#but my house is one of miss honey’s solos | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doggone-devil · 7 months

Text

How (Not) To Summon a Demon: Chapter 1

I’m attempting to write my first Hazbin Hotel fanfic. I don’t know how it’s going to go as I don’t normally write so much as I draw. I’m nervous but I’m also having fun with it so here’s the first chapter of my first fanfic titled “How (Not) To Summon a Demon”. Also, I’m writing this solo with no beta reader so sorry for typos, mistakes, etc. If you point them out, I’ll go back and fix them. Thank you!

Alastor x Reader

Warnings: demon rituals, stupid decisions, ghosts, paranormal activity

Feedback is welcomed! I might also move this to Ao3 depending on how well it does. 😊 Enjoy! 😊

Summoning rituals have been a pain in the ass for demons everywhere in Hell. Even lowly sinners with barely a sigil to their name could be summoned should a mortal find the right way. It was worse for those with higher power, demons who ruled over certain humanely aspects such as fertility, hearth, or revenge. Throughout the decades, as humanity build past the spiritual and focused more on science, less and less demons were being summoned. Now, the denizens of hell could roam peacefully, spending their miserable afterlives how they saw fit without the worry of being dragged topside.

That is, until one curious mortal just so happened to stumble upon such a book.

—

“Veronica, this is stupid!” you claim, cringing at the dust covered debris you were stepping over. For some god awful reason, you had decided to entertain your roommate and follow them into an abandoned house. Normally, old houses didn’t bother you. You were intrigued in the history, thinking about the people who might’ve lived in them before Mother Earth took them back. Yet this one in particular was just unnerving.

Nestled in one of the many bayous of south Louisiana, this old plantation looking home was wrapped in moss and vines, the swampland quite literally devouring the structure. The floors were barely holding your weight, groaning with every step you took forward as you tried to keep up with your very enthusiastic friend.

Veronica turned her flashlight at you, blinding you momentarily. “This isn’t stupid! It’s experimental!” she moved the light off you, using it to scan the room you were in, a bedroom on the second floor. It was filled with a bed, a dresser missing drawers, and a nightstand. The wallpaper was peeling and the light fixture had fallen years ago. You mindfully step over the glass.

“Just imagine what could be in here,” she spoke, examining the nightstand. “Not just the memories, but the potential of ghosts!”

“Ghosts,” you scoff. “The only thing here is trash, trash, and more trash.” You wonder why you even came. She thinks so, too, as she glares at you.

“You didn’t have to come you know,” she comments.

“And miss you pissing your pants? Fat chance,” you joke, making her smile. True, you were reluctant to come along when she had asked, you still felt reluctant, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying this even if just a little.

“Oh hey! Check this out!” You move over to where Veronica is hunched over. Just below the nightstand, tucked in between it and the bed frame, is a book. She brings it out and sits it on the bed, using her hand to wipe away the dust. The cover is old, leathered, and the markings on it are too faded to read.

“Maybe it’s a dirty novel,” you say, wiggling your brows at her. “You know, some chicks back in the day had to get off with those. They didn’t have internet like we do.”

“That’s just gross.”

“Honey, that’s truth.” You chuckle as she rolls her eyes, opening the book. The pages are worn but readable as she flips through them. You watch from over her shoulder, frowning at the contents. There’s pictures depicting people being beheaded, of demonic creatures drinking blood. It creeps you out.

“I think it’s a book on summoning,” Veronica says. “Look.” She points at one of the pages, a paragraph instructing on how to set up a circle. It then has some kind of image on the next page, a circle with a bunch of symbols that you can’t recognized. A cold shiver runs up your spine.

“I think we should put it back,” you state. It’s suddenly very cold in the room and you swear you can feel something watching you.

“Don’t be such a pussy!” Veronica closes the book and tucks it into her bag.

“What are you doing?”

“Duh, I’m bringing it back with us!” She looks at you as if she didn’t just say the dumbest thing ever.

“Have you not watched horror movies?” you ask in disbelief. “Two dumb chicks find demon book in abandoned bayou home and then get slaughtered as sacrifices to Satan. Am I making any sense to you?”

“You make it sound like you believe it’s real.”

“No,” you defend, “I’m still a hardcore skeptic, but even I ain’t stupid enough to invite that shit into my home.” You turn to head towards the door, ready to leave this hell hole behind. “Put it back and let’s go.”

“Fine,” she sighs. You leave the bedroom and quickly make your way down the stairs, checking behind you to make sure she’s coming. When you confirm that she is, the two of you make your way out of the house and back to your car that’s parked a few feet away.

—

The ride back home is quiet and within minutes, your entering your shared apartment. You go to make your way to your kitchen when Veronica speeds past you to the living room. She’s quickly flittering around, grabbing spare candles and setting them up. You eye her with suspicion and groan when she pulls the book out of her bag.

“Veronica, you didn’t.”

“I did,” she giggles, tapping the seat next to her. You cross your arms over your chest.

“I am not participating in this,” you state, firm in your decision. You didn’t believe in ghosts or the paranormal, or even demons, but you’ve seen plenty of horror movies to know that this is how it starts. In no way were you going to be another victim in a paranormal mystery compilation.

“Please,” Veronica pouts, giving you the puppy eyes. You bite your bottom lip, trying to resist. She even goes as far as clasping her hands together, blinking up at you. You give in with a deep sign.

“Fine. But I’m waking you up if something comes into my room later tonight,” you declare. She nods in agreement as she moves to let you join her on the couch. You eye the book, then the candles. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Not a clue!” she answers. “But, the book has clear instructions. I just need three candles,” she pauses to point at the candles, “and two participants!”

“Well would you look at that,” you mock. It’s a coincidence, is all, as candles are in nearly every home and most households consist of two people.

“Stop being a party pooper and hand me that lighter.” You lean over the couch and grab the BIC, placing it in her open palm. She lights the candles one by one, then straightens up, suddenly looking serious. It takes effort not to laugh.

Veronica starts reading from the book, something about calling the corners and inviting those who wish to join as witnesses. You look around, waiting for something to happen, but so far, nothing does. She continues, beginning to speak something in what you guess is Latin. It sounds wrong as you remember your old high school Latin teacher being strict on pronunciation, but you don’t correct her. When she finishes, she claps her hand and looks expectantly to the empty space in front of her.

Nothing.

A minute passes.

Nothing.

“I don’t get it,” she sighs, slouching back into the couch. “I did everything it said to.”

“Have you thought that maybe it’s just not real?” you offer.

“Ok, but just once, I was hoping it was. I mean, look at the book! It’s so old and weird, I thought it could be legit, ya know?”

“Yeah, but sadly, we live in a place I like to call reality!” you say, using your hands to make a fake rainbow in the air. She huffs a laugh and sits back up, standing off the couch.

“Well, since a hot and sexy demon didn’t appear, how about I go grab us some food?” she asks, already going to grab your keys.

“Oh, pizza?”

“Pizza it is! I’ll be back in like, thirty minutes.”

“Cool, drive safe!” you call out as she leaves. Once it’s just you, you look back at the book, smiling at how silly it all was. Demon summoning. As if. You pick up the book and look at the Latin she had read. It was fuzzy and you’re only able to recall a few phrases. It’s less an incantation like you thought and more of further instructions. It tells the reader to place their finger once pricked on top of the signal and recite the summoning phrase.

You look at the front door then back at the book. It’s silly. You know for a fact demons aren’t real. This book was just some kind of occult hoax. So then, why did you want to give it a try?

Sighing, you reach into the drawer of the side table next to the couch, pulling out of the mini sewing kits you had for emergencies. You pull out a needle and prick your finger, wincing as a drop of blood pooled to the surface. You pick the book up with your other hand and press your finger down into the middle of the sigil. With a deep breath, you recite, “Daemon avaritiae, voluntatum et actuum, te voco. Veni et da mihi desideria mea.”

You close your eyes, waiting for something to happen. There’s just silence and still air. You can faintly hear the hum of the refrigerator. Your shoulders relax and you let out a nervous laugh. “Knew it,” you mumble to yourself, “just a stupid - .” You stop as your eyes stay fixated on the candles. The flames are flickering, raising higher then dropping back down, higher again, like they’re dancing. You feel the temperature drop, just like it did at that house.

“Ok, this isn’t funny,” you whisper, moving your legs to that they’re pulled up to your chest. You gasp when the flames go out, along with the electricity, submerging you into darkness.

“Oh, darling, I can ensure you I’m not laughing,” a voice deep responds and you scream, jumping off the couch. You can’t see anything, trying desperately not to trip over furniture. Of course an intruder decides to show up now when you were attempting to summon a demon.

“W-Whoever you are, I-I have a gun!” you shout, trying to sound tough but failing as your voice cracks and falters. You weren’t lying, you had a gun for just this occasion, but it was tucked safely away. In your bedroom. Where you were not. Great.

A deep chuckle rumbled in the darkness and you gulp, reaching around blindly to try and find purchase on anything. You felt your back press against something cold and felt behind you, relieved to find the wall. Now you just had to find a door, something to bring a barrier between you and whoever the fuck was in your house.

You’re searching for a knob when light suddenly fills the room, a figure stepping in. You scream, making the other person scream, too.

“The fuck is wrong with you!” Veronica shouts angrily, flipping on a light switch. You squint as light hits you. “Are you trying to scare me half to death?”

You run over to her, trying to push her out the door. “We have to go! There’s someone in here!” you warn her, pushing harder, but she won’t budge.

“Girl, what are you talking about? There’s no one here!” You turn to protest, to point at the man who had been talking mere seconds earlier, but she’s right. As you scan the room, there’s no one to be seen.

“No, no, no. He was just there. I was on the couch, doing the ritual, and he -“

“Wait, you actually tried it, too?” she asks but you ignore her.

“- he spoke behind me when the lights went off! He was, he was…,” you trail off, feeling frantic, panicked. Had you just imagined it all? Had you paranoid yourself that badly from the ritual that you hallucinated the whole thing?

Veronica called out your name, making you look at her. “I think you need to go lay down. You don’t look to good.” You nodded slowly, agreeing with her. You did feel tired.

“Y-Yeah, I‘ll just…go lie down.” She sat down the pizza and held your hand to your bedroom, making sure you made it to your bed before bidding you goodnight. Once the door was shut, you were left alone in your room. You looked around it, suddenly aware of the darkness creeping in around the edges. It unnerved you and you quickly turn on your lamp next to your bed. It fills in the empty spaces, bringing clarity as you took note of every little detail of your room. It eased your mind, being able to see everything.

You shoved the blankets back and crawled under them, exhaustion hitting your hard once your head laid on to the pillows. With a stifled yawn, you close your eyes and attempt to forget about the whole thing as you fall asleep.

Masterlist ; Ao3

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #the radio demon #alastor hazbin #Alastor x reader #Alastor x you #Alastor fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfic #fanfic

154 notes · View notes

hh0320 · 2 years

Text

໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I

pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)

genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.

warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.

word count. 6.2k

a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx

‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.

The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’

New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.

The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.

Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.

He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.

He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.

“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”

Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?

I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.

“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”

The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”

“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”

“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”

The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”

Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.

And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.

A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco.

One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.

How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.

Until when?

Your light was on.

He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.

His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.

He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.

He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.

“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”

How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.

It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.

Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.

Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.

Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.

“Hello?”

“Chris. It’s me.”

A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—

“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”

He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”

“Good.”

“I’m in Australia.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.

Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.

His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.

She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.

What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”

The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”

“She’s not dying.”

“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”

Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”

Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.

“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”

Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.

It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.

No other car was in your driveway.

God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?

He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.

He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.

Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?

The door opens. He’s holding his breath.

You gape. Then blink.

Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!

“(Y/N).”

You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.

It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.

“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.

He doesn’t expect you to.

“On your doorstep? An hour.”

You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.

“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.

You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.

You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.

He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.

“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you.

It was you, for fuck’s sake.

And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.

“Are you okay?”

You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.

They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.

He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.

Instead—

“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”

The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.

His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.

“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.

He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.

They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.

It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.

Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.

“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.

You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.

There’s a question in your eyes now.

“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”

It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.

“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.

“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”

He nods. Struggles to swallow.

Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.

He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.

“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.

He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”

“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”

He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”

The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—

“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”

Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.

You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”

Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle.

“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”

Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—

The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you.

First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.

He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.

His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.

They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.

No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.

Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.

“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.

He thinks he might even have an answer for you.

“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.

“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.

“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.

“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”

“I did.”

“That hurt me. All of us.”

Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”

“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”

There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.

His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.

“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”

“Thank you.”

You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You sold your own name.”

Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.

“And I pay for that every day.”

“You’re not happy.”

He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.

“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”

It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.

“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”

“And get lost, too?” you snap back.

He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”

“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.

“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”

He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.

The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.

“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.

Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—

Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.

They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.

But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.

Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone.

He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.

Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.

“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.

You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world.

His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.

“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”

“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”

“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”

His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.

“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”

“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”

“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”

He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—

“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”

“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”

Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.

He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.

And no end if you don’t come with him.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.

That he’s sure of.

But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.

“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”

Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.

You’re breathing it all back to him.

“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”

He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.

“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.

#straykidsland #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #felix smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz felix #stray kids felix #felix skz #stray kids #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #felix x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #hyunlix #mine.

560 notes · View notes

rosyrosethings · 1 year

Text

Y/n returns after missing

This story is a rewrite/edit. I posted this story a while ago. But I'm doing over my master list. So i rewrote this. It inspired by the tv show manifest which is a about a plan that goes missing and they return a few years later

Four years had slipped away since the passengers aboard flight N-47 vanished into thin air, presumed to have tragically succumbed to some unfathomable fate. Yet, in a twist befitting a miracle, three souls previously lost had reemerged. Y/n Y/L/N, James Carter, and Sus-... The screen went blank as she snapped off the TV, cutting the newscaster off mid-sentence. For Y/n, those four years encapsulated an epoch of isolation, an overwhelming void where time seemed inconsequential. The world had marched on, relentless and indifferent, leaving behind a cascade of changes she could scarcely begin to absorb.

Memories of her life before the ill-fated flight were vivid and achingly sweet. She had been on the cusp of a new chapter, her dreams tangibly close. A blossoming fashion designer, Y/n was set to weave her creativity and passion into the very fabric of the industry. Her return from Rio was supposed to be a celebratory milestone, marking her transition into a life shared with Harry and the thrilling prospect of seeing her best friend Kendall, potentially the next supermodel sensation, flaunt her designs down the runway.

