#i have ideas for the entire three minute song | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dallaji · 11 months

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Hope we make it to the Cloud.

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

SUMMARY: Amidst an identity crisis, you try to adequately prepare for your solo comeback. The lyrics have already been perfected, the song recorded and the visuals pinpointed. However, your creative team is not fully convinced by the choreography you came up with. They decide to send over one Bada Lee to help you finetune your jumbled ideas and bring harmony to your vision. You just have one specific request: the routine must include a trampoline.

WORD COUNT: 10k

CW: eventual smut, bada is 100% a giver and not a receiver in this jsyk (but i promise it makes sense in context), hinted voyeurism.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was meant to be pure smut but it became much longer than i intended ... oops for that . . . lets just roll with it!!1 also the choreo described is heavily inspired by tinashes bouncin.

- you don't care about those 7k words worth of boring build up? skip to this line: <After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”>

————— ୨୧ —————

The first thing you notice is how surprisingly gentle her voice is.

“I’m Bada, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Bada Lee stood tall in front of you, clad in an oversized jersey, cargo pants and a cap hugging her forehead in such a way her eyes were entirely obscured from your view. She promptly bowed after she spoke. Unsure where to look, you dropped your gaze and followed suit; vaguely aware of her seniority and bowing deeper.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” You tried to keep your own voice as neutral as possible, but agitation bubbled in your chest as you felt your manager’s prodding, eager eyes behind you. “Thanks for being here.”

Your team was much more excited about this collaboration than you were.

None of the aggravation you felt was Bada’s fault. It had been three weeks of your creative team dismissing every choreo draft you came up with: Three weeks of sleepless nights at the dance studio, tiring out yourself and your background dancers. Three weeks of browsing through videos sent in by other choreographers across the country, attempting to mix bits and pieces together but none of it ever feeling right. Three weeks filled with reminders of a deadline looming over your head. Three weeks of your team letting you know they had little confidence in this comeback. Your last attempt at showing them what you had come up with had ended up in a shouting match. Your manager, who you otherwise got along with just fine, bluntly stated that, perhaps, this concept simply wasn’t something you could pull off.

It had left you feeling betrayed. Your creative team had agreed it was time for you to approach a more mature concept, something that you felt was years overdue. But it seemed their definition of mature and yours were wildly different. You had worked hard on perfecting a set of songs to choose from, but you immediately butted heads with the rest of the team. You wanted to do the bouncy and playful R&B track. Your team wanted the EDM track. Eventually they relented, but now seemed hellbent on making it as difficult as possible for your vision to come to fruition. Putting together the visual board for the concept photos and the eventual music video was a similarly arduous process. You had to meet in the middle and sacrifice a lot of your initial ideas, but that procedure was almost pleasant compared to what you were dealing with in regards to the choreography.

Every idea you put forward was promptly shut down. Too complicated. Too boring. No TikTok challenge potential. Too sexy.

And maybe it was true. Your formations weren’t as clean as the ones thought up by a professional choreographer, but you weren’t really given a chance at all. It wasn’t like you were a bad dancer either. Far from it. You picked up choreos incredibly fast and had always played an active part in brainstorming past routines alongside your background dancers. You had more experience than most of your peers, yet you were treated as if you were still the same teenaged trainee from years ago.

“Is that really how you all feel?” You had whispered after your manager dropped that bombshell, searching for an answer in the facial expressions of your creative team. Most of them were not even willing to meet your eyes. “We just need to be realistic.” Your manager stated matter-of-factly. “That other song is still an opt—” “I am not changing the song.” You cut him off. Momentarily, your manager looked like a fish on dry land, gasping for air. “Sorry.” You added quickly, albeit a bit flustered. “Look,” He sighed, “We can do mature without shocking the nation. Let's keep it mild for now and maybe after two or three more singles, you can go all out.” “I haven’t been 18 in years, you know.” You retorted bitterly. Something inside you understood where he was coming from, but you had been obedient since your debut- how much longer should you wait? You didn’t want to sacrifice any more of your creativity, so many years into your career. You had even seen one of your own concepts go to a labelmate instead, your own team dubbing you too “youthful” to pull it off. “Okay, how about this,” He began with a frown, “Let us pick one of the choreographers’ drafts for you. You can finetune it with their guidance.”

Their pick had been Bada. You hadn’t even realized she sent in a draft: at one point you were so overwhelmed you just stopped checking your emails. You also hadn’t bothered to watch it before this meeting. You were genuinely too deep in your feelings about that whole ordeal for that. However, now that she was standing in the studio, tall height towering over you, you couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious.

You had seen Bada around.

After all, she had worked with many of your labelmates before. You had also watched a fair amount of her videos. She was one of the best in the business, and whenever you had downtime to practice freely you scrolled through her routines on Youtube to help stay in shape. As you were facing her, even with half her face hidden, you understood why everyone was so stricken with her. When she had walked into the room she oozed with authority, though not in an obnoxious way.

“Great!” Your manager clapped his hands, effectively breaking your train of thought. “Thank you so much for supporting us, Bada. Shall we jump right in?”

“Sure,” She nodded eagerly, hands wringing together as her body turned towards you. “I kind of wanted to see what you had in mind for this choreo.”

That surprised you, and you were certain your facial expression wasn’t hiding it. Your manager held his breath. “Oh! Well—” You chewed on your lip as you vaguely motioned the corner of the room, trying to find the words. “I wanted to use… I wanted to use a trampoline.”

Bada immediately turned her head to follow your gestures, her eyes landing on the mini trampoline set up in the studio. “A trampoline?” In the background, your manager heaved a sigh.

You purposely ignored him and nodded, slowly: “I can show you, if you want.” You had hoped that sounded more self-assured to her than it did to you.

Bada scratched her chin, still looking off to the trampoline, and then nodded along with you. “I’d love to see it.”

You felt the tension in your chest ebb away. There was no malice to her tone; she seemed genuinely curious.

Then, Bada turned her head towards your manager, her ponytail falling off her shoulder. “I hope I'm not imposing but, I would like this to be a collaborative effort between the two of us. I think it would take the pressure off if you…?” She trailed off with a kind smile, one impossible to say no to.

As if he got doused with cold water, your manager stood up with an urgency. “Privacy! I can give you two some privacy, no problem!” He fussed around, gathering his things. “Just let me know when we can sit in on the finished product.”

The both of you bowed to him as you bid your farewells, watching him leave the studio with a wave. Once the door shut behind him, you could feel yourself exhale in relief. You knew that if your manager was going to sit in on every practice, he would go out of his way to shut down all of your ideas. Without him around, you had more opportunity to champion your vision- at least, you hoped so.

You craned your neck, looking up at the ceiling, before letting your eyes fall shut with a sigh, almost forgetting there was another person in the room.

“They’ve been on your case, huh?”

Bada's soft but clear voice broke you out of your spell, and you turned your head to search for a glimpse of eye contact. Tough luck, as her hat was still in place casting a shadow down her face. There was, however, a knowing smirk playing across her features.

“You have no idea.” You muttered honestly. Bada laughed.

“I don’t want to make you dance a routine you don’t fully stand behind. I did mean it when I said I want this to be a collaborative effort.” Bada spoke carefully, but sincerely, her fingers once again intertwining. “I always wanted to work with you, so it’s an honor.” She added.

If you got a penny for every time you were caught off guard today, you could set some humble savings aside for an early retirement.

It is true that you’ve been sought after, but it wasn’t something you had ever internalized. Hearing it come from someone who herself was heavily sought after, made your face heat up.

“T- thank you. It’s an honor to work with you too.”

She bowed her head humbly, glancing over to the corner of the studio again where the trampoline sat, waiting. “Do you feel comfortable showing me what you have been working on?”

You nodded and rushed to the corner to set up your speaker, and then dragged the trampoline to the center of the room. You were oddly aware of your own presence, and almost felt the urge to make yourself smaller as you moved around. In the meantime, Bada was getting comfortable: she had dropped her things on a nearby table and left out a bottle of water. To her it must be a regular working day, but to you this felt scarier than getting up on stage.

Once you stood behind the trampoline, facing the wide stretched mirror filling up one side of the room, you stole a glance at the choreographer who was now crouched on the floor. She had pulled out a small camera and was setting it up on the edge of the table, making sure the lens was focused on your position. Long fingers fiddled with the buttons, and her tongue was prodding the hollow of her cheek. The angle allowed you to finally catch a glimpse of her eyes.

As if on cue, she glanced up at you. Your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror and your heart raced.

She gave you a soft smile and moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, the camera now fully set up. “I usually record everything, so we can watch it back and give feedback.”

Right, of course.

“Yeah, that’s usually how we operate as well.” You spoke timidly, and it was true. Yet something about having her attention on you felt more intimate. Usually there was at least one other person from your creative team looking on as well.

Trying to come across casual, you tied your hair up in a high ponytail. “What do you think of the song?” You asked curiously.

It was now Bada’s turn to be caught off guard. Her smile faltered and she broke the eye contact you had been sharing, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “I like it.” She began. “A lot, actually. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. There isn’t anyone doing a song like this nowadays.”

Even though her body language was confusing, you couldn’t find any dishonesty in her voice. What she said made you feel relieved, some of your insecurity fading to the background. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it.

You sent a smile her way even though you weren’t sure she was even looking at you.

Proving you wrong, she smiled back.

“Alright, so,” You gestured to the trampoline at your feet. “The idea is, the other dancers and I all do the same routine. I'll be front and center. Four or six other dancers dance behind me, with their own trampoline.” You gave the trampoline a light shove with your foot, making sure it would stay in place, and then grabbed your phone. “Then you have an idea.”

You looked over your shoulder at Bada and gave her an inquisitive thumbs up. “Ready?” You asked.

Bada pressed a button on the camera and mimicked your thumbs up with a smile. “Ready when you are.”

You faced the mirror again and shook your shoulders a bit, forcing your body to loosen up. After twisting your neck a few times, you hit play on your phone, quickly placing it under the trampoline as the familiar synths of the song started blaring from the speakers. You tried to feel the confidence you were usually able to conjure up on stage, closing your eyes and swaying your hips, ponytail moving from side to side.

As soon as you heard your own voice through the speakers, instrumentals going deeper, you got into position. Your eyes opened up to focus on your own reflection in the mirror as if it was a fan in the crowd watching. Mouthing along to the lyrics, a playful smile on your lips, you hit every move as you had envisioned. Once the chorus came up, you dropped to your knees on the trampoline, grappling the edge as you performed the routine. Pushing back against the springs gave you the velocity to keep your moves fluid, your body twisting and turning, flipping over and hitting the next move. You made sure to move your hips deftly, aware that you had enough curves to allow you to pull it off, and kept your facial expressions in line. It had to look effortless.

You felt your ponytail swing along with your movements as if it were an extension of you, and sat up on the trampoline. The chorus came to an end and you used your arm strength to twist yourself around fast enough, gracefully falling back on your chest whilst keeping your toes en pointe in your sneakers. The tips of your fingers were touching the floor as your legs crossed, moving to rest your elbow on the edge of the trampoline and resting your chin atop your palm. You lip synced to the final words of the chorus, gaze alluring as you finished the move, and the music stopped.

You slowly sat up straight on the trampoline, crossing your legs, and slid your hand underneath to hit pause on your phone. You looked towards Bada expectantly, but the question got stuck in your throat. She was staring at you, mouth slightly agape, with an unreadable expression. For a split second you were reminded of your trainee days, when you had just finished a routine and were met by your choreographers’ stern faces; they wouldn’t spare you a single compliment, and instead listed off every mistake you had made.

But then, Bada blinked once and then twice, as if in a daze, and let out a soft “woah”. She started applauding you, shaking her head in bafflement. You felt your shoulders drop in relief.

“That was incredible!” The choreographer took off her cap, fixing her bangs before putting it back on. “You came up with this?”

You nodded slowly, the tips of your ears glowing hot. “I used to be a gymnast.”

“I can tell—” Bada spoke bluntly, but then snapped her mouth shut as if she said something wrong. “I mean, that was really good. Every part of your body was in command. Your team didn’t like it?”

“They think it’s too much, compared to my usual routines.” You had the urge to go off on a tangent, but ultimately you didn’t know Bada well enough. Unfortunately, you were naturally quite expressive and the disapproving frown on your face was on clear display.

“Too much? I kind of wanted more, actually.” She laughed softly, looking down to where her legs were crossed. You felt your heart skip a beat and bowed your head in lieu of a thanks.

Subsequently, the bright green light of the camera caught your attention. It was still recording.

“Hey, I think the camera is still on.” You spoke before you realized, and hoped it didn’t sound accusatory.

“Huh? Oh!” Her expression was almost akin to a child being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, the way she swiped at the camera to turn it off. “Sorry. Good call.” She mumbled shyly, tucking it behind her.

You weren’t sure what to say next, still flustered at her lofty praises, but luckily Bada broke the momentary silence.

“I had an idea…” She began, her hand rubbing at her chin pensively. “I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to watch my draft yet?”

You shook your head abashedly. “No, sorry, I honestly didn’t get to it.”

“It’s fine.” Bada waved her hands dismissively. “Maybe instead of doing the trampoline routine in every chorus, we could only do it in the middle? Exactly as it is. I wouldn’t change anything. And then for the other two choruses, we could keep some key moves but keep it on the floor.”

You mulled it over for a second, glancing up at the ceiling contemplatively. Using the trampoline the whole way through was not an option, according to your team. They had felt you were toeing the line with ‘raunchy’ much too closely. Perhaps you could find middle ground this way, while still keeping the part of the routine you felt most proud of.

“Okay.” You agreed, nodding slowly. “We would need something special for the final chorus, then.”

“I had another idea for that, if you’re fine with it. Would you like to watch my draft with me?”

————— ୨୧ —————

Her draft was good. Really good, actually.

Bada and you were sitting on the floor next to each other, the taller girl holding her phone out in front of you as the draft played on the screen. You were sitting quite closely together, but not close enough to be touching, a conscious decision on your part. You were a bit too aware of her presence, something about her was heightening your senses in a variety of ways. It wasn’t even as if she was stern or unkind, she just had an aura that intimidated you. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

A blonde girl you didn’t recognize was dancing your parts. Six other dancers, one of them being Bada, were in formation behind her performing the choreography perfectly in sync as your song played in the background. While you should really be paying attention to the girl in the center, your eyes couldn’t leave Bada’s figure. In the video she was dressed in loose-fitting cargo pants, just like today, and a crop top. Once again she wore a cap covering half her face, and even a face mask, but her hair hung loose over her shoulders.

You were always impressed by the small movements she was able to squeeze in, emphasizing certain parts in ways the other dancers weren’t able to. However, it was the final chorus that had your hands turn clammy.

The final chorus was a duet formation. Bada, with a quiet confidence in her step, and the blonde girl moved towards each other in the center of the room. They were effectively dancing for each other, the blonde girl whipping her head back as Bada stared her down, swaying their hips together rhythmically. Their steps were coordinated in such a way they almost mirrored, Bada rolling her body one way and the blonde girl moving the other; but it still felt cohesive. It was an intimate choreo. There were a few split moments of hips grinding against crotches, but it never lasted long enough to be straight up inappropriate. Still, you couldn’t help but realize you would have to practice this routine with Bada as well, and you felt yourself getting hot under the collar.

The choreo ended with the blonde girl giving Bada a playful shove, and the taller girl backed away slowly, a saunter in her step, before moving off the screen along with the other background dancers. The video ended and Bada dropped her phone in her lap, not looking at you.

“That was good.” You were relieved your voice came out evenly, and Bada started nodding in her trademark way, hands clasped together. “The formations were really clean and— I loved the final chorus.” You blurted.

She smirked, head raising and meeting your eyes for the second time today. You were starting to feel eager, greedily watching.

“I’m glad to hear. We definitely need to finetune the first chorus, line it up with your routine and all that. I really don’t want to lose your input.”

“That sounds great, thank you.” You felt a surge of gratitude in your chest, and shot her a wide smile. “I’m looking forward to working on this together.”

Bada dropped her gaze again, worrying her lower lip. You felt miffed at the brusque interruption of your shared eye contact but didn't show it.

“I suggest we start with practices tomorrow, we will edit the first chorus as we go,” She whipped out her phone, looking at her calendar. “We should practice the duet together until you’ve got a handle on it, and then I can bring over some of my guys to prep for the actual performances. I know someone for my part. He’s worked with some of your labelmates before, I’m confident he’s right for the job.”

You couldn’t tell if you were anxious at the prospect of practicing such a choreo with Bada, or if you were disappointed that the eventual product wouldn’t be performed with her. It made sense, though. If your label was already worried your concept was too mature for the country, having two women perform such a choreography wouldn’t be received well at all.

“Great. Same time tomorrow, just the two of us again?”

“Same time tomorrow,” The third time she was willing to meet your eyes, and once again with a small smile playing across her features. “Just the two of us.”

————— ୨୧ —————

Working with Bada the past few days has been surprisingly easy.

On the first day, she brought some iced coffee for the both of you and presented it with an exaggeratedly deep bow, holding out the plastic takeout bag in front of her as if she was a lackey presenting you a treasure. You giggled, muttering an incredulous “thank you” as you took the bag from her hands. Through sips of coffee, the both of you fast forwarded through the recordings trying to piece the choreography together. You were able to bounce ideas off of her in a way you never felt comfortable enough doing with other choreographers. Bada was attentive, patient and, above all, eager.

On the second day, you wanted to repay your debt and entered the studio with a box of doughnuts. She let out a surprisingly girlish squeak when you laid the box on the table, and barreled over to grab one. That day she was wearing a beanie instead of a cap, something you inadvertently preferred as you could now lock eyes and take in her features. Sometimes you had the impression she was hellbent on looking anywhere except into your eyes, but you didn’t want to mull it over for too long; some people just had a different way of interacting. Everything else about her still left you with a warm feeling.

Sometimes you both took turns performing for each other. She would pull her beanie further down her head as she took the center of the studio, and each time something inside you would brace itself. You could only watch in awe: her movements were sharp and magnetic, her entire body language changing in the blink of an eye. While your attention should be on her footwork, you were instead hypnotized by the sway of her hips, greedily drinking her in. You chalked it up to her being such a captivating dancer.

