddling with the chewed plastic lip of the bag. "I kissed a boy on half," He says.

It's the first time since Billy came to town that he won't stretch to meet Steve's gaze.

Steve takes the bag from him and shoves the brownie into his mouth, coughing over the dry exterior.

"Easy, man, easy," Billy smacks him between the shoulder blades, grinning and rubbing his back once Steve swallows.

[b0ng05]

Over this - Toxic!Amber Freeman x Reader

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

Word Count: 6151

Prompt: Y/n receives a text from an unknown number. Only to find out it's her ex. She can't help but think about all the toxic stuff Amber did to her.

Warnings: Toxic Relationship! Mentions of abuse! Angst!!

Also, Not Proofread💅

Masterlist

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

Unknown: Hey, you awake? 11:21 p.m.

Unknown: It’s Amber 11:22 p.m.

I thought I was over it. I thought things had been left in the past. I thought she forgot about me. But after receiving a text from an unknown number, it was clear she didn’t. I laid in my bed, gazing at my ceiling as tears streamed down my face. It had been over 3 years. Yet the traumatizing memories that flooded back in felt so very fresh. Each incident vividly clear as my eyes fluttered shut.

Amber stares into her mirror, adjusting her dark hair and touching up her makeup. My arms were wrapped around her waist, my hand gently rubbing her stomach as I watched over her shoulder. Her TV was hooked up to her phone, playing her playlist that wasn’t all that rangeful. Most of the songs were just replaying, mainly the same artist’s songs. It was getting quite bland hearing the same voice over and over for the past hour. But I endured it while staring at her, utterly smitten.

“Isn’t she kind of overrated?” I tease playfully, referencing the artist singing, knowing she was one of Amber’s favorites. While poking Amber’s side in a playful manner, hoping to gain her attention for at least a moment. Having had been watching Amber for a while with no commentary or affection on her end for 15 minutes. Not that I minded, being with her felt more than enough.

Instead of hearing a sarcastic quip back from her like usual, my head is whipped to the side faster than I can register. Her hand hung in the air, giving me an explanation to my now turned face. “You just slapped me.” I say slowly, registering what the fuck just happened. “Yeah. Quit saying dumb shit.” She scoffs, turning back to her reflection, quite unfazed with her own actions.

I remove my arms from her waist after seeing the forming red print of her hand on my cheek in the reflection of her mirror. I backed up, going to grab my phone off her charger to leave, wanting out of the situation. But before I can even make it three steps away, her hand is wrapped tightly around my wrist in a strong grip. She turns me to face her, one hand trailing my hip.

“Where are you going?” She asks, her tone turning seraphic and sweet. “I’m leaving, I don’t want to be here.” I say, trying to move away from her grip to no avail. “Oh don’t be a baby. You know I didn’t mean it, Y/n/n. You know I wouldn’t hurt you like that seriously.” Amber's deceptively sweet tone calls out. Her hand moved to caress my cheek softly.

“Don’t go. Please?” Amber hums softly, a small pout on her lips and her eyes pleading with my own. I give in, unable to ignore the ache in my heart at the desperate look in her eyes. I put my phone down and move to sit beside her once more.

That was just the beginning of a toxic relationship that was to soon blossom. A lesson that I wasn’t aware I needed to learn. You hear the stories of toxic relationships and think it could never happen to you, that you would never fall for the sob stories and the twisted manipulative ways of lovers that seek oblivious prey.

Amber and I were at Tara’s house, all sitting in her living room watching some action movie on the TV. I was curled up to Amber’s side, her arm wrapped around my shoulder. Tara was sitting on the other side of me, her arm resting on the armrest and her chin resting in the palm of her hand. Tara lets out a huff of a laugh as a new actress enters the scene of the movie.

“Don’t you think that chick’s dress is ugly?” Tara jokes, the dress the actress wore was adorned with yellow and orange polka dots with a weird neckline that was not at all flattering for the actress’s figure. “I don’t think you should be judging Tara, especially with your body,” Amber chuckles as she glances over at Tara with a douchy smirk. Her hand rubbing along my shoulder as they have a moment of a silent stare off.

“Fuck off,” Tara mumbles, before setting her popcorn bowl down on the coffee table and walking upstairs to her room. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I whisper, looking at her completely disgusted with her rude behavior. “Oh come on, it was just a joke. She’ll get over it.” Amber rolls her eyes, attempting to pull me closer to her embrace.

“No. That was seriously fucked up. You don’t comment on someone else’s body.” I state, removing her arm from me as I stand up, going to follow Tara upstairs to apologize for Amber’s unacceptable behavior. “Seriously? Tara made a mean comment and you didn’t give her the cold shoulder!” Amber huffs, as she stands up, her arms raised outward in anger as she tries to make an excuse. “No. She commented on a dress design that was ugly. Not the woman’s body.” I scoff, walking over to the stairs. Fully intending to apologize to Tara on Amber’s behalf.

As I step on the landing to walk up the stairs, my vision goes black. Everything was too fast to understand. I feel a heavy pressure around my neck, and the back of my head aches with the force it slammed into the wall with. My body feels a numb tingly feeling, my legs much like jelly. As my vision tunnels back in, the sight I’m met with is Amber’s hand around my throat, slamming me against the wall behind me. Her grip was so tight that I could barely gasp for breath, surely to bruise later on. Her eyes were darker than before, the look was terrifying and had a sadistic essence that left my skin crawling and spine shivering. Her cocky smile no longer there, in place was a twitching snarl. I felt my heart drop in utter fear.

Before I could say an attempt to stutter out anything, she tried to play off her violent actions after seeing the fear written on my face. Her lips shifted into a flirty smirk, and leaning in to kiss me, her lips pressed against mine in a bruising manner that left mine aching and not in a good way, her hand still gripping my around throat tightly. As my senses start to come back to me, I push her away as hard as I can, making her stumble back a bit, and then I rush upstairs to Tara’s room, not bothering to knock. I open the door and shut it behind me. Tara looks up at me bewildered as she sees the fear, betrayal and confusion written on my face.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Tara asks, getting up from her bed to wrap her arms around me in soft gentle embrace. “I- I um- I’m sorry for how Amber was acting, it wasn’t right.” I apologize, struggling to find the words that I desperately wanted to speak. Fear eating at my mind, knowing Amber was just beyond the door. “Hey, hey, no, you don’t have to apologize for her, Y/n. She is her own person, and so are you, okay?” Tara soothes, her hand softly rubbing my back trying to comfort me. “I-”

Before I could speak another word, the door swung open, Amber entering the room. Her gaze hardens at the sight. She walks over and grabs my wrist, pulling me towards the door. “We gotta head out,” Amber states, but her tone was more so demanding. “What- wait-” Tara tries to intervene but to no avail with the intense glare that Amber sent her way.

Amber drags me out of Tara’s room towards the stairs, and once we got downstairs, she didn’t waste a second getting us out the front door and into her car. “What did you say to her?” Amber demands as she enters the driver’s seat of her car.

She quickly floors it out of Tara’s driveway, taking a left turn, wheels squealing, meaning we were going in the direction of her house. My stomach turns, a sickening feeling overcoming me at the sound of her tone and the look in her eyes. Mentally, I couldn’t help but think back to the psychology class Amber and I had attended yesterday at school. More so the lesson, the one on gut-brain connection. Never thought I’d actually use the information, but seeing and feeling it happen in real time made something click in my brain. I didn’t deserve this.

“I just apologized for you being an asshole.” I huffed, a new found confidence bestowed in my mind. “Excuse you? I was the asshole? No. You were a bitch for running off when I was trying to kiss you and make up.” Amber quips, her face contorting in anger and annoyance as she grips the steering wheel tightly. “You’re the one that wants to be a stubborn bitch about everything.”

“You put your fucking hands on me. I had a pretty good fucking reason to run. Pullover.” I uncross my arms, one hand going for the door handle. “No! I’m not fucking pulling over.” Amber seethes, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

“I don’t want to be near you right now! Pull over.” I demand, my head whipping to the car door when I hear her press the lock button on her side of the car. “I’m not fucking pulling over, we are gonna talk this out. I don’t wanna lose you!” Amber starts to make herself cry, a skill she had mastered in order to manipulate me into letting her have her way.