The reality she returned to, however, was starkly different. Expectations of a warm welcome, of falling back into the comfortable embrace of her old life with Harry, were shattered. Hours turned into an eternity at her mother’s house, each passing moment amplifying her confusion and heartache. Where was Harry? Why was he submerged in a new life where he was a solo artist, a far cry from the hiatus he'd taken from his band in 2015?

Trepidation gripped her heart, preventing her from delving too deep into the life Harry led now. The fear of discovering him entwined with someone else was paralyzing. With a resigned sigh, she closed her laptop, a barrier against the torrent of information that threatened to drown her.

“Y/N? Honey,” the gentle voice of her mother broke through her reverie. The joy in her eyes was unmistakable, yet it carried the weight of years filled with mourning a daughter lost. They had even held a funeral for her, Y/n realized with a start. The profound relief and elation of having her back were palpable in every hug, every tearful smile her mother gave her.

“Yes, mom?”

“Umm, someone is here to see you.”

***

Contrastingly, Harry's life had been a portrait of attempting to move on while being anchored in the past. His home, once a sanctuary of memories shared with Y/n, now housed his new relationship. Kendall, her head resting on his chest, was a constant presence, offering solace in a reality where Y/n existed only in echoes. She was 'Kenny' to him, a pillar during his darkest times, understanding the depth of losing Y/n as she, too, had lost a dear friend.

But the past clung to Harry with stubborn tendrils. His routine, for three long years, involved calling Y/n’s voicemail, a one-sided conversation where he'd spill the day's trivialities and monumental changes alike, seeking solace in the sound of her recorded voice. It wasn’t until the pain dulled into a quiet ache, and with Kenny’s unwavering support, that he ceased this ritual. Yet, he never truly let go, with monthly visits to Y/n's mother becoming a testament to his undying connection to her.

Their bond had been forged in the innocence of childhood, blossoming from neighborly acquaintances to an unbreakable union of soulmates. It was a love story initiated when two eight-year-olds found friendship and grew seamlessly into love as they reached sixteen. It was a story abruptly paused, until an unexpected phone call threatened to turn the page once again.

Harry’s phone shattered the comfortable silence, Mrs. Y/L/N’s number on display. Kendall, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, sat up, her own complex emotions swirling as she watched Harry answer the call.

“Yes, Mrs. Y/L/N, how are you?” Harry’s voice was cautious, unprepared for the emotional maelstrom the conversation would incite.

Kendall battled with her feelings, a mix of jealousy and self-reproach. She loved Harry, but standing in Y/n’s shadow was a constant reminder of what she lacked. She was never going to ignite in Harry the passionate love he held for Y/n. She was a balm, she realized, not the cure to his heartache.

“Harry.. she’s home. My baby is here, Harry. She came back to us.” The words, heavy with emotional gravity, froze Harry in place. Confusion, hope, and sheer disbelief warred within him.

“Okay, I’ll be there shortly, Mrs. Rose,” he managed, his mind racing.

“What is it, Harry? Who was it?” Kendall queried, apprehension lacing her words.

“Y/n’s mom...”

“Are we going to dinner with her tonight?” she attempted lightness, a stark contrast to the situation’s gravity.

“She’s alive, Kenny.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile truth that threatened to change everything. Once again, life’s unpredictable tide was pulling them in a direction they never anticipated. The lost was found, and with her return, the threads of their lives were irrevocably entwined once more.

Y/n felt the soft give of her childhood mattress beneath her as she rose, each muscle groaning, still remembering the harshness of the ground she'd slept on for years on the island. The air around her buzzed with a mixture of familiarity and foreignness, a sensation that had enveloped her since her return. She was home yet felt like a stranger in a place woven into the fabric of her earliest memories. Her room, though untouched, seemed to belong to another era, one before her life had fractured into a before and after.

Since her unexpected return, her home had turned into a pilgrimage site. Relatives she hadn’t seen in years, cousins whose names she struggled to remember, and a throng of others had paraded through the living room. She had hoped, with every knock, that she would see Harry’s face, hear his voice, touch his hand. But as hours turned into days, her hope waned.

Dragging herself to her feet, she moved through the hallway, each step echoing the pounding in her heart. Her feet, moving of their own accord, carried her towards the living room, the epicenter of the constant, suffocating stream of visitors.

And then, she saw him.

It was as if the world contracted in that moment, every sound, every color, every breath funneling into this singularity. Harry stood there, a portrait of the years gone by. His hair, shorter than she remembered, framed his face, and those green eyes, which had haunted her dreams, seemed to glow. Dressed in the simplest of clothes — black jeans and a white t-shirt — he was a sight for her sore eyes. He was her beacon during the darkest nights on the island, the memory of him, a silent prayer, a sacred chant that wove through the solitude of her survival.

For Harry, the sight of Y/n wasn't just a balm; it was a resurrection. She was here, alive and so achingly present that his heart faltered in its rhythm. The past years had been a cacophony of grief, confusion, and a numbness that seeped into his bones. And here she was, her skin glowing with a vitality that seemed impossible. He had always adored her skin, the richness of her complexion; it reminded him of the sweetest chocolates he'd ever tasted. He had spent years bolstering her against the world, against the harshness of critics and fans alike, reminding her of her beauty, her worth.

He was captivated by the woman before him, who had been tempered by survival, her spirit burnished but unbroken. How could it be that she stood before him even more breathtaking than he remembered? In that instant, Harry understood the depth of the void her absence had carved into his life. She wasn't just a missing piece; she was the very foundation that his reality had been built upon.

Without a word, he closed the distance between them, his arms enveloping her in a hug that felt like a collision of every unsaid word, every unshed tear, every unfulfilled longing of the past four years. His emotions breached the dam he had painstakingly built, tears wetting the crown of her head as he nestled his face there. "God, I've missed you so much," he breathed, his voice a hoarse whisper laden with every nuance of pain, relief, and overwhelming love he felt.

Y/n, ensconced in Harry's arms, felt a sense of returning. Here, in the circle of his arms, the world righted itself. His scent, the solidness of his chest, the timber of his voice — they were her lighthouse. "I never stopped thinking about you, not even for a moment," she confessed, her voice muffled against him.

Their reunion, however, was shadowed by an unspoken acknowledgment of the time lost and the reality that had marched on relentlessly in her absence. Y/n detected subtle shifts in him, intangible but unmistakable. As they sat on the couch, a chasm of unsaid words stretched between them. Harry's affectionate term, 'kitten,' once a playful endearment, now seemed to echo across a vast distance, a reminder of a shared past that was both their bridge and barrier.

Their conversation meandered, a tentative dance around the elephant in the room. Y/n's fatigue, both emotional and physical, soon became too cumbersome to carry. Her eyelids grew heavy, her body demanded respite. "I need to close my eyes, just for a little while," she whispered, her words a mix of exhaustion and a quiet plea for things to be simple again.

Harry, understanding her unvoiced request, smoothed her hair back, his touch a promise. "Rest, love. When you wake, we'll grab some lunch, maybe even see Kendall. It'll be like old times," he murmured, the ache in his voice belying the casualness of his words.

Y/n's smile, before she succumbed to sleep, was a fragile thing, a tentative hope. And as she drifted off, nestled against Harry, she clung to the sound of his heartbeat — a lullaby that spoke of shared pasts, present uncertainties, and the uncharted future that lay ahead of them.

Harry and Kendall sat in the subtle ambiance of the café, the murmur of conversations blending with the soft clinking of cutlery. The tension between them was palpable, like a silent storm brewing. Harry's fingers drummed nervously on the tabletop, betraying the calm facade he attempted to portray.

"Did you tell her?" Kendall's voice sliced through the tension, her agitation evident in the rhythmic tapping of her perfectly manicured nails against the wooden surface.

He hesitated, the truth weighing heavily on his chest. "No... I couldn't," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he averted his gaze, finding sudden interest in the patterns of the wood grain. The confession felt like a betrayal, a stark deviation from the promise he made to himself about honesty.

Kendall's sigh was a mixture of frustration and understanding. "We can tell her together," she offered, extending her hand to provide solace. Her fingers were warm, a contrast to the cold dread filling his stomach.

As he intertwined his fingers with hers, seeking comfort in the touch, his eyes caught a familiar figure approaching. It was Y/n, a sight that made his heart leap into his throat. Instinctively, he retracted his hand from Kendall's, a subtle but unmistakable reaction.

Y/n's energy was like a breath of fresh air as she arrived. "Kenny!" she exclaimed with genuine affection, stretching her arms out for a heartfelt embrace. Kendall rose to return the gesture, her own emotions a complex web of happiness, relief, and an underlying sense of conflict she wasn't ready to face.

The warmth of their hug was short-lived for Kendall, overshadowed by a realization that Y/n's presence might change everything, including her own newly discovered hopes. As they separated, Y/n slid into the seat across from them, her presence filling the void but also reminding them of the intricate dynamics of their past.

"Harry, my mom told me what you did for her while I was...gone. I can't thank you enough," Y/n's voice held a mix of gratitude and sorrow, referencing the home Harry had bought for her mother after the accident — a gesture of kindness in the face of tragedy.

Kendall, feigning ignorance, asked, "What did you do, Harry?"

He hesitated, swallowing hard before explaining. "After Y/n's accident, I...I bought a house for her mom. She was devastated, thought she'd lost her only child." His voice was laced with past pain, the memories visibly haunting him.

"And you never mentioned this because...?" Kendall prodded, a hint of hurt in her tone.

Harry's response was evasive, his discomfort evident. "It wasn't about publicity or gratitude. And you were away, busy with your modeling." He tried to downplay his act, but the hurt it caused was unmistakable.

The conversation took a sharp turn when Y/n's eyes fell upon the sparkling diamond on Kendall's finger. "Kendall, you're engaged?!" she exclaimed, joy in her voice. But the excitement dissolved as realization dawned. Her eyes darted between Harry and Kendall, the implications clear and heart-wrenching. "Oh... I see," she murmured, her voice a fragile whisper.

The atmosphere turned heavy, the weight of unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings pressing down on them. "Y/n, please, let's talk about this," Harry pleaded, desperation seeping into his voice. But Y/n was retreating, her defenses coming up.

The meal that followed was a symphony of discomfort, punctuated by stilted conversation and Y/n's increasing detachment. Harry recognized her coping mechanism as she ordered more food than she could possibly consume. It was her refuge, her way of finding control in a situation where she felt she had none.

Her breaking point arrived with silent tears streaming down her face as she attempted to keep eating. "Kitten," Harry whispered, an endearment slipping out as he moved to comfort her. But she recoiled, the nickname a reminder of what they had and what seemed lost now.

"I need a to-go tray," she announced abruptly, her voice strained. She stood up, her movements robotic as she packed her food, her exit a clear signal of her emotional state.

"Kitten, please, can't we just talk?" Harry implored, but his plea fell on deaf ears.

With a sad smile, she replied, "That's the thing, Harry. I'm not your kitten anymore, am I?" And with that, she walked away, leaving behind a table laden with uneaten food, unspoken words, and unresolved futures.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #fine line #watermelon sugar #harrys house #manifest

87 notes · View notes

urperfectcinnamonroll07 · 7 months

Text

Fast Pace

requsted?: no parings: choi seungcheol x afab!reader genre: established relationship, smut warning(s): small caps r intentional (yk the drill), hair pulling, smut, cutesy bath afterwards, unprotected sex, sub!cheol, dom!reader, pet names (ma'am, honey, baby, etc), lmk if i missed anything summary: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘰 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘰, 𝘚𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘭 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵... word count: 1.4k a/n: there may be a few spelling mistakes, but i got bored so i wrote this:)

you were in a girl group called 'seduction' and you and seungcheol knew eachother for quite a while. you both, as the leaders of each group, decided to do a collab on stage, which meant recording songs together, and learning choreo.

you all had already recorded all of the songs (which was very chaotic for the both of you), but all you needed to do now was make up choreography, which involved partners. everyone had been assigned, and you, luckily, had been assigned withe cheol. you were quite happy, because you were told that the choreo got quite wild a little way through, so you were happy that you didn't have to do it with someone that you didn't know aswell as how you knew cheol (nothing against the others, you loved them all equally).

now it was time for solos, you and cheol were in the centre of the dance studio while your group and his sat around the outside. you two were stood, with him behind you, and you in front of him. the dance was going perfectly, and you mastered most of the moves, until it got to a certain part of the song.

it was only for a split second that you had to do it, but you had to grind against cheol. there was a small bit of space, so it wasn't like it was a sexual action, but you couldn't help but get distracted when the dance was over. the others were cheering and clapping, but cheol gazed at your body in the reflection of the mirror. his hands were placed on your hips, and he leaned down until his mouth was in line with your ear.

"remember when i was fucking pounding into you, my hands gripping your hips while you begged me to go faster?" you face flushed red, he smirked and left a light kiss below your earlobe before letting go of your hips.

a year ago, you had won an award, and cheol wanted to reward you, so he took you back to your house and fucked you on your kitchen counter. you wouldn't be able to get that image out of your head for the rest of the day now.

•❦︎•

a few hours later, it was getting dark. cheol offered to drive you home as all the others had already gone home. you took him up on the offer, and here you were, sitting in the passenger seat of his car. you were staring out of the window when you felt a hand creep up your thigh, dipping into the waistband of your jogging pants. you looked over at him, he had his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel.

he dipped his hand into your panties, gathering your wetness on his fingers before slipping them inside of you in a swift movement. you whimpered softly at the feeling. he started to curve his fingers upwards into you.

you felt yourself coming close, so you gripped his arm to signal you were close, but he removed his fingers.

"cheol!" you almost shrieked, he just shrugged and smirked as you lightly hit his arm and folded yours over yours over your chest, frowning as you turn to face out the window.

•❦︎•

you and cheol were finally back at your house, when he started kissing you. he managed to snatch your keys and as you were pinned to the door of the house, he unlocked it and swiftly opened it, walking you both inside, but keeping your mouthes connected. he pushed you up against the now closed door, kissing you deeply, but sternly.

he grabbed your hips, directing you to the couch. you stopped him and flipped you two over so he was now sat on the couch. you waste no time in climbing on his lap, cupping his face in your hands before kissing him again.

a few minutes later, you pull away.