However, little could explain how much you relished in her undivided attention. When it was your turn to copy the moves, you made sure to give it your all and put on a show. Without a hat obscuring her eyes, you could tell where her eyes were looking and it wasn’t always on your reflection in the mirror. You swore you could feel her gaze burning in your lower back, but you didn’t mind. It encouraged you to hit your moves a bit harder than you usually would.

“You’re a fast learner,” Bada said at the end of the day, drinking from her water bottle as you watched her throat bob. “Keep it up and you won’t need me anymore.”

You didn’t like the sound of that.

————— ୨୧ —————

By the fifth day, the both of you had started working through the details of the duet.

The familiar song sounded through the speakers, the room filled with the sound of your singing voice and the squeaking of your sneakers on the floor.

You were painfully aware of the way Bada closely danced behind you but you kept your eyes down, forcing yourself to keep track of your footwork. You bent over slightly at the start of the next line, your hips popping out and letting your hair whip to the side as you hummed along to the lyrics. In tandem, Bada moved her hips the opposite direction but gyrated closer to you, her hand coming up to tug her cap lower. You spared the mirror a glance for a split second, realizing Bada was much closer to you than you had realized, but you pushed the thought away.

You looked good together.

“Pause real quick.” She spoke suddenly, stepping away from you and bending over to stop the song. You immediately halted your movements at the command, trying to control the heaving of your chest and willing away the warmth of your cheeks.

She stood up again, meeting your eyes in the mirror before steadying herself behind you, body close to yours.

“You’re doing great, but,” A tentative hand slid to your hip, fingers curling over in a loose grip as she subtly urged it to move to one side. Both your eyes remained locked through the mirror. “I think we should move together in this part. Like this.” She repeated the motion, her grasp on your hip tightening ever so slightly before pulling you flush against her pelvis. Her hips rocked along with yours, and you could only follow.

She hummed close to your ear, and you felt her breathe along the side of your face. “Just like that.” Her voice was quiet, gentle even, though her stare was everything but that. It was intense.

In an attempt to sound casual you replied with an “okay”, but it came out softer than you had hoped for.

Her eyes dropped from the mirror, opting to look down at you directly, but you couldn’t find the confidence to return the favor. “You should do that thing again," she continued quietly, "Where you throw your hair back, but look at me when you do it.”

You repeated your steps, but this time both her hands came down to hold your hips in place. You turned your head as requested, your hair falling over your shoulder as your eyes finally met. Her gaze was intense but undecipherable; she hadn’t been looking at the mirror at all this time.

Bada was so close, unblinking and heady. The thought entered your mind before you fully realized: if you craned your neck you could kiss her. In a careful motion, you felt her hands slide up and down slowly, smoothing along the curve of your hips.

“Perfect.” She said, and it sounded so intimate you felt lightheaded. Usually she voiced her approval with an animated smile and a thumbs up, but she spoke to you as if she was scared you would set off running. “You got it. You want to try that again with music?”

You nodded slowly and her hands dropped from your hips, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. As she bent down to turn the song back on, you brought the back of your hand up to your cheek; checking if it was as warm as you felt. Then you ran your fingers through your ponytail, tightening the hair tie with a sharp tug in an attempt to snap yourself out of whatever daze you had fallen into.

It meant nothing. She had merely workshopped a move and there was no need to feel so nervous.

The final chorus of the song began thumping again and the both of you got into your starting positions. Bada’s presence was palpable behind you, but you tried to force your head back into performance-mode. You kept your moves sharp, lip synced as if the voice came directly from your own throat and smiled playfully at all the right lines.

As the instrumentals of the final chorus got louder, you twirled a finger around your ponytail, playing with the imaginary crowd in front of you. Bada pressed up against your back. Your hips moving in tandem just as the choreo required and you could no longer repress the urge to grind back against her. You saw Bada smirk in the mirror, her eyes obscured by her cap, but you could tell she was enjoying your blunt display of confidence. That made you laugh for real, putting an extra ‘oomph’ into the roll of your hips, dropping even lower, and feeling Bada take what you gave her with a great amount of enthusiasm. You heard the choreographer let out a "woo!" and you giggled.

At the very end of the choreo, you were meant to face Bada and push her away; making room for a final solo moment. So you turned around, meeting that familiar mischievous grin and your hand came up to curl into her collar. Bada sucked in her lower lip, greedily towering over you and looking down expectantly.

But something about the giddy atmosphere had you feeling bold, so you tugged her even closer instead. Her mouth fell open, but she followed you down nonetheless, eyes becoming half-lidded. You were mere inches removed from each other, and her breath fanned across your face. For a split second her gaze lingered on your lips, and you held your breath, heart fluttering in an unfamiliar feeling. A fleeting thought told you to bridge the gap, pull her impossibly closer by the grip you had on her collar, but your body acted before your brain could.��

You reached for her cap and tugged it off her head, putting it on yourself in one swift movement and then shoved her away as you were supposed to do; effectively breaking the spell. You turned on your heel to look back at your reflection in the mirror, consciously blocking Bada from your periphery and closed out the song. The music stopped.

Now that the studio was quiet you could hear the both of you catching your breaths, and rather than facing Bada while your face was still heating up, you flopped onto the floor, limbs spread out. You moved Bada’s cap atop your face, blocking out the bright lights of the practice room, feeling exceptionally winded.

You felt Bada sit down next to you and she promptly pulled her hat off your face.

“Ow,” You uttered lamely, arms coming up to cover your face instead. Surely the shame you felt was on wide display and you had to save the little bit of the reputation you had left. You could already hear her voice, albeit uncharacteristically, echo in your head: “What was that?” “Why didn’t you just stick to what I told you?” “That was highly unprofessional.” Your stomach churned.

But instead she said: “That was incredible.”

“Huh.” You exclaimed unintelligently. You tentatively moved your arms from your face and were met with Bada staring you down, her hat back in place. It would probably be too weird if you went back into hiding, so you dropped your arms uselessly.

“That was incredible,” she repeated, a fond smile on her lips. “You are incredible. I’m telling you, we’ve got a hit on our hands.” She extended her arms excitedly, as if she had to convey the sheer magnitude of potential you both had crafted.

“You really think so?” You sounded breathless, the warmth in your chest blossoming.

“I know so. Seriously? If your team doesn’t like this, they’re idiots.” Her bluntness kicked a laugh out of you, and you playfully whacked her knee. “No, I mean it!”

“It wasn’t too much?” Slowly you sat up, tugging at the front of your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your body from the sweat.

Bada tilted her head, blinking at you sympathetically as she weighed your words carefully.

“I’ve already told you,” her voice was quiet, as if she was worried someone else might overhear, “I can’t get enough of you. The same goes for the public, by the way.”

That made you want to kick your feet like a teenager, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fought the impulse to fall into her arms. Instead, you dropped your head with a timid smile hoping that did enough to show your gratitude.

Bada placed a hand on your shoulder with a touch so soft she might as well be reassembling a broken vase, urging you to look at her. “Let's take a break, order some bubble tea and then watch the recordings. Sound good?”

You leaned into the touch with exhilaration. “Yeah. My treat, though.”

————— ୨୧ —————

The tenth day coincided with a photoshoot in the morning. You had gotten up at 4am to get to the location early enough so that there was enough room for your stylists to get to work.

The first thing you noticed was the visual board you had worked on tirelessly a few weeks prior.

It had changed.

Some of the images jumbled around or left out entirely, replaced by ones you did not recognize or even liked to begin with. Even the color scheme had changed. Before you could ask your manager about it, however, your hair stylist beckoned you to follow her into the booth. Still groggy, with just a protein shake in your belly to keep you at bay, you followed without objection.

But then, after you emerged fully made up with your hair in intricate braids and ribbons, you saw the backdrop you were going to work with and the outfits you would be wearing: they looked nothing like what you had agreed on.

Once sown into the baby pink corset, you looked at your reflection in the mirror with a glassy expression, too exhausted to even express the anger that was simmering in your chest.

“What happened to the costume I commissioned?” You asked your manager in a flat voice, fully realizing you wouldn’t like whatever the answer would be.

“Oh,” But he didn’t sound surprised at all, “We didn’t really like how it turned out, so we decided to go with something else. Pink looks good on you, you know.” He added hurriedly.

You blinked, clenching and unclenching your jaw. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene in front of all the staff. Firstly, it wasn’t their fault; secondly, word got around quickly and the last thing you needed was a trending blind item about diva behavior. With great difficulty you swallowed the venom down your throat and walked over to the camera crew without sparing your manager a single glance. Bowing to everyone separately, you turned on the autopilot. You just needed to get through the day. You posed for the flashing of the cameras, turning your brain off.

“That’s a wrap! Great work, all.” The photographer’s voice snapped you out of your daze, and you slowly stumbled away from the backdrop, blinking back tears.

“Great job everyone, thank you for your hard work.” You hoped your voice sounded even and hurried away to get changed.

Once alone in your dressing room, you bent over the sink with your hands in your hair. You didn’t understand. They had seen the choreography Bada and you had worked on, and approved. They had been enthusiastic even, and it felt like your team and you had finally buried the hatchet. Now you understood why they were so pliant in their acceptance of the final choreo; they had found something else to exert their control over. You didn’t want to cry, so you grit your teeth and untied your hair, fingers smoothing out where the braids had been.

Bada.

In the bustle of the early morning you had almost forgotten you were meant to start your first practice with the entire dance crew today, with Bada as the lead choreographer ensuring everything played out exactly according to your collaborative vision. It had been almost two days since you had last seen her, yesterday being a day off for the both of you, and for some reason it felt like a lifetime.

You wanted to see her, but you weren’t sure if you could dance today.

You arrived at the studio about an hour later, right on time, with most of your makeup cleared from your face and dressed in joggers and a crop top. This time you were sporting a cap as well, hoping the dancers wouldn’t notice the fatigue etched on your face on your first day with them.

Everyone was already there. Some dancers stretching, others practicing and a few watching the recordings while in deep discussion with Bada. Her flannel shirt was bunched up at her elbows as she made grand gestures with her hands, explaining something to the dancers in front of her. As the sound of the door opening and closing filled the room, the tall girl perked up mid-sentence, shooting you a wide smile.

“Hey! I got you some coffee.” She spoke brightly, walking over to you in big strides as her loose braid fell off her shoulder. You had just finished bowing to everyone when you turned to Bada, feeling your chest swell at the sight of her. “How was the shoot?”

She must’ve noticed something. Perhaps it was the sag of your shoulder, the way you bit your lower lip or the exhaustion in your eyes; but her smile faltered slightly when she got a closer look.

“It went alright.” You spoke neutrally, unable to meet her eyes but adding a nod to come across as reassuring as possible. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Bada stood a bit helplessly but seemed to understand that prying any further would be futile. “Of course, it was my turn, after all.” She smiled carefully. “You wanna get started?”

“Let’s do that.” You agreed, hoping that dancing would get your mind off of things.

Bada gathered everyone together and gave a small speech, making a conscious effort to do all the talking so you could comfortably hide the swelling insecurity you felt deep in your chest. You nodded at the right times, smiled at the dancers (some of them peeking at you in awe) and tried to come across relaxed.

Once Bada finished talking, she called for everyone to get in position as she strode to the far end of the room, where she had the most optimal view. You moved to the front, right next to your trampoline, facing the mirror and vaguely took note of a tall guy with a buzzcut who now stood in the spot Bada did when you had been practicing with her. Something about her not being part of the dance anymore, even though you perfectly knew this was going to be the plan all along, made you feel even less secure.

You shook your limbs loose, trying to empty your head for the sake of the dancers who were all blind to your inner turmoil and instead incredibly excited to be here. You did not want to waste their time. Once again, you forced yourself into auto pilot.

The song started playing, bubbling synths building up to your first lines, and you danced. You danced as you had practiced with Bada, but weren’t able to envision the crowd in front of you. Instead you relied on muscle memory, which worked out well enough. Even when the tall guy was behind you for the duet, hips grazing yours, you didn’t feel very aware of your surroundings at all. Sometimes you all had to stop midway when Bada noticed that someone was offbeat or out of position, but you slid back into the moves easily. The team was strong, too. You danced the choreo once, twice, thrice and a fourth time. When you grabbed the guy’s collar, you pushed him back immediately, unlike what you had practiced with Bada, and finished your move.

Bada clapped her hands together with a cheer.

“That was solid, everyone!” She strode over, giving everyone a thumbs up. “Some things we have to smooth over, but we are way ahead on schedule. Let’s take five. I— Are you okay?”

You barely realized your own actions until you felt the warm tears run down your cheeks. You had sat down on the trampoline in such an unceremonious way, body shaking from exertion as you tried to hold back hiccups. Panic began crawling up your body and into your throat. Suddenly aware of the dancers seeing you in such a state, you took your cap off and held it in front of your face.

“Actually, since we are ahead on schedule, let’s make this a short day.” Bada’s authoritative voice declared to the entire room. The dancers nodded along nervously, glancing at your hunched figure with palpable worry. “Great work everyone, make sure to get home safe. Same time tomorrow.”

You croaked out a soft “Thank you, everyone” through your fingers, but your voice was barely audible. You couldn’t face them.

Footsteps rushed around the room, the dancers gathering their backpacks off the floor. You barely registered the hushed voices slowly echoing further and further away from you, until the door shut with finality; a lock sounding in place and silence reigning over the space.

Bada’s hands came to rest on your shoulders as you felt the trampoline sink with her added weight. Then she pulled you into her arms with a tenderness you had never experienced from anyone before. Your arms tightened around her frame in instinct, dropping your cap onto the floor, and your heart constricting painfully as you hid your face in her chest.

She didn’t speak as you hiccupped soundlessly, letting the exhaustion pour out of you with quivering shoulders. Bada’s hands traced comforting lines along your back, her cheek pressed against the top of your head as she waited for the trembling of your body to subdue. In turn, you tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing lulling you.

After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”

You glanced up at her, tears still running down your cheeks as you choked back a particularly pathetic sob. “I’m sorry…”

Bada let out an affronted gasp, bringing her hands up to cradle your face instead and letting her thumbs wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Please don’t apologize. Tell me what happened.”

“My team,” You began with a slurred speech, “They still don’t believe in me. They don’t think I can pull this off.”

Your voice sounded heartbroken: “They make sure to remind me every chance they get. My manager is certain I am going to embarrass the nation, because there is only one thing I can do and it’s not this. I can’t be sexy. I don’t have good ideas. And maybe they’re right! I don’t have the charisma to pull this off. My fans are going to hate it, because it’s not the person they wanted to support—” There was nothing you could do except keep going, like a faucet running, and Bada let you, “—I can’t even wear what I want. My visual board was cybercore inspired. I had a red PVC two piece outfit custom-made, but they put me in a pink dress and ballet shoes.” You added, horrified; not at the clothes, but at the clear disconnect between your team and you.

Bada, who was nodding along to your words with a serious expression up until that point, chuckled at your words, thumbs still catching tears. “Well I always thought you looked like a pretty princess, but that’s indeed a bit on the nose.”

The follow-up to your rant died in your throat, eyes widening at her words. Your brain was short circuiting. “You think I’m pretty?”

The taller girl scoffed at that, brows furrowing. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“Why?” You asked, genuinely.

For a moment she gawked at you, deep in thought and searching your face for insincerity. Bada was unable to find it.

“It’s not the only thing I think of you.”

Something about the atmosphere in the room changed when she spoke, and you almost forgot why you were upset in the first place. She carefully tucked your hair behind your ears, her eyes staring into yours unblinkingly. It reminded you of the way she had looked at you during practice days prior, when you had pulled her close by her collar for the first time. Her attention on you was suffocating, but you were glad to be drowning.

You sucked in your lower lip for a split second, releasing it, and waited with bated breath for her to continue. Her eyes dropped immediately, following your movements. She slid one hand down to the crook of your neck, slowly, the tips of her fingers tracing along your skin and leaving shivers in their wake; her other hand curled under your chin with a loose grip, tilting your head back slightly. Your head felt so heavy you could only lean in closer, wanting more of something you couldn’t even put in words.

But as always with Bada, she seemed to know what you wanted before you could open your mouth and ask for it. She closed the distance, brushing her lips against yours in a soft peck, and it was when you realized she was also holding her breath.

Her thumb trailed along your jawline, breath fanning over your lips. “Is this okay?” She asked quietly. You placed your hands on her thighs to brace yourself, your own lightheadedness overwhelming you, and nodded.

There was a shadow of a smirk on her lips when she kissed you a second time; lips connected with more force this time before gliding together in tandem. She tilted your head to get impossibly closer to you, her hand moving from your chin to tangle her fingers into your hair and cradling the back of your head. When her lips parted and closed around your bottom lip, nipping eagerly, you inadvertently let out a soft noise at the warmth of it all which only seemed to spur her on further.

You curled your hands into the front of her shirt as her back straightened, crowding around you as if her goal was to subdue, the trampoline creaking underneath your shared weight. She seemed to relish in overpowering you, inhaling sharply through her nose when you parted your mouth for her further.

You felt the tentative prod of her tongue, and accepted. The wetness made you shiver as she swallowed your quiet gasps. The hand that was previously nestled against your neck slid lower, began exploring along the curve of your waist and feeling the bare skin your crop top couldn’t reach to hide.

She parted the kiss, and you let out a soft whine. Biting her lip in an attempt to hide her smile, but ultimately failing, her eyes were drinking you in. You could only imagine what you looked like as even Bada was flushed all over, chest heaving from excitement. Then, as if she was reading your mind, her eyes glanced over to the mirror in front of you.

Bada shifted her position behind you, running her fingers through your hair before ultimately placing her palm against the other side of your waist. Steadily, as if she were correcting a move during practice, she turned your body to face the mirror. At this rate you simply accepted the effect she had on you, and wordlessly obeyed her ministrations. She planted her feet on the floor, long legs on either side of you; and ultimately caged you in, nestling her chin into the crook of your neck. Her eyes never left the mirror.

She brushed some of your hair over your shoulder as if she were propping up a doll, and spoke in a hushed voice: “Look at yourself.”

The sight made you feel all the more dizzy. Through half-lidded eyes you barely recognized your own reflection; hair slightly mussed and lips swollen and lovebitten. Someone did that to you. Bada did that to you.

