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kindahoping4forever · 3 years

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Play Me The Classics, Something Romantic // Ashton Irwin

I'll keep it short (so unlike me, I know 🤓) thank you to everyone who enjoyed Encore and to the handful of people who suggested it might be fun to follow Ash and his girl to his next gig and see what they get into. Let me know what you think!

And thank you to @cal-puddies for encouraging me to follow thru on this accidental series (?) even though I have a couple long-anticipated WIP projects I should be working on instead. 😌

Warnings: Some more Upsettingly Cute New Boyfriend!Ash, Stage!Ash, lots of PDA and thirsty thoughts, sex in a public place, unprotected sex in an established relationship

Word Count: 5060

Masterlist // Ko-Fi and 2021 Taglist linked above

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

“Baby, come on, you look great! What was wrong with that one?”

Your boyfriend sits on your bed, watching in amused disbelief as you toss aside yet another outfit and frantically pull on a different one.

You distractedly answer him, “It was too much… too loud, too short… don’t you think it was too much?”

Ashton snorts. “Baby, it’s a rock show slash LA birthday party, I think ‘too much’ is basically the dress code.”

“A rock show birthday party that your best friends are suddenly going to be at, thus the identity crisis,” you huff, shaking your head.

When Ash invited you to tonight’s gig, a birthday celebration for his friend Andrew, you were beyond excited; it’d been two weeks since you’d gotten to see him perform for the first time and you haven’t been able to get that night out of your mind. Seeing him come alive on stage, so confident in his talent, so totally in his element - it was both heartwarming and irresistibly sexy. Sharing that experience (not to mention the one you shared after the show) had brought you two closer than you’d ever been and you were looking forward to feeling that magic again.

But when Ashton arrived to pick you up and mentioned that Luke and Calum had texted him asking to be put on the guest list, your mind went from romantic thoughts of backstage flirtations and stolen kisses to anxious thoughts of forced small talk and awkward silence.

“Baby,” he starts, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’ve met the guys before, I don’t understand why this is such a big deal?”

You feel yourself involuntarily relax against him, your body instinctively reacting to the safety of his embrace. You chew your lip, avoiding his eyes in the mirror. “Yeah we’ve met but that was when we were still getting to know each other, that was before…”

“Before you’d decided if you really liked me or not?” He teases, squeezing you tighter.

You playfully elbow him in protest, laughing in spite of yourself. “I don’t know, it just feels like seeing them matters more now,” you shrug.

“Well. It’s OK to be nervous. I don’t think you need to be, but if you are, that’s OK,” he says gently, resting his chin on your shoulder. “For the record, all that matters to me tonight is having my girl watching me from the wings. We’re gonna be the only two people in that room as far as I’m concerned.”

You pout your lips, touched by his comment. It was a loaded sentiment in such a compact statement: you’re his girl, having you there is all he cares about, everyone else is just going to fade away. You’d typically balk if a boyfriend said something like that this early in the relationship but when it’s Ash saying it, it feels right; as you’ve learned these past few months, he somehow always manages to say exactly what you need to hear. You’re never quite as sure of your words as he is so you simply nuzzle into him, placing a peck on his bearded cheek.

He smiles at your gesture and pecks you back before pulling away. “I like this one,” he says, tugging at your dress.

You study your reflection, a bit more forgiving now that your mood has improved. “Yeah… I like it too but I think it might be too hard to dance in. I saw the playlist you’ve been rehearsing to, you’ve got some bangers on there.”

“Well we can’t have that,” he grins, ducking over to your closet, quickly filing through the hangers. “Where’s that short black dress you wore on our second date? That looks amazing on you… and I haven’t gotten to take it off of you yet.”

“The romance of you remembering what I wore on our second date versus the last half of that sentence,” you smirk, reaching over to the far end of the closet to retrieve the dress.

“Like you’re not gonna be all over me later,” he giggles, pulling you into a kiss.

“Oh, you expect me to wait until later?” You tease, grabbing his ass.

Ashton cackles naughtily, laying another passionate kiss on you before exclaiming, “That’s the kind of energy tonight needs!”

You kick him out so you can finish getting ready but that energy returns a few minutes later when you walk outside and feel his eyes poring over every inch of you as you approach the Porsche where he’s waiting.

“Looks even better than I remember,” he declares. He takes your hand, twirling you around so he can admire you before he spins you into his arms for a hungry kiss.

“You clean up alright too,” you play, fingertips grazing his bare chest as you trace up and down the collar of his half unbuttoned shirt. “Didn’t realize we’d be matching tonight: all black, tight, tits out.”

He laughs, sliding his hands over your backside. “How embarrassing that we’re wearing the same thing, all the more reason to get you out of this, I guess,” he shrugs, pulling you to his lips again.

After a few more teasing kisses, you finally get in the car; he promptly plants his hand on your thigh and it remains there, slowly climbing higher and higher, thumb gently caressing your soft skin, until you’re parked at the venue. You don’t know how it gets started but a short parking lot makeout commences until somehow you manage to pull yourselves away long enough to make it inside the building. The backstage area is bustling but you find a few familiar faces from the previous show to chat with while Ash checks in with the people he’ll be playing with.

Tonight’s show is part jam session, part musical chairs: a couple dozen artists mixing and matching into various combos, rotating throughout the night to perform a set of classic rock covers. To keep the show moving, almost everyone is sharing equipment so there’s not much prep for Ashton to do, he explains upon his return to your side.

“Drums have already been checked and are ready to go,” he reports, sliding his arm around your waist.

“Too bad, I wouldn’t have minded getting you behind the kit already,” you flirt, exaggeratingly batting your eyelashes.

“I’d rather get behind something else right now,” he flirts back, pressing himself against your ass.

You laugh in surprise, feeling your eyes widen and your face warm as your eyes dart around the room, wondering if anyone heard or saw his frisky behavior.

Ash nuzzles his face into your neck, beard scraping at your skin. “Everyone’s focused on getting ready for the show, baby, no one cares what we’re doing,” he reassures you, pecking at your neck in time with your quickening pulse.

“Like we’re the only two people in the room…” You quote his earlier sentiment with a grin.

“Exactly,” he laughs, turning you around for a kiss. You both jump and then giggle as the feeling of his phone vibrating in his pants pocket ruins the moment. “The guys must be here…” He studies your reaction, clearly wondering if you’re still nervous.

Truthfully, you’ve been so distracted by having Ash all over you, you’ve basically forgotten to be worried about the impending guests. You enthusiastically direct, “I’m fine, let’s go say hi!”

You both head out to the floor to greet Calum, Luke and his fiancée, Sierra. Hugs and pleasantries are exchanged and there’s only a beat of uncertainty before the guys start chatting about their next studio session while you and Sierra make small talk.

The crowd starts trickling in so it’s suggested you all hang out backstage until the show starts. Once you get to the shared dressing room, Ash gets called over to answer a question about the setlist and before you can make it to the couch you were headed towards, the other members of your group have all gotten hung up talking to people.

Ashton is the first to make it back to you. “Have they ditched us already?” He asks amusedly, sitting down beside you, peering around the room.

“Remind me again why I was worried?” You joke.

“They’ll circle back,” he tells you, resting his arm on the back of the couch behind you. “It’s just chaos right now. Everyone’s excited, lots of people they haven’t seen in a while.”

You look at him fondly, appreciating his subtle attempt to make sure you’re not offended by his friends’ distracted behavior. “There’s plenty of time for us to get to know each other,” you muse. When he responds with a kiss that’s the softest and sweetest of the night so far, you know he understands you were talking long-term and not just about tonight’s event. “By the way, you can mingle if you want, you don’t have to hang out with me this whole time. Like you said, probably lots of people you haven’t seen in a while.”

He shrugs. “People, what people? Only us in the room, remember?”

You bump your knee against his, nudging him affectionately. “Ash, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He nudges you back. “Saw my friends at rehearsal the other day and I’ll see them onstage. I’m sure everyone else is great but they couldn’t possibly be even half as interesting as you are.”

You smile softly and deflect with a joke, like you’re prone to do when you’re caught off guard. “You’re right, I am pretty great,” you agree. You don’t have the strength to fight the grin that spreads across your face when Ashton loudly giggles in response; you’ve never won the lottery before but you’re confident it couldn’t feel greater than making this man laugh. You can’t help but lean closer, playfully adding, “You’re pretty great too... I guess.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles out before pressing his lips to yours. Though your banter was sweet and lighthearted, there’s instantly heat behind this kiss and it doesn’t take long for you to get totally lost in each other. Part of you is aware that you’re still in a crowded dressing room but you’re also willing to bet that everyone around you is a little too buzzed, a little too self-involved to notice your PDA. And honestly, with the way Ash’s hand is inching up your hem, his quiet groans fading into your mouth… you’re having a hard time caring about anything else.

You finally break apart and as you catch your breath, you breathe against his ear, “Kinda wish we really were the only two people in this room now.” You squeeze his thigh for emphasis and moan slightly when you feel the muscle clench under his tight pants.

“God, me too, baby,” Ashton sighs back, hand now full on under your skirt, fingertips tracing designs on your skin, maddeningly close to your panties. His eyes scan the room, trying to compute how much farther to take things or where would be a more appropriate place to continue; suddenly, you see his expression change and feel his hand stop moving on you. Before you can turn to follow his gaze, he looks at you regretfully and says, “I just got cued, baby, our first couple songs are almost up, I’ve gotta get ready.”

“Oh right, that’s why we’re here,” you quip, taking a deep breath, trying to reset your mind. It’s not that you’re disappointed, you’ve been counting the days until you’d get to see him perform again; it’s just that your desire to have him on you is so strong right now, you can’t fathom the thought of his hands being anywhere else.

He cradles your face, kissing you quick but sweet. “You’ll come watch from the side?”

“I want you this much already, you sure you’re gonna be able to handle what I’m like after I see you on stage again?” You tease.

He pulls you up off the couch and into his arms. “Guess I’ll have to take my chances,” he smirks, running his hands over your back before giving you a quick swat to get you moving towards the door.

You split off in the hall, you grabbing a water and heading to claim a spot in the wings while Ash hustles to squeeze in a quick warm-up. You bite your lip, trying to play it cool when you hear him and his fellow musicians coming towards you, expecting him to walk past, focused on the show. Instead, everything in you feels like it’s been set ablaze as he stops beside you, silently placing his hand on your ass while he waits for the act onstage to finish up.

The song ends and with a farewell squeeze to your cheeks, he’s off. You try to snap yourself out of your lustful daze to enjoy the show but it’s like your brain can only focus on his tattooed arms flexing, his shirt threatening to expose even more of his bare chest as it pulls across his broad frame, his thick thighs bouncing as he drums. You zone out a little, thinking about what it might feel like to straddle his thigh while he moves like that, you holding onto his wide shoulders for dear life. It’s a fantasy you haven’t been able to get out of your mind since you first watched him rehearsing in his basement but so far you’re undecided on if you should share it with him.

At some point, you’re able to pull your mind out of the gutter and start swaying and singing to the music for a while, at least until one of the songs ends with Ashton grabbing his cymbal to silence it and your mind starts flashing memories of his hands gripping your tits, your ass. His hair, dampened with sweat, keeps falling in his face and it’s so reminiscent of how he looks when he’s over you in bed, you swear your hands literally ache to brush the curls behind his ear like you always do.

Your heart pounds with anticipation as the next combo of musicians wait beside you for their cue; moments later, the switch happens and your sweaty, breathless boyfriend is suddenly headed towards you. He cheerfully greets the others as they pass each other and then he’s taking your hand and leading you away from the stage.

“Can’t go too far, I’ve only got two songs,” he explains. You offer him the rest of your water and he gulps it as he briskly walks you down the hall, away from the still raucous dressing rooms.

He stops at the far end, in a dimly lit area near what seems to be a pair of locked offices; he backs you against the wall and you take the opportunity to tease him. “You know… you’re kinda sexy up there,” you comment with a grin, ogling him in his shirt that’s now sheer with sweat and clinging to his body.

Ash’s eyes shine with amusement as he brings himself closer to you. “Yeah? You’re one to talk, I’m out there trying to do my job and out of the corner of my eye I keep seeing this goddamn dress moving every which way,” he says, hands roaming up and down your sides.

“Told you I wanted to dance,” you reply, mouth nearly touching his.

“And I told you I wanted to take this dress off of you,” he rasps, nipping at your bottom lip before diverting his attention to your neck.

The combination of his words, being denied a kiss and the rough feeling of his beard has you groaning. You tangle your fingers in his hair, finally pushing his wet curls back like you longed to. "Guess being the only two people in this hall will have to do for now," you sigh.

"For now," he insists before kissing you with urgency. He fits his leg in between yours and looks you up and down hungrily. "I've got a longer break after this."

You whimper slightly as your mouths crash together again; you're not sure what exactly he's promising but you think you might die from waiting for it. You devour each other's kisses, bodies rutting against each other, hands everywhere for the next few minutes until you can tell Ashton’s concentration has shifted to listening to the song being played, trying to determine how much time he has left with you.

“God, Ash… swear I could cum like this if we kept at it,” you pant, licking your lips as you move against him.

He groans gruffly, resting his forehead on yours as he attempts to catch his breath. “Fuck, baby, don’t tempt me, I should be heading back,” he huffs.

“You gonna be able to make it through this set?” You ask, lightly tracing over the outline of his stiff cock in his tight pants.

He quickly grabs your hand and pins it above your head. “Not if you start doing things like that,” he breathes. You respond by capturing his lips in a rough kiss; he’s always so chill and in control of himself, you love these fleeting moments when you get to see him desperate like this.