"what was that about?" he asks, his eyes looking at you

"i wanna be on top this time" you shrug, placing your hands on his shoulders, he smirks

"okay, but can you sit on my face please? wanna taste you so bad" he pleads, looking at you with those soft honey eyes that you oh so adored, you nodded softly

"tell me if you get uncomfortable, okay?" he nods in response.

his eyes lit up as you stood up and removed your clothes, while he moved to lay back on the sofa. you place each leg either side of him before hovering above him in hesitation. he grabbed your hips and pulled you down on his mouth. this was unexpected on your behalf, so your mouth flew open when you felt his mouth suck on your clit harshly, grasping on the couch arm so tight that your knuckles turned white.

"behave yourself, cheol" you hiss through gritted teeth, trying to keep your sounds to a minumum.

"m' sorry, needed to taste your pussy ma'am" he groaned against you, sending lucious vibrations through your body

"fuck, cheol, gonna make me cum if you keep sucking on me the way you are" you moan out

"that's the plan, ma'am" he said against you, yet again, sending vibrations throughout him.

not long later, you felt yourself begin to get closer to your high, you moaned out, signalling you were close, he kept going, when you felt the band in your stomach snap, your juices spilling all over his face, he licks you clean before tapping your thigh. you shimmy downwards to take a spot on his lap again, he sits up, looking at you with his honey eyes.

"fuck, you're good at that" you panted

"am i? didn't notice from your moans" he smirked

"oh behave" you say, dipping down slightly to kiss him passionately, he made sure you could taste yourself on him when he slipped his tongue in your mouth once again.

you start to move down, he sits against the back of the sofa as you kneel down on the floor, unzipping his pants and unbuckling his belt. he lifts his hips up so you can pull his pants down. his hardened cock springs free, you lick your lips in anticipation. you look up at him through your lashes, waiting for him to give you confirmation.

he nods softly, and you slowly get to work, taking all of him in your mouth, you slowly sink onto him, hit tip hitting the back of your throat, making you gag slightly. your throat contracted around him, making him groan, his hand flying to your hair, forcing you to stay where you are. you start bobbing your head, making him groan and whimper.

you smirk as his dick twitches inside of your mouth, his cum shooting down your throat. you take your mouth off of him, swallowing his seed, you open your mouth to show him, he smiles lightly.

you place yourself on his lap, grinding your hips against his momentarily.

"that was good, ma'am" he gasps

"i know baby" you coo, stroking his cheeck "want me to ride you? make you cum again?"

"please ma'am, please make me cum again, want your pussy around my dick so bad" he whines.

you nod as you sink onto him, his head moving to your chest as you sink fully onto him, muffling his moans. you moan lightly at the stretch, threading a hand through his hair to tug his head back up, kissing him momentarily.

"wanna see your face, cheollie, wanna see your face when i make you cum with my pussy" you moan out, tugging on his hair, he groaned and you smirked.

you bounced on his dick, throwing your head back as his dick hit a specific spot inside of you over and over, making you see stars.

"fuck, cheollie, gonna cum hard, want me to cum on your dick? make you cum with me? huh?" he groaned out in response

"gonna cum ma'am, gonna cum so hard inside your pussy" he whimpered

"yeah? do it baby" you moan, throwing your head back as you reach your high.

you cum all over his dick, him twitching inside of you and finishing not long later. you pant heavily, collapsing on his chest.

"did good, baby" he said softly

"yeah?" you pant out

"yeah" he agrees

cheol picks you up, pulling himself out of you and bringing you upstairs to your room.

"want me to run you a bath, honey?" he cooes, you nod weakly in resoponse, he nods and takes you to the bathroom, setting you down on the bathmat and running a hot bath for you both.

a few minutes later, the bath had been made, it was steaming hot with bubbles. you sat inbetween cheol's legs, him massaging your scalp and rubbing soft circles on your bare shoulder. you could barely keep your eyes open, they were hooded, and cheol knew. he would let you sleep for now, but he would have to wake you up later on to get something to eat and drink.

#smut #kpop #seventeen #seungcheol x reader #scoups smut

38 notes · View notes

mrssoapmactavish · 8 months

Text

fight or flight

"you know what they say about stress responses, right? fight or flight reaction, and all that?" "knowing you, it's fight, flight, or fuck." "you're not too far off."

this will be a multi-part fic, all based in the stranger things universe! my writing style may make some of the characters be a bit... off, but i promise you, i'm trying my best for this!

as always, the only thing i claim to own in this planned series of works is the writing itself. i do not own any of the characers!

consider this basically a prologue, an intro for the whole shebang.

hawkins sounded like a bad idea from the get-go. obviously, she never wanted to leave her home in the first place, but she'd reckoned that leaving with her family would make things feel a bit more palatable. if her family didn't consist of her dad, her step-mom, her brother, and maxine, maybe that would've been true.

her and billy only had a year apart between the two of them, meaning that she's always been close to william hargrove, but they couldn't be any different. billy's been masking his anger with their dad with parties, popularity, and endless drinking and smokes. herself? she drowned out the sounds of shouting and anger with heavy drums, intense guitar solos, and gravelly-voiced singers who screech out prose.

in california, they were called 'bonnie and clyde' as siblings. now, though? she wanted nothing to do with him. the only things they have in common, in her opinion, are their last name, and their drive to drown their daddy issues in tail. on the drive to hawkins high this morning, all she wants to do is open the car door and jump out.

max and billy are bickering– at least max got the family temper, it keeps her on the same level as her and billy– and she's just trying to touch-up her mascara in the side mirror, making sure she looks somewhat presentable.

"keepin' your eyes glued to yourself that long, might as well figure out how you can marry yourself," billy snarks over, looking at his sister who merely glares at him. the boy gives a cheeky grin, knowing his sister like the back of his hand, as if he hadn't just parroted what she'd said to him much earlier before leaving the house, when he had been styling his hair properly.

"oh, please, billy boy," she sighs, scrunching her curled hair to maintain the boisterous volume that she had given it. "you would marry yourself, if you could. you'd need a good divorce lawyer, though, with how much you sleep around." she can feel her brother's glare burning holes in the side of her head, but she knows he won't do anything. it's one of the benefits of looking so much like their mom; pour on the honey-sweet tone, dial up the niceities and he'll be unable to do anything but grumble to himself.

billy, in fact, opens his mouth, ready to retort and snap back at his sister, but they pull up to hawkins high before he can even say a single word. it's already a lot, really; she can close her eyes and picture being back in california, walking into school, hearing the airheaded blondes and the sophomore year-peaking boys who think they're nothing less than gods.

as strange as it is, she misses home. misses the bright warmth and the sun, misses the malls and busy streets. anything to get away from the smell of cow shit, empty plains, and the fall chill that she's definitely needing to adjust to.

before she gets out of her brothers car– max has already slammed the car door, huffing and barking back at billy for telling her to come straight to the car afterschool– she puts on a new layer of her bright red lipgloss, the kind that used to have boys melt and bend at the knee, and would occasionally end up smeared on their cheeks and necks, if they were the lucky ones.

slinging her bag over her shoulder, she finally gets out of the car. she can feel all the envious eyes of girls standing against their boyfriends vehicles already looking at her brother like a piece of meat. it irritates her, even if she knows the men are doing the same, and billy no doubt has the same anger bubbling up inside him.

"keep that skirt on and no hands sneaking under it," her brother grumbles, right before giving the ladies his signature grin, the one that she had always referred to as his 'lure' grin. the one he'll give a girl to drag her home, rock her world, then never talk to her again. the one that leaves a trail of broken hearts and dropped panties in its wake.

"keep your pants on and your fly up, then," she snaps back, already making her way forwards and into the school. she can hear all the wolf-whistles and all the endless chatter from the boys about how short that skirt of hers is, how she'll freeze to death if she doesn't 'huddle up' with them, not to mention how many are already talking about how easy it'd be to creep their way closer to her.

sure, sex is great and all, but something about being trivialized as some trophy is... sickening. so, obviously the girl is keeping her wits about her, ignoring all the comments for now, even if each pair of eyes should be ripped form their heads for looking at her so lowly. she knows her own value; she's been called a goddess in bed before, and that was by some half-drunk loser in california, but it rung true. she is that worthy of praise, worship, devotion.

one set of eyes, however, doesn't go down to her skirt and stay on her legs. it doesn't even stray past the leather jacket on her shoulders– her brothers, she admits, but she'd never been one to even acknowledge her brother being able to have things for himself– and she finds it.. oddly satisfying. rewarding, almost, like there's at least one person in hawkins high not ogling her.

it's an entirely new kind of attention, to be quite honest, and she has no idea how to really react to it. whether she's meant to lash out, cry against the world for being oh, so cruel to her angry, warped soul to have someone eye her with something other than envy or pure want– or if she's meant to fawn, to gravitate towards the only person treating her like a human being, and to get herself involved in some hallmark whirlwind highschool romance.

either way, she sees who the gaze is connected to, and she'd be lying if she said she expected the person to be. he's one of the pretty boy types, she deduces; popular, on some kind of school sports team most definitely the captain, the air-headed kind to ignore between classes and pray she'd never be paired with for an assignment.

though, the soft, big, doe-eyes that seem fixated on her are quite the sight, and the strong jaw, defined nose, the smattering of birth and beauty marks across his face seem to give him this uncharacteristically human trait, compared to the very stereotype she's predicted.

she narrows her brows, giving a cold, hardened gaze; she aims to show she's not socialized, so to speak, that the black and red composition of her outfit reeks of femme fatale, a black widow type, engage at your own risk. but there's no such luck, as the fluffy haired tom cruise type makes his way towards her, confident and quick in his gait, even if there's a lack of spcial awareness reeking of a clumsy demure.

"hey there, little lady," the boy hums, gaze staying on her face, almost as if calculating how she's reacting to him, but he quite obviously doesn't know that she's well-versed from the years of torment and anguish at home to keep her emotions to herself, off of her face. "you're new here, so welcome to hawkins high. you need a tour guide, you just look around for steve harrington, i'll show you all around."

so he can't take a hint.

"mm," is all she responds with, very openly and shamelessly eyeing the man up and down, as if sizing him up to intimidate him. the man shifts from one foot to the other, hip cocked and head quirked; he's not picking up on the fact that she's trying to dismiss him.

"saw you with that guy in the camaro and the red-head, you guys look like quite the family," he continues to talk, prying, to see if she'll do more than just vocalize around her. alas, she just rolls her eyes at him, and he still doesn't seem offended, taken aback, or even remotely disinterested. so, she relents.

"i'll find you if i need you, harrington. name fits that crown of yours," she tells him. the way his brows raise is subtle. he's surprised, but not off-put. another comment about the hair, water off a duck's back, it seems. "i'll be fine figuring it out myself for now."

trained to follow subtle hints in body language from years of cowering, blocking out the sounds of her older brother being treated like no better than a dog, she notes the slight drop in his shoulders. not entirely, a momentary defeat for him, but he still holds out hope.

"yeah, alright," he responds, hands removing themselves from his hips, posture straightening, eyes going over her shoulder to look around, looking for his friends no doubt. "i'll be around–" the pause, an expectant gaze.

ah, right. names, such a fickle things, things she would prefer to not share, like pleasantries, pillowtalk, and whatever cheap shit booze she can sneak from her dad.

"you can stick with hargrove for now." she tells him, and god forbid the smile that graces his face. so that's what he is– a classic soft, popular guy. layers of issues, no doubt, but far too many to point out in particular, at least for now.

with a quirk at his lips into a somewhat playful smirk and a flick of the single coif of hair dropping into his face, he decides to push once more for now. "cherry it is, then. cherry hargrove."

a twinge of anger, at least that's what she can place it as. this man has no idea what he's getting into.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #billy hargrove #stranger things #steve harrington x reader slowburn #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things s2 #steve harrington x reader prologue #andromeda st #andromeda st fic #andromeda series #archers 18+ emporium

19 notes · View notes

obetrolncocktails · 1 year

Text

Karma Sutra | Sam Kiszka X Reader | Part 2

Warnings: Alcohol use, mentions of drug use and drug related injury, mention of death and grief, grossly-sweet fluff. Minors DNI, this series will contain smut.

Work Count: 4.3K

A/N: This is a longer one, folks. As I was editing and making some changes, I realized how much I missed this fic and how much I love it. I hope you guys do as well.

Summary: Is he really as terrible as everyone says he is? The only way to find out is to dive right in. Hopefully you don't end up regretting it.

“What?” His eyes squinted and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you. Nevermind, I spoke too soon. Sam bent closer to you, which suspended your breath immediately. You gulped.

“I said, how are you not deaf with all this noise?” He grinned, tracing his gaze from your eyes down to your lips and back up again. “Honey, I am in a band–this is nothing.” He chuckled, running his fingers through his hair, shaking his head left and right, dismissing your silly thought.

You made your way with him through the house, weaving through a sea of drunken students. Entering the kitchen, there was an endless assortment of cheap liquor, wine and beer. “Now or never. White or brown?” Sam gestured to the bottles. “Don’t mix them. You’ll end up on someone’s bathroom floor.”

“I can handle my liquor, but thank you,” you replied with an edge in your voice, but he didn’t seem to care. “White–I’ll do some tequila.” He nodded his head with enthusiasm, grinning as he poured two shots for you and himself.

“That’s my girl!” Coming around the kitchen island, he handed you a miniature solo cup. “Cheers!” You decided to inquire, trying your best to flirt.

“What’s the occasion?” You asked. He cocked an eye your way.

“Just to new adventures, and no hangovers.”

You smiled, tapping your cup against his and again on the countertop before emptying it. “Cheers!” He easily knocked back the shot without exaggerated expression. You paused and watched him. “Y/N,” He points loosely at your full cup. “You’re supposed to drink it–that’s how alcohol works.” Rolling your eyes with a cheeky grin, you fire back.

“Really? I had no idea!” You threw the shot back in an attempt to impress him. Your eyes watered and your throat burned, but you steeled yourself. You forced your face to remain neutral. “Wow, I am impressed–a woman who can take her liquor.” Sam took his plastic shot glass and aimed for the trash can at the other side of the island, but missed. “Shit–let me see yours.” handing out your empty cup, his fingers brushed against yours as he took it from you. This time, he made it directly in the can. Walking over, he bent and picked up the previous failed attempt, disposing of it as well.

“Ping pong?” You suddenly blurted, peering beyond the kitchen into the dining room which had been converted into a makeshift game room.

“Yeah–you play?” you nod.

“I do–well, I did. I kinda had an obsession with it freshman year of high school. My best friend had a pingpong table in her garage. We spent hours playing every day after school.” You turned to him with a shrug. “Let’s just say I’m a veteran.”