My phone starts to ring in my back pocket, I pull it out and check the screen, the caller ID showing my mom’s name. I let out a sigh of relief. “My mom is calling.” I state. I don’t bother to glance at her direction as I answer the phone. My parents taking priority over my highschool girlfriend. “Hey honey, we need you to come home and watch the dog. Your father and I are going out for date night,” My mom’s soothing voice informs.

“Yeah of course, I’ll be home in a few.” I say before ending the call, making sure to say an ‘I love you’ at the end. “My parents need me home.” I state. “Okay, so we’ll talk this out at your house.” Amber nods, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie.

“No, my parents don’t want anyone over while I’m home alone, and they just got new cameras installed last week.” I throw in a lie at the end, just craving some space away from her.

I had spent my whole summer, every single day at her home, at her side. It was already halfway through the school year and I still barely had room to breathe with her constantly at my side. Not only that, but she had been so controlling. The whole summer, she would refuse to let me go home when I wanted to unless my parents called me practically begging me to come back home. She went through my phone, blocking every friend that she deemed a threat to our relationship, some that didn’t even do anything wrong at all. All just so she could feel more in control of our relationship.

“Okay, so you can still facetime me when you get home right?” Amber asks sternly, her hand moving to grip mine in a tight grasp. “Yeah, I’ll call you after my parents leave.” I lie through my teeth, planning to fake a low battery before the call.

“Okay… Promise?” Amber asks, glancing at me for a brief moment before her eyes turn back to the road, taking a turn towards my house to drop me off. “I promise.” I nod, lifting her hand up to my lips to kiss the back of it. She smiles and caresses the back of my hand with her thumb. “Also, we gotta talk about Tara. I don’t want us hanging out with her anymore.” Amber commands. “But why? I thought you liked Tara? She’s nice.” I say bewildered by her.

“Yeah, a little too nice to you.” Amber scoffs, her hand moving to grip my thigh possessively, “You are mine, and I don’t want you seeing her. Is that clear?” Amber questions, her hand gripping my thigh in an increasingly painful grip. “Yes ma’am.” I mumble, wincing in pain.

“Good girl.” Amber smirks in satisfaction as her hand gently rubs over when her nail marks are now indented. Amber turns into the driveway of my house, parking her car in the driveway. She turns to me, reaching out to caress my cheek. Looking at me with the same look that always won me over. “I’m gonna miss you.” Amber pouts, tracing over my bottom lip with her thumb.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” I say, feeling a pang of guilt at the sight of her pout. “Okay… Give me one more kiss?” She asks, leaning closer, her breath brushing against my lips. “Okay,” I nod, leaning in to kiss her softly before pulling away. “I love you,” Amber calls as I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the car door. “I love you too…” I say back before closing the car door behind me.

I walk up my driveway, feeling her eyes on me as I get to the door. I quickly get inside and lock the door behind me. Upon entering, my mom appears from the entrance of the kitchen. “There you are,” She walks over to me, “Your dad and I will be back in a couple hours, take care of our dog, alright? Make sure he isn’t lonely.” My mom laughs a bit at the end as she hugs me.

She grabs her purse and coat, “Let’s go!” She yells up the stairs to my dad who was taking his precious time on his hair. He quickly rushes down the stairs, nearly tripping down them, but catching himself with a nervous smile as he looks over at my mom who was unamused by his inability to be careful. “We’ll be back soon, love you kiddo,” My dad grins, patting my shoulder before offering his arm out to my mom as they walk out to their car.

Once they exit, I make sure the front door is locked, checking the back door too. No, I wasn’t expecting Amber to show up again, but I wouldn’t put it past her. Once I made sure they were secure, I called my dog to come with me up to my bedroom.

Unknown: Hey, you awake? 11:21 p.m.

Unknown: It’s Amber 11:22 p.m.

Unknown: I miss you 11:24 p.m.

I sigh as I rub my eyes with the back of my hands. It hurts to think I was so naive. And now, with her texting me, it was all just carving open old wounds that weren’t fully finished healing. A speedy thump to the heart in my chest, one that I didn’t want but couldn’t control. My mind flashes with memories that I wish I could forget.

We were laying in Amber’s bed, her head resting on my chest as we watched videos on my phone that I held on my stomach. Her hand was softly rubbing my hip. “She looks familiar.” I comment, referring to the woman in the video who was explaining an ongoing situation in the world. “You think she’s pretty, don’t you?” Amber scoffs, lifting her head off my chest to look back up at me with an unamused look, her eyebrows furrowed.

“No, I’m just saying that I think I’ve seen her videos before,” I elaborate, softing stroking her hair trying to ease her mind. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” Amber scoffs, sitting up and taking my phone out of my hand. “I’m not lying, baby. I promise.” I say softly, my hand moving to gently caress her cheek, but she pushes my hand away. “I can’t even trust anything you fucking say.” Amber gets up from the bed, pacing her room, her face contorted in anger, that dark look in her eyes coming back.

I felt my heart race in my chest, not liking when she got like this, usually I could calm her down before a total meltdown. “You’re such a fucking liar! I saw you at school talking to Tara on Tuesday, y’know that?!” She seethes, lifting her arm back as she chucked my phone with no intent in direction. It felt like it happened in slow motion as the phone smacked me right in the face, hitting my nose and lip in a harsh manner. My hands quickly rush to cradle my face in pain.

“Fuck!” I cry in pain, blood gushing from my nose, my lip now busted from being pinched hard between my tooth and phone. Blood dripped down my lip and momentarily stained my teeth. “God don’t be so dramatic, it was an accident.” Amber rolls her eyes as she grabs a towel that was hanging off the back of her closet, walking over to hold it to my face.

“One that you could have fucking prevented!” I scoff, trying to push her hands away as I tried to hold the towel myself. “Baby, you know I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t do that to you on purpose, I just got angry” Her tone turns sweet and soft, her hand running soothingly through my hair. “But you did!” I say, trying to move away from her. “It wasn’t my fault!” Amber huffs, pulling me into her arms, tight enough that I couldn’t get away.

She leans down and presses soft kisses on my cheek, whispering sweet nothings to calm me down and get me to stop trying to squirm away. After almost 20 minutes, I no longer fought her embrace, rather leaning into it as she rubbed my back softly. Her hand holding the towel to my face, coddling me. My mind was busy thinking on how I would explain the injuries to my mom when I got home.

Unknown: Hey, you awake? 11:21 p.m.

Unknown: It’s Amber 11:22 p.m.

Unknown: I miss you 11:24 p.m.

Unknown: Please baby 11:27 p.m.

I let out a shaky breath, my eyes closed as I stewed in my thoughts. My hand brought up to my face, tracing over where the bump on my lip used to reside, the memories felt so fresh that I could almost feel the old wound. Then another memory flashed through my head, an invisible stake of pain piercing through the back of my skull. Remembering her was only gutting my stability further.

Amber and I were walking around a bar in a busy part of town, her mom was a busy woman, and one of her friends was having a cancer benefit. Her mother was only able to attend for 30 minutes before having to leave for a work meeting. She requested that Amber and I stay behind in her place, also asking us to make sure her name was at the top of all the raffle items for the benefit. Amber agreed after being lectured by her mother. I remained by her side, trying to be a supportive girlfriend.

We walked into the room that held the raffle buckets next to the items and the clipboard to list your name along with your bid for the item. Amber’s mother did not spare a dime with the tickets she bought, wanting to be as supporting as she can for her friend, as well as wanting to win a full massage and mani pedi. “God this is boring,” Amber whispers, guiding me to a wall for us to lean on. I lean my back against the cold brick wall, Amber moving to stand in front of me, her hand caressing my waist. “Calm down, we only have to be here for a bit longer like your mom asked.” I mumble quietly, my eyes scanning the room, observing the people in the crowded area. “Why not make it a little interesting~?” Amber smirks, her hand moving to cup my jaw as she leans in and connects her lips with mine, trying to start a heated makeout session, I push her back slightly. “I don’t feel like this is appropriate. This isn’t the time or place, I don’t feel comfortable doing this here.” I voice my concerns softly, trying not to upset her as I caress her cheek gently.