He curses under his breath as he separates from you and then he's wordlessly pulling you back down the hall. He makes it to the side of the stage just in time for the lineup change and he leans in to your ear as he leaves, voice deep and teasing, "Behave."

You shudder at his warning, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from audibly reacting. His performance only excites you more; you can feel the force behind every drum hit, your stomach in knots thinking about how that energy might be directed towards your pleasure in just a few minutes. You lock eyes with him at one point and he holds your gaze so intensely as he works the kit, you're surprised you don't cum on the spot.

You're not sure how many songs pass, could've been two, could've been twenty, but now Ashton is stalking towards you and even though you couldn't wait for him to be finished, you now feel completely unprepared to face him. He says nothing, just discreetly gestures for you to follow him and the two of you slip away amidst all the stage area traffic. You trail him down that same hallway and you briefly wonder if he’s so far gone that he wants to try and get off out in the open over here. You wonder if you’re far gone enough that you’ll agree to it.

You’re jolted from your thoughts at the feeling of Ash suddenly grabbing your wrist and pulling you through one of the doors you were making out in front of earlier. He closes it behind you and immediately has you pressed up against it, tongue in your mouth, knee back between your legs before you even have a chance to get your bearings; your head spins as he unleashes all the passion he had to fight down while he was on stage. You finally come to your senses enough to gently push him back so you can assess the situation.

“Staff bathroom,” he explains, nipping at your neck while you look around. “Most venues have ‘em, hidden away from the dirty rockers. Noticed this door was ajar when we were over here before and had a hunch that’s what it was.”

You grin, throwing your arms around his neck, teasing, “Smart, talented and sexy, I really won the dirty rocker jackpot, didn’t I?” You’re midway through a steamy kiss before it occurs to you to ask, “How much time?”

He cocks his head, listening to the muffled sounds of the concert. “Four? Songs after this one?” He pulls you away from the door and helps you up onto the counter, smoothly sweeping the baskets of amenities aside. “Tell me what you’re comfortable with, baby, earlier you were saying you could get off just from ---”

His own laughter cuts off his sentence as you pull him by his belt to stand between your legs and you start unbuckling him without hesitation. “Appreciate the courtesy, Ash, but we’re finally the only two people in the room, I’m gonna need you to fuck me.” You pull him out of his boxers, hissing at the feeling of his cock already slick with precum and begin to pump him eagerly.

“Just checking,” he smirks, loving how game you are. “I had my suspicions but I didn’t want to just assume you were a ‘fuck me in the club bathroom’ kinda girl.”

You shiver at the feeling of his fingers dancing up your skirt to tug your panties off. “Listen, I was considering being a ‘fuck me in this empty hallway’ kinda girl, so this bathroom is a five-star hotel if you ask me.”

He chuckles, stilling your hand on him. “Doesn’t look like this five-star hotel came stocked with any condoms, huh?” He nods in the direction of the products behind you.

“Hope not, I was looking forward to watching your final set while I enjoy the feeling of your cum dripping out of me,” you boldly declare.

Ashton’s eyes widen and the cackle he lets out is so high-pitched he claps his hand over his mouth as it reverberates off the bathroom tile. “Baby, what the fuck?” He exclaims delightedly, sloppily kissing you. “Jesus, we’re gonna have so much fun on tour.”

You don’t get a chance to unpack that statement because now he’s pulling you forward on the counter so he can run his cock up and down your pussy, spreading your wetness around, teasing your clit with his tip; suddenly nothing else matters. “Inside, Ash,” you whine, already feeling out of breath. “We’ve waited long enough.”

He immediately heeds your instruction and starts pushing in. You dig your nails into his bicep, the pressure and the stretch both feeling unreal at this angle. Ash already looks dazed, watching intently as he slides in; you fight to keep your eyes from fluttering shut so you can watch his cock disappear inside you. He bottoms out and you moan contentedly, you always feel so proud and awed when you’re able to so easily take all of him.

Your eyes flicker back up to Ashton’s as his hands caress your face. A soft sigh of your name is all he says before kissing you slowly. Ash is a man of many words and his kisses are no different when he has something to communicate. This kiss speaks volumes about how you’ve made him feel tonight, how he’s feeling in this moment. You moan quietly against his lips, overwhelmed by the intimacy and unspoken emotion.

“Pretty romantic considering you’re about to rail me in a nightclub bathroom,” you joke, trying to keep your own strong emotions at bay.

A sweet smile paints his face. “Only the best for my girl,” he laughs, drawing your legs around his waist and starting to move in you.

He moves moderately at first, obviously relishing the feeling of being inside you. You quietly murmur at his movements and an outright whimper escapes you as he lifts one of your legs higher, causing him to hit a deeper spot. Hungry to get that reaction from you again, he picks up the pace and starts hitting into you with force.

“Yeah, Ash… like that,” you encourage, hands trying to find purchase along the back of his damp shirt as you move along with him. “Oh, I’m so full, baby… it’s so fucking good.”

Ash groans, this angle clearly working for him too. “The way you take it, baby...” He breathlessly praises you. “God… even this deep… it’s just such a perfect fit.”

You push yourself up to kiss him, needing him near; you brush his hair out of his face as he pulls away and the smile you receive in return gives you butterflies. The giddy nervous energy surge that shoots through you almost seems silly given that he’s buried inside you but you can’t deny how pure and buoyant your feelings for him are. You’re dangerously fond of this man.

He stays close as he drives his cock into you, kissing your face, murmuring how good you feel, nuzzling his beard against you because he knows it drives you wild. You notice how his eyes keep drifting down to watch the way your breasts are bouncing with the force of his movements, jiggling so vigorously they’re threatening to spill over your neckline.

“Show you mine if you show me yours,” you tease, yanking open the remaining buttons on his shirt, running a hand down his chest hair.

He laughs, voice loud and husky with want. He leans you back and uses his teeth to pull the front of your dress down over your bra and you gasp as he does the same to free your tits from the thin lace. His hands, lips, teeth, tongue and beard spoil you with lustful affection and if time wasn’t a factor right now, you’d have let him stay there indefinitely.

You gently pull on his hair and he looks up at you, hazel eyes glazed over with desire. You stare at each other for a beat, chests heaving, until Ashton bursts into a fit of giggles, with you following suit.

“Kinda forgot where I was for a second,” he pants, leaning down to take your nipple between his teeth one more time before righting himself and bringing you back to the edge of the counter.

“I mean you’re not gonna hear me complain,” you laugh. “Just wanted to remind you that we’re on the clock.”

His hand glides between your legs and within seconds you're grabbing onto him, head rolling back as you moan at the pressure he’s giving your clit. “Yeah… I don’t think time is gonna be much of an issue.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you murmur, his hand continuing while his hips resume their work. His pace speeds up noticeably and at first you assume it’s to get you both to finish faster but then you realize his thrusts have started to keep rhythm with the song being played onstage. You smile to yourself, once again almost beside yourself with appreciation that this man is yours.

You wrap yourself around him, arms around his neck, legs locking around his waist. Ash instantly recognizes the need you’re feeling and he slides his hands under you, lifting you off the counter. His large hands grip your ass and he fucks you on his cock as you cling to him.

That feeling of nearness you were craving combined with his display of strength has your body going crazy. “Ah… Ash,” you whimper, feeling that pulsing in your core start to spread. “I’m…”

“Oh, me too, baby, me too,” he breathes. “You still want me to --”

“Yes, Ash, oh my god yes, cum in me, baby, want it so bad, yes!”

Ashton cumming inside you is still something new and even just the thought of it is enough to push you over the edge. Your cries echo across the bathroom as your pussy throbs and squeezes around him. Seeing and feeling your pleasure is everything Ash could’ve wanted and his orgasm hits without warning. He lets out a long whine as his cock pulses inside you, your tight walls coaxing out every drop of cum he has for you.

He gently sets you back on the counter and lets himself slump against you in exhaustion. You close your eyes and stroke through his sweat soaked curls, focusing on the feeling of your chests rising and falling in sync with each other.

Ash finally raises himself to kiss you slowly and deliberately; it feels almost as intense and intimate as the orgasms you just shared. Neither of you are saying much right now but the way your bodies are communicating leaves no question how you're feeling about each other.

You murmur a weak complaint as he pulls out and moves to grab some tissue. He turns back to you and the room is once again filled with the sound of his laughter when he sees you’ve dramatically laid your entire body across the counter and appear to be either dead or napping.

“That good, hmm?” He asks with a grin, pulling you back over to him and beginning to carefully clean you up.

“You’re gonna fuck me like that and I’m just supposed to move on with my night, enjoy the rest of the show?” You respond with smirking incredulity.

Ashton helps you into your underwear and pulls you off the counter into his arms. “Believe me, I’d take you home right now if I could.” He takes your face in his hands, smiling softly before kissing you again.

You chuckle as you look in the mirror, attempting to right your debauched appearance. “I guess it’s a good thing your friends ended up ditching us, this way they don't have to witness our walk of shame back to the stage.”

Ash’s arms circle your waist, squeezing tight. “Walk of shame? It’s a stride of pride, baby. You’re just a fan of the arts, this is how you appreciate the classics,” he insists with a cheeky smile.

You turn around in his arms, re-buttoning his shirt. “Speaking of…” You hold your hand up to your ear, listening to the concert. “Should you be on stage right now? Pretty sure I heard you rehearsing this one.”

He shrugs, smoothing down your hair where he tangled it earlier. “They probably think I’m out having a smoke, I’ll grab a tambourine and sneak in on the next one, it’s fine.”

You peek your head out the door and seeing the coast is clear, the two of you quietly make your way down the hall to the wings. You sway with Ashton as he waits for the song to end so he can casually walk on, as if his delayed entrance were planned.

Just as the final chords ring out, you whisper in his ear, laughing, “You know, after all that, technically you still haven’t gotten me out of this dress.”

He looks you up and down, eyes devouring you. “I guess we're about to be the only two people at the afterparty too,” he devilishly replies with a wink before strutting on stage.

@conversecake @cxddlyash @cashtonasfuck @talkfastromance4 @camelliastreet @itjustkindahappenedreally @saywhatnow07 @mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower @pxrxmoore @findingliam-o @fedorable-killjoys @trix-arent-for-kids @olivia-foster-irwin @saphseoul @calmsweetcreature @onthecliffside-mgc @feliznavidaddycal @himbohood @maggiesupertramp @karajaynetoday @ashtonangst @sunshineeashton @aladyofalbion @youngblood199456 @xsongbirdx @fairytrice @calumrose @irwindoll @polycashton @in-superbloom @2fangirl4u @highstwildflower @t3lkfast @bport76

#5sos smut #5 seconds of summer smut #ashton irwin smut #ashton smut #ashton irwin fic #smut #kh4f fic #Play Me The Classics #kindahoping4forever #As always it's a week later and 1k longer than intended but yayyy I wrote something //despite// the week I had so I'm celebrating that lol #Thank you for reading and encouraging this ripped from the headlines clownery - it's been pretty fun tbh #feedback and reblogs (with comments/tags if you feel so inclined) are appreciated now more than ever #if you like this accidental stage!Ash series let me know - I'd definitely be down to revisit this relationship again #I accidentally made them too sweet and now I'm invested lmao #love y'all!

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twistedapple · 3 years

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Neve Bosconero - Snow White didn’t leave her home (part I)

Aaand here it is! The backstory I’ve been teasing for some months while secretly struggling to find the most suitable tone for it! I recommend you to check Neve’s playlist for the full reading experience - especially if you enjoy listening to background music while reading (check the #neve bosconero tag, I haven’t added to the masterlist yet but it’s been published two days ago so it should be easy to find)! This backstory is rather long so I divided it in two parts, this is the first one, the second one will be released at a later date (I’ll be taking a small break to reply to asks and handle my To Do list). And of course, feedback is more than welcome! This isn’t just a hobby, it’s actual training for me and readers’ opinions are needed to improve and experiment (especially since English isn’t my native language)! So feel free to comment either by reply or reblog so I can see what’s up and even chat up a bit (I also react to tags)!

Because of the heavy topics mentioned in it, I also recommend you to be careful while reading it.

Without further ado...

Neve was preparing the yarns of colourful wool she had carefully picked for her new haute-lisse project. The model had been placed behind the loom, and the shuttle was ready to be used.

She had a little story to tell.

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The story had two versions, yet both had the same beginning. A long time ago, back when the Valley of Thorns had yet to become, the border between men and fairies wasn’t as clearly defined as it was now. This lack of clarity caused the existence of a liminal space in which both men and fairies could interact, where magic itself seemed to gather and take curious shapes. The very first of those shapes was a set of twin apple trees, silver and gold, growing intertwined and bearing fruits said to have powerful magical properties. These trees were the central piece of a larger grove hidden in a large clearing hidden deep in the forest and overlooking an even deeper valley atop a tall cliff. They quickly fell under the protection of a group of fairies that could bind themselves to various trees. The second shape came from two drops, one for each of the twin trees, falling on old bones resting at their feet. As it came to life, it chose to take the form of an antlered, amber-eyed fairy with foliate hair, and started living among the trees and the shadows of the deep, dark woods.

Keeper of the forest, he would don crowns of oak and holly according to seasons and wear a mantle of greens that��d hide him from prying eyes. On the last day of the year, humans would pour a glass of milk to honour him who was known as the Green Man, for he had blessed the land and taught them how to grow and tend to plants from mere seeds. An agreement had been passed between him and the humans as well: the dark forest was his domain, and they weren’t allowed in without his consent. However, a human life is but a fleeting moment to a creature such as the Green Man, whose own life had been meant to be much longer. Thus, as time passed, the agreement became a story, then a legend before fading from memory – for a time. One unfortunate day, humans breeched the then forgotten agreement and started roaming the forest, appreciating the quality of its wood and the amount of land they could use to expand their fields. This angered the Green Man, it angered him so much he cursed the humans and their lands. For wanting to uncover the secrets of the dark woods, he sent shadows to stalk and route them out, for wanting to expand their fields, The Green Man ruined their crops, again and again, until there was no food left for the cattle, and then for the humans themselves - until they begged for forgiveness. They obtained it and order was restored – however the Green Man made sure that the agreement wouldn’t be forgotten this time...