He placed his hands back in his pockets, leaning against the counter. “You couldn’t beat me, though. They call me The Master.” He bats his dark eyelashes in feigned innocence. You release a chuckle through your incredulity.

“Very creative, did your mom come up with that?” He grimaced at you before pushing himself off of the counter.

“Say what you want sweetheart, but I am cutthroat–and a pretty girl is no exception for a worthy opponent.” he lifted your chin with a curled pointer finger, beckoning your eyes to meet his. Your cheeks flamed, and every sinapse begged you to look away from him. Tilting your head back down with determination, you countered him.

“You’re on, Jackass.” Sam reached his hand out for you to take.

“Loser buys lunch.” Your heart fluttered. A date?

Shaking his hand, you simply answered with a nod, “lunch.”

The room was crowded with people, many of which were cheering on the players at the table. “Aye, Sam!” Christian came from around the table to embrace Sam.

“Hey man, what’s the score?” Sam absently reached up to stroke the stubble on his chin. You heard the repetitive din as ping pong balls and paddles collided, lulling you into dissociation as Sam and Christian conversed with one another.

“8-7, close game,” Christian answers. “They are so crossfaded, I am surprised they are upright, let alone playing fucking ping-pong.” They laughed, watching the game progress.

“You know Y/n, right?” Sam gestured to you and back at his friend. Christian smiled at you, tipping his head in greeting as if he were wearing a hat.

“Friends with Paige Gilbert, right?” He asked. You nodded kindly.

“Yeah, we were roommates for a few years before I decided to move off campus. She’s my best friend.” A quiet moment passed before Sam cut through the awkwardness. Wrapping an arm around your shoulder, he continued. “So, Y/n challenged me to a game of ping pong and I told her she has no chance of winning.” Christian nodded and shook his finger, pointing at sam.

“He is a fucking animal. He plays dirty–Good luck. Make sure he doesn’t cheat–he’s good at that.” Sam’s face went ashen for a moment but he covered it immediately, clearing his throat. “Alright man, I’ma head out. Gotta be up at six for work.” Christian glanced back at you, offering you both a salute before winking at Sam and leaving the room. What was that? Sam sensed your confusion, watching you and clearing his throat again. The room suddenly erupted in cheers, catching both of you off-guard.

“Fuck yeah!” Todd slammed his paddle on the table before jumping up and down, knocking into other partygoers.

“Better luck next time buddy,” Sam mentioned to Ben, the unfortunate loser of the evening. Ben offered half of a smile to him before throwing a wadded up twenty on the table. “Don’t spend it on blow–” he retorted at Todd, making a display while wiping at his nose before chuckling. “Like you wouldn’t join me if I did.” The pair parted ways, leaving the table open for another game.

“Well, Y/n, it’s been nice knowing you–prepare for annihilation. Red or blue?” Sam lifted both paddles at either side of his face for you to choose from.

“Blue, and you know these paddles don’t just work for hitting ping pong balls, right,” you said, grabbing the paddle and slicing it across your throat in the classic ‘throat slitting’ gesture, wearing a massive grin as you did so. You had to find a way to keep up with his cockiness somehow.

“Wow, Y/n, threatening physical violence–that’s really cruel.” The flirting tossed your insides like a game of squash. It made you feel desirable and sexy. “Alright, you two–first to ten wins the match. Heads or tails?” Ken asked Sam to start the game.

“Tails,” Sam answered. With a quick flip of the thumb, the coin spun through the air and landed, revealing the winning face.

“Tails. Opening serve goes to you, my man.” Ken Harding told Sam. He was the quarterback of the football team, who had been serving as referee for the night, albeit, a very bad one. Considering the lengths that players have gone to win tonight, you might as well have called him an emcee. Sam served the ball to you lightly, which you were appreciative of. You had no idea how the game was going to go–you hadn’t played in years. You smacked the ball back on his side, moving your body with the trajectory of the ball. With a deft flick of the wrist, he slammed the ball back to your side, bouncing it on the playing field. Before you could hit it back, it bounced behind the table, earning a deflated “Oh,” from the crowd surrounding the table. Your serve. Alright, Y/N, don’t fuck it up, you told yourself. With quick agility, you fired the ball to Sam’s side, making him work for the point. The ball rallied back and forth, hitting your paddles in quick succession. Ah, now I remember. You started taking risks with your play. Timing your paddle, you struck the ball forward across your boundary and into Sam’s side, forcing him to jump backward in order to hit it back. He missed and it sprang directly into the net.

“POINT!” Ken bellowed, throwing a signifying arm in your direction. You threw up a fake gun, blowing the smoke from the barrel.

“Very cute, I’ll give you that.” Sam spun his paddle in his hand, waiting for your serve.

“What can I say? it comes naturally.” Sam nodded in agreement, pointing the paddle at you.

“You trying to beat me at my own game? I’m the one with the God complex, love.” Shaking your head, you served the ball to him, catching him off guard. Impressing you, he caught the rhythm with a fast reflex, knocking it back to you, sending the ball rallying once more.

Just as you prepared to score again, a collective gasp echoed throughout the house causing you to fumble your next return. Heads turned towards the front end of the house as the music shut off, leaving your ears ringing.

“What’s happening?” You asked Sam, who looked just as equally confused. He came around the table, grasping your hand and squeezing.

“I have no idea, but don’t go anywhere. I will be right back, Y/n.” You nodded as you watched Sam wade through the crowd, finding the head of the frat.

“Damien–Damien, what’s happening?” Sam approached him through the crowd.

“Someone took too much acid, tried to jump into the pool from the roof, and fell on their head. Police and ambulances are on the way now.” Sam’s expression intensified, his eyes widening.

Thanking Damien quickly, he rushed back through the panicked mass of people to find you. Taking your hand without taking a moment to explain, he pulled you out of the room and through the house toward the entrance.

“Sam,” you attempted, but he made no attempt to stop or listen. “Sam! Where are we going? What is happening?” He stormed through the crowd, shouting, “Move!” He elbowed his way through the room, shoving people left and right as he dragged you along. Within a few moments, you both arrived on the diamond-shaped lawn outside. You rubbed at your sore wrist as he released his grip from you.

“What the fuck, Sam? What’s Happening?” He threw an anxious hand through his hair.

“Someone got hurt –they just jumped off of the roof and landed on the pavement. They tripped on acid. From this house.” Sam pointed to the earth below you. “It’s not safe here. The police are on their way as we speak.” You gulped and nodded, feeling your gut swell with adrenaline. “Did you drive?” You shook your head.

“I got an Uber–I can order anot–” He cut you off immediately. “No. Let me drive you home.” You attempted to protest.

“Really, Sam. It’s no big deal. I’ll get home safe.” You tried to fight the nagging feeling of wanting him to care for you, but you forced yourself to believe that it was all temporary, fleeting fun. A moment.

“Y/n. Please. Let me.” He took your hand with a glimpse of tenderness that you had never seen from him. You nodded reluctantly, squeezing his hand slightly. He offered a thin smile, bringing you close to him as you walked together.

The night is frigid and you both found your lips and teeth chattering against the cold wind. Finding his car quickly, he jogged around to open your door for you. You couldn’t help but laugh as you lowered yourself into the Tesla. “What’s so funny?” he asked, closing his door and starting the engine.

“Your nipples are probably hard as a rock and you still open my door for me?” He eyed you with a sly grin.

“Mama didn’t raise a complete asshole.”

“Sam ‘Cocky’ Kiszka. That’s your reputation.” He placed a hand behind your headrest as he peered behind you to back out of the tight space.

“A reputation doesn’t always accurately reflect someone’s character, Y/n. You should know that.” He emphasized the word ‘you,’ which almost seemed accusatory.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You snapped back at him, turning your body towards him as he drove.

He shrugged. “People think you’re quiet. Inexperienced. Sheltered. That you don’t have a personality.” His eyes found yours in short glances before turning his attention back to the road ahead. “But you’re fiery and opinionated. Strong. I like that.” Your cheeks flamed from feeling so exposed. The silence in the car became overwhelming as you realized that no music was playing.

Music was your comfort blanket; It was always there for you in times when you couldn’t find an avenue to express yourself. In many ways, there was unconditional love between yourself and music. It never demanded more from you than it gave, and you could find exactly what you needed from it without judgment or concern. “What are you thinking about?” Sam cut through the silence as he drove. You turned to him, debating on whether you should be honest.

“Music.” You said simply, meeting his gaze.

“What about? Did you wanna play something?” Shit. I am going to sound pathetic. “Oh, no, I was just thinking that the silence feels strange. I never drive without music playing.” He smiled over the steering wheel as he approached a red light.

“Katy Perry? Ariana Grande? Oooh, T-Swift?” You scoffed and rolled your eyes playfully. “I would rather let you pour molten steel into my ears.” He flashed you a toothy grin.

“Ouch, sounds very painful.” He handed you his phone. “Let’s listen, then. Play something.” Suddenly, the hand of insecurity stole your smile. You didn’t share your music with others very often; you didn’t listen to popular music. You listened to what spoke to you, and you knew he’d have thoughts about it.

“Don’t judge,” You said as you scrolled through his Spotify account, typing in your information through the search bar, finding your go-to playlist. You pressed the shuffle button, landing on Sam Cooke’s “Bring It On Home to Me.” You considered skipping it, but it was one of your favorites, so you decided to listen anyway. Looking up, you saw Sam tapping the rhythm against the steering wheel, beginning the song.

“If you ever change your mind, about leavin’, leavin’ me behind, oh bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin’, bring it on home to me.” He sang the words quietly with a warm smile, glancing over to meet your gaze. “Sam Cooke- one of my all-time favorites. How did you know?” His eyes were kind, easing your worry.

“Growing up, my dad used to sing this song around the house on Saturday mornings when he would make breakfast for my family. It makes me feel closer to him.” You smiled in remembrance of him using a mop pole as a makeshift microphone, swinging back and forth as bacon popped and sizzled in the pan. “Dad, you’re going to burn the bacon!” You shouted between giggles, watching the personal show from the breakfast nook at the back of the kitchen. You suddenly ached for him, wishing for one more burnt piece of bacon and one more morning filled with his music. You noticed Sam’s expression intensifying, not sure what to say. “My dad passed away six years ago–sudden heart attack.” His expression softened as he reached over to grab your hand softly as he drove.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I had no idea.” You offered him a light smile, shaking your head.

“It’s okay–I don’t talk about it very often, so I listen to his music instead.” He nodded, reaching up to flip his hair back–a habit of his that was becoming somewhat comforting to you. You let the song play out softly, the sound of the highway lulling the moment somewhat.

“Can I show you something?” He asked, his glassy eyes meeting yours for an answer. The two of you had been driving aimlessly for a while, driving down the main strip of town away from school.

“Of course.” John Denver’s “Annie’s song” began to play softly. The melody that you knew so well always found its way back to you, comforting you.

“And Denver? Where have you been all of my life, Y/n?” Sam chuckled, swaying to the lilting melody. You chuckled as he asked.

“Listening to good music, I guess. I’m a rare individual–I’m different.” You spent time leaking sarcasm through your words. A grin too wide for your face spread, causing your cheeks to cramp.

Fuck-I could kiss her. She’s beautiful. Sam struggled to keep his eyes on the road, lost in his own thoughts. You couldn’t help but steal glances at his features, spending perhaps a bit too long admiring the softness of his lips. Street lamps sliced beams through the windshield in natural rhythm as he drove. You pressed your head against your window, feeling the chill prickle your skin with goosebumps. Your eyes began to loll closed as “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor started to play.

A few minutes later, you felt Sam’s hand softly nudging you awake. “Hey sleepy head, we’re here.” You straightened in your seat, finding yourself in a dark parking lot. There were many darkened shops, all closed for the evening.

“Sam, where are we?” He turned off the car’s ignition and turned to you in his seat.

“You’ll see. Come on.” He found his way back to your side, opening your door.

“You’re not gonna murder me and leave me in a dumpster somewhere, are you?” In truth, you were a little concerned; there was virtually no light in this parking lot.

“On the first night I really got to know you? Come on, I’d wait until at least the second date. I’m not a sleaze.” You snorted, stepping out of the car and shutting the door. He held out his hand for you to take. “You’re safe. I work here in exchange for practice time.” You had no idea what he was talking about, but you walked with him anyway, enjoying the way your fingers laced together so naturally. You made your way to one of the glass storefronts. You tried your best to look inside, but the darkness obscured what was behind the glass. Sam dropped his hand from yours to reach into his pocket for his keys. Unlocking the door, he held it open for you to enter, a collection of bells tinkling above your heads. His fingers drifted upward to the lightswitch on the wall to his left. It was obvious that he had memorized its placement because he didn't need to see it to find it. You squinted as the room blinded you with incandescent overhead lighting, revealing the contents of the store. Pianos. Dozens of them of all age, size and color.

Sam tilted his head down, eyes fixed on yours as you took in the sight. “Welcome to possibly my favorite place on Earth.” He paused for a long moment as you both scanned the room. “My boss lets me use this place to practice as a trade off for pulling extra hours during the week.” You nodded and took a few steps further into the room, its vastness spanning further and further. A vast record collection lined the walls, stacked within towering milk crates that seemed to wrap along every open space around the perimeter of the store. “When I need time away, I come here.” He pointed to a large mahogany Steinway & Sons piano that sat in the middle of the room. “This one is my favorite to play. Made in 1914.” The piano was remarkable; it was the centerpiece of the store, beckoning musicians of all kinds to play. You enjoyed the way Sam spoke about his art, and though you had never heard him play, you were fully invested.

“Sam, this place is amazing. How do you not live here?” His cheeks blushed slightly as he listened to you speak.

“You’d be surprised. I am here more often than I’m at home. I’m surprised there aren’t ass marks worn into that piano bench.” You grinned, and watched the same expression snake across his lips. He took your hand softly. “Come, let me see if I can pull something out of my ass.”

You took his lead, approaching the piano before taking a seat beside him. “I’m sure anything you play will sound better than anything I could. I could do a kick ass rendition of “Mary Had A little Lamb,” though. I’m not sure you’re ready for that type of humbling.” You couldn’t help but grin so large that your cheeks hurt. Sam placed his hand on your thigh, leaning into you.

“You could play anything for me and I’d still tell you that it was the best thing I had ever heard.” His smile melted you like you had sworn it wouldn’t, cracking at the guarded exterior that you wore so well. “Anyway, here’s a little something that I am working on.” You placed your hands in your lap, preparing to listen.