The taller girl, pressed up against you, placed a kiss on your shoulder, fingers running up and down your body and making the hairs on your arms stand straight in exhilaration. You loved the way she touched you, how it made you feel; as if she was tracing the lines on an art piece. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered against your shoulder, “people would kill to see you like this.”

The honesty in her voice made something in your stomach roll. “Bada…” You began, but you didn’t even know what you wanted to say.

“You have no idea how other people look at you.” Her hands cradled the small of your waist, fingertips digging into your hips. “So let me show you how they look at you.”

She began kissing up your shoulder, soft and warm presses of her lips, before parting her mouth against your neck with a tangible hunger that left you sighing. You tilted your head to the side to give her more room and every inch you freed, she swarmed eagerly. Her tongue swirled against a patch of skin, hand flattening on your lower stomach as the other traced higher and higher, along your ribcage, before inquisitive fingertips moved under the hem of your top. As she sucked a mark onto your skin, you clenched your thighs together at the familiar sensation between your legs. Your eyes slowly fell shut as she crept up higher, lips pressing right below your earlobe with a barely-there hum.

She whispered: “Keep looking at yourself.”

You obeyed bashfully, right when Bada reattached her lips to your skin. She had been tracing lines along the hem of your sports bra, enthralled with the way you shivered in her grasp, before slipping a hand under; her hand was warm as she kneaded your breast, but your nipples stiffened at the sensation all the same. You pushed out your chest to convey your delectation, and she rewarded you by sinking her teeth into your skin. Suddenly, with a swift movement, both her hands hoisted up the hem of your top and bra, and pulled it upwards, your breasts releasing from its confines. The cold air made them perk up and Bada’s hands cupped the underside.

She detached her lips from your skin with a wet sound before looking up at the mirror, taking you in with her saliva-slicked mouth agape.

“So pretty,” Bada muttered, bringing your breasts a little higher, “Are you sensitive here?” She wondered loudly before tracing her thumbs right below your nipples. Once again your legs squeezed together, feeling yourself throb from excitement, and Bada picked up on the hint with a wide smile. “You are.”

In your reflection you saw Bada bring her fingers up to your mouth, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip imploringly, and you opened your mouth. She slipped her digit past, pushing it back against your tongue and you sucked obediently. Her eyes were drilling into yours through your reflection, enthralled by how pliant you were under her care.

You released the digit with a wet ‘pop’ and Bada promptly brought it to your nipple, rubbing it in circular motions as her other hand continued to knead your other breast. A quiet moan escaped you, chest rising into her touch and Bada giggled, pressing another kiss on your shoulder. Your own hands ached to touch her, but she kept you firmly locked between her legs; instead you squeezed her upper thighs, feeling her shapes through the baggy cargo she was sporting.

“Give me a kiss.” She commanded, and you immediately twisted your neck to capture her lips.

It was all teeth, wet noises echoing through the room as your tongue swirled against hers; the taller girl groaning into your mouth at the sheer force you exerted. She gave your nipples a pinch before rubbing her fingers over them repeatedly, and she swallowed your breathless moans greedily. You dug your nails into her thighs as she cupped your breasts again, her tongue slipping out of your mouth to trail along your bottom lip instead. Your head was chanting her name, getting drunk on the near delirious attention she gave you. Tilting your head back even further, you connected your lips again even though the angle was uncomfortable. You were starting to feel desperate, hips lightly rocking back against the firmness of her body as Bada sucked down on your tongue.

One of her hands released your breast and trailed down the expanse of your stomach, once again breaking the kiss and instead opt to look at you in the mirror. Her fingers found the knot of your joggers as your eyes met in the reflection, and she pulled on the string; untying it.

“Okay?” Bada inquired meaningfully, and you nodded much faster than you intended. “Let me hear you say it.” The tone of her voice, which was otherwise so gentle and quiet, made your full body shiver.

“I want it.” You spoke breathlessly, squirming impatiently between her legs as her fingers finally slipped down your pants.

She trailed along the sweatband of your underpants before cupping your heat over the fabric, fingers pressing against your folds inquisitively. Her eyes never left yours, quietly measuring your reactions. Unwittingly your thighs clamped around her wrist, breath hitching in your throat as she began to caress you with a touch so gentle it didn’t fit the precarious position you both were in.

“You’re so wet.” Bada spoke coyly, smirking at the way your eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. She began rubbing circles over your covered folds, feeling your wetness spread as if on command. Your breathing turned into whining, subconsciously grinding back against her hand.

She removed her hand much to your distress, until you realized what she wanted: Bada began tugging the fabric of both your joggers and underpants down as far as she could, before giving your hip a commanding pat. You raised your hips to assist her ministrations, and she pulled the clothing down past your knees before you kicked them off fully.

Your thighs were pressed together when you got back in place and suddenly felt self-conscious at how exposed you were despite your own eagerness. Bada wasn’t having it: her eyes were taking in your figure, hands immediately coming down to smooth along your thighs. Then, she squeezed tightly and wrenched your thighs wide apart, making you expose yourself for her. Before you could instinctively close them, her long legs hooked over your ankles, forcefully keeping them in place. All of it only made you throb harder.

“You don’t want to know how often I’ve been thinking about this these past few days.” Her hands smoothing along your sides in marvel, cupping your breasts once more. The tip of her nose pressed against the shell of your ear. “How many times I’ve watched those recordings and imagined you, exactly like this.” Her fingers fit into your mouth once again, and you sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl along the digits as if you were starving for it. “I think I lost count.”

Her confession made you moan around her fingers, shivers running down your spine. She scooted back ever so slightly, pulling your hips back with her unoccupied hand until it was the angle she needed, and then dropped it between your legs. Her fingers spread your folds and she sucked in a breath, completely mesmerized by your reflection. You were still swallowing around her fingers and she hummed encouragingly, hand cupping your vagina and spreading your wetness across your heat.

She removed her fingers from your mouth and you caught your breath, fingers digging into her upper thighs as you braced yourself. As one hand kept your folds spread, the other, spit-slicked, began rubbing slow circles against you. You gasped at the sensation, mumbling her name in amazement. You raised your hand to the back of her head; grabbing a hold of her braid to simply have a hold of something, but it earned you a particularly sweet noise from the girl behind you. Your hips rocked back against her movements trying to find more friction in the right place, and Bada slowly sped up, moving her wrist up and down to try and find the spot that did it for you. Her lips pressed against the back of your neck so tenderly, and something about the dichotomy between that and the way she was touching you between your legs made your eyes roll back; lids closing as you thrusted back against her hand.

You didn’t understand how she was able to build up to that familiar knot in your stomach so soon, and it almost made you feel embarrassed, until you realized Bada was savoring every second of it. Her eyes never left your form, as if she were studying just another choreography, lips parted in an awestruck way. You had long foregone the urge to keep quiet, vocalizing exactly what she was doing to you: You let a particularly loud moan leave you when she rubbed along your most sensitive spot. Trying to pull more sounds from you, she pressed against your clit with more force and rubbed faster. Your hips could only chase her touch as your lower stomach constricted.

Bada brought her hand up to her own lips and lapped at her fingers, effectively pausing her motions for a split second and thus drawing a broken whine from you; both because her hand wasn’t where you needed it to be and also because she had no qualms about having you in her mouth. It didn’t last long: she hushed you soothingly as she put her hand back where you felt it belonged and used the added wetness to add faster friction against your clit. Your head rolled back and you tugged at her braid, pulling an attractive groan from the girl behind you.

You weren’t far away anymore. Your lower stomach was unbearably tight with desire and you were a gyrating, frantic mess against her hand while her fingers rubbed against you in vertical swipes, her name falling from your lips repeatedly as if you were reciting a prayer.

You managed to utter an “I’m close”, and Bada crowded against you before you could start begging her for release. “Come for me.” She demanded, and then immediately captured your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth clashing together while she drank your sweet moans.

As if on cue, the tension in your stomach imploded and you gave her braid a sharp pull. You gasped into her mouth, no longer kissing each other but rather breathing each other's air, as your orgasm rippled through you.

You felt your whole body quiver and shake in pleasure as Bada led you through your release, thighs trembling despite the hold the choreographer’s legs had on you. Her fingers hadn’t left your core, but the rubbing slowed down until you were gasping at the overstimulation, yet unwilling to make her hands leave you. As if she read your mind her movements came to a halt, but she pressed her palm against you; almost possessively. She planted kisses along the side of your throat, whispering praises against your skin as you caught your breath.

Once you had the rise and fall of your chest under control, her arms curled around your waist in a fond embrace, and you turned your head to look directly at her. She had already been staring at you, meeting your eyes with a bashful smile. The two of you laughed at each other, and Bada pressed your foreheads together.

“That,” You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you relished in her open affection: “Was amazing, thank you.”

“Was happy to do it.” She responded playfully, rubbing the tip of your noses together affectionately.

“Will this happen every time I get self-deprecating?”

“I definitely intend to do this more often, but you could also just ask nicely.” Bada retorted with a smirk before pecking your lips. You giggled, putting your hands over hers and leaning back into the embrace.

After several more shared kisses and hushed whispers, both of you decided to get a move on: you were starting to get cold in your exposed state so Bada urged you to get up. She helped you step back in your clothes, a smug self-satisfied grin never leaving her face when she noticed the unsteady wobble in your legs.

When you pulled your bra and top back over your breasts, Bada pouted. You gave her a playful shove but she caught your arms instead, bringing them around her neck as her own enveloped your waist.

“Wanna grab dinner?” Her eyes were round and hopeful.

“I would love that.” You replied, and gave her a kiss.

As the both of you tidied up the practice room and gathered your things, Bada listing off food suggestions in the background, your eyes slid to the table at the front of the room.

A familiar device remained perched on the edge, a small green light lighting up proudly.

“Hey, Bada.”

“Hm?”

“Camera’s still recording.”

She stumbled over looking mortified, snatching the device off the table and rewinding haphazardly.

“Oh, fuck.”

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #bada lee smut #street woman fighter 2 #dalla!writes #im sorry in advance bhahaha #idk what i did

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sailoryooons · 8 months

Text

Bust | KTH | (m)

☾ Pairing: Heistman!Taehyung x f. Reader

☾ Summary: Seeing a beautiful man in the middle of a bank robbery is unusual. Seeing him again afterward is even more unlikely… and yet not unlucky.

☾ Word Count: 2,211

☾ Genre: Criminal, Smut, PWP

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Bank robbery, light depiction of fear/anxiety, mentions of poor financial situations and money-related stress, recreational drinking, ‘good girl’ petname, explicit language, sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), biting, spanking, implied body worship kind of, a hint of overstim, bodily fluids and cum-eating.

☾ Published: Monday, January 15, 2024

☾ A/N: This is an idea I randomly spoke about forever ago in a TikTok DM with @gimmethatagustd and this is strictly written to ruin their entire life tonight. I hope it works idk osifodigjoijg.

☾ A/N 2: Tonight is number four for my 100 Drabble Challenge and I rolled number 24 for criminals! I hope you enjoy my depraved thoughts of Taehyung in that GOD DAMN SQUID GAME OUTFIT AT PTD. MY MASK KINK DOESN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE BUT BE FUCKING SURE IT WILL ONE DAY. HE MADE ME INSANE.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration ☾

Sweat beads down your back, the trickle of it slower than the clock ticking above your head. Time seems to slow as you sit on a carpet that hasn’t been steam cleaned since the 80s and push yourself against the wall, eyes glued to the open vault.

It had happened so fast and yet now, it’s like it can’t be over fast enough. Each second that ticks by feels like it takes a year. You cannot hear the chatter of the men inside the vault, but their harsh whispers raise goosebumps on your skin.

At least they haven’t noticed you. Not that you would do much, anyway. You have no intention of going over to push the alarm by the door, too afraid to alert the armed man who stands just outside the vault room on the other side, and far too underpaid to risk your life for a financial institution.

For a moment, you wish it were you robbing the damned bank. Maybe you could pay off the student loans on your degree you’re not using and run the heating in your apartment during the winter instead of bundling up in several layers.

Your momentary lapse of delusion passes as the men rush out of the vault, duffles in hand. They’re all dressed in red, black masks covering their faces with shapes on them. You’re vaguely aware that the costume belongs to some sort of show you saw online, but you can’t place them.

Perhaps you’ll watch it now.

“Hurry up,” one of the men barks toward the vault. There had been three inside, but only two came out. “Grab the last and let’s go. Two minutes left.”

They’re gone in an instant. Your eyes dart back to the vault where you can hear the last person inside. Glancing at the clock, you watch the seconds tick by.

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Thirty. A minute.

A man dressed in a red suit, hood pulled over his head comes out of the vault. As he slugs it shut with one arm, the bag on his shoulder droops, spilling the contents inside out onto the floor. Bands of cash fall out, thudding around his feet. He swears loudly and bends over, back slipping more to drop cash on the ground.

In his frustration, he crouches and tips the mask up a fraction, shielding his face from the camera above but not from you, huddled on the floor a few feet away.

Your heart skips. The thief is beautiful. Dark eyes focused on his task, a wide nose that fits perfectly on a symmetrical face with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a pursed mouth. There’s a flush in his face from the heat, the tip of his nose an endearing shade of rose.

As if sensing your gaze, his head snaps up. You cower against the wall, realizing now that you’ve seen his face, you’ve doomed yourself. He stalls completely, gloved hand hovering over the cash, eyes boring into you. He arches a brow as if to ask you a question and you respond by shaking your head.

The thief gives you a cocky grin, nodding before he finishes picking up the money and tossing it into the bag. He looks at you again, a smirk on full display before he winks and pulls the mask back down. “Good girl,” he purrs. “I like that.”

Despite the situation, your stomach flips. He stands and rushes out, lingering by the door for a second longer to stare at you through the black mask. You can’t see his face, but you know you’ll never forget it, pretty as an angel, dangerous as a devil.

When the group is gone, you wait in silence, only the pumping of your heart to keep you company. When the cops come and ply you with questions all you can do is shake your head repeatedly.

I was too scared. I can’t remember.

It is the same thing you tell investigators for nearly two months. Just when you think they won’t keep asking what the man looked like, they finally drop it, handing over the robbery details to the FBI. They were at least a little less callous, caring a little less about how many questions you answered.

If you had to guess, your unimpressive financial situation even after the robbery was significant enough that you weren’t involved with the robbery.

It’s hard not to wish you had been. The straw in your mouth belongs to a drink that is far too expensive for you to not wince and it barely tastes like anything. At this rate, you know you won’t get a buzz. You’d love alcohol to take the edge off of the loud club music or loosen you up a bit, but you’re resigned to being sober for the rest of your friend's birthday.

Around you is a gaggle of men and women, both people you know and new faces trying to pick up your friends. Anyone trying to hit on you has already decided you’re far too grumpy to waste time on, most of their backs facing you as people shout over the music about working in finance.

You wonder if they also rob banks in their spare time. It makes you grin, thinking fondly about the thief once again. You do that a lot.

Sipping the drink, you glance at your phone. It’s been an hour since you arrived, but you’re wondering if enough time has reasonably passed to excuse yourself. Tomorrow is one of your few days off and you intend to spend it lounging on the couch watching TV instead of nursing a headache.

Someone slides into the space at the bar next to you. You don’t glance up at them, spinning your skinny cocktail straw absently as you stare at the melted ice of your Long Island iced tea. You hoped that once it melted it would turn into a second drink, but it hasn’t. Cold, bitter water it is, then.

“Why the long face?” You frown at the vaguely familiar voice and glance up, freezing.

Mr. Bank Robber looks down at you, cocking his head to the side with a wolfish grin. Your mouth pops open in surprise, leaning back a little as you drink him in. This close, he is far more beautiful than you remember, the edges and shadows of his face like a carefully painted fresco. Michelangelo could hardly be talented enough to capture this.

“You,” you whisper, his grin spreading further.

“Have we met?” he leans on the bar, dressed in all black. You eye the three-piece suit and the glinting diamonds in the cuff links. His clothes are far finer than anything anyone else is wearing and when you breathe in sharply, you smell a hint of woody cologne. His dark hair is slicked back and you catch the dainty hoop earrings in his lobes. You like the juxtaposition.

“You know we have.” He tongues the inside of his cheek, turning his head to order with the bartender. His eyes stray to you, raising a brow. You supply him with your answer, “A long island.”

The bartender nods, momentarily stupefied by the heistman’s beauty before walking over to the POS, tapping the screen with the speed and aggression unique to bartenders.

“Kind of a shitty club,” he mentions, looking around over the top of your head. Sweat clings to your lower back, your mouth growing dry as you watch colors splash on his face. “Your face is too pretty for a place like this.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” The bartender puts the drinks on the counter and the man gives him cash, signaling to keep the change. The bartender raises a brow but says nothing, taking the money as he goes. “What’s your name?”

“You probably already know it.” He cocks his head to the side. “I’m sure you looked me up to see if I was a threat or watched me to see what I’d do.”

“You watch too many heist movies.”

“Maybe I watch just enough.”

He laughs at that and your lips twitch. It’s rich, making his face intimidating as he gives you a wide smile and shakes his head. “Alright, maybe you’re right.”

“Can I know your name?”

“For the right price.”

“My silence was a pretty petty, no?”

He bites his bottom lip, eyes dipping down and back up. You sip your drink, feeling a flush of warmth unfurl in your body, most notably between your legs. “I like you.”

“You have to like me. I know your secret.”

Leaning forward, he ducks down so that he’s murmuring into your ear, hot breath ghosting your skin and making you tremble. “Want to hear more?” Your eyelids flutter as he waits, skin buzzing at his sudden proximity. You nod, feeling lightheaded. “My name is Taehyung. Want to get out of here?”

“Fuck,” Taehyung growls, hands skimming your bare sides. You can’t keep still under his gaze, hips squirming and fingers twisting in the sheets. His mouth is swollen and covered in your spit, his eyes blown as a large hand scrapes down to your thigh where he gives you a good slap. “I knew you were a good girl.”

A moan trips out of your mouth. Your thigh stings where he slapped you but he soothes it with the easy back-and-forth motion of his hand, his fingers digging into your flesh. Taehyung is a man starved, having littered your body with harsh kisses and bites, nearly breaking the skin.