At least, that is what humans tell. From the point of view of a fairy, about half of the story remains forgotten, and it all starts with the guardian of the orchard. See, the twin apple trees and their surroundings were tended by a fairy with ink black hair covered in apple blossoms. That fairy had taken the heart of the Green Man, and under the stars and the silver-gold light of the twin apple trees they had pledged their life to each other. By the time the agreement between Men and the Green Man fell into oblivion, humans had learnt how to wield magic themselves, and they started coveting the forest and its treasures again, though they were regularly pushed back by the Green Man’s beastly shadows, haunters of the woods that would assist him in its defence.

However, one fateful day a human child lost his way in the woods and happened to be found by the Green Man and the fairies. Tired and confused as he was, it was agreed to allow him entry so he could rest a bit, before being guided back out of the forest. The kind-hearted fairies took the little boy to the grove, where he discovered all the magical plants, chief among them the twin trees of gold and silver. Once the child felt better, the Green Man had him swear he would keep the existence of the precious grove secret before guiding him back to human lands. When the child came back, it was said that what felt like two days by the fairies seemed like two months for humans. His reappearance was deemed a miracle, and if he seemed to do his best to keep the secret, as promised to the Green Man, it still ended up being uncovered. The secret orchard had been found, and with it the especially precious apples from the twin apple trees. Confrontations between the fairy and groups of humans became more and more frequent, to the point even her found herself at a loss. The violation of the old agreement wasn’t the only thing that outraged the Green Man that fateful day when he cursed humans. Similarly, the newfound humility demonstrated by the humans wasn’t the only thing that had put an end to the curse. While commonly forgotten, the intercession of dragon fairies, fierce but wise, had contributed to the end of the deadly feud and a return of the balance between the worlds of Men and Fairies. This point in particular was the reason why, when the Draconia household started ruling what became known as the Valley of Thorns, a family of woodland fairies with a foliate face representing the Green Man as coat-of-arms was prompt to bend the knee and serve both as vassals and old friends.

That was the weight behind the name Bosconero.

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The shuttle was going through the threads at a quick pace, colour after colour, as Neve started humming in rhythm with her hands.

This story was only the beginning.

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Over centuries, the Bosconero Estate had grown. Born as an ancient place of worship, it became a place of habitation as well for the noble House, all nestled that it was between dense dark woods and steep cliffs. As time passed, walls were built – first to add further protection to the clearing, then for actual buildings. Lobed arches decorated with ceramics and delicately twisted columns, aging walls covered in ferns, ivy, jasmine and wisteria, an ornate wishing well in the middle of a cloister-like space, an open crypt and a large belvedere dominating the valley – and then there were the gardens and the greenhouse. A wonder in themselves, they held all sorts of plants, both native and exotic, both magical and purely decorative, a complete botanical garden organised like an ornamental garden, with plays on twists and turns, lights and shadows, organic from the plants and mineral from the various statues scattered everywhere. And in the middle of it all stood its crown jewel, the precious orchard with, at its centre, the twin apple trees of gold and silver, a nearby healing pool reflecting their light as if it was challenging the often gloomy skies of the entire Valley.

Neve knew all of its nooks and crannies, ornate tile floors, arched painted ceilings without a single sharp angle, white walls decorated with plants, tapestries and paintings... The main corridor was remarkable for its numerous family portraits, and Neve had taken the habit of observing each of them every time she passed through the corridor. The family had a peculiar tradition of accepting people in, rather than marrying outside, and of having an inclination towards a matrilineal order. Ink black hair would produce ink black hair, no matter the appearance of the one who gained the name Bosconero. Cat-like eyes would mostly be moss green and liquid blue as well. Mostly. This was when a break could be seen, with the occasional golden amber erratically cutting through time, a constant reminder of the founder of the family. It made itself known with her generation as well – the recent family portrait in the entrance showing a tall, masculine figure with rich auburn hair and bright blue eyes, a smaller feminine one with black hair and forest eyes, and then two even smaller figures that could have been a mirror of each other had it not been for these golden amber eyes. For the Old Blood running stronger in one of them.

A thought would often occur to her, the idea that maybe these ghosts from the past would leave their portraits at night to haunt the estate. It wouldn’t have surprised her, considering she never failed to feel their eyes burning her back when she walked down the corridor.

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In the Valley, spinning the wool was an affair for women, no matter their station. It was even how Crimilde had wished for a child and ended up with twins – a rare event among fairies, which lived longer than men and didn’t need to worry as much about the number of children they would and could have.

Neve kept passing the shuttle through the threads, with a skill honed through habit, and still humming.

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The Bosconero family valued its traditions, most of them either remnants of ancient rituals, or rites still alive. With all the customary events that would dot the life of a fairy to the rhythm of the seasons, they added up to scream what made the family what it was. The very first ritual had been made under the light of the ever glowing twin apple trees, a custom to bind the newborns to their respective tree. In a bowl filled with water from the pond at the feet of the trees, always glowing with their reflection, engraved twigs and thorns of various trees and shrubs were mixed, secret words were spoken, and the newborn would have one of its fingers pricked with the plant decided to manifest itself. Then, an oath in blood would be made with more secret words – a life binding oath. This rite was important, as it was also an act of divination – the bound tree informing about the path of the fairy. The ritual was conducted by the head of the family, and the Lady of the Yew, Crimilde Bosconero, made no exception.

That was how Bianca and Neve had been respectively chosen by the blackthorn and the hawthorn, how they had been set on their respective path in life – one for strife, one for protection. The secret words always spoke true – or so the family said.

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With a quick turn of the wrist, Neve would switch threads at great speed. It wouldn’t be her most colourful piece, but she still wished for some dimension in the composition. She’d dreamt of it, and for once it wasn’t as chilling as what she’d usually see – though the topic remained rather ominous.

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After the first ritual of their life, they had been presented to the Draconia family – another custom to show deference to the dragon overlords, and yet the only time the twins and the barely older Young Master really ever met. After that, years of preparations started for them, with three specific purposes in mind: to reflect their peerage, to be prepared for their future life both as Ladies and Magic wielders, and to develop their mind and creativity in a manner that’d promote a suitable Unique Magic.

In practice, Neve would show a consistent dedication to her work and progress, something the hired tutors never failed to report – and something Crimilde never failed to point out in comparison to her sister’s own devotion to irregularity. Yet, it was that very sister who would push Neve to always give so much of herself in everything she set her mind to. Bianca of the Blackthorn, Bianca and her golden eyes. Neve had many memories of the little things her sister would keep doing, her general distate for order and propriety always forgiven because of seemingly bottomless well of raw magic she would wield. Alone, these memories amounted to nothing – but there laid the trick, as added to each other, they’d slowly start looming, the tall shadow of a motherly figure who oversaw everything with an iron hand, and a prodigious sister raising like a wall next to her.

As time passed, Neve started feeling the weight of the situation in the way she pushed herself only to see her dear sister somehow manage to overtake her, despite always starting one step behind. These ever loud leaps and bounds felt like an unspoken formula to push Neve in a forgotten corner. When her singing was technically flawless, Bianca’s improvisations would end up attracting more interest. When Neve was capable of identifying heraldry and persons on the spot, Bianca remained the one who would quietly decline the identity of their mother’s interlocutors during events at the Estate. When their personal maid would brush their hair, Neve’s ink black curls would be compared to Bianca’s, yet the reverse never happened. No matter how much she would give, it always seemed to Neve that she was bound to fall short as long as her oh-so-perfect sister remained by her side.

Her mind slowly became her shelter, an untouched place that belonged solely to her, where she could push the bitter poison back when she started feeling overwhelmed; a place where she felt free from her mother’s and her sister’s shadows. There, she could spend hours absorbing what she’d been learning, what she’d been experiencing, to understand how to use it to her advantage. It was around that time she picked up sewing and weaving – a simple occupation at first, that quickly turned into a mean for her to express herself and to let the building poison out, stitch after stitch.

If her more public needle work was appreciated for its refined elegance and precision, a part of it was kept secret still - the part done at night, when she was too anxious to sleep, afraid of tomorrow and even more fearful of what her own dreams would offer. During that quiet time, it felt easier for her to explore and understand her own thoughts and feelings, let them out lest she’d either take it out on her family... Or even herself – that thought always left her with a sinking feeling in her gut, the dark impression that if she fell on that path, coming back from it would be even harder, if possible at all.

And then came the teaching of magic.

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Neve kept weaving, letting her thoughts wander and reach times past as the haute-lisse was slowly taking shape.

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A part of their life as young fairies was focused on their magical training as well, and this is where things would turn especially sore for Neve.

Their general education, especially its artistic components, served to promote focus and creativity, both elements necessary to produce and control magic, as well as develop a Unique Magic fitting their character. Everybody had their eyes on Bianca and her golden eyes – as expected. Yet, there was already few things in which Neve felt competent, next to her sister. Sewing was one of them, though mostly because Bianca showed little interest in the exercise – she seemed to favour books, potion ingredients and music. For that reason, sewing had become Neve’s thing, a reassuring shelter when her sister took too much place. A space where she wouldn’t have to hear her whisper first all the correct information to their mother’s ear at a party, where she wouldn’t have to feel the smooth inflexions of her singing, where she wouldn’t witness her elegant spells. She was her own ruler there, and would let her inventive mind overflow to become drawings and embroideries. If Neve couldn’t get her life with the support of her family, she’d weave it herself. Yet, that protective isolation also proved a double-edged sword that prevented her from seeing the cracks forming, early onset of a larger catastrophe.

The second most important ritual among woodland fairies was tied to the discovery of their Unique Magic. Once the young fairies had been sufficiently prepared through lessons and various activities meant to help them form their own magical quality, a ceremony was to be held by their family or caretaker in order for them to fully take hold of their magical abilities. When that day arrived for Bianca and Neve, it was yet again conducted by their mother, with the help of her newly hired assistant, Erico of the Elm – their father, Sigfrido of the Willow, would be absent for work, as always. The twins had been prepared for this moment, each step of the way carefully explained to them, since they’d be the ones conducting the ritual for themselves. Crimilde and her assistant would be there as witnesses and helpers in case of trouble, although the sisters had been certified that trouble never happened, since it was all about discovering one’s Unique Magic without pushing it, only defence was allowed to deescalate the situation and protect oneself if necessary – thus Crimilde had framed the ritual as an extension of their usual defensive magic classes. Bianca and Neve both had a set of alchemy tools, as well as the ingredients required. Led in a small building on the Estate, apart from the others and strangely windowless, the only way for the young fairies to see in the individual rooms they were respectively set in was with the help of faerie fires, dim gloomy lights meant solely to allow them to make their preparation, just like they had been taught.

Focusing on her task, Neve made sure to carefully prepare the potion, which looked like some sort of thick, dark liquid – so dark it felt like it was even swallowing whatever light was coming out of the floating faerie fires. Once the preparation was ready, Neve took the large brush they had both been provided with, and started drawing the symbols she had been taught on the floor, in the correct order and with decisive strokes. Then, she placed the set of candles – a profound black just like the preparation she had painted the floor with – all around to form a circle in the middle of which she knelt. Taking a deep breath, she lit the candles with a simple gesture, and the faerie lights went off automatically as the candles and symbols on the floor started shining in a manner that made them look like liquid glass veined with pulsating blood – her blood, she thought, as she gently clutched her bandaged hand. It was her last consideration before she found herself enveloped in a thick, numbing murk she hadn’t noticed. Reflexively closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, as if she was about to dive, and lost all notion of time and space in the process.

The noise of a door slamming made her come back to her senses. Realising she was laying down, Neve sat up, and took a look around. She was in a long corridor, with a series of seven doors peppering both sides – she had never seen such a place before. Getting back on her feet, she decided to see what that corridor had to offer – it wasn’t as if she had another way to go anyway. As she walked, she inspected the seven doors from a safe distance first – they were all different in design, and all closed. Stepping forward, the young fairy felt an uncontrollable, ice-cold shiver run down her spine. The corridor stretched and stretched, yet the doors always seemed to remain at their place, as if the whole, well, place was forcing her hand. As she stopped in her track, she started considering each door more carefully, trying to pick what seemed like the safest one. However, she promptly realised that it wasn’t about seeming, but feeling right. This realisation came to her as she approached a pitch-black, perfectly smooth door, save for the ornate handle. As her fingers were about to touch it, the impression of a dreadful pull started overtaking her every thoughts, while at the same time something deep down screamed at her to get away, as far as possible from that door. However, it was only thanks to a creak coming from the opposite side, at the furthest door, that Neve managed to shake away both the pull and the dread. Her attention shifted to the noise, and it seemed to her that a shadow had just passed through the now slightly ajar rustic wooden door.

As she went through the door, she found herself in a bright clearing, covered in thick, fresh grass. Further away, she could see the clearly defined shape of a cottage-like house, and a movement at the window left from the door caught her attention. Considering her surroundings for a few seconds, she didn’t feel any sense of danger, nor any sort of inner bell ringing the alert so far. Not wanting to be a sitting duck, she quickly moved along the small path drawn amidst the thick grass and went straight for the small cottage which seemed, oddly enough, her only way out. The heavy door let out a rusty creaking noise as she pushed on it. Inside, there was only the silence of a house that felt recently abandoned. Crossing the main room quickly, Neve decided to count the number of steps required to reach the staircase –even and she’d go left on the upper floor, odd and she’d go right. Neve often practiced these little games, it had been particularly useful to overcome her worry-fueled indecision and helped strengthen her resolve. Left she went, not sure of what she’d find, yet choosing to not chase after that elusive shadow she’d seen twice already. As long as she didn’t feel threatened or enticed in any way, Neve judged it simpler to let the shadow come to her first.