Sam took a moment to close his eyes, centering himself upon the keys. He began to play, fingers flying gracefully across the keys. He was so focused and diligent that you couldn’t help but feel hypnotized by his expression; he was lost within the music, possibly even forgetting that you were sitting next to him. The piano was his true lover; he treated each note with respect and dignity, caressing each key with care and importance. His eyebrows rose and lowered with the swell of the music, carrying him into the thin boundary between simply sitting at the piano beside you and hovering somewhere else, a place that transcended time, worry or circumstance. For reasons you couldn’t understand, a lump sprung in your throat and your eyes began to burn with overwhelming emotion. Get it together, what is wrong with you?

You had decided. You wanted him to see you in that same way; to desire you, to want you the way he wanted music. You wanted him. His eyebrows furrowed together and his mouth opened slightly. His features pulled taut, his expression almost akin to an orgasm, which sent flames lapping upon your neck and cheeks. You averted your gaze, the embarrassment of your inner thoughts becoming far too loud for only you to be able to hear. His innate passion filled you with desire, clouding the simplicity of the moment; he was just playing a song. That’s all.

Eventually, he opened his eyes softly, finishing the melody with a delicate flourish. Bringing his gaze to you, he could see the stupefied expression plastered on your face. He brought his hands back to his lap, letting the silence linger in the room. “Um, that was something I guess.” He brought a hand up to fluff his hair, a mannerism you had become familiar with. Your eyes trained on the plushness of your lips, struggling to meet his gaze. You were silent for a moment.

“That was…so special, Sam. Really, Thank you.” He nodded, smiling. “Y/n, when are you going to call me Sammy?” You paused, caught off guard by the question.

“Well, you haven’t really given me a reason to.” You shrugged casually as you responded, noticing as the smile on his face fell into something more contemplative and nervous.

His glassy eyes traced the blush of your lips, biting at the corners of his mouth before bringing his gaze back up to meet your eyes once again. The desire for each other was palpable, there were no words to speak. In the silence, only one question lingered; one that could only be answered by his touch. You were drawn together, wordlessly answering the inevitable question. In a collision of frenzied senses, his lips skimmed yours with ponderous reluctance, a surprise to you. You nodded slightly in consent and dissolved into his kiss, your thoughts silently scattering the word “yes” over and over. Parting your lips, you let him wash over you completely. He tasted of tobacco and tequila; his hot breath swirled upon your skin, consuming you with desire. The roughness of his beard rubbed against your chin and cheeks, destined to leave proof of his touch. He brought you closer, his fingers guiding your chin up to his, beckoning for you to pursue him. Your heads curved in a languid dance, searching and finding each other each time. You unfurled yourself within the kiss, releasing all reluctance within the security of his embrace. Leaning further into him, you laced your arms around his neck, grabbing at his dark waves.

He reciprocated without hesitance, pulling you into him. His hands made their way to your face, thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks. The silence of the room transformed into the sound of swarming bees inside your head, obscuring your senses, leaving you only able to process the feeling of his touch, and the overwhelming sexual instinct blooming in your core. He seemed to search for something within your kiss; a place to inhabit, a secret to know, a promise for more. He parted from the kiss, leaving you feeling stunned and breathless. Bringing his forehead to rest against yours, still so close in the embrace, he whispered with a simple smile, “Hi, my name is Sammy. Nice to meet you.” He traced a thumb against the softness of your smile.

“Well, Sammy. You’re a very good kisser.” Bending to kiss you once more, he sealed the moment.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

End of Part 2.

If you would like to be added to my taglist, fill out the form!

Taglist: @doodle417 @watchingovergvf2 @pr41sethemoon @fireandsaltydogs @capturethechaos@andromeda-raine-gvf @writingcold @sammyfuckingkiszka@positivegvfthings @ace-harrington @gvfvanfleet @flo-gvf @sacredthefran @jjwrites @nocuts-nobutts-andgvf @jmkho @joshsindigostreak @gold-mines-melting @allieisacrybaby @sammysprincess@gretavansara @dannythedog@demolitionndann @gretasmokerising @shesawomaninadream @sonicbaptism @vixenstail

#Sam Kiszka #Sammy Kiszka #sam gvf #sammy gvf #gvf #gretavanfleet #sam kiszka fic #sammy kiszka fic #sammy gvf fanfiction #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka fanfic #sam kiszka imagine #greta van fleet #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet fanfiction

91 notes · View notes

dan-whoell · 3 months

Note

what are some phancoded songs?

@fryday has covered this a ton recently, but some I doubt anyone else will say:

How Far This Can Go by Bowling for Soup. The chorus??

Let’s take it fast to slow Hold our breath and jump into whatever this is Grab a coat and let it all rain down If we never stop believing, it’s gonna be alright But if we don’t try, we may never know How far this can go

It's very early days, but also every adventure they've had??? Like even as recent as resurrecting the gaming channel, if they hadn't taken the chance on doing that we might not be in the middle of whatever the phagenda is now. I also think about Dan being 18 and still not having coming to terms with his own sexuality, but still jumping into whatever was going to happen with Phil.

By the time the curtain's falling There'll be standing under and screaming out our names Can’t you hear the future calling Will go all the way and never be the same, yeah

I mean. Self explanatory. Makes me cry to think about everything they've built. And I love the love the audience has for them. I can't think about it too long or I end up a pile of goo.

Come Monday by Jimmy Buffett. I grew up listening to this man, I've done a list of some favorites. But this one specifically gives me dnp vibes.

Come Monday, it'll be all right Come Monday, I'll be holding you tight I spent four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze And I just want you back by my side

Again, I think about them in the early days, hanging on every visit and always trying to get back to their bubble together. But also Dan on tour. I wish I could remember who it was that made a post about why now as far as a potential rebrand/launching so hard into joint content again, and the tldr was after wad, Dan coming back and and being like 'Okay. I've done it solo, and I've realized I don't want to do this without you.' And that's the same vibes I get with this song. Being away from each other sucks, and I just want you back by my side.

I can't help it, honey You're that much a part of me now Remember that night in Montana when We said there'd be no room for doubt?

You know. Their lives are so intertwined. Phil literally said our life. They own a house together. They have their own fucking language. They know each other so well. I've said it before but although I don't believe in soulmates, they are the exception to the rule. As for the second half... I mean. Early days. Jump in. See how far this can go.

I hope you're enjoyin' the scenery I know that it's pretty up there We can go hiking on Tuesday With you I'd walk anywhere

It's the idea that everything they've done for 15 years, and everything they will do, they'll do it together. In the sense of a joint endeavour, or just supporting one another in solo projects. Them doing shit they'd never normally do on their own, but they have their soulmate by their side so how bad could it be?

(This one is depressing so apologies in advance)

Haunted by Spanish Love Songs. Sort of a Phil perspective on Dan's struggle with depression.

You're not haunted You just miss everything You're not a cautionary tale So don't you vanish on me

And you're not haunted It's just the devil in your skin It'll be this bleak forever But it is a way to live You're not alone You just miss everything When you're feeling like a ghost Would you come haunt me? Please come haunt me

I'm not gonna say a lot here, but I know what it's like to love someone so fiercely and be heartbroken that they cannot see themselves for who they are. I've also been the person who can't see it. I think a lot about Phil always being there for Dan, and I'd love to hear him talk about the experience of love in those situations. (And if he never does I totally get it, it's private and it's not really our business. Just from a relatability standpoint.)

This is in the same vein but Washington Square Park by The Wonder Years, specifically this:

She said, “I let this slide when we were younger You know you don’t have to write like this The whole world’s full of losers If you get a chance to win, (you should) take it!”

Like. Phil always trying to get Dan in colors. Dan face down on the floor and Phil being there to pick him up and distract him. I love a love song as much as the next guy but this is my bread and butter.

To end on a happier-ish note, Love Will Keep Us Alive by The Eagles.

I was standing, all alone against the world outside You were searching for a place to hide Lost and lonely, now you've given me the will to survive When we're hungry, love will keep us alive

Early days??? Phil being the first person that made Dan feel safe??

Don't you worry Sometimes you've just got to let it ride The world is changing Right before your eyes

Coming out??? Meeting so many queer fans on tour and that being a push to come out themselves?? HELLO??

Now I've found you There's no more emptiness inside When we're hungry, love will keep us alive

I think about the state of things now, how fucking happy they've been since coming back. How different it feels from when they started. There's always been laughs, always been fun, but there is so much joy now. I'm sure I've said it but personally my heart feels so fucking full when I see how far they've come. When I see what they've built for themselves.

Anyway I could go on and on about songs that make me think about dnp, especially stuff that's not top 40's pop or is 30+ years old, but I think I've yapped enough on this particular post.

#i tried looking for the 'why now' post so i could link it but tumblr search function has defeated me :(#also may i hope it's okay i tagged you. i just couldn't not given the subject #also also this is nothing against top 40's pop! i just tend to listen to the same shit ive been listening to for 15 years #so i miss a lot of newer stuff #thank you anon for giving me the opportunity to yap about music i very much enjoyed this #anon #phan #music #ks chats #dan and phil #god ive got my tags all mixed up idk what im doing #if there are typos im sorry ive done my best

8 notes · View notes

nurturercelia · 4 months

Text

Celia Rowe Robinson (Lashana Lynch) is a thirty-two year-old Therapist in Albany, NY. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only fourteen. They are known as The Nurturer because they are warm-hearted but also restrained. Let’s see what choice they make regarding the fate of Woodrow House.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Celia Rowe Robinson

Nickname(s): Cee, anyone can use. She is not picky.

Date of Birth: July 1st, 1973

Age: 32

Occupation: Licensed Clinical Therapist, LCSW

Current Residence: A townhouse in Albany that she shares with her husband

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: black shoulder-length, usually pulled back behind her ears (think of her Miss Honey hair in Matilda)

Eyes: dark brown

Height: 5' 9"

Notable Features: soft eyes, easy to feel safe around (she hopes), big smile. Used to feel insecure about it but has since learned to love it

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR:

Strengths: good listener, sympathetic, selfless, genuine, loyal

Weaknesses: sensitive, deflects, anxious as all Hell

Quirks: Celia will clean when she is nervous. She does not mind it, in fact, she finds the act of taking a space that was messy and making it new very satisfying. Growing up I imagine she would get quite stressed if she had to spend time in a ward's bedroom if it was messy, maybe even start picking things up without realizing what she was doing. Always cold.

Vices: Drinks: sometimes. Smokes/Drugs: no. Loves a little sweet treat. A Shirley Temple, a coke, a cupcake.

INTEREST & HOBBIES:

Interests: Plants/gardening, musicals (watching, not performing), tea, talking to strangers (she is the type to make a friend in line somewhere), audiobooks in the car

Hobbies: Celia loves a little keepsake!! She is a scrap booker and probably has everyone's baby teeth in a little bag (this is cute not creepy) that she hot glued to a page with ribbons and stickers. She WILL be buying an NYC snow globe or a Myrtle Beach keychain for the memories!!! She writes to all the wards pretty regularly and you always know the letter is from her because it's written in a beautiful script where the i's are hearts <3 and it's on thick patterned paper

BECOMING A WARD

tw: child neglect, suicide/suicide attempt

Gloria Robinson was quite keen to keep up with appearances. Despite being a single mother with a full-time job, she ran in intellectual circles that valued fellow scholars exchanging the brilliance of their own minds. Richard was included in this exclusive list of mostly Arts and Humanities professors at Kingsbury College. And young Celia would relish in the attention she was provided by them. She was the after dinner entertainment in the form of a little violinist, a wide smile practiced and rehearsed as she geared up for her solo. She loved the accolades that fell on her: “Great job, my dear” and “what a little Chopin you have!” and “someone ought to tell the New York Philharmonic about her!” Always the best ones coming from Richard. She wanted to impress her mother, to show her she could be useful in her mother’s pursuits. If she saw her with her head in a book, maybe she would be proud of her.

But everything changed just days before Celia’s 10th birthday. Moments before the start of a large party being held at their house, Gloria received a call that her brother passed. He ended his life when the recession tanked and took all of his stocks with it, something Celia’s uncle who worked in the city, urged Gloria to contribute to as well. The house grew silent. Frozen. Dark. The frequency of parties dwindled to fewer and fewer until they were a distant memory. Celia’s mother lost her job and the instruments turned into nothing more than firewood during the frigid winters when the heat got turned off; the lavish banquets turned to frozen peas meticulously distributed for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There was no time to build resentment when her stomach rang louder than the screaming in her head. Falling into this role wasn’t a choice, but a duty. Who else would feed them while her mother sat stoic in front of the television all day?

And with only the two of them to fill that big house, it was only a matter of time before Celia found her mother had attempted the same fate as her late uncle. But now, Celia could do nothing to help. She was thirteen now, thinking of herself as a fully-fledged adult, or close enough to it. But no amount of force-fed dinners could let her escape what she saw.

It would be a month later that Celia would see her mother again when she emerged from the woods of their home, pajamas muddy from the overnight rain. Celia placed a bowl of soup in front of her spot by the TV--watery noodles and some seasoning--and cried.

Maybe it was the way Celia answered the phone when Richard called, voice far too hoarse and drained for one so young that drew Richard back after what had to be years of silence from the Robinsons. It was there he found little Celia, hair matted, trash piled up to the ceiling, the young girl finishing her daily routine of spoon feeding her mother lunch. It was Richard who suggested checking Gloria into a psychiatric ward, ("a quick hour away”) but Celia who ultimately agreed to it. After a failed attempt to find any information about Celia’s father, it was Richard who ultimately took custody of her. The news spread fast among their circles--those same voices now whispering things like “poor dear” and “how tragic” and “thank goodness for Richard, bless him.” It is here Celia learned not all attention was welcomed.

LIFE AS A WARD

After what she had witnessed, she was grateful for a warm bed and some other folks to talk to. In many ways, she felt a bit like a burden, a case Richard took on to clear his guilty conscience from his lack of contact earlier; something he owed her mother rather than out of the goodness of his heart. She did not think of him as a parent necessarily, for she had one of those, even if Celia could only see her for an hour every second Tuesday of the month during planned visitations.

Even so, she was thankful and showed it by always being respectful to all the staff in the house. She grew close with the mental health professional who came to the house every week, valuing the time she spent with the woman who could help her cope with her past. She knew what others said, remarks made in open and closed doors about her mother and she refused to let the rumor mill run even more because of her behavior.