You don’t care. You’re feverish for him, room spinning as you sprawl on his soft sheets in a hotel room that is far nicer than anything you’ve ever been in. You burn up like a star, core raging as Taehyung leans back down, pressing your naked thighs open for him as he sucks the skin of your chest between his teeth.

Everything aches. You want him so bad that you feel a cry come out of your mouth, lips wobbling as he laughs against your skin, sinking lower and lower, mouth loud as he sucks at your skin, tongue brushing over the sting of his teeth.

“Does my good girl need her pussy eaten?” Taehyung rasps, looking up at you where he kneels between your legs. “Is that why you’re crying, hmm?”

Taehyung looks like something out of a thriller. His eyes are dark and hungry, his shadowed face becoming some sort of demon of lust. He’s what you would imagine a dark god. A bacchanal devil, a creature made for sin.

All you can do is nod in response, feeling Taehyung’s vicious grip on your thighs as he presses you further, your muscles stretching. The strain feels good, as does the slow drip of your cunt down the curve of your ass mixed with his breath.

“So messy,” he murmurs, leaning forward and blowing cool air on your sticky folds. You squirm, the sensation sending you into overdrive as you twist your head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. He’s barely done a thing and you’re worked up more than you can ever recall. “Pretty.”

The slow, soft press of Taehyung’s tongue through your pussy makes you sag. It’s the relief that you so desperately needed, eyes rolling back as he circles your clit and drags his tongue back down. Taehyung is slow as he eats you out, tongue savoring every drop you can give him.

He taps your thigh, drawing your attention to him. He smirks as his tongue dips into your entrance, dragging back up to swirl around your throbbing bud a few times.

It’s impossible to tear your eyes away once you’re watching. Taehyung keeps his razor-sharp gaze on you, bringing his mouth fully to your cunt as he sucks eagerly. There is a rhythm to the curl of his tongue and the sharp suck of his lips, the wet smack of his ministrations driving you crazy.

“Mmm,” he hums, pressing his face in further. He’s messy with it, his jaw and nose covered in shiny slick. He laughs throatily when your back comes off the bed, thighs shaking. “Such a good pussy, just like I knew it would be.”

It feels too hot in the room. Your breaths are coming in too fast and there’s nothing you can do to catch it, Taehyung working you up to a frenzied, frenetic orgasm. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, pumping so hard that you think you might need to stop.

And then you break.

Your body seizes as you come, a scream ripping through your mouth as Taehyung slurps hungrily at your mess, spurred by your release. You can’t stop shaking as he dives in, unwilling to stop until you’re babbling, nearly lifeless as the orgasm teeters into overstimulation.

Only then does Taehyung pull his mouth away, trailing wet, cum-spit kisses on your inner thigh, nipping your thigh here and there.

“Think you can take more?” he asks, slurring his words against your thigh. “Think you can take my cock.”

You nod eagerly, hand letting go of the sheets and reaching toward him. “Yes.”

“Mmm good. I’m about to bust.” He bites your knee. “And I don’t mean a bank, this time.”

#taehyung smut #kim taehyung smut #bts smut #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfic #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #v smut #bts v

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charmercharm3r · 1 year

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okay but after reading that 9th member boxing, i need to hear more instances where the boys see her practically naked. like idk at the the gym(again), practice, around the dorm, etc. like maybe she’s getting more comfortable with showing skin but only around the boys so it still catches them off guard cause of how new it still is to all of them

a lil blurb cus I thought this was cute

Masterlist

prev: one, next: three

☆ﾟ

You were just so tired, dehydrated, and felt sticky from sweating for the past god knows how many hours at dance practice. It was just you in the practice room for a while until Hyunjin convinced you that it was time to head home. He was surprised you were even still at the company, considering it was supposed to be a rest day for the group.

The two of you headed home together, him having to almost hold you up most of the way because it felt like your limbs were going to give out any second. “You can have the shower first, you’re kinda stinky,” he teased as he led you through the threshold.

“Gee, thanks! You’re so kind.” Hyunjin smirked at the sarcasm, nudging your shoulder before departing to his room.

Living in the dorm with him, Chan, Changbin, and Jisung was usually rather quiet when 3racha were gone. Hyunjin enjoyed his alone time, as did Jisung when he was home, though when everyone was back at the same time, there was no such thing as peace or personal space.

The only thing you were glad for was finally having your own room, how the company managed to find a 5 bedroom apartment, you had no idea, but you weren’t complaining in the slightest. Room not too small, just enough space for a bed, desk, and closet, you were comfortable.

Tossing your bag down and grabbing a clean towel, you headed to the bathroom before the rest of the members could come home.

There was a new bottle in the shower, brown and expensive looking. “Jinnie, did you get a new hair product?” You called out, picking it up to inspect.

“Yeah, I heard it was really good. Try a little if you want,” he yelled back from his room. Calling back a, "sure, thanks," you shut the door and started your shower.

There was so much on your find, you don't know how long you spent under the water. It took some time before you even undressed, looking at yourself in the mirror and examining what body part you thought might stand out for the public to talk about for the next come back. There was always something wrong, nothing you did ever felt good enough.

Sometimes your thighs were too big, sometimes your arms weren't toned enough. Oh no, you're wearing a crop top? Someone cover her up, she's seeking validation! God forbid you wear anything other than long sleeves because elbows are just too sexy. As if she doesn't get enough spotlight already being in an all male group, gotta have a part in the song a second longer than the rest because you have to be the center of attention!

Another few minutes to let the water soak down to your bones, you took your time shampooing, soaping, everything in between and taking mental notes of things you needed to improve upon. One wrong step and it's over, not just for you, but your entire group, as well. If you were to be the reason they got dragged down-

No, that's the shower thoughts talking. Probably time to get out, anyways. Changbin will have a fit if he doesn't get some warm water for himself.

So consumed in your own head, you weren't thinking when you threw on just your bra and underwear and opened the bathroom door. Dirty clothes in one hand, rubbing the towel into your hair, the trek to your bedroom through the house felt so long up until you got through the door.

The dorm was quiet, the others must still be out. Hyunjin won't show his face until dinner time, if you were fast you could grab a snack from the kitchen. Yeah, it won't take longer than a minute. Make it quick-

You padded out of your bedroom and made it a step into the living room before stopping dead in your tracks, eight pairs of eyes looking at you big with mouths dropped so wide it could catch flies.

The other members were sitting in various places surrounding the couch and coffee table. Chan scratched at his ear and darted his eyes back and forth, unsure of whether or not to look. Minho didn't seemed like he cared too much, while Jisung and Seungmin obviously raked their gaze from your head to your toes. The other four focused on different areas, but you ran away as quickly as you came with a trail of beat red embarrassment to follow.

As soon as the door slammed shut you threw your pajamas on and paced back for forth for a bit.

You should just act like nothing happened. They probably don't care. No, they definitely don't care. They're just body parts and everyone has them. But they were your body parts. For as long as you'd known them, you'd been so careful.

It's fine- they're not prudes, they're young adults that watch more porn than you ever could in your life time. They're just boys. Your boys. Your best friends. Yeah, they won't care. It's fine. You're fine. You're-

"Y/N'ie?"

A knock on your door had you stutter in your steps. When you didn't respond, the voice spoke again, "there's food here if you wanna join."

It took you another second to process what had just happened. The floor creaked on the other side and you panicked again, "Felix?"

The footsteps backtracked and stopped outside your door again, "yeah?"

"What kind of food?" He giggled lightly to himself.

"Come eat with us and you'll find out."

Slowly you came to the door, torn on hiding in your room for the next few hours or facing the eight people that caused your massive embarrassment in the first place. It felt so stupid to even feel such a way around those who you'd already been through hell and back with, the same people you've lived with and known for years and have seen you at your worst.

Felix's weight leaning against the other side of the door made him stumble forward when you finally opened it. Setting aside his momentary hiccup, he smiled and wrapped his arm around your shoulder to bring into a quick hug. You let him drape over you as you made your way back into the living room where everyone else was waiting.

Quiet as you sat down between Minho and Jeongin- Felix across the coffee table, quiet as you grabbed a pair of chopstick, quiet as you began to eat. The eight of them watched you chew, chew, swallow, not moving a muscle as though they were walking on eggshells as not to scare you off.

Now you felt stupid. This was stupid. Just body parts. They're just body parts.

"Stop staring at me, virgins. Eat before it gets cold." Minho at your side dug in first, then the rest followed suit as you all enjoyed the meal together.

You could feel Jeongin taking quick peaks at you as you ate. He jolted a little when you nudged his shoulder to get him to talk. A light blush flooded his cheeks and ears, putting another piece onto your plate as he leaned in to whisper, "you looked really pretty."

"Don't spread gossip, Yang Jeongin. Share it with the table," Jisung teased and drew the attention of the rest of the members.

"Look, he's flustered. What'd you say to Y/N'ie?" Hyunjin joined in and ruffled the younger's hair.

"Nothing! It's none of your business-"

"He called me pretty," you played along and pinched Jeongin's cheek, making him swat you and Hyunjin away with a few curses under his breath. Giggling and picking up your chopsticks again, you brought some food to your mouth, "you wanna kiss me sooo bad."

All of them spoke at once, "yes."

"Wait, what?" Quiet again. What is it with them and perfectly timed silence?

When you faced Minho, he was particularly unashamed in the way he eyed your lips as you slowly chewed your food. You looked at them around the table, "ew. Bitchless. All of you," and stole a large portion of food to take back to your room.

tags: @sensitiveandhungry @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffi t@fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @hamburgers101 @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @lvrhyuka @alexis-reads-fics @linaliskz @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @goblinracha @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @kaitchandler @iadorethemskz @skyvastbunny @mamabymychem @katsukis1wife @woozarts @noellllslut

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itsjunear · 8 months

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Hidden feelings

Az x reader

Warnings: None, mention of loneliness, death and a little anger.

Note: Hello again! Thank you for taking the time to read me. I'm sorry if this is a disaster again, English is not my first language but I do what I can. Maybe I'll do a second part, I don't know yet. Again, thanks for reading even though I may not be very good at this.

I was listening to this song while writing this and I really loved it.

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

"Was it a good idea to come today?"

I shrunk a little in my seat and swallowed hard. Of course, it had been a good idea; I was with my family. With mine, I reminded myself.

However, I couldn't help but feel a little... alone.

Rhys was in front of me, laughing at the story Feyre was telling him about one of the children attending painting classes in her studio, and Amren watched her amusedly with a glass of wine in her hand.

Cassian was at one end of the room, engrossed in listening to Nesta's account of how the Valkyries' training had gone.

And Az... the shadowsinger was chatting with Elain, who smiled sweetly at him, and she talked to him about the new flowers she was planting in the front part of the River House, in her lovely garden.

My heart squeezed a little, and I approached the window.

I gazed at the view, the lights twinkled cheerfully across the city, quite contrary to my mood. I sighed and took a sip of wine. Mor was visiting the Winter Court, so I had no one to get drunk with, even though I was very sure that anyone would have agreed to the request. They wouldn't have asked questions; they wouldn't have asked why I desperately needed to drown myself in drunkenness. They would have simply accompanied me.

But I didn't want to interrupt. I didn't want to ruin their states of... happiness.

They deserved it after all. Each one deserved whatever moments of happiness, and I didn't want to take that away from them.

I discreetly turned my gaze back to the shadowsinger, and a deep pain invaded my heart. There was no trace of Az's shadows, who was smiling at Elain in a way that felt very genuine. And she returned the gesture. Part of me could understand it, the sweet Elain, who could resist her? She was so delicate, so kind, and she had won everyone's heart.

She wasn't to blame for any of my feelings. She wasn't to blame for my secretly being in love with the shadowsinger for over three hundred years and never having told him. That was my fault.

"Maybe you should stop looking at the window as if it were your enemy, or it will think you really hate it" Cassian joked beside me.

I turned my gaze to him and smiled slightly.

"I didn't see you at training today," said as he gently squeezed my arm as a show of affection. I shrugged, feigning indifference.

"I wasn't feeling well." Lie. I hadn't gone because it hurt to look at Az. I knew he would be there, and I... well, maybe it wasn't entirely a lie. I did feel a little unwell. Not physically, of course.

Cassian put an arm around my shoulder and looked at me with concern. "Is everything okay?"

No. Yes.

I forced a smile on my face, convincing enough not to ruin his evening. "Yes, Cass. It's nothing" I downplayed it. "A little food will cheer me up" Cassian smiled slightly, but the concern didn't vanish from his eyes.

I had never told anyone about my crush on Az. No one. And I supposed I had hidden it enough not to raise suspicions.

"Well, I'll tell them it's time to eat, or you'll get grumpy" he said. I laughed a little as I nudged Cassian lightly. Minutes later, we were all seated in the dining room.

Rhys had sat next to me, followed by Feyre "May I know why you've become so lazy that we now need to schedule an appointment to see you?" a voice spoke in my mind. I smiled without looking at Rhys as I served myself some salad. "I have a very busy schedule, High Lord" I replied aloud. Rhys raised an eyebrow, but he didn't press further.

Grateful that he didn't ask more questions, I looked up only to meet Az's eyes staring at me intently. I smiled slightly as I watched his shadows swirl behind him and coil around one of his round ears.

Okay, maybe I had been avoiding everyone a little, it's just that I didn't want to infect them with my bad mood. And I didn't want to hurt myself more by seeing Az with Elain.

The shadowsinger continued to look at me, and I furrowed my brow.

"Do I have something?" I asked.

"Aside from a bad mood, nothing" Cassian teased as I kicked him under the table before hissing. Nesta chuckled softly.

The conversation flowed slowly. Everyone conversed with everyone, and I simply listened. I enjoyed the naturalness with which Feyre laughed at a bad joke from Cassian and the way Rhys howled when Amren teased him afterward. I even enjoyed the dessert Elain had prepared, complimenting her on how delicious it had been. But I never looked at the shadowsinger. I didn't want to torture myself anymore. I didn't want to hurt my heart anymore when I thought about how much I longed to be close to him. So, for my own sake, I resisted sneaking glances at him.

Then something Rhys said caught my attention "... happened on the outskirts of an Illyrian camp. It ended in the death of four females" Horrified, I looked at him. "I didn't get any coherent or hole-free answers about what might have actually happened" anger emanated from him, from the rage that tinged his voice, I could assume he was quite frustrated with the situation. Feyre put her hand on his, trying to reassure him.

My friends deserved peace. They deserved these moments of peace. So, I didn't think twice before offering myself. "I'll go, Rhys"

"No" Az said quickly, his voice firm.

Cassian looked at him but didn't say anything, apparently in agreement.

Maybe it was anger that surged through my spine and made me act like an idiot. "I wasn't asking for permission" I spat out each word slowly.

The shadowsinger tensed as he frowned, the shadows behind him stirring. "It's very dangerous"

This time it was definitely anger boiling under my skin. I wanted to go on this mission so they could continue to be at peace, but also to get away from him. I needed a break from thinking about his eyes, from thinking that every part of him seemed beautiful to me. Even the hands he hated. "I'm old enough to make that decision" I simply said.

"I'll go with you."

I felt my whole-body tense.

"No" Az gave me a hurt look, and I regretted behaving like this, but I needed to get away. To distance him. "I can do this alone. The others need you here" I added quickly.

"Rhys" I called. He looked at me a little indecisive, debating whether to side with his brother or mine. He looked at Feyre, and I guessed they had a conversation mind to mind as they usually did when they had to make a decision.

"Alright. But you'll report every day" Feyre concluded. I smiled gratefully, and she returned the gesture, although concern also shone in her eyes.

The room filled with tension.

"She's not a spy" Az declared with a frosty look.

"Enough, Azriel" I said irritably.

Why did he insist so much on this? I was perfectly capable of doing it. I had gone on more dangerous missions and come out unscathed. This shouldn't be so complicated, and I felt that justice needed to be served for those four dead females. Cassian cleared his throat, bringing me back to reality in my seat, and I looked at Rhys with a polite smile. "I'll leave at dawn tomorrow. You'll get a report in the evening"

Rhys nodded, and dinner ended without any further incident. However, I felt the intense gaze of the shadowsinger on me for the rest of the night, until I fell asleep on the couch while some continued to drink.

In the midst of unconsciousness, I felt warm hands lift me up and a hard chest brush against my body. Drowsily, I buried my head in the crook of the neck of the one carrying me and relaxed when a familiar pine scent enveloped me. He gently laid me down on the large bed and took off my shoes almost reverently.

I might have imagined it, but I clearly felt how before leaving, he placed a kiss on my hair and closed the door, leaving me engulfed in darkness.

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #bat boys #i dont know what im doing

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paleprincessturtle · 6 months

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harvey fic request! :) maybe they get in a spat about harvey getting jealous or a miscommunication but then they fix it and then super fluffy

Hiiii!!! Thank you so much for the request and I'm so so so so sorry it took so long for me to continue writing here. Life been tough but here I am. Enjoy❤️

The Greenest

When Harvey received a phone call from Mike, he was happy, to say the least. But upon hearing what he had to say, Harvey sighed. There was this charity in Seattle, and both Mike and Rachel invited him. Harvey dodged the question by saying that he had to ask his wife. It wasn't that Harvey didn't want to donate his money for a good cause, but he rarely spent time with his wife now. He just wanted to stay home and do absolutely nothing with his wife in his arms. He could just write a check for it and make up some excuse later.

Harvey got home to Pink Floyd blasted through the house. He couldn't help but hum along with the song. It would be useless, he thought, to call out for his wife. He found her in their bedroom, a few dresses draped on the bed as she stood in front of her kingdom of shoes. "Are we going somewhere?" Harvey asked casually as he took off his suit. She jumped at his voice, eyes wide. "You scared the living hell out of me," she said, reaching for her phone to turn down the volume of the speaker. "Well, I suggest you shouldn't give your husband a spare key, then." Harvey rolled up his sleeves as he observed the dresses. "We're going somewhere?" Harvey asked again. "Oh yes! Mike and Rachel invited us to this charity gala. It's for abused women and children. Can you imagine?" Harvey watched as his wife's face scrunched in sadness. He swore this woman wouldn't even hurt a fly. "It's in Seattle?" Harvey asked again as she earned an eager nod. Well played, Mike, Harvey thought. Going straight to his wife. Well played. "We sure can come, yes?" Harvey looked at his wife, knowing damn well it wasn't a question. He nodded and smiled.