The young lady didn’t expect the corridor that served as her starting point to appear again, the same doors in the same order, though adapted to fit in the cottage – fit in as much as a corridor clearly too long for the house could. This peculiar setting led her to realise a now jarring detail that she had somehow missed the first time: the corridor had no defined end. As she moved, she noticed that the doors seemed to follow her, as if they’d always trail behind, the endless extremities of the corridor extending appropriately. The door she’d first picked was now closed, and rather than checking it again, she chose to pass it and its facing door on the right hand of the corridor, to open the next one. As she walked and passed in front of the right-hand door, she could hear a faint, regular clicking noise in it. However, her decision had been made, left, always left. With resolute steps, the fairy reached the next door and went through it.

She found herself on a scene, in a large room that looked like the emptied remnants of a theatre. Strange mists and fake trees surrounded her, and as she made a move to step away, a pitch-black, elongated silhouette suddenly slid right in front of her, making her jump in fear yet reaching out to silence her scream with a hand just as dark. For some reason, that touch was enough to help Neve settle down, which allowed her to take a look at the... The thing in front of her. It looked like it had tried to take a vaguely familiar humanoid shape, yet was there without really being there. As it took a quiet step towards her – it was more sliding than walking, really -, its body and arms became disproportionately elongated, its neck following the same path as it leaned towards her. When it spoke, the words didn’t came from its faceless head, but seemed to resonate gently through her whole body, an echoing whisper that felt like smoke.

- To find the way out, never look back. Beware of the Stagman, don’t trust the Black Hands.

- Wha – What are you?

- Help.

The strange shadow wasn’t there anymore, and Neve felt dread pile up in her belly as she observed the whole room. As she was about to take a step back, unwilling to take another step forward, the words the shadow had spoken rang in her mind. Realising she had no choice but go forth, she took a large gulp of air and swallowed her apprehension before going down the scene. To help gain some focus back, she reminded herself of the rule she had established – always left. And always up as well, she realised as she was off the scene. For some reason, the simple action of going down made her skin crawl. She hurriedly crossed the vast space meant to hold seats, towards the only way out.

From that point, it felt like a winding maze of strange corridors devoid of doors and windows and yet dimly lit. Neve kept walking, always forward, always left, always up. Nothing special ever happened, and her initial wariness insidiously turned to a disquieting boredom from the repetitiveness and gradual loss of her ability to guess space and time. That is, until she found herself in a new room, just as bleak as everything she’d previously seen.

There stood a masculine silhouette, all strength and bare feet and torso, with a hart for a head and dark blood slowly dripping from his shoulders – right where the stained, mated fur would be replaced by humanoid skin. The drops ran to his hips, where a long knife and a full quiver assorted to his hunting bow rested. Neve knew then what the strange shadow meant by Stagman. Both of them stayed still, held breath making the tension raise in the windowless room. There was no way out aside from the corridors on each side of the Stagman. Neve risked a small step forward, and he slowly reached to his quiver in return, taking a silent gliding step as well. Startled by the unexpected move, Neve stepped back and made the mistake to check behind her by reflex. No way out. The corridor by which she’d come had simply disappeared, replaced by a bit of wall similar to the rest of the room. Her attention came back to the Stagman, just in time to see him pull an arrow and nock it. The cold impression of a smile she couldn’t see yet knew was there, the smile of a creature ready to eat her up alive, pushed her out of her shock. Urgency of survival kicked in and she went for the closest corridor, using her small size and light weight to move as fast as she could. An arrow flew right past her, making her pick even more pace – as much as she could to escape. Behind her, heavy steps could be heard as the Stagman went after her.

Neve ran, her vision narrowing only to see forward, her train of thought locked in a loop as she fled across the windowless rooms and corridors. All she wanted was a door – and a door kept appearing, but not the one she wished for. It was the black door she’d passed from the start, the locked one that had left her with a bad feeling. Now, every time she passed it, it seemed slightly more ajar and she ignored it to save herself – until it wasn’t possible anymore. There it was, fully open and in a dead end. With nowhere left to run and the only option being forward, Neve gritted her teeth and jumped in the room. The door shut behind her and loud bangs resonated through the large room as the Stagman was slamming against it.

The new room was completely silent, a wide empty space with a ceiling so high it would be lost in the dark, and balconies that indicated the presence of floors yet had no stairs to access them. In fact, the room was distinctly devoid of exits. Feeling trapped, Neve decided to do the only thing left and explore the area. As she moved towards the center of the room, she started hearing faint noises, whispers. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from, and had the impression of being surrounded. As she made her approach and reached a more central position in the room, she started feeling the floor become unequal under her feet. Looking around her, she noticed irregularities in the walls and floor – they weren’t there before. The room was breathing, thousands of breaths coming from everywhere. That is when her mind, already on edge since the encounter with the Stagman, who could still be heard banging on the door, left room solely for panic.

The room seemed to feed on her fright, as the walls and floor started taking shape, humanoid forms pushing against a skin-like texture, making it look thinner. To Neve’s horror, the misshaped hands she could almost see through had an awfully dark tint to them. Beware the Stagman, don’t trust the Black Hands. The shadow’s warning came back to her, yet she had no way out and the cold realisation that she’d been trapped on purpose only resulted in dread weighting in her stomach. She tried to move away from the centre of the room, away from the evermore grasping hands, pushing on the surface like it was nothing. Something clasped around her ankle and started pulling with a strength her small body couldn’t fight against. Her voice, held tight by fear until then, sprung in action only to allow her a wail of terror as more hands started grabbing her.

Suddenly, a loud noise like a crack, different from the banging of the Stagman on the door, resonated throughout the room – no, the entire space, as if something from the outside was forcing its way in. The walls started crumbling and a vault made of stars fell over her, as she started feeling something warm all around her. A gentle embrace, holding her and rocking her as she heard the echo of her own scream in the room she’d been using for the ritual. Despite her desperate attempt to flee, Erico kept her close, using his own Unique Magic, Heart to Heart, to soothe her. Slowly, she calmed down and settled for loud sobs as the assistant’s magic left her mildly sedated. Once she was deemed safe to handle, he took her in his arms and brought her out, all the while apologising with a quivering voice.

- I’m sorry, Neve. So sorry. We should have suspected something like that would happen... No, don’t look there, look at me, it’s alright now.

Neve only caught a glimpse of it before Erico put her head back against him and took her away, but what little she saw was a partially destroyed building, her sister pale as death in a shining cage of glass and blood, blood everywhere.

The event of the ritual meant to help them produce a first shaped Unique Magic had ended terribly for both sisters. Bianca spent three hundred days in a deep slumber forcefully pushed on her by Crimilde, at first to stop the rampage she’d been causing, then to allow her to heal. Lady Bosconero did her best to focus on healing her wounds in a manner that would leave as little scars as possible – thankfully, Bianca seemed to have protected her face during the event, and thus it remained untouched. Meanwhile, Neve developed a fear of being touched, as well as darkness. Dismay regarding her sister also started being noticed once she’d been explained what had unfolded that day. It seemed that the Old Blood, The Gift, had made itself known at the same time as Bianca’s Unique Magic, mixing with it to turn the creatures she’d seemingly summoned into destructive abominations. Even worst, it had started sipping everywhere – even reaching out for Neve while she was exploring her own Unique Magic, poisoning the experience well enough to turn it into a living nightmare for the young fairy.

Once Bianca woke up in complete confusion from her magic-induced sleep, however, the family dynamics started shifting for a new balance.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #oc #neve bosconero #fairy tale #fairy tale rewriting #rewriting #snow white #sleeping beauty

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aqua-murphys-law · 4 years

Text

i can feel it falling (timber)

Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: A look at what inspired Milo not to give up on the possibility of Zack becoming his friend, the day they first met.

A/N: When I fell back into the Dwampyverse fandom, I foolishly said that I didn’t know if I was gonna write anything for MML. I really should’ve known better. So here’s a little something inspired by @wiz-witch‘s post here!

I wish I’d had it done in time for MML’s 4th anniversary but such is life. Reblogs/comments would be greatly appreciated, and a good response will let me know whether I should write the other one-shot ideas I’ve got. Hope you enjoy! - Aqua

(Click here to read on A03 for extensive tags!)

~*~

Milo approaches the bus stop with a bounce in his step.

It’s been a relatively light morning so far. There was just one bird nesting in his hair when he woke up, and it relocated to the backyard without much fuss. He got through both of his showers without slipping, getting soap in his eyes, or breaking the water system (the second shower was because the garbage disposal spewed breakfast scraps back up at him, but still, that could’ve been worse).

He even gets to the bus stop before Melissa, only a few boys from school present. It takes a couple seconds before he hears shoes scuffling away from him, which isn’t surprising. It’s very rare for him to actually end up on the bus, but when he does, it makes for an… eventful ride. He can’t fault them for being cautious, since it’s looking more and more like it might actually be one of those days-

“What’s that all about?”

That’s an unfamiliar voice.

Milo turns to the speaker. It’s a boy around his age, dark-skinned with frizzy black hair. He’s dressed simply in a yellow shirt and jeans, a red backpack at his sneakers. He’s looking at Milo with confusion, and something akin to concern.

“Oh, you’re new here,” Milo realizes. It’s strange for someone to transfer schools after the start of the semester, but stranger things have happened. He sighs good-naturedly, going on to explain, “I’ve got a bit of a reputation.”

The boy blinks before amusement tugs at his mouth, and he quirks a brow. “So what are you, a tough guy?”

That might be teasing, Milo’s not sure. “Oh, I don’t think anyone’s ever called me tough,” he says. And this is really pressing his luck, but he can’t help being polite and offers his hand. “I’m Milo.”

The boy actually takes Milo’s hand, and smiles when he does it. “I’m Zack.”

Of course, the other boys at the stop immediately urge Zack against it, but Milo isn’t fully paying attention. He instantly commits Zack’s name to memory because if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that knowing his classmates’ names helps soften the blow when he accidentally lands them in the hospital for the first time.

Despite the warning, Zack doesn’t let go right away. His hand is warm, and a little bigger than Milo’s. Mostly softer than Milo’s too, but unexpectedly calloused in telltale places, like he plays a guitar of some sort. That’s interesting.

“So what exactly is this reputation?” Zack asks, seeming more curious than concerned now.

Milo tilts his head. “Well, people have used the J-word, but you know what they say. Sticks and stones can damage your vital organs, so always wear body armor.”

The original meaning of the phrase is still implied. As a Murphy, harsh words are extremely low on his list of things to worry about. At least, that’s how he tries to keep it. It’s not that words don’t affect him at all, he just has steps he takes to prepare himself for them, like he would for any other unpleasant event. Just as he wears body armor to protect against physical harm, he protects his feelings under his carefully crafted demeanor.

Lots of people think his cheeriness is default, but in reality, it’s a conscious choice. It’s his emotional armor. Words hurt him less if he chooses to be upbeat and optimistic, rather than let himself despair. That just creates a negative feedback loop, which doesn’t help anything.

Before Zack can inquire further, Melissa shows up to the stop. Milo gets preoccupied by their conversation and forgets that Zack’s still waiting on an explanation until he interjects. But right as Milo is about to elaborate, Murphy’s Law kicks in.

Milo has just enough time to slap his spare helmet onto Zack’s head before they turn and run. And it is both of them; Zack’s taken off without any prompting- he didn’t freeze like so many people do for their first disaster, that’s good. He’s screaming quite a bit, but that’s to be expected. And more surprising is that Zack’s keeping pace with Milo. Not many people can match his speed when he’s going full-tilt like this.

“-wait, why aren’t you screaming?!” Zack demands suddenly.

Milo’s intrigued. Most people who get caught up in his Murphy’s Law don’t have the presence of mind to question why he’s calm while being chased down the street by some devastatingly heavy object.

“I find it doesn’t help,” he answers simply. “Just hurts the larynx.” While he runs and talks, part of him is absentmindedly planning his next move, and he adds, “hand me that bungee, and you’d better hold onto my backpack.”

Milo winds up his throw. Even as Zack exclaims, “Wait, what?” he feels the other boy grab on as instructed, and then they’re up in the air.

Zack maintains his hold while they flip, and when the bungee snaps and drops them on top of the drainage pipe. He’s strong, Milo notes with pleasant surprise. More impressively, Zack doesn’t go careening off of the spinning cylinder- he manages to stay upright beside Milo. That’s a rare skill, for sure. Maybe he’s taken log-rolling classes, for whatever reason. Or, he’s just exceptionally quick on his feet. An athlete, maybe.

“That bungee was definitely defective,” Milo comments, if only to fill the space.

Zack offers no reply, even as Milo sends Diogee home. The pipe takes them through a road barrier, down a rocky incline, through a wooden fence, off of a thankfully low cliff, and into a shallow pit of mud. They barely have time to blink the mud from their eyes before the pipe falls down after them, and Milo tells Zack to scooch over- which he does with little hesitation.

They fit neatly through the center of the pipe, and a wave of mud sends them up to the top.

Zack glances over at Milo, his sudden stillness probably due to shock. “… the J-word wouldn’t happen to be jinx, would it?” he ventures.

Even though he knows it wasn’t used maliciously, Milo can’t stop himself from flinching. He brushes it off with a laugh, though it comes out slightly apologetic. “Yeah, that’s the one.” He pulls himself up onto the rim of the pipe, offering Zack his hand.