AESTHETIC

TJ Maxx/Marshalls/Ross girl. She is sooo going to be obsessed with the Live Laugh Love sign movement. The inspirational quotes are everywhere in her office. She loves a mule or sling back. Comfortable but professional. Florals and lil pops of color. Her house is full of quilts and blankets, vintage dishware. Too many pillows on the couch, tons of cards stuck on the fridge. Absolutely NO overhead lighting ever. Always smells like vanilla.

EDUCATION

Celia chose to continue her education at Woodrow House, not yet ready to leave the other wards who so clearly needed her help. She would continue her studies there and use it as an opportunity to look after them for as long as she could. Celia's respect for Richard for all he has provided her runs deep, and she majored in Psychology at Kingsbury College for undergrad, Richard’s alma mater, as an ode to both him and her mother’s former place of work. She went on the complete her Masters in Social Work at Skidmore College, not far from Woodrow House, where she met her now husband. No matter how hard she might want to get away, there seems to be some sort of rope puling her back.

EXTRACURRICULARS

Celia tried to pick up a violin again--there was plenty of music around to study, but something about doing so felt off. It was hard to separate the instrument from the dark memories she had with it as a child. Still, she missed the feeling of creating something beautiful with the strings and the bow. She was introduced to the cello and found it to be different enough that she could play in peace. Richard and her mother's love of literature has also made its way into her. She found joy in reading to the younger wards as well.

THEIR LIFE NOW

Celia's wedding took place about three years ago--it was by a lake not far from Woodrow House, a convenient excuse to get the gang back together, whether or not everyone chose to attend or not. Celia and Michael started dating soon after they met in grad school and have been together since. The love they both used to feel for each other is clearly dwindling, and Celia finds herself clinging to the need to fix it herself more than she should. She likes having a husband, regardless of who that husband is, feeling like the first time in her life she should have something totally put together. Recently, she hasa been spending more and more time alone in her house, Michael's overnight shifts at the hospital seemingly going longer and longer. She has noticed a distance from him, but can't bring herself to face the truth.

Up until Richard's death, Celia remained close to Woodrow Houses in the townhouse she owns with her husband Michael in Albany for frequent visits to both her mother and those at Woodrow House. While Celia does most of the initiating, she makes sure to always keep up with the other wards, whether it is a letter or a call or a visit. If she doesn't hear from them directly, she will ask those who do keep up with her about what they know about the others. Selfishly, she needs to know that they are doing okay and will often call or write more than necessary just to double check. She keeps a spare room open in her house at all times and goes out of her way to make sure they all know her location in case they need a place to stay.

Her career can be quite draining, and she often finds it difficult to separate herself from the work. That is definitely being put to the test during her week at Woodrow with all the wards again.

HOW ARE THEY HANDLING NEWS OF RICHARD’S PASSING?

Deep down, Celia is quite broken over it. She thought she could handle death--she has pre-grieved the loss of her mother for more than half her life, after all. But dealing with it head on is another thing entirely. Much like when she was a child, she finds herself welcoming distractions, choosing to lose herself in helping others come to terms with their grief instead of dealing with her own. After all, she makes a living listening to other people’s problems, not sharing her own. Being a licensed therapist, she feels she is uniquely suited to handle everyone else’s feelings--the difference is those clients choose to see her once a week and then say goodbye. They pay for her to help them in one-hour weekly sessions and then stop when time is up. With the other wards, it isn’t that simple. They did not ask her for help and many have made it clear they do not want it, despite how desperately she needs to feel wanted.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME THEY WERE AT WOODROW HOUSE?

Celia visited for one of her scheduled dinners a month before Richard’s passing. She noted how he showed no signs of feeling ill, although she admitted she did not see him for much of the dinner and spent most of it catching up with Mrs. Tristan and Edward.

#celia: bio #gonna add to this soon but wanted to get something going for now!!

7 notes · View notes

bmbochangetales · 2 years

Note

BMBO FM I need your help I'm trying my daily run and it's a struggle to get motivated today. I would love it if you could play Tag you're it. That song always makes me run faster.

I��m no longer accepting BMBO FM requests. I may bring this interactive back at a later date but for now this and several others that I got earlier will be my limit until my move is complete.

**************

“Let’s get some motivation to all those runners out there, try not to get lapped, but if you do, “Tag You’re it”, enjoy”

It took you hours to get out for your run today. You had a rave coming up and really needed to go though. After hours of pushing it off, you headed to your favorite running path. A few other runner were there running the long looped path. You saw a male and female couple, two college girls, a solo guy and a solo girl.

Running on the path, you were going to use this song as a sprint. You really wanted to do this workout as fast as you could.

You but your headphones in and luckily the song was already queued up. You set off.

You quickly caught up to the couple softly talking to each other as they jogged slowly together as you slipped passed them with ease.

“Honey we really need to clean up the house when we get home”

“Or we could…you know”

“Shhhh people will hear you”

You rounded a corner and into a wooded section you were catching the two girls just casually waking. Probably only college aged or freshly graduated. You quickly over took them.

“I can’t believe he wouldn’t call me back. It’s like he just wanted sex, no just to cum, he didn’t care about me.”

“Guys are just gross and selfish. Maybe you should try girls like me.”

You picked up your pace trying to get this lap in. You saw the single man stopping at some equipment in the park to get some training moves in. He was buff and you could loudly hear his podcast playing out. Explaining how to pick up girls and reminding him that men were superior.

You saw the other girl running in the distance but she turned the corner and you seemed to have lost her.

One lap done, one to go for this sprint.

You came across the mistress and her cute little pet.

“Walk on your leash like a good girl. Mistress will reward you later.” She gave her per’s head a pat and the one on her hands and knees yipped and yapped excitedly.

She rounded the corner again and there was the happy couple.

“I just want to have my cock pumping you full, I want to see you getting bigger and rounder.I’ll let everyone know you take my cock so well”

“God please fill me up, I’ll be a good breed slut. Fuck me full of your babies I want to show everyone how good your cock is”

“Of course you do. You want to grow my children and keep your tits large and filled with milk.”

You came upon the equipment again. The himbo was there listening to his podcast. He was laying on a bench meant for sit ups, stroking his cock according to the commanding podcast reminding him that he was just a silly boy, women were superior.

You were nearing the end of the course and the song. You had lapped all the runners twice. Except you missed one…the lone girl. You were almost there when she flew up your left side. You could have sworn you heard her say “tag you’re it” eerily like the announcer. Maybe she even winked at you.

You felt tingling. You just keep going forward as the shorts and top shrink down. Your body begins to get harder to keep in proper form as your breasts becoming the size of melons. Their bouncing is hypnotic as your try to finish. You ass swells as your pussy begins to drip down.

You finished your sprint but you couldn’t ignore the feeling any more. You fell to the grass and the tiny top let your much improved tits fall out. You began vigorously rubbing them, bouncing them around. Your mind not caring anyone walking by, in fact you hoped they would enjoy the show.

One of your hands slipped down into what was supposed to be a pair of running shorts but your new curves were too voluptuous that they were just lewd with your body spilling out. You were busy rubbing yourself to climax so all passersby could enjoy the show. You couldn’t stop the first time or the second. You kept coming over and over again. Until you passed out until some time later.

You sat up and looked around. Why were you at the park in your high heels and sluttiest bikini? You couldn’t think. Oh well, it probably wasn’t important. But since you were here, you might as well find some fun friends to play with. You wanted to share you’re body.

#my writing #my story #interactive #bmbo fm #bimboification #himbo #couple

42 notes · View notes

smaptain-smerica · 2 years

Text

Female Reader x Rooster

Time: Post-Top gun: Maverick

Y/n Blackwood - L/n, daughter of Charlotte "Charlie" Blackwood. Y/n took a strong interest in planes from a young age. Knowing her father was an esteemed pilot drew her even further into the navy. Quickly, she became one of the best solo pilots and graduating at the top of her class at Top Gun.

Her next mission? Return to Top Gun, Face certain death, romantic interests, and finally, her thought-to-be-dead, father.

This book contains strong language and sexual content that may be sensitive readers under the age of 18

This story was originally posted on Wattpad, follow me on there for faster updates. I have published a non-binary version of this story published there for those who do not identify as female or use she/her pronouns. It will follow the exact same story line. Link to Wattpad Account Link to the Non-Binary version

Master list

Jet Lag

After finishing dinner at Mavericks house Bradley and I returned back to his. He held the door open for me as we entered the house.

"I'm sorry about leaving dinner out I'll clean it up." I said as I started to walk down the hallway. My arm was caught by Bradley who spun me around and brought me into a kiss. His lips were filled with a built up passion. I reciprocated it, realizing now how much I had missed the feeling of the tickle of his mustache.

His hands slid down around my hips and grabbed the back of thighs. He lifted me up and held me around his waist while still continuing the kiss. Bradley kicked open the door to the bedroom and took a more secure hold on my body. I laughed as I flew through the air to be slammed onto the bed.

Bradley crawled up on top of me, placing gentle kisses on my neck that made me giggle. "How could I not have known you looked so good in my shirts."

He swooped down to place a kiss on my lips and I smiled in response. I bit my lip and looked up into his honey brown eyes. "You think so?" I asked, snaking my hands up around his neck and tangling them in the back of his hair.

Bradley slid his rough hands under the shirt and up the sides of my skin. In between the words he spoke he placed gentle kisses on my lips. "I know so. But personally, it would look better, disregarded, and on the floor."

Bradley slowly slipped the shirt from my body and off my shoulders and then threw it dramatically onto the floor. I laughed with the largest smile spread across my face. He placed a long kiss on my lips before pulling away and smiling down at me. "I love you, y/n."

I smiled back up at him, my hands finding their home on either sides of his face. "I love you, Bradley."

~~~

We fell asleep quickly after having sex for the first time since the accident. Bradley was almost as good in bed as he was in the air. Almost.

Although, it felt like as soon as I had fallen asleep the bed stirred next to me. I had gotten used to sleeping along so when I felt the bed shift it caused me to wake up.

I looked over at Bradley who was sitting up in bed now. He was hunched over slightly, His hands supporting him on the edge of the bed.

I flipped around and sat up myself, looking in his direction. "You okay?" I asked.

He half looked over his shoulder at me and then sighed. "I'm okay sweetheart. Go back to bed." His words were dry, lacking emotions. Something was off, it was one of those moments where you could just tell. I crawled over to his side of the bed and sat down next to him. I wrapped my arms around his bicep and then placed a gentle kiss on his muscular shoulder.

"Come on, you can tell me." I encouraged.

Bradley reached a hand over and placed it on my thigh, giving me a gentle squeeze. "I just can't sleep."

"Jet lag?" I asked.

Bradley shook his head. "No, I just- I hate the feeling I have after coming home from a mission. I only did low level bombings on buildings but still. I feel bad, it doesn't feel good anymore. It makes me feel like a horrible person."

It was becoming more clear to me that the toll of the back to back missions was wearing on his mental health. I was afraid he might be experiencing pilot burnout. It would be a shame for the Navy to lose such a good pilot. Of course, I understand the feeling. I wouldn't want him to continue to suffer.

I sucked my teeth a bit in thought. "How about you come teach with me? Come help me with the sessions at top gun. Teaching pilots might be a nice change."

"I thought hangman was helping you?"

I scrunched my face together and shrugged my shoulders. "He can sit out for a couple days. He'll live."

Bradley chuckled and nodded. "Okay, teaching. I think I could do that."

"I think you'd be great." I reassured him, shifting up to kiss him on the cheek. "Now let's go back to sleep." I crawled back over to my side of the bed as Bradley shifted over. He placed a kiss on my lips before sitting back up.

"Just you. I actually do have some jet lag and I'm not tired at all." I playfully smacked him on the shoulder to which he responded with a laugh.

"I'll catch up with you tomorrow after training." With that, Bradley left to the living room. My guess was to either watch tv or read a book. I drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

~~~

Bradley's POV

I made my way down the hallways to Y/n's office. It was my first time back in the building since the last mission. Nothing had changed but somehow, felt completely different.

I passed by the new pilots as they excitedly made their way out the doors towards freedom. I remembered those days, leaving at the end of sessions was the best feeling.

Y/n had told me where her office was and I was navigating my way there. The hallways were quiet with all the staff and students dismissed for the day. The only thing I could hear were my shoes on the concrete until I rounded the corner.

I knew that y/n's office was at the end of the hall and I could hear yelling from all the way down the hall. Concern washed over me and my pace picked up to a jog to get to her door quicker. The closer I got the more I could make out what was being said.

"Get the fuck out! You're done here!"

"You're a bitch! And a tease!"

"You are expelled from this program! I want you gone tonight!"

The door to her office swung open so quickly that it almost hit me in the face. A tall, hard haired man stormed out of the room and down the hallway.

I caught the door and stepped inside. I saw y/n sitting in one of the chairs on the off side of her desk. Her elbows on her knees and head shaking in her hands. "Hey," I announced my presence as I stepped into the room and shut the door.

Y/n jumped when she heard my voice, looking up with concern and then relief before dropping her head back into her hands. I approached her, pulling up another chair to sit in front of her. "What just happened?"

"It's nothing." She grumbled into her hands. I reached out and took her hands into my own, forcing her to look at me. I noticed the reddening of her dominant ands knuckles. Something was obviously wrong.

"You can talk to me sweetheart." I tried to reassure her. She looked into my eyes with her beautiful e/c ones. They looked sad, distraught even.

"I don't want to. It's over now. I've gotta go do some paperwork. I'll meet you at the car." Y/n stood from her chair and began walking towards the door. I stopped her by grabbing her arm and she looked at me quickly. I brought my hands to her shoulders and brought her into a hug.

I had never known y/n to be the overly affectionate type, but I could tell she needed this by the way she sighed and rested her head into my chest. I stroked her back gently and rested my head on top of hers.

After a moment she broke from the hug, heading for the door and leaving. I took a moment to look around at her makeshift office. I noticed her keys on her desk and decided to grab them for her. Once I rounded the side of her desk I noticed two pictures in frames. One was of us on Penny's boat. I smiled and picked up the picture. I really, truly love this woman with all my heart.

I picked up the next picture to see it's of Maverick. A very young, very fit Maverick. There's no denying that he was a good looking man. That's definitely where y/n got it from.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

I turned around and saw Hangman standing in the door way, a smug smirk on his face. He left a bad taste in my mouth at the moment. We hadn't spoken since the fight I had with y/n. I felt a strange weight tug at my heart that was conflicting. I wanted so badly to hate him but I couldn't ignore what he did for Maverick and I on the last mission.