“Uhuh sure~” Amber’s smirk doesn’t falter as she leans in and forces her lips against mine once more. My hands move to her shoulders trying to push her back. Her hands move to grip my waist tighter, trapping me between the wall and her. With the crowd as busy and as drunk as they were, didn’t notice my struggle. Except for one woman, who just so happened to be working at the cancer benefit. “Excuse me, you two need to go. Out. Now.” An older woman with dark brown hair and a Monroe piercing scolds, her thin eyebrow quirked up.

I recognized her as one of the women Amber’s mother was talking with earlier before she took her leave. I felt a disgusting guilt building up inside me. I felt dirty, not in a good way, in a vile way. Amber knew how I felt about PDA, especially in settings like this. “Yeah, yeah.” Amber rolls her eyes, smiling cockily as she grabs my hand dragging me out of the room into the bar area where they would soon announce the winners. I went to sit down on one of the only empty stools left, but Amber stopped me, sitting down in the seat, making me stand in front of her as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders. A blonde woman with glasses in an olive green dress stood up to begin announcing the winners from the raffle and bids. After a harrowing thirty minutes, all the winners were announced, none of which were Amber’s mother. My legs were killing me, having stood the whole time with the pressure of Amber’s head and arms resting on me.

“Whatever, let’s go.” Amber scoffs, feeling some sort of selfish anger for having wasted her time. I couldn’t understand her anger. But Amber got mad over a lot of minor things, so it wasn’t really a surprise that this was sparking a flame of anger in her. Amber grabbed my hand and dragged me through the crowds of people in the small bar. We get out the door and after a few steps outside, Amber stops me. She was shivering, having worn only a t-shirt and jeans in the middle of fall.

“Give me your hoodie.” She states, holding out her pale ringed hand. “Why? You chose to not wear a hoodie when I told you to wear one.” I say, my eyebrows furrowing, still kind of pissed off about her making me stand up the whole half hour. “Maybe because I’m your fucking girlfriend and your ride home.” Amber snaps back, her jaw clenching as she snaps her fingers, cueing me to give her the hoodie. “Okay..” I sigh, peeling off my dark green hoodie and handing it to the girl, leaving me in t-shirt and cargo pants. I didn’t want to walk home tonight, so I didn’t see the point in arguing with her further. I could feel the cold dry sting of the air hit me. I shivered, and we began to walk to her car. When we got to her car, she was livid, the parking meter had expired, a ticket sat under the windshield wiper. Her eye twitched a bit as she hastily walked over, snatching the ticket off the windshield and getting in the car. I quickly follow suit, not wanting to piss her off more. I get into the car, shutting the door behind me. I buckle my seatbelt, feeling an absolute need to, knowing she’s seething in anger. As I got in, she seemed cool for a minute, before her fist drove into the steering wheel, punching repeatedly. I reached out and held her hand with mine, preventing her fist from hitting it again, not wanting her to hurt herself. I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean over, holding her head to my chest, embracing her tightly. I move over to straddle her lap. Her arms wrap around me, holding me breathlessly tight, letting out a frustrated and muffled cry out into my chest.

I felt guilty. She was having a hard day already, her mom yelled at her earlier, a woman scolded us, she was upset about the raffle, I argued about the hoodie, and now she has a ticket. I kissed the crown of her forehead and whispered sweet nothings trying to calm her down. Once her breathing was more normal, I pulled back and looked back into her eyes, feeling a jolt to my heart as hers met mine.

“You okay?” I whisper softly, kissing her cheek a few times. Her lips were puffed out in a small pout and her eyes were teary as she stared back at me. “I’m sorry, I just- I got overwhelmed.” Amber mumbles, pressing her face back into my chest

Unknown: Hey, you awake? 11:21 p.m.

Unknown: It’s Amber 11:22 p.m.

Unknown: I miss you 11:24 p.m.

Unknown: Please baby 11:27 p.m.

Unknown: I need you 11:30 p.m.

I bit my bottom lip, as I thought about her eyes. Back then, I thought I always saw her eyes softening when she gazed back at me, but now that it’s been years, I have come to realize it was her loving the power and control she had over me. The way she had me wrapped around her finger no matter what.

It was a few days after the incident where she had slapped me over a joke I made about her music.

Amber and I were cuddling in her bed when my phone buzzed in the sheets next to us. She picked it up and checked the notification. My head was nuzzled into the crook of her neck, her hand that wasn’t occupied with my phone was stroking my hair softly. “Your ex fucking texted you.” Amber scoffs, opening the text. Her hand stopped stroking my hair, moving to aid her other hand with the phone.

“Block her,” I mumble, too sleepy to care about whatever my ex wants. “She said she found your hoodie and wants you to come pick it up.” Amber says after reading the text. “Tell her to throw it away.” I say, pressing a soft kiss to her neck. “No, actually…” Amber pauses thinking, “Go pick up the hoodie.” She states, pushing my head off her neck. “Why? I don’t want it.” I huff, a bit pouty about her ruining my comfortable position.

“Well I do, because then the next time that bitch stalks your instagram, she’ll get the pleasure of seeing me in your hoodie.” Amber smirks, handing my phone back to me. “Why does it matter if it’s that one? You’re on my instagram wearing my hoodies in most of our pictures,” I ask confusedly as I lean over to kiss her cheek before putting my phone in my pocket. “Because, I get to rub it in that you’re mine. If she’s willing to go through the trouble of giving you your hoodie back, she gets to go through the trouble of seeing me in it later.” Amber states before kissing me softly. “Now go get that hoodie.” She smiles, waving me off. Within a ten minute walk, I was outside my ex’s house. She stood on her burgundy colored porch, holding a familiar black hoodie in her hands. I walked up to the stairs of her porch. She smiles at me, sitting down on one of the steps as she hands it to me. “Hey… how are you?” She asks, her tone nothing but friendly.

Before she and I had broken up, we used to be close friends. Even after the break up, we remained friends until I met Amber. We broke up for the main reason that while being with me, she discovered that what she thought were romantic feelings towards me were nothing but platonic. I had felt the same way and hence the being friends thing. “I’m okay, how are you?” I ask, my voice a little rough from having walked over on a hot summer day with no water. “I’m alright. But I’m worried about you,” She pauses, “Mindy told me that you stopped talking to most of the group. What’s going on with you?” She asks softly, her hand touching my shoulder in a comforting manner. I let out a shaky sigh as tears welled up in my eyes. “Things have been difficult lately.” I state vaguely, running a hand through my hair. “What do you mean? You can talk to me. You know I won’t say a thing,” She says, knowing I’ve had a past of people telling my business to other people who have no right to it. “Amber has been getting more controlling, and well…” I sigh and wipe my face with my hand. “And what?” She whispers softly, trying to remain supportive and comforting. “She slapped me the other day,” I mumble, not wanting to have to face the reality, but knowing I need to. “What? Y/n, that’s not okay,” A small gasp comes from her mouth as she rubs my arm comfortingly. She knew this kind of behavior from anyone, especially a teenager, wasn’t okay whatsoever. She didn’t honestly have any other words besides, “You need to tell an adult.” She pauses her words, to try to lay them out more kindly, “What she’s doing isn’t right. You don’t deserve to be hurt.” She says. My phone buzzes in my back pocket, I pull it out to check it. The realization of how much time had passed brings me concern as the notification from Amber popped up. She asked what was taking me so long, and told me to hurry up.