Miraculously, Zack accepts his help, and they climb over the edge and drop into the mud below.

Milo wipes his face off with a towel from his backpack. “I have EHML,” he explains. “Extreme hereditary Murphy’s Law. You know, ‘anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.’ Around me.” He studies Zack with a hint of apprehension, the other boy doubled over to catch his breath. He doesn’t look angry or upset or scared, but Milo can’t always tell.

“Well,” is all Zack says. “Alright, then. How are we gonna catch the bus?”

Milo blinks, handing Zack the towel. “Whenever stuff like this happens, the driver usually gives me a few minutes to make it back in case it’s something light. If we hurry, we should be able to get there in time.”

Zack cleans his face and gives the towel back to Milo, brows raised. “Lead the way, I guess.”

Well, indeed. Milo leads the way, and Zack follows.

~*~

Naturally, they miss the bus.

Zack’s definitely in some kind of shock now. He doesn’t even scream when the oil spill in the rock quarry goes up in flames. Milo gently suggests that they go through the woods instead. And then the shock seems to wear off when they’re beset by a pack of hungry wolves.

Shock and panic can interchange remarkably quickly, in some people.

While Milo knows from experience that wolves do, in fact, love peanut butter, Murphy’s Law isn’t yielding anything today. One of the wolves lunges at the same time he tosses the sandwich, and it gets thrown right back, sticking to Zack’s shirt. That elicits a shrill scream from him, and Milo has to fight the urge to cringe. This is not a great first impression, even by Murphy’s Law standards.

At this point, Milo’s pretty sure that the presence of the sandwich has no bearing on the wolves’ desire to attack them, but he grabs a stick and peels it off anyways, if only to try and save Zack’s shirt from being stained too badly.

They escape by scrambling up a tree, but the situation is complicated by the presence of an irate beehive.

A wolf with a beehive stuck on its face is a new one. Luckily, Zack continues to demonstrate remarkable survival instincts, such as ‘dodging when a wolf with a beehive stuck on its face lunges at you’ and ‘running when a wolf with a beehive stuck on its face gives chase.’ He’s keeping up well enough, though he might be starting to fatigue because he lags slightly behind Milo. And he’s still screaming a little, but Milo isn’t holding that against him.

In the end, they don’t escape the wolf so much as they accidentally plunge through an open manhole. But it’s not a high fall, and Milo’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or, to look a sewer in the open manhole.

Milo lands on his feet in the middle channel, which is fortunately shallow. Zack crashes in right behind him.

“Here,” Milo hands Zack a headlamp from his backpack, “these will help us navigate in the dark.”

Zack’s voice follows him after a moment. “Dude… if and when we get out of here, I’m gonna have to go my own way. No offense, I just can’t handle all of… this.”

Milo’s heart trips inside his chest. He wants to protest that Zack has, in actuality, handled everything just fine. Truly, even Melissa would be impressed, and he’s sure she will be when he regales her with the story later today. But he knows that isn’t the crux of the matter.

“A- all of what?” he asks quietly, his voice wavering slightly despite his best efforts.

The answer is painfully obvious as a raccoon leaps out at him from a pipe, sailing over his ducked head and disappearing into murky sewer water. Milo grips his backpack tighter and keeps walking.

“This cyclone of calamity that follows you everywhere you go!” Zack exclaims in disbelief, his voice echoing in the tunnels. “How do you live like this?!”

Milo supposes this was inevitable. It’s not often that someone gives him a chance- usually it’s something like this, a new kid who doesn’t know any better- but it always ends the same way. He accepted long ago that Melissa would be his only school friend, and he’s okay with that.

Right now, they’ve reached the point where Milo will say he understands and apologize for putting Zack in danger. He’ll get him out of the sewer and part ways, only seeing Zack as much as school demands. Or less than that, if Zack decides to switch schools and get a restraining order. That’s happened before. But really, this is where Milo should ‘cut Zack loose,’ if he’s speaking metaphorically.

Except.

Except Milo doesn’t want to.

It’s a bizarre sensation. He’s never put up a fight before, whenever someone decided he wasn’t worth all the danger associated with Murphy’s Law. He almost lost Melissa that way, and was incredibly fortunate she decided to choose him. Typically, it’s easier for everyone if he just accepts it without complaint, and he doesn’t like making a scene. But this time, every part of him is rebelling against the idea.

He really, really doesn’t want to lose Zack. Zack, who’s fast and strong and quick on his feet. Zack, who has good instincts and knows how to trust them. Zack, who willingly followed Milo all this way despite knowing about his EHML. He doesn’t come across people like Zack every day.

Right now, it’s just him and Zack in a dark tunnel. There’s no one else around to worry about, no judgmental looks or scolding words. No one to tell Zack that he shouldn’t be around Milo. So maybe, this time, Zack can really decide for himself. Maybe, deep down beneath the knee-jerk fear reaction, he feels what Milo does, and knows that leaving would be the wrong choice.

Maybe Milo can fight for this.

So instead, Milo asks, “How do you live like that?”

Zack’s voice is hesitant. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Milo turns around, frustration nipping at him because it’s always so hard to put these things into words, “you wanna live like those other kids? They took a bus to school today. A bus! Does that seem like more fun to you?”

That really doesn’t say everything he means. It doesn’t say ‘I think you’re amazing and destined for so much more than an ordinary life’ or ‘I feel better with you by my side so please don’t go.’ But none of that comes easily to Milo, so it’ll have to do.

Zack stops and thinks about it. Really thinks about it. Milo holds his breath.

“Hm. Alright,” Zack says simply. He hops over the middle channel, landing next to Milo on the other side. Closer than most people are willing to get if they don’t have to. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at Milo expectantly. “Where to next?”

Milo is almost stunned by the sheer relief that washes over him, but he pushes through it. “Well, there’s a loose grate up over here to the left,” he says, turning around to resume walking. “I’ve been here before.”

“Of course you have,” Zack says, and it actually sounds fond.

Milo’s heart is running now, though he’s not sure why.

~*~

As they scramble their way through the construction site, Milo can’t help but think that they make a good team.

He knows he’s letting himself get too attached, too quickly. At the end of this, Zack could very well change his mind. Or maybe tomorrow, or after a week. Maybe his tolerance of Murphy’s Law has a limit. He wouldn’t be the first.

But they’re incredibly in-sync, for having just met not even a half-hour ago. They don’t even speak as they navigate the various hazards together. Zack seems to be relying on his instincts and cues from Milo, and they escape unscathed, floating down the river on the detached bed of a dump truck.

After they avoid the wolf (again) and Milo sends Diogee home (again), Zack climbs over to sit next to him, leaning back on his arms. His hand is close to Milo’s knee, close enough that their hands would be touching if Milo put his down. And the way Zack’s looking at him right now… his heart’s acting up again. Maybe he should get checked for arrhythmia.

“You know,” Zack starts, “I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline talking, but I’m starting to feel like we can handle anything that comes our way.”

If that’s how adrenaline makes Zack talk, Milo certainly doesn’t mind it. It’s not often that someone else is doing the reassuring, unless it’s Melissa or his family. And the confidence Zack says it with is an incredible thing. Even if it is just adrenaline.

Of course, now that Zack’s gone and said something like that, Murphy’s Law can’t resist the opportunity, and a massive tidal wave appears out of nowhere to carry them out of the river and straight off the edge of a cliff.

This time, Zack doesn’t scream. They plummet silently for a couple seconds before he turns his head towards Milo, almost casually, and says, “Well, maybe not anything…”

Milo would laugh at that, but then they faceplant onto the dome of an alien spacecraft and suddenly have other things to worry about.

~*~

Somehow, they end up at school on time and unscathed.

Zack thinks he might not have fully processed everything yet, because he feels… surprisingly okay. Considering what happened. But really, it seems silly to freak out and make a huge deal out of it when they’re both perfectly fine.

Aside from missing lunches, that is, but the redhead sitting in front of him- who he recalls as Melissa- has that covered. They don’t have time for formal introductions before the teacher comes in and begins class, but context clues tell Zack that she’s Milo’s only friend. And from what he can piece together, she orchestrated a betting pool to ensure they’d have something for lunch in the event theirs were destroyed.

So she’s either psychic, or stuff like this happens often.

That gets filed under ‘things to think about later,’ next to everything else that just happened. Right now, he has to focus on getting oriented to his new school. Which is… actually pretty boring, compared to this morning. Meeting his teachers, figuring out his schedule, finding his locker… it’s crazy to think he was stressing about this stuff just last night.

He gets strange looks here and there, and catches a few murmurs of, “Someone better warn the new kid” and “Wonder how long that’s gonna last” that make him… oddly indignant. He doesn’t like the feeling that his new classmates are judging his choice to stick by Milo.

He also doesn’t like the attention he’s attracted from Melissa. She’s nice enough, but he catches her staring at him sometimes, this intense look in her eyes, like she’s trying to puzzle something out, and it gives him the creeps.

Someone remind him not to get on her bad side…

If something’s up, Milo’s oblivious to it. He’s happy to help Zack around to their classes, and never falters under the stares or whispers or occasional small mishaps that occur. And they are small; nothing else that happens that day can compare to their crazy morning.

Which is perfectly fine by Zack. No complaining here.

The relative calm gives him a chance to actually get a good look at Milo- something that was neglected in all the terror. He’s deceptively average at a glance; pale, brown hair, brown eyes. An ever-present smile on his face. His outfit’s a little odd; shorts, sweater vest, loafers. And Zack quickly finds out that Milo’s backpack isn’t just a regular school backpack that happens to contain a random assortment of items.

Milo wears it nonstop throughout the day, never stashing it under his desk or in his locker. Not even during lunch. That also gets filed under ‘things to think about later.’

Along with the fact that Milo has a lot of scars. Like, a lot.

Zack remembers the conversation at the bus stop, but in the light of day it’d been easy to overlook. Milo’s so pale, the faint marks don’t show up that much until they’re under more contrasting light. And again, they aren’t running for their lives, so Zack can take the time to notice the dozens of scars on Milo’s arms, knees, and face.

Some are small pockmarks, some are lines of varying thickness, some are patchy blotches. Some of them look surgical in nature, while others Zack can’t even begin to speculate about. After their morning together, it’s not hard to imagine why Milo’s acquired so many scars in his short life, but it’s… sobering, to say the least.

Today wasn’t the rule. Milo gets hurt a lot. Like, a lot.

And so Zack’s starting to think this morning was actually really lucky, all things considered. Part of him wants to reconsider his decision. Not so much out of fear that he’ll get hurt, but because he’s not sure he can handle seeing Milo get hurt.

But then Milo catches him staring once. Their eyes meet briefly before Milo’s cheeks flush and Zack looks away, his stomach flipping like it did when they were freefalling together, and he already knows he’s in for the long haul.

~*~

Melissa doesn’t get a chance to speak to Milo alone until lunch, when Zack excuses himself to the bathroom and their little three-person table becomes its usual two-person table.

Milo, who had been excitedly recounting the morning’s events for her, suddenly falls silent as soon as Zack’s out of earshot. He looks up at her apprehensively, fidgeting with his hands, and Melissa already knows what’s on his mind before he says anything.

“So, uh, what- what do you think of him?” he asks quietly.

Melissa tilts her head, considering. She hadn’t thought much of the guy at the bus stop, simply recognizing that he was a new kid and thus didn’t know not to stand that close to Milo. She’d been surprised to see Zack stuck with Milo through all that happened, and seemed none the worse for wear.

“It sounds like he handled himself well,” she concedes.

Milo nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, he really did. I was very impressed.”

“I can tell,” Melissa says, amused.

Milo laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Is that a blush? “I just, I know we haven’t really hung out with other people in… forever. I didn’t mean to have this whole adventure with him, without you, it just happened.” His expression sobers. “And- and I like him, and I think he’d be a good fit for us, but if you don’t, then just say the word. I’ll understand.”

Then he gives her that little smile of his, the one that’s sad at the edges like he’s already expecting a certain answer and has resigned himself to it. The one he uses whenever he’s apologizing for some Murphy’s Law related incident. The one that makes her want to shake him and say, “It’s not your fault, you deserve better.”

Over the years, some people have tried to stick around Milo just for the spectacle of it. A chance to see what the deal with the ‘disaster kid’ was (particularly back when Diogee was allowed to accompany Milo to school as his service dog). They didn’t care about Milo as a person.

And worse, Milo never caught on. He really thought someone was giving his friendship a chance, and was crushed when they inevitably decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

It only happened a handful of times before Melissa established herself as “someone you do not want to cross” and people were too scared to try it anymore, but it took a toll on both of them. Milo’s convinced that he’s destined to go through life alone, with no one but Melissa at an arm’s length away.

And Melissa’s instantly suspicious of anyone who shows an interest in Milo. Admittedly, she might’ve jumped the gun a few times, and chased off potential friends who could’ve actually had good intentions. After all, some people genuinely did try to be his friend, and just couldn’t handle Murphy’s Law. Mostly new kids like Zack. But whenever someone who already knew them started getting closer, Melissa’s defensiveness quickly deterred any further advances, before she even knew whether they were sincere or not.

Those are acceptable loss margins in her opinion, if it meant Milo didn’t have to suffer another heartbreak.

But she knows he’s lonely. More than others would think, and probably more than he’s willing to admit to himself. The two of them are close, but one person can’t be someone’s whole world. He’s always wary of putting too much on her, so she knows there are holes she isn’t filling.

If she’s being honest, it might be nice to have someone else around to help handle the Murphy mayhem. From what she’s heard, Zack is plenty capable- and that’s without any prior experience. She could do worse for someone to take under her wing. Plus, she hasn’t gotten strange vibes from him yet, regarding Milo. He seems genuine.