Harvey's favorite thing to do whenever he went out with his wife was to watch her get ready. He watched his wife put on matching underwear in black, all lacey. He stole a glance at his watch as his brain raced at the possibility of tempting his goddess of a wife for a little fun activity. "Don't think about it, Harvey." His wife scolded him as she watched him from the unreasonably huge mirror in their hotel room. "Think about what?" Harvey asked, pretending to be clueless. "Think about taking off my underwear, bending me over, having your way with me, being late, and what excuse should you give Mike for being late?" Harvey smirked at the sultry way his wife said it. "We've been in this dance before, Harvey. I will not fall for it again. Now, why won't you be a nice gentleman and zip my dress?"

"Jeez, Harvey. Didn't you arrive at the hotel yesterday? This whole thing started an hour ago!" Mike scolded Harvey, who gave him a knowing look. "Seriously?" Mike gave him a disgusted look, and not long after, his wife came along. Mike hugged her and thanked her for coming. He then managed to explain this charity he and Rachel are now part of. He also said it would be good for the charity to know two successful New York lawyers are here, siding with the charity. It just meant more money for the charity. Which was great.

Not long after, Rachel came, and she gave them brief hugs. She managed the whole event, so Rachel was running around as she made sure that nothing went awry. The three of them were having a good time. They talked about what was going on in their lives. Harvey probably would have to admit that this wasn't an entirely bad idea to come. Mike nudged Harvey, "There, that's the city attorney. Let's put that pretty face to good use." Harvey looked back at his wife, signaling for her to come along. "I need to go to pee; I'll look for you later." Harvey smiled at her as he followed Mike.

Harvey just realized that his wife was never to find him. It had been 20 minutes; surely she didn't need that long. Harvey tried to look around. He squinted his eyes at the sight of his wife, who happened to look way too comfortable with a man he had never seen before but was somewhat familiar. A man her age. Harvey frowned as he hurriedly excused himself. He made a beeline to where his wife stood but slowed down his pace when he was near. "Oh Jackson, you know how it is in New York," Harvey heard his wife laugh not long after. "Well, then maybe you should consider moving here." Before he could hear what his wife's reply would be, Harvey stood beside her, an arm wrapped around her hip. Harvey didn't miss the way this Jackson guy's eyes followed where Harvey's hand rested. "Won't you introduce us, sweetheart?" Harvey asked a rhetorical question. She sensed something wasn't quite right with Harvey's attitude. "Jackson, this is Harvey, my husband." Harvey extended his free hand. "Harvey, this is Jackson ...." Before she could finish her sentence, he jumped in. "I'm her ex-fiance," Jackson said, shaking Harvey's hand. Harvey gave him a curt smile. "Who would have thought that Harvey Specter is your husband?" Jackson said to her, but his eyes never left Harvey's. Again, before she could say anything, Harvey said, "What can I say, Jackson? I'm immaculate, and my wife has an immaculate taste." They looked at each other for quite some time, trapped in an uncomfortable silence as the two men tried to intimidate one another. Harvey then remembered that he once went against him in court. Harvey won, of course. "Well, it was nice to meet the two of you," he was about to leave when he stopped in front of her, "especially you; I'll give you a call when I visit New York." Before he left, he touched her bare arm. And Harvey was seething. Harvey took her hand to make them face-to-face. "What the fuck was that?" Harvey said, his jaw tightening. "What the fuck was that? What the fuck was what? I was just trying to get him to donate, Harvey!" Harvey scoffed, "By flirting with your ex-fiance, who suggested you move here?" She looked at him, exasperated. "We're going back to the hotel," Harvey said quietly. He took her elbow as he guided her out of the crowd. "Harvey, we are invited here to help them raise the donation," he said, shaking his head. "We're going back to the hotel." Harvey's voice left no room for argument. Before exiting the venue, she caught a glimpse of a confused Mike. She shook her head in silence before Mike became out of view.

The two of them were silent during the ride back to the hotel. "We're back now at the hotel, happy?" she said sharply as she took off her heels. "We could've helped more if you weren't being so childish and being all jealous!" She raised her voice, both hands on her hips. She looked at Harvey's back, and he poured himself some scotch. "If you weren't flirting like a high school girl, we would still be there." Venom laced his voice. He turned to face his wife. "Do I need to pack your things and send them here so you can get back with Jackson?" His wife shook her head in disbelief at his words. He finished the glass in seconds, opened the door, and slammed it hard. She sighed and prepared herself a bubble bath. There is no use in arguing with him now.

She woke up with the curtain open. She squinted her eyes. She was greeted with the sight of Harvey sitting in a chair just beside the bed. "Hey, sunny," Harvey said softly. She didn't say anything or react; she just stared at him. "I'm sorry," he said genuinely, she could tell. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did; I'm really working on my issues. She nodded, she knew he tried. "Did I hurt you?" he asked as he took her hand in his. He did so as if he might break her, so gently. "You did," she answered quietly. "I'm really sorry," he kissed her hand softly. "It's okay, Harvey. Just try to work on yourself harder, okay? I'm here ready to help if you need anything, but no more lashing out," she said as she caressed his cheeks. Harvey leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" Without answering, she moved over and signed for Harvey to lay beside her.

#harvey specter #harvey specter fanfic #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter fan fiction #suits harvey specter #harvey specter imagine #suits tv #harvey specter imagines #harvey specter suits

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mystic-writings · 1 year

Text

sneak out | jess mariano

PAIRING — jess mariano x fem!gilmore!reader SUMMARY — minutes into your mother’s dinner party, jess suggests you sneak out through your bedroom window - and you can’t help but agree WARNINGS — fluff, jess and reader being ‘troubled’ teens, a bit of angst, reader venting WORD COUNT — 2,322 NOTES — the idea of lorelai having a teen that was just like her is so appealing to me idk why - also would you believe me if i told you i listened to yung gravy while writing the majority of this fic

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You weren’t sure which was worse - the dinner your mother was hosting, or the idea that you now had to put up with a whole night of Luke’s strange nephew, whom you’d never met before.

Of course, you loved your family to pieces, and you loved Sookie and Jackson; hell, sometimes you looked at Luke as more of a father than you did your actual dad, but having everyone together for what you knew would be at least a three course meal, under one roof, with Luke’s mysterious nephew from New York, just felt draining.

So, to preserve what little social battery you had left for the day, you decided to spend the time between school and dinner in your room upstairs with a good book and a cd playing from the player that sat on your dresser at a low volume. You had to change the cd twice, first from one of your mothers Bangles cds to a Smiths one, but just as you were enjoying the beginning of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust album (and nearly finishing up your book), did you hear the clanging of pots and pans from downstairs, as well as Sookie and Jackson’s lighthearted bickering.

You managed to bury yourself back into your book, one leg crossed loosely over the other outstretched one as you half-sat, half-laid on your bed, being mindful of your shoes so as to not get any dirt on your covers.

From downstairs, Jess was wandering around the Gilmore home as everyone else did whatever they were doing in the kitchen, internally monologuing and half-mocking their decor. He’d met Rory already, and she seemed like a nice enough girl. Enjoyed books. But he had yet to meet the third and final Gilmore girl, who so far had only been mentioned. However, as Jess scanned the various photographs on the mantle, he could hear the faint guitar of Suffragette City emanating from somewhere upstairs.

After peeking down the hallway to make sure no one was watching, Jess smirked and snuck up the stairs, into what was surely off-limits territory for someone like him. Still, he took the stairs two at a time and stealthily, managing to avoid all the places that would creak in a house like this one, despite never stepping foot inside beforehand. He followed the music down the hall, past some more paintings and pictures, to another bedroom. The door was open, and he was able to take a look inside. Posters covered most of the wall, leaving little space to show off the paint beneath them. Bookshelves occupied the wall right beside the door, and similarly to Rory’s room, they looked stuffed to the brim with books.

On the bed, facing him, was the person he assumed to be the final Gilmore girl - Rory’s twin sister. He watched intently, scanning every feature of your focused face as you scanned the final pages of the book you were reading. How your brow furrowed, eyes locked on the ink before you. The way the foot that hung off the edge of the bed was moving to the beat of the song.

Once Jess had decided that he’d been watching you long enough to constitute stalking, and how that was probably extremely creepy, he nudged the door open with a creak and stepped inside, clearing his throat and pulling his lips into a slight smirk. “Hey there, Ziggy.”

At first, you thought that your mother was finally calling you down to dinner, until you heard the unusually male - and entirely unfamiliar - voice come from the body in your doorway. Tucking a receipt into your book to mark your place, you glared over at the boy standing in your room with his hands behind his back, smugness rolling off of him in waves as he admired your room.

“You’re Jess, aren’t you.” Your flat tone seemed to amuse him.

“How nice, you already know my name. I’m flattered.”

You watched him as he walked around your room, over to the window where your desk was, trying to figure him out as he peeled back your curtains. “It’s impossible to not know someone’s name in this town, even someone who’s only been here for 28 hours.”

He chuckled. “Nice one, Ziggy. Now tell me, why aren’t you downstairs with the rest of the freakshow? I mean, they are your family, after all, aren’t they?”

You pretended to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Sorry to break it to you, Mariano, but I’ve been banned from the freakshow. Apparently having apathy toward any sort of Gilmore humour is forbidden, and they’ve locked me away forever.”

“Aw, so sorry to hear that.” Jess mocked, placing a hand over his heart with an exaggerated pout. “I can’t believe they shunned such a ray of sunshine.” He smirked at your rolled eyes. “No, really, you must be a real treat at parties.”

“Quit it, Mariano. Is there a reason you came up here or did you just want to cause enough trouble to get kicked out of our beloved Stars Hollow? Because if so, you came to the right girl.”

Jess’ brow quirked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you heaved a dramatic sigh, slipping off your bed to walk over to Jess. “But it’s like… 9pm on a Wednesday. In Stars Hollow. Even if I wanted to cause trouble, and I don’t, because I did enough of that at school today, there’s nothing to do. Everyone’s asleep, and I’m pretty sure our 24-hour mini-mart closed like, half an hour ago.”

Now it was Jess’ turn to roll his eyes. “Your sister said that already. Is there seriously nothing to do here?”

“Nope.” You shrugged, just as a thought came to mind. “Well… there is one thing…” Jess’ eyebrows raised at the prospect of having something fun to do, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not anything revolutionary, you know.”

“Still, give me something, anything, to get us out of here, Ziggy. I’m begging you. I’m being suffocated by the stale air of suburban life.”

You nodded, tapping your fingers on your thigh. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But you gotta do one thing for me.”

“What is it? I’ll do anything, I swear.”

“Stop calling me Ziggy.” You said. “It’s a stupid nickname, and although I admire the fact that you listen to David Bowie enough to come up with a nickname like that one, I hate it. Call me by my actual name.”

“Well I would, if I knew it.”

“My mother never told you my name?” You asked with a raised brow. “She never shuts up about me and Rory, I’m surprised you never caught it.”

“Apparently, I didn’t. It seems she likes talking about Rory more.” Jess shrugged. “At least, around me she does.” He barely caught the slight sag of your shoulders, the drop in your demeanour, before you picked it back up and smiled.

“Well, Jess. I’m Y/n. Y/n Gilmore.” After a pause, you looked around and snagged a sweater from the chair in the corner of your room. “Now, if you’ll follow me, let’s go have as much fun as we’re able to in Stars Hollow at night.”

Jess waited impatiently behind you as you unlatched the window by your desk and pushed it up, slipping through and holding it open for him. As he clamoured out, you grabbed the rock underneath the window and placed it on the windowsill, lowering the window so you’d still be able to get back in later.

You could still hear the tail end of the album playing as Jess looked around.

“How are we supposed to get down?”

“The trellis, obviously.” You said, carefully making your way across the porch’s roof to the trellis right next to the kitchen window. “Just don’t make much noise, this thing is right next to the kitchen’s window and if we get caught we’re screwed. Follow my lead, and run when you hit the ground, got it?”

“Got it.”

Scaling down the trellis was basically second nature to you, but you made sure to look up every once in a while to make sure Jess was doing okay. He seemed to be, which comforted you somehow. You waited at the bottom for him, making sure to stay out of view of the window to the kitchen and the edge of the porch, which were on either side of the trellis, and could possibly get both you and Jess grounded.

When he landed, he looked at you, and a dish clattered in the kitchen. You both snapped to the window, then back to each other. On instinct, you took his hand and ran toward the woods.

“Where the hell are we going?!” Jess whisper-shouted.

“Relax!” You whisper-shouted back, slowing to a stop as soon as you were hidden in the tree line. “We’re not going into the woods, dumbass. What do you think would’ve happened if we waltzed out in the open in front of the living room window?”

Jess only sighed and nodded, letting go of your hand. He let you lead him through the trees, keeping the light of the house close to you, walking around the garage and past all the cars, waiting until Babette’s house was out of sight until you stepped back onto the road.

The walk was calm and quiet, crickets and the breeze occupying you instead of chatter. After a while, when you were beginning to reach the town centre, Jess spoke up. “So, what now?”

You shrugged. “Not sure. Usually I head to the lake, bring a book, or a cd player and some headphones. I don’t normally bring people with me, you know?”

Jess nodded, lips slightly pursed. The walk continued through the town, passing by shop after shop, all of them closed for the night. You had to admit, you weren’t used to taking walks like these, out in the open. Normally you’d find whichever path kept you out of the possible sight of the townspeople, a habit you developed after Taylor snitched on you to your mother after he caught you walking to the lake by the Inn when you were 12. Still, it was nice, and even if you were caught, you somehow didn’t seem to mind it.

As the buildings were fading again and you knew you were approaching the lake, you checked your watch. 9:27pm. You sighed, and Jess looked at you. Dropping your arm, you shook your head. “Almost 9:30. They definitely have to know something’s up at home. Probably sending out a search party by now.” You told him, before shrugging. “Or, you know, miraculously, they forgot we existed and are eating Sookie’s delicious no-allergen, fourteen course meal as we speak.”

Jess scoffed. “Yeah, right. Luke might not care that much, but Lorelai? She seems like the world’s most protective parent.”

“She is.” You confirmed, sitting on your usual bench, eyes following Jess as he sat next to you. “Trust me, I love her to death, but it gets annoying sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, at least you have a protective mom.” Jess’ hands gripped the edge of the bench, his body hunched forward, making him look small, ready to run at a moment’s notice. “Mine decided I wasn’t worth the effort. Shipped me off to this… circus show without so much as a ‘sayonara, kid.’ You’re lucky.”

You frowned. Everyone knew within the hour of him arriving in Stars Hollow that Jess was a troubled kid, but even troubled kids deserved parents that cared. He was right, though, you were lucky. It just didn’t feel like it.

“I know I’m lucky, Jess, but it’s not all rainbows for me, you know.”

“Oh yeah? How?” He scoffed. “You have the perfect life, Y/n. A mom that cares, a great twin sister - hell, even Luke sings your praises.”

“Luke sings?”

Jess rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s not like that all the time, Jess.” You sighed. “My ‘great’ twin sister is, apparently, so great that she has all eyes on her at all times. My grandparents are always so proud of her for being so smart and planning this amazing, expensive, studious future - they’re planning on funding it, too, from the sounds of things. I just want to live, you know?” You kicked a rock with your shoe, avoiding Jess’ concerned gaze.

“And my mother seems more concerned about her wellbeing than mine, closer to her than to me. But somehow she wonders why I’m the troubled one. I mean, I act out, I barely go to that stupid prep school because it’s so suffocating, and I got an eyebrow piercing without permission instead of taking a calculus test last month, which I’m just getting out of that punishment. Everyone’s so focused on Rory and how seemingly great she is, I don’t even remember the last time I was appreciated for anything. And don’t even get me started on my dad.”

“Sounds like these freaks don’t know a good person when they see one.” Jess told you. “You seem chill. Adventurous, too. But just because you aren’t appreciated doesn’t mean you aren’t good enough.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You too, Jess.” The world quieted around you for a moment, stars shining off the rippling waters of the lake. “But we don’t need to be good enough for them. Just good enough for us.”

He smiled, nodding once at you. Again, you appreciated the silence with him, watching the water or the sky. It wouldn’t be long until Luke and your mother found you both, you with your head on his shoulder and one knee bent to your chest, laughing quietly at a joke he told as you continued to get to know one another. But that was later. For now, you simply sat and watched the water, wishing the moment could last for the rest of your lives.

permanent taglist: @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @queen-asteria04 @heliads

jess mariano taglist: open!

taglist form is in my navigation!

#jess mariano #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano x you #jess mariano x y/n #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano fluff #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls x reader

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irisintheafterglow · 11 months

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hii iris!! being one of my fav writers, i was wondering if it would be okay to please request you write something halloween related between Satoru and reader while they're in a lowkey relationship and instructors at jujutsu tech? maybe he drags reader and the students on some night of shenanigans? up to u, i just love how u write and i feel you'd kill this hehe

thank u so much! have an awesome day!

life's no fun without a good scare

summary: you have the brilliant idea of playing hide and seek in a corn maze against the most powerful sorcerer in the world. should be fun, right?

wc: 2.6k

cw/tags: fluff and crack and crack and fluff, established relationship, swearing (a lot of it, you'll see why lol), mentions of eating, angst if you squint, co-parenting megumi AND his friends!!

note: AAAA hi!! thank you so much for the love omg :')) i hope you like this, i definitely enjoyed writing it even though i did get a tad carried away lol. GOD this was so fun to write, thank you for suggesting it

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3 thank you for your support!!

“I’m going to eat so much candy, I’ll throw up.”

“What’re those tubs over there?”

“They’re for waterboarding Itadori,” Megumi deadpans without hesitation, clearly misrepresenting the apple bobbing game just ahead. You state his name warningly, like he was six years old again, and he mutters a half-hearted apology under his breath. “Maybe we switch out the victim for our esteemed teacher, instead.” You cover a snort with an unsuccessful cough. Even though you’d practically raised him, his jabs at Satoru never lost their humor.