“I gotta go, I’m sorry,” I say, slipping my phone back in my pocket before turning to walk off, missing the look of pity that my ex sent me as I walked off. I quickly hurried back to Amber’s house, despite the smoldering heat that threatened to wind me down to the sidewalk. I get back to her house, to see her waiting on her couch with her feet propped up on the dark brown coffee table in front of her. “You get the hoodie?” Amber asks, looking up from her phone. “Y- yeah.” I say through heavy breaths. I toss it over to her. She picks it up, inspecting it and the design.

“What took you so long?” She interrogates, looking back up at me with a bated stare.

“It was a long walk in hot heat,” I excuse, moving to sit beside her as I pick up her water bottle off the table to take a swig. “BS, what took you so long?” She scoffs, turning to face me with a raised brow. “My ex asked how I was doing,” I admit, looking up to meet her eyes. “And what did you say?” Amber asks, squinting her eyes. “I said I was fine,” I shrug, setting the water bottle back down on the table. “And that was it?” Amber asks, not convinced at all. “That was it.” I say, my eyes accidentally diverting from hers out of guilt. “Bullshit. What else?” She demands, grabbing my chin to force me to look at her. “She said that Mindy told her I wasn’t coming around the group as much anymore.” I admit further, wanting her to let my chin out of her tight grip. Amber lets out a dark chuckle, pinching the bridge of her nose. “A whole month without speaking to you and she still can’t keep you off her damn mind. No wonder I felt the need to keep you away from her.” Amber rolls her eyes, pulling me into her lap. I don’t say anything, not wanting to argue and cause a bigger reaction from her. Instead I silently snuggled up to the crook of her neck as she ran her ringed hand over my back in small soothing circles.

Unknown: Hey, you awake? 11:21 p.m.

Unknown: It’s Amber 11:22 p.m.

Unknown: I miss you 11:24 p.m.

Unknown: Please baby 11:27 p.m.

Unknown: I need you 11:30 p.m.

Unknown: Answer babe 11:33 p.m.

I didn’t hate her, after all the bullshit she did then. Not until Richie. That’s when I started to.

I walked into Amber’s home, a happy grin along my lips. I came over planning to surprise her with a cute box of snacks and drinks I made for her. I spent hours on the box alone, painting each side, attempting to recreate her favorite Stab movie covers on each side, paying close attention to each detail to try and make it near perfect for her. The box was nearly overflowing in her favorite snacks and drinks. I walked up the stairs towards her bedroom, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion as I heard a bed creaking. I didn’t see anyone else’s car in the driveway so I made the stupid assumption of her having a reasonable explanation like taking care of her own needs. I balance the box on the side of my hip as I open her bedroom door. What I didn’t expect to see was Richie on top of her as she moaned out his name. The box dropped from under my arm, loudly crashing to the floor, capturing the attention of both of them. Amber’s eyes widened as she was at a loss for words. I saved her the brain power by running out of the house and driving away before she could even reach me. By the time I reached my house, I ran inside, tears leaving my eyes as I called one person that I thought I’d never call again. Tara. I called Tara. No explanation, just telling her I needed her to come to my house immediately. I went to each door and window in my house, making sure they were locked and if possible covered with the curtains and blinds. Knowing that Amber was persistent and if I didn’t pick up her calls eventually, she’d show up. I just prayed Tara would be here before then. I needed to tell someone the truth, because I didn’t quite frankly know what to do with it. Being a teenager, you don’t expect to be used like a punching bag or cheated on with a grown ass man.

I was sitting on my living room couch, my phone was tossed on the coffee table, buzzing with texts from Amber. All I knew was that I didn’t want to hear it. As I cried on the couch, a knock on the front door broke me from my sob session. I got up quickly, making my way to the door quietly before peaking out the peephole, seeing Tara standing at my doorstep. I unlock and open the door, letting the girl in before locking the door back up.

“Hey, what’s going on with you?” Tara asks softly, seeing my tear stained face. I shake my head to prevent a sob from breaking through as I hug her, burying my head in her shoulder. As my cries wrack my body, she holds me close, stroking my hair softly, shushing my cries. “It’s gonna be okay, we’ll get over this.” She whispered, unsure of what the situation was, but more than willing to try and help.

Unknown: Hey, you awake? 11:21 p.m.

Unknown: It’s Amber 11:22 p.m.

Unknown: I miss you 11:24 p.m.

Unknown: Please baby 11:27 p.m.

Unknown: I need you 11:30 p.m.

Unknown: Answer babe 11:31 p.m.

Unknown: Fucking answer me 11:33 p.m.

“Babe, turn your phone off, I can’t sleep with the constant notifications,” A tired brunette groans beside me in bed. She turns over in the sheets, burying her face in the crook of my neck with a tired pout. “Sorry, love. I’ll turn it off.” I kiss the top of Tara’s head, turning the do not disturb on my phone. I hover my finger over the button on my phone screen. I press down on the block button. I’m over this.

[chuuyrr]

GORGEOUS — NAKAHARA CHUUYA

⊹ CW(s): f! reader, famous! singer! reader, strangers to lovers, crushing (you fall first but he falls harder), heavy references to taylor swift and her reputation album, 3.9k words

⊹ SYNOPSIS: in which you write your crush a song, and he finds out

inspired by: gorgeous by taylor swift !

applause and cheers flood your ears as you stand before the stage, a smile on your red-painted lips, albeit a little breathless as you bring the microphone to your lips, ready to deliver your speech and express thanks for the award bestowed upon you.

what began as a passion for music and songwriting has grown into stardom, as evidenced by the best female musician award you were now receiving on stage, surrounded by other artists in the business and, most importantly, your fans.

just as you were ready to begin when another music artist, much older than you, interrupted you. you stood there perplexed, but then the much older and taller artist grins at you, almost darkly and mockingly.

"yo, [name]!" he exclaims into your microphone, stealing as he addresses you with such familiarity, "i'm really happy for you. i'mma let you finish, but, she has won the best video award of all times!" he exclaims, gesturing at the other female music artist sitting on the sides, but she looks just as perplexed as you.

"one of the best videos of all time, i tell you!" he says into the microphone again, facing the crowd as if rubbing salt in your open wound, then shoveling the microphone back to you as if nothing happened.

in any case, the sudden interruption of the said male performer stunned the entire stage and audience. as you move about the stage, you find yourself uncomfortably laughing and unsure what to do.

the audience suddenly begins to yell "boos!" instead of clapping and cheers, and your hands shake so much that you nearly drop the trophy in your grasp. the shame seeps deep into your flesh, and the fact that cameras were flashing everywhere and this awarding was also being done live didn't help.

you couldn't find your voice, and the stage appears to be tilting as your eyesight blurs.

your great moment, your glory, vanished in an instant.

your reputation.

as you hold the glass in your hand, you sigh and tap the rim before giving it a quick, delicate spin, allowing the ice to clink against the glass before you drink the burgundy liquid, letting the addictive yet mild taste of fermented grapes strike your tongue and throat.

you twirl the glass in your palm one more as you recall the incident that occurred during your awarding. you recall the dazzling lights of cameras, the gasps and shouts from the audience, and what's more, that very artist who humiliated even stated that you owed him something sensual for making you famous.

a smile tugs at your lips as you shake your head and look at the music playing in the pub. it served as a gentle reminder that this was your current situation.

even if you remember it like it was yesterday, it has been a while since then. customers at the bar are singing along to the fairly spiteful yet powerful tune and lyrics of your song, enjoying the piano and beat.

"but i got smarter, i got harder in the nick of time. honey, i rose up from the dead, i do it all the time. i got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined—i check it once, then i check it twice, oh!" the crowd of the bar sings, jumping up and about with their drinks in hand.

"look what you made do! look what you just made me do!" they continue to sing the lyrics, some even dancing to the choreography while others were just cheering and such.

your little revenge song appears to have polarized music critics, with some praising your new direction and hailing it as a fierce comeback, while others were disappointed with your change of style from your usual romance-esque and heartbreak songs to a dark electroclash and dance-pop, as well as the hidden message that underpins it.