And Milo really seems to like Zack. Probably more than he’s willing to admit to himself.

So much so, in fact, it speaks volumes that he’d break this budding friendship if she asked him to. It scares her, sometimes, how much of Milo’s heart she seems to hold. They’ve won each other’s trust and loyalty a thousand times over since they first became friends, but all she really did in the beginning was show him some basic kindness. That’s all it took for him to decide he was devoted.

The wrong person could really abuse that.

… Zack better not be the wrong person.

“He’s in,” Melissa decides.

The way Milo’s face lights up almost makes all her worries go away.

Almost.

Zack will have to watch himself around her. If she gets a single whiff of any funny business from him, he’s done, and she’ll make him regret ever switching schools.

But even Melissa has to admit, the soft way Zack looks at Milo when he returns to the lunchroom and Milo happily waves him over makes her think she probably doesn’t have anything to worry about.

Probably.

~*~

#milo murphy's law #mml #milo x zack #zilo #my writing

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impracticaldemon · 4 years

Text

Autumn Prompt: Frost

Fandom: Hakuouki (Saitou Hajime x Yukimura Chizuru; post-canon) Words: ~ 850

Author’s Note: Finally ready to start writing again after 3 month hiatus (for reasons). Challenging myself to write short fics or drabbles with Autumn theme. This vignette is pure hurt/comfort/fluff - entirely self-indulgent.

Frost

Autumn came much earlier to Tonami, home to the displaced Aizu clan, than it did to Kyoto or Edo. No, not Edo; Tokyo. Saitō still had to quell a flicker of resentment over the change in name, but there was no sense in dwelling on the past. It was only reasonable—well, understandable—that the new government would seek to eradicate as many traces of Tokugawa rule as possible, and Edo-Tokyo was perhaps the most enduring testament to Tokugawa Ieyasu’s ambition and foresight. Since they couldn’t get rid of what was now Japan’s largest city, changing its name was their best option.

Saitō sighed inwardly. Even contemplating the changing of the seasons brought him back to recent history, and losses that were still painful. He tried to clear his mind once more and return to his meditation. Almost immediately, his good intentions were thwarted by the sound of light footfalls and the rustle of dry leaves. A reluctant smile, more a quirk of the lip, touched his mouth: either Chizuru had noticed the shift in his mood—somehow—or she had suddenly decided to come out to see him at just that moment by complete coincidence. Such coincidences had become a part of the shape of his life in the months they had been living together.

He turned his head a little to look at her, and to acknowledge her presence. She hadn’t changed much in appearance, he thought; it was most likely imagination that suggested she was even thinner now than when they’d arrived. He felt guilty for bringing her to this desolate place, as useless as that sentiment was, and it clouded his judgment. It was frustrating that he allowed emotion to rule his thoughts like this since his release from internment at the end of the war.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Saitō-san—”

“Hajime.”

“Oh! I keep forgetting… I mean, Hajime-san.” She pronounced the syllables of his first name with special emphasis, and then smiled shyly. He smiled in return, feeling the usual twin rush of satisfaction with her and dissatisfaction with himself for allowing his emotions such free rein.

“Is there a problem?”

“Ah, well, it will be getting dark soon, and it’s not very warm out today already, so I thought maybe you’d like to come in and have some tea?” She squared her shoulders, and continued, “It’s really too cold for sitting on the ground you know, H-Hajime-san.”

“Hmm.” She was right of course. The air didn’t yet smell of snow, but tonight they would have frost.

“Or perhaps I should fetch water so that I can start heating a bath—”

“No—I mean, it isn’t necessary for you to fetch the water. I’ll get it.” The full bucket was heavy, and awkward for her to carry from the well they shared with their closest neighbours. But that wouldn’t stop her, once she’d made up her mind that he needed a hot bath.

“Okay! Thank you, Hajime-san.”

“Chizuru… You do not need to thank me for fetching us water.” He couldn’t help the amusement he felt creep into his tone. “Especially not when it is water for my own bath.”

“Ah—”

“Although of course you are welcome to bathe first, if you wish.” Saitō kept a perfectly straight face, and waited for the inevitable reaction to such a shocking breach of custom (not to mention Chizuru’s manifest personal inclination).

“Oh no, Saitō-san! I could never do that!” Sure enough, his beloved—his wife—was appalled. But after only a moment she returned, undeterred, to her purpose. “So you’ll go fetch water now, then? And drink some tea while I heat your bath?”

Helpless before such determined care, Saitō rose from seiza, and pressed a light kiss to Chizuru’s forehead. That wasn’t quite enough to convey his gratitude, so he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest. He ignored her faint—very faint—protest of embarrassment.

“Yes, dear one. I will fetch water now, and then we will have tea while it heats.” He’d endured so much worse than sitting for an hour on cold ground in the past—days and weeks of sleeping injured and without shelter during the war in Aizu—but he knew that she knew this, and understood that it was why she was determined to spoil him (his word, not hers, of course).

“…Well, good then. … I mean, thank you for fetching the water.” Her words were muffled by his kimono, but neither of them moved to break the embrace right away.

There would be frost on the ground tonight, but Saitō knew that he wouldn’t feel it in either his body or his heart. Chizuru was a surprisingly stubborn woman, and she had appointed herself his guardian in these matters. He would be able to grieve his losses in his own time, and in his own way, and she would make sure that he stayed warm.

[END]

Ah, l’amour! All feedback and especially comments in notes, tags, reblogs etc is/are appreciated! Thank you for reading. ~ Imp

#hakuouki #hakuoki #saichi #saitou hajime #impracticaldemon #imp writes #haku fanfiction #canon setting #probably #but i mean it could be from several of my own quasi-canon settings too #just pre-twins lol

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panharmonium · 4 years

Text

just some thinky thoughts about fandom platforms and community that i didn’t know what to do with, so i wrote them down.

[tl;dr - tumblr is weird, pan misses (certain aspects of) Ye Olde Days]

tumblr is such a weird platform.

like. i love my blog as a personal repository of stuff i enjoy, and i’m definitely thrilled to have met the people i’ve met on here - some of them have even become my friends outside the internet, and that’s been absolutely lovely. but in terms of actual functionality when it comes to trying to engage in a fandom...it’s still weird.

i know people will probably get tired of all the “BACK IN MY DAY” fandom analysis posts that float around on this website, but even having been here for years now, it is still really hard for me to adjust to a place that makes it so impossible to find any kind of actual fandom community spaces.

for me, i didn’t even start using tumblr until i was in my mid-twenties, and that was only because tumblr was where most people from LJ had migrated. i’d been Doing Fandom for over a decade prior to that, on other platforms (fandom specific sites/archives and then LJ), so i ended up here kind of out of necessity - the great fandom migration was already mostly complete, by the time i moved.

so i got here, and i got settled, but fandom on tumblr has been so different from fandom as i experienced it anywhere else, and that’s not the fault of any of its users; it’s just an inevitable function of the way this site is structured.

it is SO HARD for us to connect with people on here!

just, as an example from my own more recent life - i’ve been doing a lot of merlin stuff lately, right? that’s where my head is at and that’s what i’m having the most fun with and i would love to be more interactive with people about it, like - to have folks to geek out with about it, you know, to do the things that fandom is for - and if i were on, say, livejournal, back in the day, i would know where to go to do those things. there would be specific spaces built for just that purpose. LJ comms were places where everybody who was interested in a particular thing could go for the express purpose of posting and discussing and interacting about that thing! people still maintained their own personal blogs, but they also belonged to whichever LJ communities reflected their interests. LJ comms and fandom-specific sites were fandom hubs - it was so easy to find what you were looking for.

this functionality doesn’t exist in any meaningful way on tumblr. big, moderated groups/communities aren’t a thing tumblr truly supports. there’s no way for me to go join the “merlin” comm and just be in community with a large group of people who just wanna talk about merlin. the limited “group blog” functionality on tumblr is so non-conducive to actual usage that community spaces like those just don’t really exist, not like Back In The Day.

fandom on tumblr is so very decentralized. the way things are set up here forces all of us to just make posts on our individual blogs, which then might get picked up and put on other people’s individual blogs, maybe. you can’t like...make something (X) Fandom related and drop it in the (X) Fandom LJ Comm like “hey look, something fun to talk about!” you could put it in “The Tag,” but anyone who’s been here for any length of time knows how useful doing that actually is. and you could post it on your individual blog, but it won’t necessarily reach anybody who might want to geek out with you, not if you’re not already followed by someone in that fandom.

and the only other option is to invite yourself onto someone else’s individual blog, which is a) inefficient, when you’re looking for wider community, and b) not something a Painfully Reserved Person is wont to do.

the analogy that works best for me is this: pre-tumblr, fandom hangouts were community spaces. they were cafés with a sign hanging out front saying “star wars here!” or “kanan/hera here!” or “X here!” if you wanted to geek out about a particular thing, you would go to the café and meet a bunch of other people there.

nowadays, if you want to geek out about a particular thing, you have to barge into a stranger’s house. and not everyone is comfortable with that.

the lack of real, threaded comments is also just...i don’t know how to express how detrimental this is to communication and community. i mean, i understand that tumblr’s entire “reblog” system doesn’t really allow it to be a thing, but tumblr’s entire mechanic as a fandom platform has to be questioned, in that case.

how impossible is it to have a conversation on here, the way tumblr is set up right now? i mean - let’s say you make a post, right? one person reblogs it and adds their own text to it; another person reblogs the original version, but says something different in the tags. a third person doesn’t reblog it at all, but hits “reply” on your original post. a fourth person “replies” also, but to the second person’s reblog, in response to the additional content.

NONE OF YOU ARE HAVING THE SAME CONVERSATION. none of you are even aware that the other conversations are happening. the idea of trying to build an actual cohesive fandom community like that is just...impossible. it can’t happen.

when i reblog posts on tumblr, i feel like i’m a dragon collecting a little hoard of shiny things she likes, only i never actually see another person, because i live in a cave.

everybody here lives in a cave.

and like...this is just philosophical, i guess, but. tumblr’s focus on “follower count” and notes is also a thing i don’t really know how to handle.

having people “follow” me makes me feel weird. seeing that people are “following” this blog exerts a bizarre external pressure, as if my little house here could ever be for anybody who isn’t me. it prompts a tiny 'but should you?’ in the back of my head when i post about something that isn’t what all those people came here for, which is ridiculous, because this was never supposed to be a blog for any fandom in particular; it was just a blog for me. i was the only one here when i started, and i literally never did anything to try and get people to come here and join me. it happened accidentally, because bigger blogs than me picked up some star wars stuff i made and passed it around.

but of course, on tumblr, making connections gets conflated with follower/note count, and understandably so, because besides having a higher follower count (aka wider distribution), how are people ever going to reach the other people who are into the same thing they are?

for instance. let’s say you’re brand new to tumblr. you want to get involved in X fandom. there’s no community space here where a new blog with no followers can go and share their stuff with the right audience and meet all the other people who are also sharing their own work. unless you start messaging strangers, your tumblr time is pretty isolated.

whereas - i remember on lj comms, back when people would post as a newcomer, it would be like, ‘hey i’m so-and-so and i love xyz and here’s a picture i drew of x character!!!!’ - and people would actually respond to that. people responded to everything! like. tiny 400 word fics would have 30 comments, and all those people were talking with each other, not past each other, on the same page.

just for fun, while i was typing this up, i went through a month’s worth of posts on an old lj comm i used to frequent. not a single one of those posts was comment-less. every single post, even the tiniest, most insignificant one-line musing, had some amount of discussion attached to it.

whereas now - i don’t know if this is just confined to tumblr, or if it’s a general cultural shift, because even on AO3, i sometimes see people who have written massive sprawling epics and the comment field is just a desert. i once saw the exact same fic posted on ff.net, where it had 20 comments - and then on AO3, where it had zero.

and like, say what you will about ff.net (there’s...plenty to be said, certainly XD ) but commenting patterns were observably different there. and that’s all part and parcel of a bigger discussion, which isn’t really within the scope of these notes, except to say that it’s probably the source of my forever grudge match with AO3′s kudos button, which i realize is an absurdly silly thing to say and i’m smiling at myself even as i type this, but - i gotta be honest - i hate that thing! i can’t stand it! XD

i say that in the most good-natured way possible, obviously; this is fandom, after all, and it’s all for fun, and i love AO3 in every other way, so this is more a minor annoyance which makes me laugh at myself than anything else - but i say again - in the most fun-loving, self-deprecating way possible - that little button is my archnemesis. XD

i totally get why other people love it! it’s a completely reasonable way to feel! but for me, personally, coming out of an environment where the reward at the end of making something was getting to gush with somebody else, make a connection, talk about the thing that gave us So Many FEELS - the kudos button is so. sterile. and. empty. it doesn’t fulfill my urge to connect with people or share fannish enthusiasm in any way. i’d almost rather not even see kudos on my account, honestly, because it makes me feel more disappointed than anything else - like, “oh, man. look at all these missed fandom conversations we could have had.”

and obviously, this is in no way meant as disparaging to people who use the kudos button liberally. it is ALWAYS lovely to show appreciation for someone who wrote something you liked, however which way you are able, if and only if you are so inclined. nobody is obligated to leave feedback - lurkers are a perfectly accepted and long-celebrated fandom tradition; i belonged to that tradition myself, for most of my fandom life - so showing appreciation in any form is already going above and beyond. nobody needs to be harangued with “YOU SHOULD’VE COMMENTED” or “YOU SHOULD’VE REBLOGGED” - none of that stuff is required to participate in fandom; nobody owes comments or reblogs, and creators have to be okay with that. we can discuss and/or lament the structural factors that encourage or discourage participation, by all means, but ultimately we have to recognize that nobody is actually required to respond to things we make. it’s fandom. we’re all here by choice, and people’s participation levels are their own business.

and anyway, i know that lots of authors actually love getting kudos on their work, so my experience isn’t universal, by any means. it’s just a function of my own personal background, and the communities i used to run in - i speak for no one but myself and my own fannish life.

and besides, the entire debate about kudos/comments and like/reblog disparities doesn’t come anywhere near the underlying issues. it’s sometimes framed as “people not participating in fandom appropriately” (and that’s completely unfair; there’s no wrong way to do fandom when you’re not hurting anybody) as opposed to “what is it about our platforms that encourages or discourages participatory fan culture.” like - the only reason we even need to talk about the importance of reblogs vs. likes is because tumblr makes it so darn hard for a person’s stuff to be seen by the “right” people! reblogs are the only way for someone’s work to spread, and even then it’s kind of like throwing a handful of darts at a board and praying one of them will land in a well-connected spot. if a platform like tumblr were set up differently, we wouldn’t even need to have this conversation - there would be places to post your work where people would be specifically looking for content like what you were making. you could make those fannish connections more easily.