“Your suggestion will be taken into careful consideration,” you say, “though it will become more of a possibility if he continues to run on Satoru-time.” Nobara hums in agreement, kicking a stray piece of hay with her toe while you continue to progress through the general admission line to the pumpkin patch. Your fashionably-late boyfriend had sent you a very cryptic text at noon, instructing you to “pack up the kids and take them to the following address.” When you replied with a chain of question marks, he sent an infuriatingly unserious GIF that had you pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What time did he tell you?”

“5:00.” You check your phone preemptively, already anticipating the followup question.

“And what time is it now?”

“5:20,” you sigh, sliding your card across the shelf of the ticket booth and receiving four orange wristbands in return. After slipping them onto the wrists of your three unofficial children, Itadori and Nobara immediately disappear into the crowd; Megumi, however, stays plastered to your shoulder and makes his distaste for the bustling festival known. You scan nearby groups of people for a tall idiot with white hair with no luck. If Satoru still showed up, he would have to pay for admission himself. “Let’s grab a table and find me a bottle of soju–”

“Barely twenty minutes and you’re already drinking? Since when did Shoko replace my lovely partner?” Satoru’s sing-song voice calls out from behind you, like he’d been standing with you the entire time. Despite your attempts to remain irritated at him, you can’t resist when he turns you around, lacing his fingers with yours and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. “Hi, gorgeous. What took you so long?”

“I assumed you were running late, like you always do,” you argue futilely, the world melting away when you catch his eyes over the rims of his sunglasses. “Is this not too overwhelming for you? Having so many energy signatures in one place?”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures you with a confident wave of his hand. “After all, I have your energy to ground me.” Your legs start to feel a bit gelatinous when you hear a very obvious throat clearing itself and suddenly remember that Megumi is still standing there. “Shouldn’t you be on the playground or something, my dear student?”

“Shouldn’t you be on the playground or something, my questionable teacher?” You burst out laughing and your boyfriend’s jaw drops in indignance, gearing up to say something just as childish. On instinct, you cover his mouth with your hand, recoiling in disgust when his tongue darts out to lick your palm. “Gross. I’m gonna find my friends.”

“Don’t do anything dumb!” The boy waves his hand dismissively and you roll your eyes. In a different universe where he actually was the child of you and Satoru, he had his father’s sass gene.

“He’s used to this by now, isn’t he?” Satoru chuckles and it reverberates against your body, making your head spin in lovesick circles.

“I’d imagine so, seeing as we did raise him like this,” you answer, letting him start to guide you toward whatever stand interests him first, his arm draped over your shoulders. “Do you think Yuuji and Nobara have figured it out?”

“If Megs hasn’t told them, then definitely not,” he states with utmost certainty, looking over one of the games with all the concentration of a hunting tiger. In the middle of the stall was a large pool of water, and swirling around in it were small, colorful bowls in the shape of blooming flowers. The goal, you guessed, was to land a small ball in a certain color and get a corresponding prize from the lineup hanging overhead. It was truly an enticing array of stuffed animals, too, from wolves and monkeys to dinosaurs and little princess dolls. “Which one do you want?”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“Choose a prize and I’ll get it for you, guaranteed.”

“Guaranteed? You do know these are designed to scam you, right?”

“And I am designed to do whatever you want, so take your pick.” After a moment of consideration, you point to a stuffie of a black cat wearing a pumpkin costume. “Cute choice.”

“It reminds me of Megs.” He laughs and pulls his arm back, stretching his neck from side to side and handing a few dollars to the game attendant. It was all for show and completely unnecessary, and he knew that; he also knew that his over-the-top shenanigans always made you laugh after a stressful week. Whether you knew it or not, he’d noticed you were increasingly overwhelmed by all the work from the previous days, specifically regarding training his students while he was off on an assignment. Along with completing your own missions, you were supervising the three first years and guiding them through boring paperwork, which he knew made you feel like shit. It’s why he suggested you go to the festival in the first place, to get your mind off of work and spend time with you. And, he’d be damned if he didn’t get you that fuzzy little cat on his first try.

“Watch the master at work, sweetheart,” is the last thing he says before carefully tossing the first of three balls toward the only purple bowl in the pool. He’s the tiniest bit off, though, and he curses under his breath as it ricochets against the edge and into the water. “That was a practice shot.”

“Sure, baby, sure,” you giggle, stifling your amusement into a fist. His tongue peeks out the side of his mouth in absentminded focus and you’re sure he’s found the perfect arc when the voice of one of his students cheers from behind you.

“You’ve got this!” Despite their well wishes, Yuuji and Nobara accidentally timed their cheers at the precise moment his fingers let go of the ball, messing up his aim even worse than the first time. They deflate in embarrassment and Megumi’s face turns red from trying not to laugh. The usual deadly aura radiating off of him increases tenfold and it makes you shiver despite the warm autumn air. “T-Third time’s the charm, sir!”

“Fucking hell, why do I even bother–”

“Satoru, that’s cheating,” you whisper, sensing him imbuing the tiniest amount of Cursed Energy into the last ball to easily manipulate its trajectory. “I can just buy the thing online; you don’t need to be doing all of this.”

“I can buy you anything online, but I also want to prove that I’m better than everyone else,” he mutters much too seriously than the situation required. “Plus, once I win that damn cat, it’ll have a nice story to go behind it.”

“Your ego truly knows no bounds.”

“You know you love it.”

A minute later, you’re walking away from the game with the fuzzy cat in your arms and Satoru’s arrogant smirk by your side. The rest of the night is spent watching him drag his students into various inflatable obstacle courses and tumbling down the slide after they push him over the edge. In spite of all the excitement, you have to drag them to a picnic table to sit and eat; even then, the three students challenge their teacher to a funnel cake eating contest. To no one’s surprise, Yuuji wins by a landslide.

Satoru pays for everything, of course. When someone wanders over to a game booth, he pays for their game every single time and continues to pay until they win a prize. By the end of the night, all five of you have at least one prize in your possession and Satoru’s bank account is barely affected.

Before the fair closes, you propose a game of hide and seek in the gigantic corn maze. You and the three students would get a five minute head start, and then Satoru would enter and race to find you before you reached the other side. The first years’ eyes shine with excitement when you tell them they can use techniques as long as they don’t make a mess. You consider throwing a veil over the entire thing, just to make sure Megumi’s dogs don’t start any rumors of hellhounds in the area.

“If the kids can use theirs, then you’re not allowed to use your technique,” Satoru concludes and you make a noise of indignation while you gameplan by the entrance of the maze. “Don’t start with me; that’s totally fair!”

“I don’t understand how that’s fair in any way,” you argue up at his ridiculously confident smirk. You wanted to slap him and make out with him at the same time, none of which would have been appropriate in present company.

“You make portals, sweetheart. If we’re making the maze a no-fly zone and I run into one of your doorways, I’m gonna be in there for the rest of time.”

“I’ll just make simple doors!”

“The last time you said that, I was stuck on a mountain for three hours,” he reminds you and you huff in defeat, completely forgetting the three pairs of eyes watching this entire conversation. Sweetheart? Since when did he call anyone sweetheart? Nobara and Yuuji knew that you both were friends from high school, but the bickering seemed suspiciously akin to that of an old married couple. They glance at their spiky haired friend for confirmation of their theories, but he avoids their gaze and continues munching on pumpkin spice popcorn. “Alright, five minutes on the clock. Don’t let me catch you,” he smiles wickedly and you all but shove the three students into the maze.

In a blink, Megumi summons his dogs and sends them to look for the exit. As you sprint down straightaways, Nobara intermittently sticks a few nails into the walls, essentially creating security sensors that will trigger if Satoru passes by it. It also helps establish what paths you’ve already explored and where you need to go next. In what feels like seconds, five minutes is gone and your heart drops as you see a black veil descend over the maze. The atmosphere of the maze feels electric, like wind before a storm, and you nervously laugh and urge the students to move faster.

“So, are we ever going to talk about you and Gojo?”

“That’s what you’re focused on right now?” You shoot back in amusement and Nobara shrugs, sending another nail into the corn with a strike of her hammer. “I don’t think this is the proper place to have this conversation!”

“So, are you two actually dating? Megumi won’t say anything, but he’s a terrible liar when we ask if he knows something!”

“I think the latter shooting ominous strikes of lightning into the air is a more pressing issue!”

“Lightning strikes which, I’ll add, are increasingly getting closer!” Yuuji’s voice rises to a panicked yelp and you curse in disbelief as your group slams into another dead end, giggling from sheer fear and swatting the students to find another way. All the while, blasts of pure Cursed Energy fly upward like fireworks, illuminating the field in terrifying shades of blue and red. “Any status on the nails?”

“He just passed the third one closest to us,” Nobara reports, face slowly losing color as the most powerful sorcerer in the world hunts you down. “You can’t send Nue to stall him?”

“You think a bird is going to stop Gojo Satoru?”

“Well, your damn dogs haven’t come back yet and we’re running out of options–” The back-and-forth is cut short by a faint howl coming from the back right corner of the maze, just a few hundred yards away. One of the dogs appears from the floor, hooking a sharp right turn that has you four stumbling to catch up to it. The howls continue, as do the strikes of lightning, while you follow the dog to what you assume is the exit. “The nails haven’t picked up his energy signature in a while,” Nobara informs you in slight relief while the howling grows closer with every step. Yuuji’s mouth breaks into a victorious grin, but you and Megumi aren’t convinced.

“Does that mean we lost him? Or did he get lost?”

“Something doesn’t feel right,” you mutter low enough for only Megumi to hear and he nods in agreement. “I don’t feel him anywhere.”

“That cracking behind us is just the corn, right?” Yuuji’s voice becomes uncertain and the static in the air only becomes more palpable. You’re so close to the exit and you can tell he’s getting nearer, but something in your gut tells you that you can beat him. But, Nobara’s realization makes your blood run cold.

“Wait, I don’t sense any of my nails anymore–”

“Found you.”

Your throats rip a collectively brutal screech as Satoru’s voice seems to come from directly behind you, and you glance backward to only see a pair of knife-sharp blue eyes staring through the black corridor of the maze. Colorful curses of fear babble from the mouths of the students and you slam your feet even harder into the ground as you sprint for the exit. The bright lights of the pumpkin sign were in sight; you just had to make it a little farther.

“Elephant, elephant, elephant!” Yuuji’s suggestion comes out as incoherent yelps and he tries to fire off black flashes to no avail. Megumi looks at him like he’d grown four new limbs.

“What?!”

“Summon the fucking elephant, Fushiguro!” A nail rockets away behind you only to be immediately sent back, embedding itself in the husk by your feet.

“I hate to break it to you, but the elephant isn’t going to do anything when–”

“When I’m already right behind you,” he whispers directly into your ear and you scream as his footsteps line up with yours and his arms snake under your legs, lifting you off the ground like you weighed no more than a cotton ball. He disappears with you into darkness, firing off a single precise attack that cuts the lights of the entire exit so that the path is pitch black. Somehow, you end up outside of the maze while the three students continue to panic inside and he gently sets you on your feet. His menacing aura disappears in a blink and he nuzzles his nose into your neck, his arms holding you close by your waist. “I found you,” he says with a smile.

“You did. I know you always do, eventually.”

“Mhmm. Did you have fun?”

“Honestly, that was the most terrifying experience of my entire existence,” you laugh, threading your fingers into his hair and tugging him even closer. He chuckles warmly, ironically just as quiet as the fearful bickering of your students in the maze. You barely feel any sweat on his forehead against your shoulder and you can’t even imagine how messy you looked after running for your life. “I look like shit, don’t I?”

“You’ve never looked prettier,” he murmurs, pulling away briefly to press a kiss to your cheek. “We should probably go grab the kids.” You hum absentmindedly, vaguely making out the voices of Megumi and Yuuji trying to figure out which way to go.

“Stay here a little longer. Let them think you’ve taken me away to your scary vampire lair, or something.”

“As you wish, sweetheart. I'll be your scary vampire anytime.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #ask iris!

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imsobadatnicknames2 · 10 months

Text

Music commission prices!

Update: Editing my prices again bc I still think I was undercharging a little bit from my work and also the payment processor I use to transfer money from P*ypal to my bank account recently increased their fees.

Hey everyone! My name's Carlos, I'm a composer and producer. I'm one half of the technical death metal band Beyond Flesh, and I've been doing commissioned music work since 2021. I did all the battle themes for the RPGmaker game Those Infernal Girls! and several battle themes for the "Chillen in Chult" arc of the the D&D twitch show Dice Dynamics. I also did one bonus track for the album We Will All Sing One Song by the James Connolly Upstate New York IWW.

I can make music for your:

Climactic TTRPG moment

Videogame

Short Film

Whatever else idk

The main genres I do are metal, synthwave, and dungeon synth, but I've done a bunch of commissioned work in different genres, from 8bit to jazz to EDM to hiphop backing tracks. If in doubt, ask me and I'll tell you if I can do a particular genre or not.

Prices:

Base commission price (Includes 1 minute of music, 2 instrument tracks plus percussion track) - $12 USD

Extra instrument track - $6 USD

Extra minute of music - $6 USD

Examples:

Some examples of my previous work so you can get an idea of my range:

You don't need to know anything about music theory or related language to commission me, but do have in mind that the more ifnormation you're able to provide the better the end result will be. Vibe descriptions, reference tracks that you want it to sound similar to, writeups of the character and/or scene it's for, and anything else you can think of are massively helpful. I'll be continually sending you WIPs through the entire process so you can judge the direction I'm going in and provide notes if necessary.

You get to keep all rights to the song to use it for any purpose. I, however, keep the right to post it on my tumblr blog, my youtube channel, or any of my socials for promotional purposes.

You may contact me through DMs here, or through the following media:

e-mail: [email protected]

Discord: carlos7318

I only accept payment via p*ypal invoices, as c*shapp and v*nmo don't work in my country.

#commissions #open commissions #music commissions #music

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wileys-russo · 1 year

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going off the one where less teases reader about her biceps, maybe a fic where reader gets back at lessi by teasing her the next day?? yk, reader showing off her toned quads by rolling up her shorts reallyyyyy high and even moaning whilst in the gym for weights during leg day. j a small idea i thought you'd like😁

mhm mhm im here for this energy

big flexer 2.0 II a.russo

"-so now if i asked you what your favourite taylor swift song is you would say..." viv trailed off hopefully, having spent the last 48 hours filling you in on everything and anything swift lore you made sure to take your time thinking carefully about your answer.

having made the mistake of saying you only knew we are never getting back together when asked the same question for the team tiktok, this had started vivs entire journey to educate you.

"cardigan." you finally answered, viv sighing in relief and patting your shoulder. "this is much better. and why is that your favourite song?" the dutch woman asked as you glanced over her shoulder toward alessia who was deep in conversation with viccy and lotte at another table.

"no reason." you answered with a small smile, your tender gaze not missed by your friends sat around you at breakfast. "disgusting. like a lovesick puppy!" leah mockingly gagged before she shoveled a spoonful of fruit into her mouth.

"pipe down karate kid." you shot back quickly in reference to the black headband she'd chosen to sport today, causing laura to snort in laughter from beside you, leah narrowing her eyes. "you best watch your back today." the blonde warned lightheartedly before she was pulled into conversation with lia.

"does anyone know what we're doing today?" you asked curiously as you finished your plate, pushing it away from you with a satisfied sigh, sneaking a strawberry off laura's plate as she batted your hand away with her fork.

"i know the focus is lower body later in the gym, i heard them talking about it earlier." steph revealed as half the table groaned in annoyance but you pumped your fist up happily, grabbing your plate and standing to your feet.

you grabbed kim and jens empty plates as well, leaving your friends to finish up eating as you made your way inside, handing the dishes back to the chefs with a glowing review.

"good morning gorgeous." arms circled your waist as you smiled at the familiar accent, turning your head to peck your girlfriends lips softly in greeting before the two of you shared a tight hug. "sleep well?" alessia asked with a cocky smile and you smacked her shoulder knowing what she was insinuating.

"just fine thanks." you rolled your eyes as the two of you separated, a ten minute call being given the two of you decided to head to the pitch for your first training session of the day.

"gonna be a hot one today ladies, hope we're all ready to sweat!" beth beamed as she wedged herself inbetween you and your girlfriend, slinging her arms over your shoulders as the three of you fell into conversation.

and a couple of hours later you knew beth wasn't lying it was boiling today, and as you all raced around on the grass you were positively melting.

so as most footballers did when running around desperate for some sort of reprive you'd rolled your shorts up in an attempt to try and ease some of the heat waves rocking your body.

the seemingly innocent move not gone unnoticed by your girlfriend who incredibly similar to you yesterday found herself distracted by the longing to admire your toned thighs.

same as she had put an emphasis on working on her upper body strength this season you never missed a leg day, and christ alessia really hadn't taken enough time to appreciate the results.

"russo heads up!" the blonde dragged her eyes away from you just a millisecond too late as a ball smacked her in the back of the head, katie racing over with an apologetic wince.

"sorry, i called heads up!" the irishwoman grabbed the ball back and with another apologetic smile went running off back to her group, lotte ripping into the blonde about the small accident as alessia shoved her away with a playful roll of her eyes, rubbing the back of her head with a wince.

but another person who hadn't missed the small accident was you, having caught the italian clearly checking you out just moments before tragedy struck, and with gears turning in your head you formulated a fool proof way to get back at her for the teasing yesterday.

you rolled your shorts up even further as jonas started to split everyone into teams for a final 11 on 11, tossing you a pink bib as alessia caught a blue one, you sending the taller girl a wink as her eyes flickered down toward your tanned legs out on display.

alessia tugged on the bib and wasted no time clearing the distance between you, the sight of her boots in your eyeline as you knelt down to re-tie your own making you smile. "hi baby!" you greeted with a happy smile, a frown etched into the taller girls face.