"huh, that was a nice build-up to a crescendo build in the pre-chorus from the sparse verses," a voice next to you comments.

you blink, your eyes widening and your heart trembling slightly.

shit. did you got recognized already?

you slowly turn your head, and there stands a red-brunet with his hair framing his face and a black fedora on top of his head. he's dressed in a white button-up shirt underneath a gray vest, a black choker, a black ribbon bolo tie kept together with a little silver clasp, an open black cropped jacket with sleeves pulled up at the elbows, black slacks, a black belt dropping off his right hip, and black low-arch shoes.

you can feel your heart pounding. this man appears to be a big deal, possibly like you? was he a music critic, perhaps? you thought you heard him say something about your song, “look what you made me do”, playing in the background, but you couldn't be sure.

but there was something oddly appealing about this man, and you found yourself glancing at his face rather than his suit, and…

ba.. dump..

you feel the blood rush into your cheeks and your heart skip a beat when you notice he has beautiful blue eyes that remind you of the ocean.

your gaze ultimately settles on the creases of his face, from his brows to his nose and all the way to his lips. he is so gorgeous that you find it difficult to swallow the lump growing in your throat, your words becoming tangled in your tangle of thoughts and feelings.

for a brief moment, you've forgotten what you were drinking and thinking about because he—this stranger—has taken over everything in your mind.

when he finally turns to you, allowing you to be face-to-face with him as he sits on the cushioned stool next to you, you shift in your seat, becoming nervous once more.

"are you okay?" he says, and you notice him watching at you carefully, but with some concern, as he notices your flushed cheeks and how you appeared to be a little shaken in your seat.

"wha—?" you murmur out, blinking in confusion.

he blinks back before narrowing his eyes slightly, a look of uncertainty on his face, yet the way he does it is igniting feelings inside your chest right now.

"i asked if you were okay. is everything okay, miss?" he asks again, and this time a chuckle escapes his lips.

"o-oh, yeah. i’m fine, no worries," you exhale, a sheepish smile on your face as you manage a brief fit of laughter. you were still in awe of this man.

you assumed he was a music critic or a businessman wanting to interview you or get you into a deal for collaborations, but from the way he speaks and addresses you, he appears to be neither.

what's more unexpected is that he doesn't seem to even recognize you.

you were already expecting him to start bombarding you the instant he laid eyes on you and sat next to you, but it was something you didn't mind at all. it was a strange feeling for you, yet it was reassuring in some ways.

being famous always meant having eyes and cameras trained on you at all times, which you acknowledge was a touch stifling. you couldn't really blame yourself because you've made quite a name and reputation for yourself with the songs you've composed since you were a child.

you gently sit back, more calm now that he doesn't appear to recognize you, and order another glass of wine from the bartender, who kindly pours you some from the bottle.

"hey, is that a pinot noir?" you hear him speak again, commenting on the beverage you got.

you turn back to face him, "yeah, it is. why?"

"that's a great wine to have by itself," he explains, chuckling softly.

"you seem to know a lot about wine," you smile at him before taking a sip of your drink, welcoming the taste of the wine in your taste buds once more.

"and you seem to have a good eye," he says, smiling. at least, that's how you perceive it. the sort that you'd see from your fans, not the ones that reminded you of bad music critiques and certain people in your life.

he turns to the bartender to order himself a drink, which you see sends a little surprise from the bartender as you hear the bartender fumbling over when he orders a wine called petrus, oblivious of how ridiculously pricey it was.

"you have a problem with me ordering petrus? hah?" he asks, arching his brow at the bartender, and you find yourself giggling at the sound of his tone.

something about the way he spoke when he was agitated, the subtle growl in his voice, was sending you.

"oi, what's so funny?" huffs the red-brunet, staring at you with a little but not necessarily mean glare.

"nothing," you remark between laughter as you sipped your pinot noir, "you just sound like a cute but angry puppy."

"EXCUSE ME?!"

maybe you did drink a little too much that night.

the next thing you know, you're seeing the same man you saw about a week before, and strangely enough, you discovered him in the club doing who knows what.

it was bizarre, truly, but you felt drawn to this man you had no known about. you didn't even know his name when you met him in the bar, so you did what any normal person would have done.

you simply stay far from the crowd admist the blasting lights and music in the dimly lit room because you don't dare to approach him, but little did you know, he was here for a reason, and one thing he wasn't expecting was to see you again the moment he does.

"you again?" he asks as he purposely bumps into you when he walks across the crowd.

"i think i should be saying that to you, mister fancyhat," you say back with a smile tugging on your lips.

his eyes widen a bit at the nickname and for a second he scoffs, "the hell?"

"well, you never gave me your name," you playfully roll your eyes at his reaction, giggling and immediately saying, "i mean it though. your hat is pretty fancy."

"well, thanks," he shrugs his shoulders before asking, "so, would you like a drink?"

"you bet i do," you smile softly with a wink. how could you not accept this man's offer?

"well then," he says, a small grin tugging on his lips, "how does whisky on ice sound this time?”

"sounds good," you remark, shrugging your shoulders, but what he says next takes you by surprise.

"but do me a favor and get behind me real quick, sweetheart," he urges sternly, forcing you to move instinctively to do what he says.

small gasps fill the club at the unexpected ruckus, some even afraid by the red-brunet's sudden cruelty to this stranger, but all settles down when he states that the guy was snapping pictures of you without your permission.

for some reason, even though he was yelling and threatening the paparazzi, the manner he protected and guarded you from them was not alarming to you. it even made your heart skip a beat for some strange reason.

you never imagined that stranger you met could be that interesting. he definitely had a reputation, possibly as big as yours, if not bigger—and you were enamored like a schoolgirl with a big crush.

could he possibly be a spy? or even a mafioso? the possibilities were endless. you had no idea what it could be, but it gave you a rush of thrill and excitement. he was so cool.

"hey, um," you manage to say, blinking out of your sight as chuuya scoffs at the person taking pictures without your permission—you didn't know how to explain to him that the guy he had just nearly beaten up was your paparazzi, but you were grateful.

"what? you okay? that guy was following you, ever since i saw you in here, actually," chuuya adds, pulling you by the wrist to take you somewhere secure in the club, unaware that he was also there for another reason involving his line of work.

"yeah, i'm fine," you admit with a sheepish smile, "more than fine, actually. let's just drink.”

chuuya sighs and scoffs a little, but smiles at you, "just try not to get drunk and make fun of me like last time, okay?"

you can't help but quietly giggle as you recall getting drunk on your wine the last time you met in person at the pub. to be honest, the growl of his voice and the way he says his r's as he becomes irritated at the bartender's answer to his request for a petrus tickles your brain in a hilarious manner.

"i'll try not to then, but no promises~"

"you better not damn it."

from the moment you met chuuya a spark ignited in your very heart. as you spent more time together in secret, the ember grew into a flame, fueled by shared laughter and late-night conversations.

it was in those moments that you discovered the layers beneath chuuya's tough exterior, the vulnerabilities that made him undeniably human.

one evening, inspired by the depth of your emotions, you found yourself sitting with a guitar in hand, fingers strumming gently. the lyrics flowed like a river. each word echoed with sincerity, a testament to the connection you had forged. you wove a tapestry of emotions into the song, from the subtle nuances of his laughter to the way his eyes held the oceans of stories.

lyrics always came to you naturally the minute you felt inspired to write a song, but this time was different.

instead of simply focusing on your reputation, past painful experiences, those who had wronged you, and even past lovers who now serve only as heartbreak and lessons, this time it was all about him.

you found the sweet whisperings of love gently tugging at the strings of you heart. as you navigated the complexities of your emotions, you stumble upon a connection that felt like destiny—a love story in the making.

with pen in hand and heart wide open, you pour your emotions onto the blank pages, each word a declaration of the feelings blossoming within. the verses were a canvas painted with shared moments, laughter echoing in the lyrics, and the subtle nuances of chuuya's essence woven into the melody.

as the melody and chords resonated with the rhythm of your emotions, you realize that in writing a love song for chuuya, you were not just creating another song; you were navigating the path to love once more.

and each lyric became a stepping stone, leading you towards a renewed understanding of affection and the beauty of opening one's heart to another, and it was a celebration of the love that had rekindled within you after everything.

late into the night, you penned the final verses, pouring my feelings onto paper. the melody became a vessel for the unspoken, a silent confession wrapped in the chords of a heartfelt song of bubblegum pop.

it was a labor of love mirroring the evolution of your feelings for chuuya, and as the last notes faded away, you knew you had given voice to the emotions that had taken root in your heart.

chuuya was in his office at the port mafia headquarters, having completed his report for the boss.

he was merely looking out his office window with a glass of wine in hand, a neutral and albeit weary expression on his face, letting out a tired sigh as the radio playing from his desk said the following words just before a new song came on,

"here we have next is a new single from the one and only, [surname] [name], entitled gorgeous!"

chuuya's eyes widen as he hears your very name on the radio. he may have only recently learned your name, but he remembers it vividly, as the song begins.

there was no doubt that was you and your voice singing on the radio, and this song doesn't simply tell about someone who is in love with a new love interest in a promiscuous manner in an attempt to attract the attention of a prospective lover.