"Hangman, you look good."

We clasped our hands together and brought each other into a hug. "I'm sorry about the other day." Hangman began to apologize but I shook my head.

"Don't worry about it. We're all good now."

Hangman looked at me with a relieved smile before he looked behind me around the room. "Where's Wolf?" He asked.

"Oh she needed to go to the Admirals office. I think something happened with one of the students. They were screaming at each other and then he stormed out. She seemed pretty shaken up." I explained all this to Hangman knowing that he has been here to help y/n with training. Maybe he will know more about it. And I seemed to be right. Hangman rolled his eyes and let out an audible frustrated sigh.

"It's probably Ghost. He's been a real dick. Gave Wolf a hard time but she set him straight. Do you know what happened?"

I shook my head. "No. But he's being kicked out of the program so I guess it's bad."

"Damn." Hangman responded, shocked.

The three of us were going to The Hard Deck tonight to catch up and hang out. Rumor was that it was going to be karaoke night and Y/n was dying for me to sing Great Balls of Fire.

As hangman and I walked by the admirals office, the door suddenly popped open and Warlock looked at the both of us. "Lieutenant Seresin, we need to see you for a moment." Warlocks attention then shifted to me and he gave me a gentle smile. "Welcome back, Bradshaw."

"Thank you, Sir." I responded with a smile. Hangman entered the office and the door closed. I couldn't help myself, I loitered outside of the door and pressed my ear against the wall to try and hear what was going on. The talking was muffled as a deep voice spoke. I knew it was Cyclone. The only words I would make out of the conversation was Hangman raising his voice and saying; "I'll kill that bastard." And Cyclone responding; "keep your composure, Seresin."

I felt my gut twist. I hated not knowing what was happening. Based on their reactions I assumed that it was bad. Why wouldn't y/n talk to me about it? Was it her way of dealing with things, by herself? She had been alone for so long she was probably used to it. On the other hand, I couldn't comprehend why I was being left out of the conversation.

The door opening caught my attention, it was Hangman. He had a sullen expression as he met my eyes. "Come on, it's your turn."

Next Chapter

39 notes · View notes

seokjinsonlyone · 1 year

Note

Idk if you’ve been asked this before but what is your favorite song from each members solo projects so far? Lol the astronaut is the exception 😂

omg!!! we must have some sort of connection bc i was just thinking about this earlier and i'm gonna assume this is in our hiatus era bc the rapline just has so much history it'd be impossible to pick just one LOL so imma go in chronological order of when it was released!!

for hobi it's safety zone like that song just really hold a special place in my heart like the sound of it is soooooo i can't even describe arson is a close second tho

for joonie it's closer hands down when i first heard that track i literally started vibrating on the frequency of bees

for mini it's it's actually hard to pick but his lil ep hit so freaking hard and was so unexpected for me and listen i am not really a lyric girly like i will listen to a song in english mind you could know all the words and sing it but not really pay attention to what it's saying at all like there's this one song i love and i swore by that song listened to it on repeat for hours wanted it played at my wedding that's never gonna happen and everything and like a year later i realized it was a breakup song all this to say that the english version of like crazy makes me soooo insane specifically the line "emotions on ice" like that one line right there changed the trajectory of my life BUT THEN there's alone and like i said NOT really a lyric girly so the way that this song sounds and just the composition is SOOO clever like in the chorus part where he's like "day and night fall" and when he says fall there's that voice effect that literally drops and the overlapping "mayday, get me out of here" that's literally a cry for help like that is so freaking genius and caught me from the beginning and it's just so it's a song i really like to listen to even tho it's really sad LOL BUT THEN there's set me free pt 2 which i realize now i could've just led with bc it really does have both those elements like it has that sound that makes me vibrate and the lyrics that alter my brain chemistry (especially when he's like raise your hands for the past me i'm just head in hands about that line AMONGST MANY OTHER PARTS) AND THE PERFORMANCE MY GOD i don't even know where to start talking about that one so i won't so let's just say set me free pt 2 is king for me

for yoongi i literally decided on my way into the house after getting off from work that dday was my favorite from the album like i was going back and forth between dday and sdl and decided that what takes sdl to the top for me is adora's adlibs like she really snapped but if i was picking my fav from yoongi bc of yoongi it's dday like y'all don't understand the way i be blasting that song everyday on my way to work it be like 5am and i'm in the car volume turned all the way up talm bout time for some paycheck and i'm riding downtown 😭 it's become my ultimate hype song me thinks

and i know my seokjinnie only has the astronaut but it's SO good like "when i'm with you there is no one else and i get heaven to myself" is such a wonderful and lovely line and when he starts belting about how much he loves me god my heart is so full i am at peak military wife whenever it comes on

and the babies haven't released anything yet but i will use this opportunity to say that i am forever changed by taehyung's jazz covers like that festa video that dropped had me listening to jazz for the rest of the week and like you can tell how much he has improved as a singer his voice is just like honey and i gulped it down with a cup of tea fr like i've probably watched it five times by now i love it so much and for jk can i just say that i miss when he was in his silk sonic phase like i was literally screen recording that one live when he covered leave the door open for the first time honestly i have most of that concert screen recorded LOL like baepsae hip thrusts and all but i think of all the songs jk has covered and my god there has been plenty his cover of leave the door open is my favorite and i'd like to hear more of him with that sound there's also this one other song he covered once it was during one of his morning lives it was a korean song and he was imitating the singer but i have no idea of the artist or the song but just know that there's a section in my brain that holds that one specific cover dearly

i have no idea how this got to be so long i didn't expect to have this much to say on this topic BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING

#ask #I LOVE TALKING ABOUT BTS' MUSIC MORE THAN ANYTHING AND I WISH MORE PEOPLE WOULD TALK TO ME ABOUT THEIR SONGS #BC NOW THAT IM THINKING ABOUT IT I ACTUALLY HAVE A LOT TO SAY ON SO MANY SONGS I ALWAYS DO #i engage myself in one sided bts song discussions like once a month actually and that's just up here #my head go crazy #ANYWAY #i added a cut so as not to clog up anyone's dash

4 notes · View notes

heartlessfujoshi · 11 months

Text

flufftober day 20 - reylo 'between the stars'

Title: Between the Stars Chapter: 4 of 6 Fandom: Star Wars Pairing: Reylo (Ben Solo x Rey) Rating: Teen (Modern AU - Slow Burn - Flirting - Tooth-Rotting Fluff - First Kiss - First Date - Sleepover - Introduction to Friends) WordCount: ~2,370 Prompt: Pumpkin

Read: Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3

---

A brisk wind blew Ben’s hair into his face, making it almost impossible to see. He couldn’t use his hands to push his hair back, as he was holding a bottle of sparkling cider in one hand, while the other was clutching a rather large gourd against his side. He was standing on a well lit porch, trying to decide if he should knock or ring the bell, as Rey hadn’t told him what he should do. All she had told him in a text earlier in the day was - “Be at this address at seven tonight. Bring something to drink if you want, but most importantly, bring a 🎃. See you tonight.” He stared at the door, willing something to happen so he didn’t have to make the decision on his own.

The door opened, and a very handsome man stood at the door with an inviting smile on his face. “Hello! You must be Ben!” The stranger reached out for the bottle of sparkling cider, which Ben was reluctant to hand over. “Glad you could make it tonight! Want to come inside? It’s a bit chilly out here, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He tried not to mumble, but it was almost a habit at this point. He walked up to the opened front door, and looked at the gentleman, who had unruly curly hair. “You must be….Poe?”

“Indeed I am.” The front door closed behind him. “Welcome to my place.”

“Yours?!” A voice came towards them from the left side of the house. “Oh, I know you didn’t just say this was your place.”

Ben raised an eyebrow up, protecting his pumpkin by holding it with two hands now as he followed Poe towards the sound of the voice. They walked into a very nice kitchen that was decorated for the season - lots of pumpkins and leaves were decorating every available space in the room, but Ben paid them no attention. All he saw was Rey standing next to the person he assumed had just been talking to Poe, as he knew Rey’s voice was not that deep. She was wearing his sweatshirt. Oh, this is bad.

“Hi!” She jumped off the chair she was sitting on, and walked over to him. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

He lowered his head and kissed her softly on the lips. “Happy to be invited.”

“I’m sorry if he told you lies when he just met you.” The gentleman that had been sitting next to Rey was now standing up in front of him. He reached for the pumpkin that Ben still had in his arms, and set it on the table next to a bunch of other good looking gourds. “I’m Finn. We own this house together, thank you very much.”

“Honey, you know I didn’t mean anything bad by that comment.” Poe immediately went on the defense. “I was going to fix it when I brought him in here, but you had to go and eavesdrop again. What have I told you about eavesdropping?”

Rey laughed, and cozied up next to him. “Don’t mind them. This is their thing.” Rey leaned her head on his shoulder, Ben more than happy to have her next to him. “I’m really glad you said yes to this tonight, Ben.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart.” Poe stopped his apologies to the gentleman who Ben still didn’t know his name. “Finn, did you hear that? Our little Rey is growing up.”

“Oh sod off, you twat.” Rey held up her hand with her middle finger extended towards him. “Finn - how do you put up with this arsehole?”

“Once you get to know him, it just sort of works.” Finn, apparently, shrugged his shoulders. He held his hand out to Ben. “I’m Finn. Poe and I are married.”

A lightbulb went off above his head. “Ah, I see.” He smiled, and noticed the gold bands on both of their ring fingers. “You two seem to be very in love.”

“Don’t fall for their bullshit, Ben.” Rey grinned, as she pulled him over to the table where knives were set out for carving the pumpkins. “How was the rest of your day at work?”

“It was okay.” Rey had left early, but hadn’t told him why. Now that he saw the state of the kitchen, he understood where she’d gone off to. “Nothing too exciting.”

“Heard you guys are going to Hux’s party next weekend?” Poe casually dropped the question, as he uncorked the bottle of sparkling cider that Ben had brought. “He brought us something to drink, Rey. Keep him forever.”

“Poe!” She exclaimed, her face turning the most beautiful shade of red. Ben smirked, and could see the tips of Rey’s ears were the same color as her face, clearly embarrassed by the comment. “We’ve only been dating a couple of weeks!”

“Still. When you know, you know.” The look on Finn’s face told Ben that they probably had a whirlwind romance themselves, and seemed to be pretty happy. “But that doesn’t answer the question. Are you guys going to go?”

“I hadn’t asked him yet.” Rey rushed the words out, as Ben picked up one of the pumpkin carving kits from the grocery store that was yet to be opened on the table. “So, I doubt it.”

“Hux?” Why did he know that name?

“Ah, Armitage Hux.” She turned to look at him. “Poe used to date him-”

“I did not!”

“He will say he didn’t, but we all know that they did.” Rey laughed, Ben thoroughly intrigued by her interactions with her close friends. “He always throws a big costume party the weekend before Halloween. We all have a standing invitation to go.”

That was why he knew the name - he’d heard about these Halloween parties in the past. “Sounds like a fun time.”

“You serious?” Rey asked, staring at him with a somewhat shocked look on her face. “I for sure thought you wouldn’t want to do something like that.”

“Why not?” Ben didn’t mind going to parties. “We could do a costume together, if you’d like.”

“Oh, he’s in deep now.” Finn teased, as he leaned over to Poe. “Did you hear that? He’s said he wants to do a couples costume without Rey having to beg him.”

“Definitely marry this one.” Poe patted Rey on the shoulder, then went about pouring sparkling cider for them all. “It’s just the four of us tonight, I’m afraid.”

“I’m having fun already.” Ben commented, as he took the glass from Poe. “You two are very nice.”

“We try to be on our best behavior for our favorite girl.” Poe handed a glass to Rey. “How long have we known each other now, babe?”

“Too long.” Rey lamented, holding the glass of wie up to her lips. She didn’t take a drink, as Finn cleared his throat in a way that was meant to remind her not to sip before a toast. Ben caught her glaring at him, and couldn’t help but chuckle, as she looked adorable doing it.

“Those are generally the best friendships.” Ben commented, and saw that everyone had their glass. “To new friends and relationships?”

“To new friends and relationships!” All three repeated together in an almost comical way, making Ben smile like a complete idiot.

He remained quiet for most of the evening, which was fine. It didn’t bother him. He could listen to Rey talk about past times with her friends for hours, which is what it wound up being. They had drunk the sparkling cider he brought, and then opened another bottle that Poe happened to have on hand. It was clear that Rey came over and hung out with them a lot, if they had non-alcoholic beverages on hand for her. Ben had no complaints.

Finn grilled some burgers for them, and they ate their dinner outside on the back porch, which was lit up with strings of lights, making it very inviting. Rey sat close to Ben, pausing every so often in her storytelling to touch his thigh, touch his shoulder, touch his chest - almost as if she was making sure he was still here. Ben had no plans on going anywhere - these little moments were making it pretty clear to him that he was pretty much head over heels for her.

They finished carving all of their pumpkins, and put lights in them before taking them out to the front porch. Ben had put his own skills to use, as he had always loved carving pumpkins. He’d done a spooky tree, but had shaved off some of the skin to make it glow through the gourd, using techniques that not the average pumpkin carver knew about. As soon as he set his pumpkin down, it became unnaturally quiet.

“Holy shit, Rey. Why didn’t you tell us your boyfriend was an amazing artist?” Finn exclaimed. “Our pumpkins look like shit next to his!”

His shoulders dropped, feeling instantly insecure by the comment. He didn’t mean to make theirs look bad. He was only trying to make a nice pumpkin, as he knew it would be sitting out on the porch. Rey slapped Finn’s shoulder hard, and he saw him wince. “You take that back!”

“It’s a compliment!” Finn held up his hands, as Rey was going for another swing. “That pumpkin is incredible, Ben!”

All the anxiety started to seep away as he realized that Finn was being sincere. “I like carving.” He shrugged his shoulders, but tried his best to put a smile on his face. He didn’t want to upset Rey’s friends. Not when he was having such a good time hanging out with them. “I thought it’d look nice, since you have a tree out here that looks a little spooky.”

“It’s our tree?!” Poe’s eyes widened. “Ben, you have to come back here every year and make this happen.”

A nervous laugh left his mouth. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“It really is beautiful, Ben.” Rey looked up at him. Her hair was done in three buns tonight, the same way she wore her hair at work most days. “Did you have fun carving it?”

“I did.” He smiled at her, and took her hand. “Your bat looks pretty great.”