"less!" you laughed as she reached forward and unrolled your shorts, pulling them down firmly as you shoved her away. "leave them." the blonde pecked your lips quickly before running off back to her own team, unknowingly only have given you more ammunition to rile her up.

with a shake of your head you made your way to your team, huddling inbetween stina and frida as katie lead the tactics talk and you all cheered as the whistle blew to start. getting into position you caught alessia's eye, rolling up your shorts as high as they could go and winking in her direction.

squatting down a little you watched on victoriously as her blue eyes widened somewhat at the obvious way your quads flexed, missing kick off as the whistle was blown and she hurried off to catch up with the ball.

it only got worse for alessia once you finished up lunch and headed for the gym, the blonde having spent the entire break teased relentlessly by lotte and gio for the obvious way she was so distracted by you during training.

you'd managed to escape, ducking off for a meeting with the physio about an old shoulder injury that twinged a little today, assuring your blonde lover that you were okay with a soft kiss and grabbing your lunch to go you'd not been seen since.

so alessia sighed quietly in relief seeing you already waiting in the gym, chatting away to the trainers as everyone was paired off and assigned different sections of the circuit to begin with.

much to both alessia's joy and dismay you and steph were assigned hip flexors as your warm up stretch, and with your shorts once again rolled up alessia's body burned with desire watching you repeatedly thrust and stretch, causing all the different muscles in your lips to tense, flex and ripple.

"oh fuck!" alessia swore as you caught her eye mid stretch and winked, causing the striker to lose her grip on the medicine ball she was squatting with, dropping it on her left foot with a groan of pain.

the italian was hurried off by the medical staff for a quick check up, shooting a murderous glare toward a snickering gio who knew exactly why she'd slipped up, her porcelin cheeks flushed red scarlett with embarrassment.

you watched on with concern as your girlfriend was assessed, gently pushed back into your exercises by an understanding but firm steph that you weren't helping anyone by standing around watching.

alessia was ordered to ice and elevate her foot and dismissed early from the session, limping out of the gym with an assuring glance sent your way that she was okay.

warned firmly but with care by kim that you were still expected to finish your workout you weren't happy but followed your captains instructions, trying your best to distract yourself with flickering from conversation to conversation with your teammates, shoulders heaving in relief when the session was finally called to an end.

you wasted no time in rushing off toward alessia's room, ignoring the trainers shouts after you about recovery options, only stopping when you were outside the strikers door.

having borrowed lotte's key you let yourself in, not wanting your girlfriend to use her foot anymore than entirely neccessary before it could be assessed again by the trainers and physio's tomorrow.

"only me less." you smiled as you stepped into the room, face softening at the pouty frown sent your way by the blonde laying in bed with her arms crossed, foot iced up and resting on a pillow.

"this is your fault!" alessia accused right away. "you and your stupid toned thighs." the striker continued bitterly with a glance at your still rolled up shorts which had only ridden up higher after you'd practically sprinted here.

"that is so not fair! you had no issues teasing me yesterday with your stupidly big biceps." you rolled your eyes playfully before kicking off your trainers and taking a seat beside your girlfriend on her bed.

"i didn't cause you bodily harm!" alessia gestured toward her foot which you gently adjusted noticing the ice pack had slipped off, smiling apologetically as the taller girl hissed quietly in pain.

"neither did i, it's not my fault you haven't realised how long your legs are clumsy." you teased, your girlfriend pinching your thigh for the comment making you grin. "actually so much for those big biceps too, couldn't even hold up a tiny little medicine ball." you pouted mockingly as your girlfriend scoffed.

"you're lucky i'm injured or else i'd be slamming you around like a medicine ball with these big biceps." the girl rolled up her sleeves, flexing her arms teasingly as you yanked them back down with a roll of your eyes.

"god please no, not another gun show."

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #woso imagine #woso #woso blurbs #engwnt

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trippinsorrows · 4 months

Text

with me + part eight

authors note: wow, you guys just keep on amazing me. all of the kind comments really do make my day, you have no idea. the beginning of this one is heavy, but i'm gradually working towards exposing more of reader and joe's backstories!!!

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: angst (parental neglect, abandonment) language, suggestive themes

words: 6k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

“It’s been almost a year, babe.” His tone is the perfect combination of understanding yet frustrated, like he’s trying his best to be patient but his needs are getting the best of him. “You still not ready?”

You wanted someone to talk to for the drive, even if it was only an hour, but at this moment, you’re regretting choosing your boyfriend.

“I just….I want to be really sure, okay?”

This has been the latest conversation between the two of you, more a point of contention. You care about Amir, you love him, but there’s something about letting him take your virginity you’re still a bit unsure about. Maybe it’s the fact that you just turned 16 three months ago and still feel like you’re a bit on the young side to take that next step. Or maybe it’s the fact that you guys have been rocky, almost since the beginning, having your fair share of arguments, even makeups and breakups.

But, you also know that even with the ups and downs, a year deep for a high school relationship is almost unheard of. That has to mean something.

“I love you, and you love me, right?”

You check the rearview mirror and switch lanes. “Of course.”

“So let’s seal the deal.”

A glance at the navigation makes you aware that you’re roughly ten minutes away from your destination. Instantly, your stomach begins to twist and knot. And like many with anxiety, it comes out as anger.

“Look, can you please just stop pressuring me?” You snap. “I feel like that’s all you ever want to talk about.”

“Whoa, whoa, where’s all this attitude coming from?” He, understandably, becomes defensive. A small part of you feels bad, taking your nerves out on him, even if it’s not entirely undeserved. It has become an annoying, frequent hot topic. “Am I wrong for wanting to be close to my girlfriend?”

“Bullshit. You just want to get your dick wet.”

“If that was the case, I wouldn’t be asking you,” he retorts, arrogantly. “I can get pussy anywhere.”

That’s the wrong thing to say, obviously, because you angrily fire back, “fine, then go do that and leave me and my pussy alone!”

He sucks his teeth on the other side. “I’ll talk to you when you not in one of your bitch moods. Must be on your period or something.”

“Fuck you, Amir.”

The phone disconnects.

He hung up.

Frustrated, for a lot of reasons, you squeeze the steering wheel and curse, loudly. This isn’t what you needed. You’re regretting not calling Mariah instead. You’re starting to regret this decision altogether but work to remind yourself why you’re doing it, why you want to do it. Amir and his shit be damned. He’ll always be there, and you’ll figure the shit out, like you always do.

Right now though, you need to focus on yourself and your plan.

So, you spend the rest of your time driving by feeding positive mantras into yourself in an attempt to bleed out the negativity.

It’s especially needed when you finally arrive at your destination, parking your car as far back in the parking lot as you can. You blow out a big, deep breath, keeping your hands on the steering wheel as it really sets in that you’re doing this, finally doing something you’ve wanted since you got your license but have been too scared to follow through on.

It’s going to be a daunting task no matter what, but it’s what you want, and you’ve come too far to back out now.

Shaky hands reach to pull down the sun visor so you can use the mirror to assess your makeup and hair. You’d saved up your paychecks to afford this 14k gold necklace the local jeweler had gotten in stock and kindly agreed to hold until you could afford it. You just wanted to look your best.

You needed to look your best.

Blowing out another breath, you reach to spray another layer of your trial size perfume. It was some expensive ass designer fragrance that smelled sinfully sweet, but the trial one was all you could afford.

Climbing out of the car with your best bag, you make sure to lock the door and start heading toward the entrance, offering a few small smiles to the cops you pass by.

Stepping into the precent, you march right up to the front desk with your head held high.

“Hi,” you breathe, pasting on that rehearsed smile. “I—umm, is Captain Wilson available?”

“Uhhhh.” She stands up and looks back, most likely where his office is. “I believe so, can I ask what this is in regards to?”

Crap. You hadn’t thought about what to say, how to explain how you knew him. Quickly, you settle on, “old family friend.”

She assesses you, probably wondering why their police captain is family friends with a high schooler.

Thankfully, she nods and moves from behind the desk to escort you. “Follow me.”

You’re briefly relieved that the first part is done, far from the hardest but necessary for you to actually get to the hard part.

She knocks on the open door. “Captain?”

He looks up, and your stomach drops.

Years.

It’s been years since you’ve seen him, been this close in proximity. He’s older, obviously, but still very similar to how you remembered him all those years ago. He looks at you for a second, clearly confused and then at the woman.

“She said she’s a family friend.”

Nervous that this will mess up your plan, you interrupt, “I—I need to speak with you, please.”

The woman turns to you. “I thought you said—”

He lifts his hand, standing up. “It’s fine, Yang.” He motions to the door. “Leave us.”

You can feel her distasteful expression on you, but she follows his command, closing the door behind you.

“Well, how can I help you, young lady?”

It's such a loaded question, but you came prepared, ready to jump right to the point. Don't want to waste any time.

"I, well, I'm—" Chuckling, you reach into your bag and pull out the old picture of your mom you kept in your locker. Opening and showing it to him, you watch his entire facial expression shift from friendly to shocked. "I'm your—"

“What are you doing here?” There’s a sudden change in his tone, even in his body posture, less friendly, more hostile. Clearly, he recognizes you.

“I—” The answer is simple yet difficult to get out, but you manage. “I wanted to meet my father.”

He suddenly asks, accusingly. “Did your mother put you up to this?”

“What?” Frowning, you explain, “no, no, she—she doesn’t even know I’m here. No one does.”

“Good,” he mutters. “Listen—”

“I’m 16 now,” you interject, suddenly remembering the list of things you wanted to share with him, wanted him to know about you. “And I’m—I’m captain of my school’s cheerleading squad. Took my team to state last year. I’ve had a couple of scouts from colleges reach out already.”

“Listen—”

“And I just got my SAT scores back. I got a 1400. A 32 on my ACT. That puts me in the top 10% of the nation for both of them.”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me all of this?”

“I thought—” This is going the complete opposite of how you planned, how you hoped. You expected him to be confused and surprised, but you didn’t expect this level of disinterest and aggravation. Like you’re annoying him. Like you’re bothering him. “I thought if—if you saw me, if you met me and see I’m not a bad kid that—that maybe you’d want a relationship with me.”

“A relationship?” He scoffs, actually fucking scoffs. “Why would I want a relationship with you? You’re not even supposed to exist.”

Of all the things to say—cruel, hurtful, mean—you’re not sure just what to label this. Because it’s almost inconceivable to you that he could say such a thing while looking directly at you, as if you’re not his blood. As if you’re not his daughter.

“I—” Any hope or confidence you had is all but squashed underneath the weight of his cruelty. “I’m your daughter.”

“No, you are a mistake that I paid your mother to take care of.” He turns away, one hand on his hip, the other running his hand over his face. “Biggest waste of money I ever spent.”

Devastated. It’s the closest word you can use to describe what you’re feeling right now, all over, in every crevice of your body. You never knew a person could feel so much pain at one time.

That a heart could feel so heavy.

“How—”

“Honey—”

Turning your head, you see a woman dressed in fine clothes, adorned in real, 14k or more jewelry, and a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes when she sees the Captain isn’t alone. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

You’re unsure how to answer, especially when you notice the big rock on her finger. It doesn’t take much to realize this must be his wife. The same woman he cheated on with your mother and unintentionally created you.

“Not at all,” he answers with a chuckle. You watch with a twisted stomach as she walks over to him, kissing his cheek. He smiles at her with such adoration, such happiness, a complete contrast with the disgust and disdain he sent your way. “I was just telling this young lady there’s nothing we can do for her.”

Young lady. That’s all you are to him, and it was stupid of you to trick yourself into believing otherwise. If he could go sixteen years without once asking or inquiring about you, he could go another sixteen. Another 100. You weren’t a part of his world, didn’t exist there, and you never would.

“Dad, Elijah won’t get out of the car. I swear, you should have kept me an only—” Another person enters the room and also stops mid-sentence. “---child.” An identical set of brown eyes land on you, eyes that he has, that you have. The similarities don’t stop there. Nose, lips, even bone structure to some extent, age. “Oh, my bad. Dad, who’s—”

You never give her the chance to finish or yourself the chance to hear the rest of her question. Rushing past her as well as the other cops in the precinct who surprisingly don’t try to stop you, you don’t allow your feet to rest until you’re in the safety of your car.

And that’s when it finally comes out.

The guttural, vulnerable scream that you’ve been holding in. You beat at the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding the horn. You beat at that thing until your wrist aches and fist grows tired. Nearly hyperventilating, the sob erupts from your throat, almost your entire body shaking from the intensity. You’ve never felt so awful in your life, so empty, so unwanted and unloved.

It’s the kind of pain that’s so visceral you can only understand if you’ve felt it, and no one deserves to feel this.

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You feel it, and more, for bringing yourself down here and making a fool of yourself.

A family.

He has a whole family. He already has children, has a daughter who’s close in age. A daughter he loves and whose life he wants to be involved in.

And it’s not you.

It’s never been you, and it’ll never be you.

Finally, you understand why your mom always shot down or redirected any attempt you made to ask about your dad. It was for this reason. This is what she was trying to protect you from, and you idiotically ran right into the line of fire.

Immensely grateful you had the wherewithal to park as far back as you could, you sit there for who knows how long, screaming, crying, heartbroken, avoiding what’s sure to be the longest drive home of your life.

There’s such an intolerable level of discomfort at this, this pain, this hurt. You don’t want to feel it, don’t want to sit in it. You can’t. You’re not sure if you can continue to function in this state.

You need a distraction.

And you have the perfect one. Whatever development has occurred in the prefrontal cortex is nonexistent and inactive as you dig in your purse for your phone.

With shaky fingers, you send him a simple text, knowing he’ll know exactly what you mean.

Tonight. Let’s do it tonight.

________

Three days after her emergency surgery, Calista was officially discharged from the hospital, allowing her to be home with you just in time for Thanksgiving. Not that that ended up being anything to write home about. You opted to stay home with her, aiding in her recovery as your mom came over to drop off some food and assist in nursing your sweet little girl back to health.

It was much appreciated, especially as Joe had to leave the day before she was released, much to his and Callie’s chagrin. She loved the company of you, even your mom, but she especially loved being around and with Joe.

Not that he was any different. You could see how much it killed him to have to leave her when she was still admitted in a hospital, so you had to continue to remind him that the hardest part was over. Ironic considering how grounded he kept you in that terrifying experience.

Joe’s promise of returning for Christmas was the only thing that kept Callie slightly less disappointed. She loves Christmas, and him being there for her favorite holiday will definitely mean a lot to her. You know she just hates having to wait so long to see him again. It’s safe to say she’s pretty attached to him, which warms your heart and makes you even more eager for her to finally realize that Joe is not just Joe.

He’s her dad.

And speaking of daddy, your dynamic with Joe has been both different yet the same. There’s always been this chemistry between you two, but it seems him finally admitting he wants to be with you and your finally acknowledging that it's something you’re willing to consider has given him privilege to up the ante.

He’s always been forward with you, but it’s been subtle, if at all present, since his return.

That's no longer the case.

He makes his comments and innuendos, always appropriate and respectful enough to not warrant pushback. But, it’s still there.

And you like it, way more than you should for someone who doesn’t even know how she feels about any of this to begin with.

“I have an idea.”

Th comment comes from the very person who you summoned to help with said ambivalence chimes with that mischievous smile that almost got you both kicked out of school at least two times.

Alexis Palmer stands on the opposite side of the kitchen, a bottle of vodka in one hand and another unidentified alcoholic beverage in the other. To say you summoned her may be a bit of an exaggeration. You emailed her, yes, but you didn’t except her to actually fly across the world to come visit you. Apparently, she was in Norway when she received your email.

“You couldn’t not expect me to come. You sent out the bestie bat signal!”

The first time you met Alexis, you hated her. She was your assigned roommate who you had the displeasure of meeting during move in week. A large part of your disdain for her was because she represented everything you’d always found utterly annoying: rich, entitled, privileged.

You’d quickly find out that was only partially true. Yes, Alexis came from money, but that was essentially all she came from. You’ll never forget the time you two were actually having a decent conversation and she casually mentioned that neither of her parents had ever told her happy birthday before. Ever.

Even your mom, though not having much, made sure to make the most of all of your special days.

That was the first day you started to see our roommate in a different light, and now, over ten years later, you consider her a best friend. If Alexis didn’t spend her life randomly traveling to various parts of the world, living comfortably off her trust fund money, you’d absolutely be much closer.

But until, or if, she gets tired of always being on the go, you settle for email updates and countless snapchat messages because WIFI is a wonderfully universal thing when compared to international texting and call fees.

Alexis's partially drunk ass skips out of the kitchen, clearly going to retrieve something as you take a moment to check your phone. It took a moderate level of convincing for you to agree to Callie spending a day or two with your mom, not that you didn’t believe she wouldn’t be in the best care. It was just some lingering anxiety from your baby being hospitalized, that mother’s fear of something happening in your absence and you not being there to comfort her.

But, your mom brought up a valid point, that you’d spend almost nonstop time with Callie since her discharge, and that was fine. You loved spending time with you little girl, but you also needed some time for yourself. Some adult interaction, and Alexis' surprise visit created the perfect opportunity.

So, that brings you to your current scenario, having an in-house girl night with your college roommate, drinking wine (harder liquor for her) and figuring out just what the fuck you’re doing with your non-existent love life.

When Alexis turns with one of your poster boards, you protest, “Lex, those are for my students.”

She gives you the most disgusted look. “Girl, fuck them kids. If it’s not my sweet Cal Gal, I don’t care.”

Knowing good and well this is a losing battle, you let it go and watch as she lays the poster board on the kitchen island and pulls out a sharpie.

“What are you—”

She lifts a finger, silencing you as she continues to write. Shaking your head, you take another sip of your wine.

Alexis is done in a matter of a few minutes and finally prompts you to look. “Okay, all done.”

It’s in reading what she’s created that you nearly drop your wine glass. “Lex, what is this?”

She rolls her eyes, pointing with the sharpie to the title. “Obviously, it’s the ‘figure out who I should be with’ chart. Created by yours truly!”

You blink a couple times. “Alexis, why is Kai’s name up here? He was a high school hookup.”

“Yes, but still a hookup nonetheless, so he makes the cut.” Lord as much as you missed Alexis, you’d almost forgotten how draining her eccentric ways can be. “Now, as you can see, each option has a pros and cons column. I say we start with the pros, and I’ll even help you out.”

“Should I be scared?”

She pauses. “Maybe.”

Shaking your head, you wait for her to quickly jot down whatever she objectively believes is considered a pro. But, when she turns the poster around, you actually laugh. “Oh my god.”

She’s written only in Joe’s pro column, but it’s more what she has written that has you humored.

“Obviously, at number one, we have 'big dick' because that's the most important thing in life. Never commit to a micro-penis.”