“ocean blue eyes, looking in mine. i feel like i might sink and drown and die—you're so gorgeous! i can't say anything to your face.”

chuuya stands in stunned silence as the melody filled the atmosphere when the bridge comes in. the song was a heartfelt composition, capturing every nuance of his personality and the shared moments between you two.

“you make me so happy, it turns back to sad, there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have. you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad. you make me so happy, it turns back to sad. there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have and, guess i'll just stumble on home to my cats alone.. unless you wanna come along?”

the drum beats, synthesizers, and the gentle cadence of your voice resonated with emotion filled the air. it took chuuya a moment to register that the words were meant for him, a love letter crafted in the form of a song.

as more of the lyrics unfolded, he felt the weight of your affection settle in his chest, each note a testament to the depth of your feelings. it was a revelation that left him breathless, realizing that someone had taken the time to compose a symphony of emotions just for him.

the lyrics danced between vulnerability and strength, capturing the essence of your connection. in that moment, chuuya understood the magnitude of your love, and a warmth enveloped him.

chuuya feels his face grow hot, only because of he was too oblivious for a mafioso to not recognize you, to not realize he had been speaking to a famous artist like you out in the open just like that, thinking you were just some beautiful girl in the bar and club he'd go to. no, you were more than that.

and now, going back to it, it makes sense as to why he would constantly find people trying to take pictures of you, as to why you would seem quite tense at times, or even why you would keep staring at him.

"fuck," chuuya curses to himself, "oh, fuck."

the final chords of the song lingered in the air, not long after, and without hesitation, he reached for his phone, fingers tapping with urgency as he dialed your number.

the phone rang, each tone echoing his anticipation. when you answered, he could hear the warmth in your voice, a familiar timbre that matched the melody he had just experienced.

"was that... you?" he asks, his voice a mixture of awe and genuine curiosity.

there was silence for a moment, before you answer, "so you heard it on the radio." you says softly in the call.

as you confirmed it was indeed your creation, chuuya couldn't help but smile, a rare and genuine expression breaking across his face. the connection between you two deepened with every word, the song serving as a bridge that brought your emotions to the forefront.

in that moment, over the phone lines, chuuya felt a profound connection, grateful for the beautiful revelation you had shared with him.

the warmth in his voice betrayed a mix of emotions as he spoke, "it was... incredible. you wrote that for me, sweetheart?"

there was a brief pause, filled only by the static hum of the phone line, before he continued, "i never knew. i... i don't know what to say, but i had to hear your voice, to tell you that it meant everything."

a playful chuckle escaped your lips as you tease him, "took you long enough to connect the dots, didn't it? turns out you've been with a famous artist all along." there was even a lighthearted tone to your words, a mixture of amusement and affection.

chuuya's response was a hearty laugh on the other end, a sound that resonated with genuine delight.

"well, i guess i’m not the fastest at catching on," he admits, the hint of self-awareness in his voice. but then, a sincerity washed over his words as he continued, "but damn, you just made me fall harder for you, sweetheart."

the exchange of laughter and genuine emotions continued, bridging the gap between the revelation of your identity and the newfound depth of your connection. the melody of your shared feelings played on, a harmony that echoed between two hearts that had finally found each other.

excitement radiated through the phone as chuuya declares, "enough of phone calls, i need to see you right now."

there was now a newfound sense of urgency in his voice, a genuine desire to bridge the physical distance that remained between you two at this moment, "where are you right now?"

you share your location without any hesitation, without waiting for another response, he swiftly made his way.

as chuuya reaches the familiar spot, his eyes scanned the surroundings eagerly, searching for the person behind the melody that had woven its way into his heart.

and then, there you were, standing under the soft glow of a streetlamp, a smile playing on your lips as you locked eyes with chuuya.

the world seemed to fade away as he closed the distance between you, the anticipation building with each step. without a word, chuuya pulls you into a tight embrace, savoring the reality of your presence after the emotional journey of hearing your song on the radio in his office.

in that moment, the bustling world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a shared understanding and newfound depth of affection.

chuuya whispers in your ear, "i needed to see you, to feel this. no more hiding behind melodies and phone calls, damn it. just you and me, together."

his arms held you in a comforting embrace as the world around you embraced the quietude of the night. the streetlamp cast a gentle glow on both of you, and the soft hum of the city formed a distant backdrop to the shared moment.

breaking the silence, chuuya gazes into your eyes, a mixture of gratitude and genuine emotion reflected in his intense gaze. "i can't believe i've been so blind to what was right in front of me. how could i have not known who you were, and that song.."

you smile softly, a tender acknowledgment of the connection that had finally blossomed between you two, "i meant every word, chuuya. you have no idea how much i want you."

he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch a gentle reassurance. "well, i'm done letting things slip through my fingers. i want this, with you," his breathy words hung in the air, carrying the weight of a promise.

and so, beneath the canvas of the night sky, chuuya's lips met yours in a gentle, yet fervent kiss. it was a collision of emotions, a fusion of longing and realization.

as you melt into the kiss, the embrace held a promise of a beginning, a tender affirmation that echoed louder than any song you've written before, and the melody of your hearts played the sweetest tune, and the night whispered secrets of a love that had finally found its voice.

⊹ a.n.: thank god my finals is finally over because i finally got to finish writing this !! *literally cries* i also think i went all out for this one too because it ended up reaching 3.9k words, which is crazy. oh, and to the anon that requested this, i hope you enjoyed reading this one, in fact, all of you who made it this far—i love you and thanks for reading (honestly felt like i wrote a bit too much for this fic but oh well lol) <3

[aphrogeneias]

i always think about fights assistant!reader and rockstar!eddie would get in. Like they are hiding their relationship and it is insanely stressful on both of them. I imagine one fight would be about Eddie having to do a photo shoot with a model and you aren't even actually mad at him, you're just jealous this random girl is touching him the way you touch him in private. So you get all quiet and moody the rest of the day until you blow up at Eddie about it

the way i see assistant!reader is that you're a very mature person, maybe you had to mature earlier because of the career path you chose, or through other circumstances, but you're a tough cookie. but you're also shy and softspoken, although you work with people all the time, that's just the way you are.

and when you see eddie surrounded by all these other women — the models, the groupies, other artists — you can't help but feel inadequate, it's natural. they're everything you're "not". the sex symbols and the bombshells, the girls who wrap themselves around him and try to get him in their beds, or backstage, or anywhere with a flat enough surface.

you know it's not his fault, and it's not the girls' fault either, as far as they know he's single. but that hurts because comparison hurts, it is the thief of joy after all. you see the model your boss hired all over him, in a leather bikini, matching his own leather outfit, and the way her red manicured hands grab his arms and shoulders, it's like they're clawing at your own heart.

you feel silly, like a teenage girl again. pining over the guy she can't have, but you have him. just not in the way that matters most.

when eddie finds you later, sitting in another room, obsessing over your notebook. scrapping notes over their schedule, anxiously bouncing your leg. he comes up behind you to hug you around the shoulders, but you flinch. he flinches too, unaccostumed with that kind of reaction.