*** important to note, too - it’s always worthwhile to remember when reading these “back in the old days” nostalgia posts that pre-tumblr spaces had drawbacks of their own. livejournal was not some fannish utopia, by any means. there were, however, a few structural things from that era that i think were helpful influences on fan culture, and their absence here makes me miss them.

but anyways. those are just some thoughts. and now i’m going back to my regularly scheduled posting, because i DO enjoy this place, even if the platform can be somewhat lacking sometimes - we still have to find a way to have fun, right? that’s the entire point of being in fandom in the first place.

#i've always felt like tumblr was sort of a bizarre place for Fandom Central to have landed anyway #though i do think it's been amazing for graphics editors; gifset-makers especially #i do wonder where we'll end up next #whenever the next big migration hits #anyway back to regularly scheduled posting!#i've got episodes to get through #gotta keep up my momentum so i can GET TO THE END #:D #fandom

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icypantherwrites · 5 years

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Just a quick request for some advice, I've noticed you seem to be very good at promoting your works, requesting feedback and actually getting some, and reposting on Tumblr and such. Now admittedly, you are an awesome author and I pretty much love everything you write, but I have to think your promotion abilities are part of what brings you hits, kudos, likes, and feedback. Do you have any advice on the best ways to promote my fanfiction, build a fanbase and short of begging, get more comments?

Self-promotion and marketing definitely are a large part of my fanbase. I’ve seen it go both ways; amazing writers and fics that don’t have much attention and not-so-great ones that have huge followings because of social media presence of the author. So while having quality stories is still a large part of it, so too is marketing.

My background is not actually in marketing but journalism, but I did run a number of social media pages and have always been a very big people-person and engager, which I’ve applied to pretty much all aspects of my life. One of my favorite slogans I’ve learned from retail (and marketing) is you can’t sell what’s not out. i.e., if you don’t present your product you can’t expect to have any customers (or in this case readers).

In my case, I’m a very prolific author, meaning I have a lot of stories under my name and I’ve been fortunate that a couple of those have become bigger name ones in this fandom for extra exposure. The more you have, obviously the more you will “sell” and therefore, generally, the more exposure you’ll get and then comments (comments though are a fickle beast and it really really varies).

I’m borrowing some of the advice from a previous post (you can always search my blog with “#writing advice” for more things) but these would be a couple of strategies I would recommend you try out :) Not all of them may be applicable to you either, as all authors write at different paces and volumes and have different time constraints, but maybe something in here will help ;)

1. Have an update schedule! This one is really important. Whether that means you pre-write the entire fic or you buckle down and commit to a regular posting (which is how Color was for me for the first couple months until I pre-wrote enough to kick back and relax a bit xD) be it weekly or bi weekly or every two weeks (the other bi weekly? Such a weird word) you do that.

When you get people on a schedule and they are more likely to come back and comment with something other than the dreaded “update soon!” because they know you are going to update soon and when exactly that is. Give readers something to plan and look forward to, just like a favorite TV show that airs weekly.

2. Respond to comments. Whether you write giant-ass paragraph responses or even a simple “thank you ♥” it goes a long way. I know I always am more inclined to really keep up on a fic where the author has shown to appreciate their readers (although if I read your fic and like it I will comment regardless ♥). I know for me right now I have stopped doing this as it just got... draining for me, to respond in detail and never see those readers again and it felt hurtful to me. But I still make a point to say thank you in the author’s notes and if anyone has a question I do try to answer that too.

3. Read other authors’ works you enjoy but do not self-promote. Please don’t do that. I hate it when I see that and it makes me even less inclined to check out a fic (I’m already very picky with what I read and don’t read much at all). By all means comment on the fic and be like “I headcanon Keith is a good cook too!” because those personal details are lovely and maybe that’ll inspire that other author to click on your profile to see if you’ve got a fic with such a theme to go read.

But otherwise, keep your comments about their fic (or your reaction to it) and show your excitement and passion for that fic. Bookmark too (and Ao3 lets you add comments; you can bet if I see a nice comment on a bookmark tag I’m clicking on that author to see a; what else they’ve bookmarked and b; if they’ve written anything). Well written and passionate comments tell a lot about a person and if they can write a nice review they likely can write a nice fic and could be worth an extra click to see their profile. That is indeed how I’ve found several authors and fics I now read :)

4. Chapter length. This I have noticed over time but shorter chapters (for me around 3k-4k) tend to get more comments than longer ones because people have “more time” upon finishing to leave a comment. It doesn’t always work but it is something I’ve witnessed on more than one occasion. That said, don’t write a chapter of only 1k words and think they’ll pour in because it’s short. Leading on to…

5. Whatever your chapter is, make sure it has content that people will want to respond to. Not every chapter has to have explosions and action and intense heart-to-hearts, but every chapter should have something memorable. Filler chapters are unavoidable, especially in longer fics, but do what you can to make them not quite so “blah” and give them some heart.

6. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, meaning write multiple things (although perhaps not as much as me ^^;). Having a mix of a longer running chapter fic (for those “episodes” back in bullet point one) to keep people coming back and having a few shorter fics (be one-shots, two-shots, or shorter chaptered fics) to draw in new people and help you out when you get stuck on your other fic is invaluable. I definitely expanded my audience and brought in new readers that gave me little boosts of support when I started publishing one-shots semi-regularly.

7. Don’t be afraid to self-promote on your blog. Reblog your works, pull out snippets to share, reblog those too if you don’t get many notes. I don’t really get how Tumblr’s tag system works, but tag your first few tags with the biggest ones that those browsing might stumble across. Ao3 does let you link to your Tumblr so long as you aren’t advertising commissions or patreon or the like in said blurb so make sure you link to your tumblr too to get cross-traffic.

8. Post sneak content on your blog; previews and snippets. Get people excited about the work before you post it.

9. I don’t know how reasonable this is for most, but holding little games or contests can really up the engagement. Starting out, doing something like a bingo card prompt event could be one to consider; the “prize” is writing the prompt which gets you both more content, therefore more eyeballs on said content, and hopefully a very grateful fan who will leave you a nice comment and reblog it for their page.

10. I like ending on this number. Um, oh, okay! This is both great for writing experience, content and engagement! If you see a piece of fanart you like that you feel compelled to write a bit for, do so and reblog it! Anyone who clicks on that art will see your reblog of it and maybe, maybe, the original artist will reblog your selection too! Not just artists either, but there are lots of “prompt” type posts I see that you could do that for as well.

AO3 | Ko-Fi | Patreon | Discord

#icyanswers #writing advice #marketing #advice #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction advice #tumblr advice #tumblr marketing #marketing yourself

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kindahoping4forever · 3 years

Text

Encore // Ashton Irwin

You know the drill by now: I got inspired (this time by Stage!Ash's return last week), thought I'd write a quick and simple lil pwp and then both my life and my writing style conspired to make it neither quick nor simple. 😅 It's a week later and about twice the length than I meant for it to be but I like it quite a bit and I hope you do too! As always, @cal-puddies deserves a medal for endlessly encouraging me and helping me figure things out in worlds both imagined and real.

Warnings: Sickeningly Cute New Boyfriend!Ash, Stage!Ash, brief allusion to the pandemic (for setting purposes), sex in a public place, first time unprotected sex in an established relationship.

Word Count: 4050

Encore: A Stage!Ash Series Masterlist

Masterlist // Ko-Fi linked above

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

A loud whistle greets you as soon as you swing open the door of your Uber; you look up to see your boyfriend approaching the car, grinning widely. Chuckling, you thank your driver and step onto the curb.

You tease, “And how did you know that was me and not some random car you were flirting with?”

Ashton’s arms are around your waist as soon as you’re within reach. “Honestly hurt that you don’t trust our bond enough to believe I could just feel that you were near,” he giggles.

“Or you walked outside two minutes after I literally said ‘two minutes away’,” you smirk, draping your arms around his neck.

“You’re no fun,” he playfully grumbles under his breath as he presses his lips to yours, officially welcoming you with a sweet kiss. "I'm so glad you're here."

"I left right after work but it took forever, traffic was pretty brutal once we hit downtown."

He squeezes you a bit tighter. “No, I mean… I’m glad you’re here, with me, at the show,” he gestures to the venue up the street. “I’m stoked for you to see it, I think you’re really gonna dig it, all the acts are sounding fucking amazing.”

You smile, playing with the chain of the gold medallion around his neck. “I’m sure they’re all great but I’m mainly excited to see my favorite musician play for the first time tonight.”

“Ooh, say it again but slower,” he flirts with a gleeful giggle as he pulls you into another kiss, this one friskier than the last, the scruff on his face deliciously scratching against your skin.

It’s hard to believe this day is finally here. You and Ash met through friends a few months ago, just as the city started opening back up. You bonded over your love of music and while you’ve watched him rehearse in his basement before, this is the first opportunity you’ve had to see him actually perform and you couldn’t be more thrilled. You know how important his work is to him and you can sense how much it means for him to finally be able to share this part of his life with you.

Ashton’s talking a mile a minute as he leads you through the theatre’s back entrance, bouncing back and forth between hyping up how good soundcheck was and gushing over how much he likes this venue. His enthusiasm is contagious and you feel it spreading through you; by the time you reach the dressing room, you’re smiling from ear to ear as his passionate ramblings wind down and he starts introducing you to everyone.

The energy in the room is buzzing as you all sit on the couch and chat for a bit and you find yourself having to reach over to still Ash’s bouncing knee every so often, his sheepish smile silently thanking you each time. As the others start to file out to go watch the first set, you turn to your boyfriend and half jokingly ask, “Is this all from the two coffees you’ve had since I’ve been here or are you maybe a little bit nervous?”

He chuckles and takes your hand, squeezing it as he responds, “Why would I be nervous?”

You give him an understanding look. “I mean… first time on stage in 18 months and it’s without your boys,” you nudge him fondly. “New band, small room. These are things that would typically make people nervous.”

He shrugs. “Nahhhh, being on stage again is what I’ve been dreaming of for 18 months. And it’s even better than anything I imagined because now you get to be here with me,” he beams, kissing your knuckles.

The two of you take in the show from the side of the stage for a bit before Ash convinces you to follow him down into the crowd to watch, insisting it’ll be a better experience. The darkness of the venue and the face masks you’re wearing provide enough disguise that no one bothers him as you move through the throng of people and when he finds a spot off in a corner, he pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you and starts swaying you both to the music. He appreciates the momentary anonymity, letting his hands wander as he holds you, his fingers first dipping under your shirt to dance over your belly before ghosting along your thighs as he plays with the hem of your skirt.

You smirk to yourself as you feel his touch getting bolder, sneaking further under the material, his calloused fingers drawing designs on your inner thighs. “Now why’re you trying to start something you can’t finish?” You coyly ask, wiggling your ass against him.

Ashton leans in to your ear and mischievously answers, “I think we both know I’ve never had a problem finishing you off.”

You feel your face warm under your mask. “You know what I mean,” you giggle, turning around to poke at him. “You should be focusing on the show you’re about to do.”

“Hard to focus on anything else when I’ve got you in my arms,” he smoothly replies, wrapping himself around you again. “You coming back to mine after the show?”

“I haven’t even seen you play yet and you’re already assuming I’ll be your groupie? Better be one hell of a performance, Irwin.”

“Nothin’ compared to the one I’ll give you later,” he winks.

Your flirting is cut short as the house lights come up, signaling a brief intermission and Ash’s cue to get backstage. With the crowd dispersed for the break, he briefly tugs down your masks to sneak a kiss goodbye; you wish him luck and give his ass a quick squeeze as he turns to leave. You take advantage of the thinned crowd and move up closer to the stage, securing yourself a spot with a clear sightline for the drums.

A short while later, you feel your heart jump in your chest as the lights go back down and Ashton takes his place behind the kit. You know it's silly to think he can spot you in the dark sea of faces but you swear you see him grin in your direction as he settles in. With a twirl of his drumstick, the band's short set begins and you find yourself unsurprisingly dazzled by his talent. He's not only undoubtedly skilled on a technical level but the way he feels every beat, the way he loses himself in the music and lets it flow through him is truly a sight to behold. His body serves as an instrument almost more than his actual kit does and the passion and strength he’s exuding is very, very captivating to you.

You’re so enraptured watching him, the show flies by and you’re shocked when you realize the band is already taking their final bows. It takes you a few minutes to fight the tide of the exiting crowd but when you get backstage, you’re met with the sight of your shirtless boyfriend glistening with sweat, toweling himself off. You feel your brain scramble but somehow manage to make your way through the room, greeting and congratulating those you pass until you reach him.