“Does it??” Rey’s laughter brought warmth to his chest, as she leaned up against him. “Yours really is the best, though.”

“This isn’t a competition, Rey.” He kissed her forehead. “But you’re right. Mine is the best.”

Poe and Finn laughed as Rey pouted for a second before joining in with them. Ben knew that he wanted to spend more time with all of them together. He was having far more fun than he thought he would.

Rey pulled on his arm. “Would you mind taking me home, Ben?” Her words were a soft request into his ear. “Finn picked me up, and I sort of figured you’d take me home without really asking you.”

“You don’t have to ask.” He kissed her cheek. “I’d be happy to take you home.”

“You could spend the night, if you’d like?”

He smirked. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Oy, what are you conspiring about?” Poe pointed between the two of them, as Ben raised his head up. “No secrets here!”

“Who said it was a secret?” Ben asked, as he put his arms around Rey, who was now standing in front of him with her back to his chest. “No secrets between friends.” He winked, and heard Finn start to laugh.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” Poe went after Finn, Ben now resting his chin on top of Rey’s head as they watched the two of them run around like fools.

Rey leaned her head back to look up at him. “Take me home?”

“I’d love to, sweetheart.”

Saying goodbye took awhile, as Poe and Finn had more stories to tell. But Ben promised that he’d be back, after Hux’s party next weekend. They invited him over for a Friendsgiving, which was something Ben had never experienced but sounded fun, so he’d agreed. Then, he walked Rey to his car, and opened the door for her before getting into the driver’s seat.

“Do you think you could get a white ball gown dress by next weekend?” Ben asked, as he began to drive towards Rey’s apartment.

Her soft gasp had him smiling. “You don’t mean….do you?”

“Why not?” He fixed his rearview mirror, then turned to look at her. “I’ve got something that will pass for his outfit.”

“I’ll try.” The look on Rey’s face made it worth the suggestion. “Might have to improvise.”

“We can call it an ode to them, then.” Ben grinned, then returned to looking at the road. “What time is the party next week?”

“It begins at 8, and goes until the early hours of the morning.” Rey yawned softly. “Ben, I don’t know how much fun I’ll be when we get back to my place.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m happy to just sleep with you.”

“Under the covers this time?”

“I had planned on it.”

Back at Rey’s apartment, he went and got undressed in the bathroom, keeping his undershirt and boxers on, giving Rey plenty of time to change into pajamas to sleep in. She was holding the blanket up for him to join her, which he did so with a smile on his face. She was yawning again, clearly struggling to stay awake. He put his arms around her body, holding her close to his chest as the blanket fell down onto his shoulder.

“Go to sleep, Rey.” He whispered into her ear. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I know you will be, Ben.” She yawned again. “Didja have fun tonight? Sorry if my friends are weird. They’re really good blokes, but I know they can be a lot sometimes.”

Ben rubbed gentle circles on her back, as he felt her starting to relax more against him. “I did. I may be partial to Poe more than Finn, but that’s because he was teasing you like you were his little sister.”

“You’re so mean.” Rey mumbled against his chest. “Mean old Ben. Your pumpkin was the worst.”

He barked out a laugh. “You are feisty when you’re tired. I like this side of you, Rey.”

“Well, I love all sides of you.”

His eyebrows rose up, as he caught what she’d said. He was going to question her about it, but the sounds of her snoring soon hit his ears. Oh, well. There would be another time when they could revisit that comment, perhaps at a later date. Or maybe he would ask her about it in the morning. Hearing her say it at all made him happy, as it was exactly how he was feeling about her. There was something about Rey that he couldn’t help but be attracted to. Her personality, her beauty - all of it was one nicely wrapped package that was all his. As she pressed closer to his body, he hugged her tight against him. I love all sides of you too. The words were left unsaid, but he conveyed them to her by a soft kiss to her temple before closing his eyes, falling fast asleep with Rey secure in his arms.

---

Cross-posted to AO3

#reylo #my writing #fanfic #flufftober 2k23

0 notes

redsoapbox · 2 years

Text

Boo Hewerdine and Jodie Marie Are Added to the Have Yourself a Merry Christmas Line-up

Folk-pop singer/songwriter Boo Hewerdine first surfaced in 1983 in the Cambridge, England-based group The Great Divide: two years later, he founded cult favorites the Bible, releasing a pair of acclaimed albums (Walking the Ghost Back Home and Eureka) and scoring a minor hit single with "Honey Be Good" before disbanding the group in 1988. From there, Hewerdine teamed with Texas performer Darden Smith for 1989's well-regarded Evidence, followed in 1992 by his true solo debut, Ignorance. After briefly re-forming the Bible, he returned in 1996 with Baptist Hospital; Thanksgiving followed three years later. Hewerdine maintained a low-key presence in the 2000s and 2010s, but he recorded steadily on his own and also in collaboration with the Great Divide, State of the Union, Brooks Williams and Chris Difford. (All Music bio, Jason Ankeny).

youtube

The Bible

Back in the 80s, I had an ongoing compulsion with compiling the ideal indie mixtape. New songs would be added here and there, while others would inevitably be dropped into the bargain bin of my memory banks in the quest for the perfect 90 mins of indie pop. There was consistency, though. Some songs are just classics, period! So, the ever-present songs included “Almost Prayed” by The Weather Prophets, “Word Around Town”, by Westlake and “'My Favourite Dress” by The Wedding Present. Also, un-droppable was “Graceland” by The Bible, so it’s an absolute honour to feature Boo Hewerdine on the album. In addition to the All Music bio above, there are some additional points worth noting: A re-released “Graceland” reached no 51 in the UK charts in May 1989. Boo Hewerdine’s solo albums feature guest appearances by the likes of Richard Thompson, Martha Wainwright and Eddi Reader (another contributor to this album). Reader's first hit single after Fairground Attraction had called it a day, was with Boo's “Patience of Angels”. The song was nominated for the Ivor Novello in 1995.

https://boohewerdine.net/

I’ve written about Jodie Marie a number of times for Wales Arts Review and New Sound Wales, and she remains one of my favourite musicians of the present day. Before I quote my own work (poor form, I know), here is All Music’s short introduction to her work: ‘Welsh singer/songwriter Jodie Marie (born Jodie Marie Warlow) makes yearning folk-pop with a bent toward soulful ballads and bluesy anthems. A native of Narberth, Pembrokeshire, Wales, Jodie grew up listening to blues music, began performing locally at age seven, and by her teens was writing her own songs. An album of cover songs she recorded caught the ear of record execs at Transgressive Management, who quickly signed Marie -- then age 16. Soon thereafter, she began recording an album of original songs in London, working with guitarist/producer Bernard Butler (Suede). In 2012, Marie released her debut album, Mountain Echo, on Decca.

It was 2015′s Trouble in Mind that caught my ear, and I nominated it as the redsoapbox AOTY. I concluded my Wales Arts Review of the album with ‘Whilst Mountain Echo was an album of sunrises and sunsets, of moonlight and ocean mists, its campestral lyric reflecting an idyllic childhood lived along Pembrokeshire’s Landsker Borderlands, Trouble in Mind contains not a single reference to nature, or indeed, the outside world in any shape or form. It’s a claustrophobic, nocturnal record, set entirely within the haunted house of the human heart, an album of candlelight and ticking clocks, of straight-faced lies and sleepless nights. It’s worth getting acquainted with Jodie Marie and these marvellous songs, you’ll be glad to have heard them all, and one or two might just become travelling companions for life’.

youtube

Jodie Marie “This House”

However, the best was still to come. The sublimely soulful The Answer (2021) was packed with dynamite tracks like “This House”, “Curse the Day” and You’re Gonna Miss Me (When I’m Gone). It’s a thrill, a privilege and an honour to feature Jodie on Have Yourself a Merry Indie Christmas.

https://www.jodiemarie.co.uk/about

0 notes

settlingdownwithandybiersack · 3 years

Text

Our Dirty Little Secret (Part Two)

Just like Claire had promised as soon as the clock struck noon she was outside of my house blasting her car’s horn, Even when she saw me she continued pressing the horn until I was at her door.

“Hi Claire.” I introduced sounding friendly but un-amused. I climbed into the passenger seat as I quickly rolled my eyes. Claire’s smile gleamed as she turned up the music.

'Bottles smash, I raise my hand

How can you all even stand it

Why is there joy in this poison, oh

Faking smiles and confidence

Driving miles to capture this excitement

I can't take anymore, oh'

“Is this that Andrew guy?” I questioned trying to remember his name.

“Oh my God (Y/N) you sound like my Grandma... His name is Andy, Say it with me An-dy, Andy Biersack, But he goes by Andy Black when it comes to his solo music, You know... The guy we are going to see right now!? But he is also the lead singer for the band Black Veil Brides. I swear you never listen to me.” She informed sounding more frustrated with my ignorance of her newly favorite band.

“Okay okay, Sorry... I thought you said we were seeing his band tonight?” My eyes grew wide as I stared out the side window questioning if I should of kept the conversation going. “Sadly I was misinformed yesterday when I called you, But it’s okay I mean... It is kind of a shame that we aren't going to see Black Veil Brides today only since I know for a fact that entire band is hot.” She added with a completely different demeanor. “Honey, You know I love you... But you think every musician is hot.” I teased. “That may have been true in the past but I’m serious! With Andy it's different... He’s tall, Black hair, Covered in tattoos. You’re going to love him, But I already called dibs!” She laughed. I threw my hand's up into the air as I stated “He's all yours.” I stated with a roll of my eyes not caring.

We pulled up to the venue at speeds that were well over the speed limit, The car screeched as she turned into a parking spot. “You know... One day you might kill me.” I stated as I hesitantly took off my seat belt. “Oh, Grow up.” Claire remarked with a smirk.

Claire looped her arm around mine as she practically dragged me over to the building. “So how exactly does this work?” I questioned. “We get to meet Andy before and after the concert. The before is a quick Q&A and after the show we get to get pictures with him.” She informed as she quickened her pace, Her arm squeezing me harder.

Claire and I showed the staff member our VIP lanyards, Once he stepped aside Claire grabbed my wrist once again quickly pulling me through the thin curtain that divided us from everyone else.

My eyes locked onto the man from the bar, Instantly I nudged Claire. “You won’t believe this but the guy from the bar is here! What are the odds?” I laughed to myself. Claire remained silent as she scanned the area, I assumed she was looking for her beloved Andy. Claire once again yanked my arm causing me to hurry my pace.

Within seconds I found myself front and center of the stage. I kept my eyes on the stranger who continuously hid from the crowd, I watched as he fiddled with a microphone. He must be the sound technician. I thought. “So, Where’s Andy?” I questioned. “I’m not sure where he went... I saw him for a second, But don’t worry, from where we are standing he won’t be able to miss us.” She informed as she excitedly moved in her place.

“There he is!!” She screamed as the stranger made his way onto the stage. “What’s up (Y/City)!!” He called out quickly making his way to the steps that were to the far left of us. “Damn it!” Claire exclaimed. “We should of stood there...” She let out a heavy sigh. “You’re joking right?” I laughed. “Why would I joke about that? Maybe we can squeeze through...” She spoke as she looked for a path through the sea of screaming fans. “No... I mean, That’s like the guy whose supposed to get the crowed excited... Right? Or... That’s Andy?” I questioned unable to look away from him. “Yes (Y/N) I told you he was hot.” Claire stated becoming inpatient with the crowd that blocked her. “No Claire, You don’t understand...” I began. “Can you please just shut up and give me a minute?” She snapped.

Andy pulled up a seat as he kept his microphone to his chest. His feet were practically dangling off the stage once he sat down he was so close to his fans. “So, I was told that I can answer five questions... But, Maybe if you all are loud enough at the show I'll be able to answer more before we get our photos taken.” He concluded. The crowd went absolutely crazy.

“Maybe he has a twin... Does he have a twin?” I questioned to myself. Claire shrugged before questioning “Why would you ask that?” Her eye brows scrunched together. “Because like I have been trying to tell you I swear I met a guy who looks just like him.” I finished talking as I couldn't unlock my eyes from the familiar man. When I looked back towards Claire she had disappeared into the crowd leaving me behind. Truth be told I didn't really mind.

“Yes, You. The blonde with the crop top.” Andy pointed, I followed where he was looking to find Claire with the largest grin on her face. A man in a suit came over to her and moved her closer to Andy. “What's your question?” Andy asked with a smile. “Well for starters, My name is Claire and I was wondering, Do you have a twin?” She inquired. The crowd laughed and Andy joined in with a chuckle. “I'm actually an only child, Which is probably for the best, Can you imagine two of me running around?” He stated with a smirk. You could hear a muffled “That would be hot.” From Claire. Then continued picking one more person. “Hi Andy! So, We know that this event is for your Andy Black music but I think I speak for everyone when I say we would love to hear you scream... Even just once!” The girl pleaded.

I scanned the area for where Claire disappeared off to with no luck.

The crowd began chanting “Do it! Do it!” Mixed with “Please!!” Andy finally gave in. “Alright alright, How about I scream a line from BVB's song 'Coffin' will that make everyone happy?” Andy pondered as he rose from his seat. The entire crowd screamed. I watched as a proud look spread across Andy's face. “Here we go...” Andy cleared his throat before releasing the most attractive sound I have ever heard. “I WON’T LET YOU STEAL MY AFTERLIFE!!”

I could hear a girl from the crowed begin to beg to hear another scream. “Please do the scream from Perfect Weapon!!” The crowed once again grew louder. Andy smiled as he shook his head. “Alright alright, Last one though...” He stated with a smirk. Once again he cleared his throat and released a sound that took my breath away.

“Are you still dating Jade!?” A group of four girls screamed in unison. Andy’s smirk faded from genuine to forced. “I am.” He confirmed. My entire body froze as the words echoed throughout my head, I couldn’t help but see everything in a blur. The crowd roared with mixed feelings. Andy took a moment to get everyone focused on the new question being asked, I took that opportunity to find Claire.

“Alright everyone, It appears we are out of time, I wanna thank all of you for coming out tonight and meeting me. I look forward to seeing all of you at the concert.” Andy concluded then quickly left the stage.

“I have to get out of here.” I informed. “Whatever.” She replied never taking her eyes off Andy. “I’ll get an Uber...” I stated as she followed the crowed into the venue.

#andy biersack #andy black #andy biersack fanfiction #andy biersack fanfic #andy biersack imagine #andy biersack black veil brides #black veil brides #andy black smut #andy black imagine #andy black fanfiction

93 notes · View notes