"what happened, baby?"

"i don't wanna talk to you right now, eddie."

he takes a step back, still facing the back of her neck. his stomach drops. he wants to reach out, but her posture remains guarded. instead, he faces her.

"what do you mean you don't want to talk? did i do something?"

you don't answer, still not meeting his pleading eyes. "did i do something, y/n?"

he never calls you by your name. tears flood your eyes, but you don't let them spill. vulnerability is something you had to unlearn, and eddie still couldn't get through that wall if you didn't want him to.

"no, eddie. i did." you swallow through your tears. they still don't fall. "i made a stupid decision and now i need to face the consequences," a bitter chuckle rises up your throat, "figures."

it takes eddie a while, but he catches up. "am i your stupid decision?"

slow steps. the sound of your notebook left opened on the table, a pen hits the surface. your feet meet the ground, and you stand. still, you don't know what to say.

"i'm having to repeat myself a lot here, sweetheart," there's disappointment in his tone. "why am i a fucking stupid decision? because of a photoshoot? because of my fans? or because you weren't brave enough to be seen with me?"

eddie barks, but he never bites. the way his eyes are set on you, a hard line on his brows, says otherwise. but you can't let him explode, can't let the other hears. you're the one who makes the difficult decision again. for once, you wish he did.

"i said i don't wanna talk to you right now."

you cry once you're out of the building, behind the tinted windows of the car you requested to drive you back to the hotel. eddie cries in that same room, already regretting everything he said.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 27 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-“I have a surprise for you.”

Hearing this fills you with what is perhaps a disproportionate amount of trepidation.

However…consider the source.

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t going to give it to you yet, but…I think I’d better.”

You are not sure what to think about this, so you remain silent.

He takes your hand, leading you up the stairs.

As you walk down the hallway you are filled with more and more apprehension, convincing yourself that there is some trick he’s pulling around the corner. He has been disappearing on and off, refusing to tell you where he was going, but vaguely hinting that he was cooking something up for you.

You fear it’s something you don’t want at all, like a red room fully fitted with racks and restraints and hooks hanging from the ceiling. If he frames that as a gift you swear you will pull a Bertha, and burn this personal version of Thornfield Hall to the ground.

You do not like it, when he insists on covering your eyes as he walks you through a door close to your bedroom upstairs. By the time you take three steps into the room you have damn near worked yourself into a lather, a fine trembling running through your limbs.

“Shh, baby, you’re going to like this,” he assures you, which is no real assurance at all.

Five more steps before he stops you, removing his hands with a flourish.

Your heart leaps to your throat.

Floor to ceiling windows let in a flood of morning light to the room. There is a big table, and copious shelves, and…an easel.

You realize he has made you an art studio.

Your feet move forward of their own volition, taking in the various boxes stacked on the table and the shelves. They’re art supplies, and you recognize brand names that you could hardly afford on your barista’s salary. Sennelier. Windsor and Newton pigments, top tier. Fine brushes from France and Germany that cost fifty dollars a piece. Tablets in every size and every tooth of Canson paper.

“Oh. My. God.”

“You…like it?”

He almost sounds vulnerable in that moment, which is entirely ridiculous.

You imagine how you would have reacted, if your relationship had been normal. You would have thrown your arms around his neck, showered him with kisses.

This studio is everything you’ve ever dreamed of having, as an artist.

As it is…he is buying your complacency, if not your love, trying to distract you from your situation with expensive trappings and let’s face it—adult arts and crafts.  

It hurts.

And yet, you know you’d better fucking say something, or Mr. Nice Wick is going to flee the scene.

“How did you know?” you ask, fingering a box of brand-new oil pastels. “It’s perfect in every way.”

You are trying your best to sound happy about it, but your throat is tight, and you know he’s going to get mad about it any second now.

He couldn't have surprised you more, if he'd stood on tiptoe and performed a pirouette, as when he simply gathers you into his arms. 

“I had help from the owner of the art supply store,” he admits. “Pretty sure they'll be sending me a Christmas card for the rest of my life.” 

You laugh at that, settling into the hollow at the base of his throat. It feels so good, just to be held like this. A part of you cautions not to trust it—but most of you is so exhausted from living on edge, you just take the comfort at face value. 

“Did you go to Mr. Morton’s shop?” you ask, referring to the local art stop in town. You don’t know why this gives life to a glimmer of hope in you. It’s not like the kind old man would have any reason to suspect you’re here, with John Wick, just because the mysterious newcomer suddenly had a yen to buy out the store of all its art supplies.

“No, I went a little farther afield.”

Almost as though he was covering his tracks.

“Oh.” You cannot conceal the note of disappointment in your tone. “John…” You muster your courage for the next question, hoping you won’t blow the day all to shit, but you suddenly need to know. “Am I a missing person?”

He presses his lips to your forehead, and speaks quietly against your skin. “Technically, no. A friend of mine will ping your passport entry at JFK soon. You’ll tender your resignation with regrets at the coffee house. I’ll have your little apartment cleaned out. You don’t need it anymore.”

He really did think all this through. You digest the details of his Machiavellian plan rather distantly, as though you are on the outside watching from above. He has orchestrated your disappearance masterfully, but also in a way that won’t raise questions with authorities should you happen to resurface in his company. In a twisted way this gives you a sliver of hope, that maybe he doesn’t intend to keep you locked away forever.

A fool’s optimism, perhaps, but at the moment it’s all you have.

“Where’s my phone?”

“At the bottom of the Grand Canal, I’m afraid.”

“That’s littering.”

He just snorts in answer. You find that you regret the fact that all your photos are lost. You never did back them up on the cloud. How strange, that such a record of your life could be erased with the destruction of one electronic device.

Talking about this doesn’t seem to scuttle his mood, so it gives you the courage to ask, “Can I come in here whenever I want?”

You are so hopeful in your request that you sense him war with himself, in the end unable to outright say no. “If you're a good girl,” he qualifies with his lips still on your forehead. 

Hiding beneath his chin, you grind your teeth at this caveat, but don't voice aloud any of the pithy comebacks that come to mind. 

 Then you notice your sketchbook from Italy is sitting on the worktable, along with your custom bound copy of Jane Eyre.

After everything, you’re not sure why seeing it there, knowing it had been in his hands, makes your heart skitter in your chest. He follows your gaze, a dark eyebrow lifting. It is filled with sketches of him from before you met up in Venice. The whole fucking thing is practically a confession of the grinding longing you'd felt for him, in the first couple weeks after you left. You can’t deny it now, but you can choose not to acknowledge it aloud.

He stares you down, clearly hoping for…something. A confession, perhaps, or at least an admission. You feel like a bug under a magnifying glass in the sun, fixed with that gaze. But you hold fast, and in the end he sighs. “I’m going to go clean up breakfast,” he tells you. “Have fun with your new toys.”

He kisses your forehead before quitting the room, and once again you fancy that if one were to squint, you could almost mistake the two of you for a normal couple.

-He actually leaves you to your own devices until darkness begins to fill the trees beyond the window.   

By the time he comes to collect you he has changed into a black button down and dark jeans. It suits him to his bare toes, and inwardly you sigh. Why does this devil of a man have to be so goddamned handsome?

“So, what has my little artist made today?”

You are loathe to admit, the answer is nothing.

You opened every box, gazed at the pastels and paints and pencils longingly. And yet with charcoal in hand the fine white paper taunted you, inspiration an illusive thing.

You had no idea what you wanted to draw, or paint, or make. The past week has been so jarring, you would think you would be bursting with something, but all you draw is a blank. 

You shrug, curled up in the comfy chair by the easel, your drawing pad open in front of you. He takes the seat opposite, regarding you quizzically.

“You don’t like it in here?”

“I love it,” you assure him, and its no complacent lie. “I just…have been soaking it in.”

“Hmm.”

You can tell that he’s disappointed, and your treacherous heart skips a beat.