Ash hears your voice as you approach and a 1000-watt grin paints his face as he excitedly turns and asks, “So what’d you think?”

You can’t contain yourself, throwing your arms around his neck, answering with a passionate kiss. “You’re amazing,” you sigh, brushing some stray sweat-soaked curls off his forehead.

The smile he offers you is sweet but there’s fire in his eyes as he cradles your face to bring you in again. “Glad you enjoyed the show,” he rasps against your lips. “Wanna get out of here?”

He giggles at your enthusiastic nod as he throws on the polka-dotted button down he arrived in and starts gathering his things; you try to keep a straight face when he turns down an invitation to celebrate the show at a nearby club, citing a morning studio session he needs to rest up for.

“Definitely be in bed early, can’t promise you’ll be resting much though,” you mutter nonchalantly. He both cackles and shushes you in response as he pulls on his backpack and waves goodbye to everyone.

You’ve only made it a few feet out the door before he has you up against the wall, the feel of the cool building on your skin giving you chills, contrasting his mouth leaving a trail of hot, sloppy kisses along your neck. You tangle your fingers in his still damp hair, letting him briefly satisfy his hunger for you before you gently push him back and towards the crosswalk at the end of the block.

You make giggly, excited conversation while you walk down the street but when you snuggle into him while you wait to cross, the friskiness returns when he can’t help but plant his hand firmly on your ass while your hand snakes inside his barely buttoned shirt to rub over his chest. You finally make it to the parking lot across the street and as he presses you into the side of his Porsche to devour your lips once more, you’re beginning to wonder how you’re going to make it across town without spontaneously combusting.

Ashton is clearly thinking along the same lines as he taps the door behind you. “You wanna drive? I’m so hyped from the show and to get you home, ‘fraid I might run us off the road.”

“You just want to be free to search yourself on Twitter to see what people are saying about the gig,” you tease, allowing him to help you slide into the driver’s seat. He snorts, shutting the door, his quiet laughter building as he walks around to the other side; he climbs inside and presents his phone to you, showing he already has several glowing reviews bookmarked. You chuckle, reaching for your own phone and admitting, “Honestly, I checked your Instagram tags while I was waiting to get backstage.”

He squeezes your knee as you forward him a few links and you look up to see him watching you intently. “Thank you for coming tonight,” he says softly. “I’m really happy I got to experience this with you.”

You gaze at him adoringly, caressing his bearded cheek. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else in the world tonight, Ash,” you respond sincerely. He nuzzles his face against the palm of your hand and you think there’s a fair chance you might actually have giant hearts for eyes. “And you deserve everything those tweets were saying, too. You really were… are… something else.”

He beams at you for a beat before leaning in to meet you in a kiss that starts slow, sweet and joyous, the two of you smiling through it, but it inevitably deepens and along with it, the emotions involved. You can’t ignore how good he tastes, the contented hums that catch in his throat, the heat you feel radiating from his skin; you get as close as you can but it’s simply not close enough and without giving it a second thought, you start climbing over the center console to straddle him.

You curse under your breath, bracing yourself on his shoulders as you make the switch. Ash pulls away, first to help you across and then to giggle wildly as your foot nudges the stereo volume, cranking the volume of whatever playlist was playing quietly a moment ago.

“If you wanted some make out jams, you could’ve just told me,” he cracks, barely getting out his joke before guffawing loudly at it.

You shake your head, trying to get comfortable on top of him in the small seat. “The irony that such a sexy car has so little room to fool around in it,” you lament cheekily.

He cocks his head at you. “Oh is that what we’re doing?” He playfully asks.

You narrow your eyes, unsure if you want to wipe that look off his face with a kiss or a pinch. “What’d you think I came over here for?”

He gives an innocent shrug. “To say hi?”

You try to hide your amusement and fake like you’re climbing back to your own seat but Ash grabs you, pulling you close. “Hi,” you tease.

“Hi,” he laughs, closing the gap between you.

It doesn’t take long for things to heat back up with his hands threaded in your hair and you gently rocking in his lap. His mouth attaches to your neck, sucking a mark just under your ear and you moan at the feeling of both his mouth and his beard. He responds enthusiastically to your reaction; the groan he lets out is muffled by your skin but the way he bucks his hips against you is loud and clear.

You slide your hand from inside his unbuttoned shirt down to the straining bulge in his black pants. As you continue to slowly grind against him, your hand adds gentle pressure to his stiffening cock and you hear a barely there sigh of "baby" under his breath. Your heart skips a beat and you have to whimper quietly; pet names are still new between you, mostly occurring in the heat of the moment like this, indicating that feelings are reaching a boiling point.

“Think I want you,” you pant, rolling your hips.

Ash’s hands grip your ass, moving you over him in just the right way for you to catch enough friction to make your eyes roll back. “Yeah? Want me bad enough you’ll let me have you in the middle of a parking lot?”

You look around through the steamy windows surrounding you. “An empty parking lot,” you smirk, squeezing him through his pants.

“Much more respectable,” he teases, slipping his hands up your shirt to cup your breasts.

“Oh, those days are behind us, babe, we’re in the Groupie Era now,” you laugh. “It’s all dirty quickies and sex tapes from now on.”

He laughs naughtily as he leans into you. “Promise?”

Anticipation buzzes in the air as he reaches to slip your panties off under your skirt while you start undoing his belt to get his cock out of his pants; the giggles and kisses continue throughout the process as the two of you determinedly struggle to complete your tasks in the small space of the passenger seat.

Ash groans into your mouth as you wrap your hand around him and give him a few firm strokes. He massages your now bare cheeks under your skirt and then it’s suddenly like the lusty fog lifts in his brain and he drops his hands, realizing, “Oh… baby… I don’t think I have anything in my bag right now.” He shifts you so he can reach his backpack and he starts digging frantically. “No… no… fuck… no… goddammit… fuck, I knew I was going to forget to put more.”

You take a breath to consider and then shrug. “I’m fine with it if you are.”

He studies you for a beat before replying. “Really?”

“I mean, we’re exclusive… and the condoms are essentially a backup anyways,” you point out, shrugging again.

He rubs over your thighs affectionately. “And this isn’t just your dirty groupie brain talking? Home’s not that far, we can hit pause.”

You bring your hands to his face, softly brushing his cheeks with your thumbs. “My dirty groupie brain that likes and trusts you very much,” you answer confidently. You press a light kiss to his lips before continuing with a smirk, “And that also hasn’t been able to stop thinking about riding your dick since you stepped on that stage, so…”

Ashton grins, kissing you passionately. “Well as long as your logic is sound,” he jokes.

You peck at him one more time before you pull away to look him in the eye. “What about you? You’re right, we can absolutely hit pause.”

His hands are back under your skirt, pulling you to hover above his lap as he responds with both affection and mischief sparking in his eyes. “My filthy rockstar brain likes and trusts you more than anyone in the world.” He gives your ass a playful swat. “And I’ve been thinking about getting you on my dick ever since I watched you step out of that car this afternoon.”

You smile widely, biting your lip as you take his cock in your hand again, this time sliding it between your folds, rolling your hips to coat him in your wetness. “Always love knowing we’re on the same page,” you chuckle, a hiss interrupting your banter when his tip nudges your clit.

He hisses next as you guide him to your entrance and begin slowly sinking down on him. Ash’s grip tightens on your waist and your soft moans increase in volume until you’ve taken every inch; your breathy noises blend with his throaty murmurs, both of you overwhelmed by the new sensations of being intimate without any barrier.

“God, Ash…” You start, quickly losing your train of thought as you start to move.

For the first time since you’ve known him, Ashton seems at a loss for words, responding only with a strained “yeah” and then hungrily bringing his lips to yours. With his hands in your hair and his tongue caressing yours, his body tells you what his voice is unable to. He pulls back to look at you earnestly and breathlessly asks, “You OK?”

You nod, holding on to the headrest behind him for leverage as your hips resume their movements. “Perfect,” you whisper, nipping at his bottom lip. You easily find a rhythm that works for both of you, fast enough to be pleasurable but slow enough for you to savor finally being able to feel every ridge and curve of his cock inside you.

He digs his fingers into your hips. “Feel so fuckin’ wet,” he mutters, sounding dazed. He tugs your shirt up so he can bury his face between your lace covered breasts. “Fuck, baby… so warm and tight for me… so good.”

You moan at his praise, throwing your head back, relishing the scratchy feel of his beard running over your tits. “Love when you mark me like this,” you huff, a playful smile spreading across your face. “I should mark you up before your next show… gotta let all the other girlies know the drummer’s mine.”

Your sudden possessiveness is both amusing and arousing to your boyfriend, your comment earning you a clipped laugh as well as a slight buck of his hips. You attempt to move with him but you raise yourself up too quickly and bump your head on the soft roof of the convertible.

Ash can’t help but tease. “We could always put the top down,” he offers, biting his lip to keep from giggling.

He yelps in protest as you flick at his chest. “If I’d known you were down for some exhibitionism, I’d have saved us the trouble and just let you fuck me on the hood,” you lob back.

“Next time,” he smirks, pulling you closer and guiding you to tuck your head close to his. You hang on to his broad shoulders, breathing heavy in his ear as he holds your hips down and steadily fucks up into you.

You let him work you on his cock as long as he wants, feeling too good to care about no longer being in control; you scratch your nails up and down his chest, making note of the pleasured grunts he lets out when they catch and pull at his chest hair. You notice his thrusts have started to slow and figure he must be close and trying to hold off.

“I don’t need much more,” you inform him, moving a hand between your legs to play with your clit.

You only get a few rubs in before Ashton is replacing your hand with his, drawing skillful circles. “Can’t wait to feel you cum around me, baby, gonna squeeze me so tight," he tells you, voice deep and scratchy with lust. “God, it feels like you’re getting even wetter, how is that possible? Fuck… come on, baby, soak my cock…”

“Jesus Christ, Ash,” you whine. Your heart feels like it’s about to beat straight out of your chest as you bounce on him with determination. You lean forward, hoping to kiss him when suddenly you’re there and it knocks your breath from you. You paw at him, fingers grasping at his chest, his necklace, his shoulders, anything to ground you as the strong waves of pleasure crash over you.

He clutches your ass, helping you ride out your orgasm, moaning with you; the feeling of your walls gripping and pulsing around his bare cock is almost too much for him to take and he sharply starts to ask, “Baby… where --”

“Inside,” you pant, exhausted but still moving.

He grits his teeth, cursing silently. “Are you sure?”

“I want to feel it, Ash,” you confirm breathlessly. “Cum inside me, baby, fill me up.”

Ashton can only manage to weakly groan your name in acknowledgement before his head falls back against the seat and you feel his cock twitch as he starts cumming; you whimper in time with his soft grunts as the warmth of his release fills you. With his eyes screwed shut, sweaty chest heaving and shuddered breaths pouring from his mouth, you don’t know if you’ve ever seen him look quite so vulnerable, beautiful even. You stroke his hair back and rush your lips to his, hurrying to occupy your tongue before it says something it’s not time for yet.

He slowly returns to himself, kissing you back, hands running down your body. He lets out a loud sigh as he pulls away to look into your eyes. “So that was…” He stops, once again surprisingly in search of what to say.

“For me too,” you reassure him with a sincere smile. He smiles back and plants another sweet kiss on you. You squeeze his arms as you reluctantly pull back to say, “Not to ruin the moment but I’m kind of afraid to move because I don’t want anything to drip on your seats.”

Realization crosses his features and you both exchange nervous laughs. “Oh shit, baby, I’m sorry…” He says understandingly as he reaches for his bag again, retrieving his t-shirt from this afternoon. “...Here, let me.”

He helps you lift off of him, each of you audibly reacting to the loss of connection; he uses one hand to steady you as you hold yourself above him, the other taking the edge of his shirt to gently wipe between your legs. You watch how careful he’s being with you, the concentration on his face and it somehow endears him to you even more. He softly taps your leg to let you know he’s finished and you tenderly peck his cheek before you start trying to navigate your journey back to your seat.

He watches your wheels turn while he cleans himself with the other end of the shirt and tucks himself back in his pants. “You can walk around this time,” he laughs, opening the door.

“Oh. Fair point,” you giggle, holding onto him as you climb out, legs feeling like jello from both the orgasm and the cramped space. “Holy shit, it feels good to stretch.”

“Surprised I didn’t hear you say that a few minutes ago,” he winks, following your lead and stepping outside. “Oh fuck, you’re right… why’d I buy such a tiny car?”

You laugh, sliding your arms around his neck, tucking your face into his chest. “No room to fool around is a fun and sexy challenge, no room to cuddle is just unacceptable,” you tease.

Ashton kisses the top of your head, squeezing his arms around your waist. The two of you sway together in the deserted parking lot, the late night air refreshing on your overheated skin. After a couple minutes of blissed out silence, he murmurs, ��But really, what did you think of the show tonight?”

You look up to see the playful grin decorating his face. You match his expression as you answer, “The show was good… but our encore was even better.”

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#5sos smut #ashton irwin smut #5 seconds of summer smut #ashton irwin fic #ashton smut #smut #kindahoping4forever #kh4f fic #encore #Thank you for reading and being so patient with me while my life is still very much up in the air rn #I'm trying so very hard to be here and produce content so I can still feel like myself #But it's a struggle so I'm honestly very proud of myself for finishing this lol #Thank you for the support and thank you to Ash for still being a monster behind the kit so that I have no choice but to act up like this #feedback and reblogs (with comments/tags if you feel so inclined) are appreciated now more than ever #love y'all #fr tho you guys Cass has so much shit happening & she's still giving me fire feedback & talking me out of google spirals almost everyday #we really should be thanking her for this content bc i legit may have just quit tumblr if it wasn't for her #friendship 🦦🦦

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