You failed to turn on any lights, as the sun is setting. John flicks on a single lamp on the side table, washing his one side in a dramatic glow. It is as though something clicks into place, as you look upon him. Your dark angel, your sinister lover, your obsessive captor, a man you should hate, but you are drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

Perhaps now, he shall also be your muse. Was ever there a man better suited to embody the mysteries of Caravaggian shadow?

“Don’t move,” you say softly, and begin to draw.

[gibsongirled]

Okay hai sorry again it’s me (lmk if I’m bothering you)

another fic idea:

Schlatt takes fem!reader to her favorite artist’s concert (Chappell Roan) and he actually does the Hot To Go! Dance

it sounded better in my head

YOU CAN TAKE ME HOT TO GO !!

description: you can definitely cross off a concert off your bucket list now

a/n: i hope this did your req justice !!

You knew of Chappell Roan when she first released Pink Pony Club and it was circling around TikTok like any new audio does. You liked and added the song to one of your playlists and then forgot about it like usual- going on with your life, and occasionally belting out the song when it got shuffled.

As Chappell began to rise up to stardom, so did your Spotify stats. Your FYP started flooding in with people doing the dance and you’d do one each time it popped into your head like a persistent melody you couldn’t seem to shake. Schlatt would scoff and roll his eyes each time the dance happened. One time, you did the dance on his stream and he playfully pushed you away while chat spammed your name and the lyrics.

So when Schlatt said that he got tickets to her show for your birthday, you screamed. Because that was unexpected - even for him - and the tickets were definitely expensive. He just shoved the tickets into your hand and said that he liked seeing you happy.

Now you’re standing in a venue with too many people to count - feeling like you were packed in a can of sardines - with Schlatt beside you as you loudly sing the chorus to ‘HOT TO GO!’, and laughed as Schlatt struggled to do the dance.

You were dressed in one of the themes with red glitter carefully painted across your face and while Schlatt didn’t want to dress up like the theme, he wore a red sweater that he randomly found off Ebay that seemed to fit the theme.

How he managed to survive wearing a sweater in a venue full of people on a hot sunny day, you’ll never know. It was like a super power.

“Jay, you have to do it like this!” You say with a laugh, holding your arms up to form the ‘H’ and he looks down at you, mirroring your pose. “Toots, y’know ‘m not a dancer,”

“Yeah, but just try!”

The venue yells out the chorus and you do the dance once more, urging Schlatt to follow your steps. He eventually gets it after a few tries and you jump in glee, high fiving him after the song finishes. “You did good!”

There was definitely a clip of him doing the dance that circled around Twitter for the next couple of days, and you would cackle maniacally each time fanart or an edited version of that clip came on your timeline.

[alicewritingstories]

Part 2 of that fic idea, based on @kikker-oma's fantastic Whumptober art. (Part 1 is here).

This time it's based on Day 11: Examination

Four groaned as he was shaken awake by Twilight. It couldn't possibly be morning already…

But then he became aware of the alarmed tones in his brothers' hushed voices. He opened his eyes and sat up as Wind - at the other end of the same bed; they were the only ones small enough to share - scrambled off the bed and ran to the window. Four rubbed his eyes. The moonlight flooding into the room looked oddly red.

"I'm going to ask the innkeeper," said Warriors. "Twilight, come with me."

Four gasped as he looked out of the window. It hadn't been his imagination; the moon was blood-red.

"Where's Time?" asked Twilight.

"I'll go check on him," said Four. "You go with Warriors."

Twilight hesitated, but before he could reply Four was climbing the stairs to the attic room, leaping up them two at a time. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer.

The old man might still be asleep, but he wasn't normally a very heavy sleeper. Four knocked again, pressing his ear to the door.

This time he thought he heard a faint, horrible whimpering noise.

He didn't wait any longer; he shoved the door open.

Time was sitting on the bed, his back to the window, the moon shining behind him. His eye was wide and he was staring blankly at the floor, trembling, visibly struggling for breath.

Four's heart skipped a beat as possibilities flashed through his mind. Poison. Magic. Maybe the red moonlight was doing something, though that wasn't likely given that nobody else had been affected…

Even as he was thinking, he ran to the old man's side. Time took another desperate, strangled gasp.

"Time?" said Four softly, crouching to look up at his friend's face. "Link, can you hear me?"

Time's eye squeezed closed and he nodded, a tear suddenly spilling down his cheek.

"Four…" he managed, the word coming out in a croak. "Help…"

Good, he's aware.

Though the soft plea wrung at Four's heart, he had to stay focussed. The next most important thing was Time's breathing.

"Time, can you take a breath for me?"

Time gasped in another of those sharp, almost agonal gulps of air.

"OK, and out again."

It came out in a panicked whimper.

"And in. Try and breathe a little deeper, it's OK."

Time gasped and slurred, "Gotta go… gotta…"

"It's OK. Once we've got you breathing properly you can go."

More tears were trickling down Time's cheeks as he struggled to take another, deeper breath. Four climbed onto the bed next to him and pressed an ear to his back, listening for any sound of blockage or injury.

"Again, as deep as you can."

A gasp.

"And out. Nice and steady."

A moan.

They kept going, Four coaching Time's breathing. He couldn't hear anything except the frantic pounding of Time's heart.

"No time," whimpered Time. "No, have… have to…"

"Deep breath in, Time. It's OK."

Time's breath was steadying gradually and he slumped. Four grabbed his shoulder to stop him pitching head-first off the bed, but he hadn't fainted, he was just leaning on his elbows, his head hanging.

"Easy, old man. Another deep breath."

"I… It…"

"Shh. I know, Time, but I need you to take a deep breath for me."

This time the breath was deeper, though Time shuddered pitifully as he forced it into his lungs and out again. Four still couldn't hear anything wrong.

"Keep going," he said, rubbing comforting circles on Time's shoulder. "In… and out… In… and out…"

Slowly, Time's breathing eased and shifted into exhausted sobs.

"I can't… not again…" he croaked.

Now confident that there was nothing physically wrong and nothing preventing Time from breathing, Four shifted back to sit beside him, taking his hand in one of his own and continuing to rub Time's back with the other as he kept coaching his breathing.

"Not again… Please…"

"It's OK, Time, you don't have to do anything. We'll take care of it." Four heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up, raising a hand to halt Twilight in the doorway. The rancher stared in horror for a moment, but when Four waved his hand in an urgent shoo! motion he backed away. Four was glad; the last thing Time would want was too many people crowding around him.

Time didn't seem to have noticed his mentee's presence, still lost in his own world.

"Time, can you still hear me?" asked Four.

Time shuddered and nodded.

"Is the problem to do with the moon?"

Another nod. "I… I can't. Not again. D-Don't…"

More footsteps on the stairs and Four looked up again. This time it was Warriors, Twilight behind him. He too paused in the doorway, but he pointed past Four and Time at the moon and raised a questioning eyebrow. Four nodded and started to shoo Warriors away as he had Twilight, but the captain walked in and knelt down in front of Time, taking the hand Four wasn't holding.

"Time, we've spoken to the innkeeper about the moon," he said clearly. "This has happened before. There will be a surge of dark magic in an hour or so, but it is not an immediate danger. Do you understand?"

For a moment Four thought Time hadn't heard, but then he took a slightly deeper breath.

"There is no immediate danger," Warriors repeated, still speaking clearly. "Do you understand, Link?"

Time nodded, taking another hiccupping breath. Warriors gently squeezed his hand.

"Come and join us when you can," he said gently. Then he got up, nodded to Four, and left again, herding Twilight with him. Four turned back to Time and started coaching his breathing again, rubbing his back as the gulping, desperate sobs eased. Slowly, Time relaxed to lean against Four's shoulder, clearly exhausted as the emotion drained out of him.

"I… I'm sorry, Smithy," he said softly.

Four squeezed his hand. "Don't be."

"Shouldn'... have had… to see that."

"It's OK. Take a break for a bit and then we'll go join the others and hear what the innkeeper told Warriors."

Time nodded. "Thank you."