Ignoring the latter part of her statement, you ask, “big dick? Really?”

“Is it a lie?” She challenges. You open your mouth and immediately close it, taking another sip of wine. “I rest my case.” Yeah, you definitely can’t fight that one. “Wait, is he the one you tried anal with that one time?”

You nearly spit out your wine, for a couple of reasons. You'd never really considered yourself a feminist, but you were definitely someone who believed in women being free sexual beings. You never subscribed to that modesty bullshit. Sex was fun to you, and you liked it. You definitely considered yourself more on the freaky side. Outside of the really weird shit and threesomes, you were down to try whatever. Especially with Joe. Well, except for that. “Absolutely not. He’s too big. That shit already hurts, hence why it was one and done.”

Confused, she asks. “Who was it then?”

“Amir,” you answer, casually. Alexis, being Alexis, was pretty much the same as you when it came to embracing sexuality, hence speaking so openly about your sex lives.

She turns up her nose. “Yuck. Okay, back to Big Dick Joe.” After over 10+ years of friendship, you’ve learned, to some extent, certain things Alexis says just have to be chalked up to being a part of who she is. Like this entire activity that you’re for some reason entertaining. “Now get back to naming!”

You shrug, thinking about it, even if there’s not much to think about. “I mean, we have a child together already.”

“Oh damn, forgot about that,” she mutters and quickly adds Callie to the list of pros. “Sorry, Cal.”

This isn’t necessarily a difficult task. You’re pretty sure you could talk for 30 minutes straight about all of the reasons you like Joe. “He’s kind, smart, easy to talk to, an amazing dad to Callie.”

She downs the last of her concoction before shouting out, “oooh, don’t forget rich!”

Your eyes lift to the ceiling as you shrug, genuinely uninterested. “You know I don’t care about that.”

“You will when it’s time for Callie to go to college,” she ‘sings’, adding it to the board. “Fine as fuck,” Alexis talks aloud while writing the same thing. “Like very fine. As in you should have asked if his wife could fight fine because the way I never would have asked that man to leave—”

“Alexis.”

“Sorry.” She’s really not. “Why don’t we switch gears? How about we do the pros for Amir? Or even Kai?” You open your mouth to respond when she cuts you off. “Couldn’t think of any? Me neither. Back to Joe, it is.”

You run your hand against the side of your face, elbow on the section of the island that’s not occupied by the poster board. “Seriously, Alexis. There’s nothing there for Kai. At all. Hell, Amir neither.”

It’s like a light goes off, like all of her efforts have finally proved fruitful. The entirety of her eccentricity minimizes to something calm and considerate. “Exactly.” Laying down the poster, she comes and sits in the bar seat next to you. “You don’t like Amir. You definitely don’t like Kai. But, you do like Joe. Maybe more, though I’m not sure you’re ready to actually admit that out loud.” Much like a lot of what she says, though usually cloaked underneath her quirkiness, she’s correct. “So, what’s the real issue, roomie? It was his wife before, which I totally understood. You’re a moral person and shit. But now? He’s divorced, Y/N. You two have a child you’re trying to raise together. What’s holding you back?”

It’s a very, very valid question that you have no idea how to answer. You’ve tried, to some extent, to explore what your hesitations are. It hasn’t been high on the priority list due to your being focused on nursing Callie back to health, but as she’s on the mend to a full recovery, if not already at the eve of one, you know you’re gonna have to figure this shit out. Preferably sooner than later.

Joe will respect your need for time and space, but you also know he can be a persistent bastard, especially when it’s something or someone he wants.

It’s how ya’ll even got together in the first place.

“I’m gonna say something, and I don’t want you to bite my head off. Just hear me out. Let me put this expensive ass psych degree to use.” That makes you chuckle, but you remain quiet, allowing her to continue. “I think….I think whatever the situation is with your dad might be at play here.” Instantly, you're stiff, any hint of a smile or humor gone. “I don’t know exactly what happened outside of the fact that he’s not in your life, but something tells me there’s something there that you need to face.” And if she wasn’t already hitting you where it hurts, she adds on, “and I think it had something to do with why you didn’t tell Joe about Callie from the very beginning.”

Alexis has always had this uncanny ability to make you wonder if there’s something possibly mentally wrong with her and in the same breath wonder why the hell she didn’t decide to pursue a higher degree in psychology because of her sage wisdom.

This is one of those moments.

You know there’s some element of truth to what she’s saying, some layers behind events you’d pushed so far back in your head, you tried to convince yourself they didn’t still impact you.

But opening that box…..it’s hard for you to justify doing so. To understand why you need to revisit such uncomfortable, painful memories. You’re gonna be 32 years old next year. You’re too damn old to still be dealing with daddy issues.

Reaching for the bottle of wine, you pour some into your glass, noticeably more than the first one. “Maybe.”

Alexis also knows you well enough to know that a dismissal was bound to be your approach to such a heavy topic. “Is that the sign to change subjects, even though that’s literally why you asked me to come?"

“Technically, you invited yourself.”

“Bullshit,” she snorts. “You send that wild ass email and expect me to not book it back here to make sure my favorite twerk partner isn’t Gucci?” She suddenly asks, “wait, do people still say that?”

“Probably not. We’re old and outdated now.”

“Speak for yourself, I had a 24 year old Frenchman eat me out last month, and it was C'est Magnifique,” she sighs, clearly reminiscing as you turn up your nose.

“Too young for me, girl.” Younger men have never done anything for you, even Amri, who was a grade above you, felt too close in age.

“That’s right,” she nods, and you just know there’s something on the tip of her tongue. “You like em’ older. Samoan, tatted, with massive arms and big dicks.”

“Alexis.” You have to laugh, leaning into her side and laying your head on her shoulder. “I’ve missed you, girl.” You needed this, the time and space to be silly, to have difficult yet important conversations, to both think and not think. Alexis has always been that really great space for you, Mariah for even longer, but given your last interactions with her, you realize she’s not exactly the best candidate at the moment.

And as if reading your mind, she asks, “how’s ole girl doing?”

Ole girl aka Mariah.

The relationship between Mariah and Alexis……well, there is none. Put simply, they hate each other. More hate on Alexis' part, Mariah has just always kinda ignored Alexis and her role in your life, which is significantly easier considering Alexis is always on the move. The reason for the dislike and incompatibility between the two of them will always be a mystery.

“It’s just something about that girl.”

That’s what she would always say, and it once reached the point where you and Alexis stopped speaking for a couple of weeks, because you were a lot of things, loyal at the top of that list.

Outside of the whole situation with Joe….you still don’t know what exactly happened there.

Nonetheless, it just became agreed upon that talking with one woman about the other would be kept to a minimum, preferably none.

You know Alexis is just trying to be nice by asking. She doesn’t really care.

“I don’t know,” you answer, honestly. “She’s been….I think she’s just going through something.”

She rolls her eyes, clearly unsurprised. “I’m sure she is.”

You sigh. “Alexis.”

“I know you don’t like it when I talk about her cause that’s your other ‘best friend,’ but I’m telling you, Y/N, that girl is not your friend. She’s jealous of you. She been jealous of you,” she blurts out, as if keeping it in any longer would be painful. “But, imma be quiet.”

And she does which you’re grateful for, even if her words are, for the first time, starting to trigger some unfamiliar thoughts. Alexis, Kai, your own experiences. You’ve always leaned on the side of where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and Mariah’s forest is ablaze.

You just have to figure out how to approach all of this.

Among the other 50 fucking things you have to figure out.

_______

You can’t remember the last time you propped up your phone to call Joe for any reason other than Callie wanting to see or speak to him.

And yet, here you are, in your bathroom, preparing for your nightly routine, doing just that.

He answers on the third ring, eyes lighting up with surprise when he sees it’s you and not Callie. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Your tone is much too cheery for your taste, so you attempt to roll it back. “Is, uhh, is this a bad time?”

“Never a bad time for you,” he replies, smoothly. Looking into the screen, you realize he’s sitting up in bed, one arm behind his head. “What’s up? I thought you were having a girls night with Alexis.”

“We were. Well, we did, but she’s white girl wasted, passed out in my bed right now,” you answer, peeking through your ajar bathroom door to make sure she didn’t wander off somewhere. She was always that mobile drunk friend who had to be carefully monitored or else she’d end up on a local new station. “You talk to Callie?”

He nods as you grab your face wash and dispense some into your hand to lather. “Yeah, earlier. She seems to be having a good time with your mom.”

“She usually does, cause like you, my mom never tells her no.” You’ve always allowed that space for your mom to have her own relationship with Callie, one that you have no interference with. Similar to how it was for you with your grandma. But now with Joe being in the picture too, you foresee having to be that parent that actually tells their kid no.

Cause Lord knows Joe ain’t shaping up to be the one.

“She doesn’t do anything for us to have to tell her no.”

You pause in the midst of scrubbing your face. “God, I can’t wait for you to finally experience one of her tantrums. Next time you come, I’m gonna keep her up so you can see how she gets when she’s tired.” Joe has been blessed to really only experience happy Callie, even, unfortunately, sad Callie, but he’s yet to see your little girl when she’s angry.

“Don't do that to her.” He immediately grows defensive, and you giggle. “She’s a good kid.”

“She is,” you agree, rinsing your face and adding, “but all kids have moments, Joe. I would know, I work with them.”

“Well, you—”

“He don’t wanna be saved, don’t save him!”

You’re in the midst of drying your face when Alexis’s drunk, random ass comes stumbling by the door. “Alexis, what the hell are you doing up?”

Your words clearly trigger something with her wasted ass, cause in a matter of seconds, she’s crying. “My name is Alexis, but I’m not from Texas,” she begins to cry profusely at the word ‘Texas’, and it takes everything in you not to fall out laughing. You haven’t seen her this wasted since your junior year of college.

Hand on her back moving in circles, you soothe, “it’s okay, sweetie. You’re way better than her anyway.”

“Are you sure?” She asks, all soft and innocent, the complete opposite of the porn star she’s crying over not being.

“Of course.” You place your arms around her and mouth to Joe you’ll be right back. “Now, let's get you back to bed.”

“Are we gonna fuck?”

“No, Lex, you’re gonna sleep, and I’m going to finish talking to Joe.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment is hilarious as she yells out, much louder than necessary. “Bye, Joe!”

“Girl, you are gonna get me evicted,” you scold with a small laugh, guiding her into your bed and under the blankets. “Now, you sleep this off, and I’ll roast you in the morning over your antics. Deal?”

Alexis is so drunk, she couldn’t consent to breathing right now, but she does manage to give you a crooked thumbs up. “Deal.”

Stepping back into the bathroom, you give Joe a look and shake your head as he asks, “Damn. How much did ya’ll drink?”

“You mean how much did she drink?” You correct him. He knows good and well that’s not your thing. Never was. You didn’t need alcohol to have a good time. You could shake your ass on any table just fine, good and sober. “A lot. I just had two glasses of wine.” Suddenly remember something, you start speaking again, eager for his perspective on an idea that crossed your mind the other day.

“I think we should—”

“Go out with me.”

You both speak at the same time, but his statement obviously gives you pause. You stare at him, momentarily confused and ask, “what?”

He repeats himself, just as confident the first time around. “Go on a date with me.”

For a second, you think he’s joking, think he’s playing with you for some reason, but one look at his expression, and you know he’s being for real. You’re not sure how to respond, asking again, “like an actual date? A real date?”

“No, like a fake date.” He rolls his eyes, and you resist flipping him off. “Yes, an actual date.”

Still confused, you ask in a quieter voice, “why?”

His answer is surprisingly simple and unsurprisingly genuine. “Because I’ve never actually taken you out, and I want to. You deserve that much.”

This has been such a wild ass day. Hell, ever since Joe reentered your life, things have been wild. For the majority, if not entirety, of your relationship, you spent most of your time with this man holed up in your apartment and hotel rooms. Now he’s asking to take you out on a proper date.

What a 180.

It’s like he can see the wheels turning in your head and reassures, still with all the boldness. “We can take this as slow as you want, but you should know I’m heading in one direction and one direction only.”

Fuck. There’s nothing unclear about that, but it’s not surprising. He’s made it clear what he wants from you. He’s just waiting on you to tell him what you want from him.

After a few minutes of silence, you ask, "just a date?"

“Just a date,” he agrees. You should know him well enough though to know that’s not it. Sure enough, he smugly adds, “but if you end up riding my dick, then that’s just fate, baby.”

And there it goes, that charisma and charm that always kept you coming back for more.

Your smile is hard to conceal, so you settle for biting your lip, looking away. This man has no filter sometimes…not that you’re complaining. At all.

Feeling bold, probably from the wine traveling through your system, you play into his teasing. “Maybe I just want some dick.”

“That’s fine too.” He shrugs. “You know all you gotta do is ask, and I’ll get you right. Every single time.” A beat. “How you think Callie got here?”

That’s the thing….he’s not wrong, not wrong at all. You can’t think of a single sexual encounter with this man that didn’t either bring tears to your eyes from how good he was eating you up or had you walking with an almost limp the next day from how good he beat your shit up. Often both.

It’s always a good time with the head of the table.

Finally, you settle on an answer that feels most appropriate. “I’ll only agree if you agree to behave.”

He looks confused. Understandable. “What does it mean to behave?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you answer confidently, “it means keeping your hands and body parts to yourself.”

If you agree to this, it has to be well regulated and feelings or hormones can’t get in the way of things. If you and Joe are to progress into something more, you have to take it slow, even if just for Callie.

At least, that’s the hope.

Nodding, he asks, mischief in his light eyes. “What if you’re the one who can’t behave?”

You snort, using the oil to grease your scalp. “Unlikely.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll see about that.” He has that look in his eyes, the same look that almost always ended up with you bent over whatever the most sturdy object in the room was. It’s a dangerous expression.

And you suddenly find your thighs clenching together.

Not a good sign.

“Well,” you clear your throat, leaning over the counter, praying his perceptive ass didn’t notice that. “As much as I would love to continue to chat with you, I have to call our daughter and talk to her before she goes to bed.” It’s not an entire lie; you do need to call her. Just not at this moment. He doesn't need to know that though.

“You’re flustered, aren’t you?”

This man….

Two can play that game.

Pushing your arms together to press your breast together, you’re pleased seeing his gaze darken. “Does it look like I’m flustered, baby?” His jaw clenching is all the satisfaction you need. Mission accomplished. “Goodnight, Joe.”

Refusing to give him a chance to come back with something, you end the call, only realizing what just happened once you’re left alone with your thoughts.

You’re going out on a date with Joe.

What the fuck?

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns #black writers #arisnotebook

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sugar-coat-it · 5 months

Text

Body piercer! Matty part three

Part 1, Part 2

I missed writing for this man so much my god he is my everything. If you haven’t read the other parts, go ahead and do that first for context perhaps!

Fem! Reader

Contains: Mutual pining, cutie newly established relationship, mention of marijuana, proud concert bf Matty, him being protective of girlie at the show, exhibitionism (light petting in the crowd), rough quickie (unprotected), public sex (bathroom), fingering and fucking on the counter, Matty puts his hand over her mouth, mirror sex, choking (with jewelry)

WC: ~6.3k

—-------------------------------------

PART THREE- Your new boyfriend takes you to a punk show, ending with a quickie in the venue bathroom

—-------------------------------------

Both you and Matty knew in your hearts that this wasn’t just a fling. Flings didn’t stay up for endless hours on the phone, knowing damn well that you both had work the next morning. Flings also didn’t think about each other for every waking minute, always sending each other sentimental messages when things reminded them of each other. And, they certainly don’t touch you the way Matty touches you: like he’s like he’s been starved of you his entire life. He’d frankly been losing his mind, constantly daydreaming at work as he stared at the Polaroid of the two of you he kept at the front desk, knowing he couldn’t stand not calling you his girlfriend much longer. Not after the past couple of weeks you’d been seeing each other had been some of the best of his life. He was so antsy over the fact that he couldn’t actually call you his that it was eating him alive, where else would he ever find someone as perfect for him as you? His work friends teased him endlessly for being so head over his platform boot heels, telling him how he needed to lock you down as soon as possible. He endearingly calls you his “favorite client”, but you’ve quickly become his favorite everything (“No. You don’t even get it, mate,” he’d said, rambling on to some poor guy whose ears he was piercing, “she's like… the light of my life, really”). But, considering that you couldn’t close your eyes without picturing his pretty brown irises staring back at you, his eyes crinkling at the edges with all his twinkling, wild mirth, you weren’t faring much better.

Just as you’d hoped from that first night together, his sleepy eyes were in fact now a constant in your life. He asked you to be his girlfriend after taking you back to the same cafe where you’d had your blind date. Needless to say, it was an enthusiastic yes on your part, and everything has been so much brighter since, you can hardly imagine your life without all of his ruckus. Your days with him are long and lazy, and the nights are even longer, often spent wrapped up in his sheets or giggling while curled up on his couch after a smoke session.

You’ve learned a lot about Matty in the time you’ve been together. Like his tendency to leave things in your flat, his ungodly marijuana tolerance levels, and his love for his puppy Mayhem. You’ve also found that he takes his music very seriously. Listening to music is like a ritual to him, one that he refuses to partake in with “trashy” music. You call it snobbery, he calls it having good taste, and lately, he’s been trying to share that taste with you. He’s almost been subtly brainwashing you into getting into his bands, playing their songs in his car, burning some of their tracks on his CD mixtapes for you (always scrawled with cute Sharpie doodles and bad handwriting), humming the melodies of his favorite songs to you while cuddling. Honestly, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working, you’ve found yourself adding his music to your playlists, combining your styles much like how the mohawked man has slowly rooted his way into every corner of your life.

So of course, words couldn’t describe how thrilled he was when you agreed to see one of his favorite bands play at a punk rock show. He’d approached you with the idea tentatively, explaining that it was fine if you didn’t want to go, he’d just take one of his mates from work if so. The way his face lit up when you said yes, your heart could have burst as you watched his eyes sparkle with pure unbridled joy. Then, he leaned in and kissed every inch of your face, ignoring your giggles and protests of him tickling you while he declared how much you were going to love it.

When the day of the show arrived, you kept your outfit simple: baggy, ripped jeans, a white tank top, a band hoodie, and a studded belt you recovered from the depths of your closet, figuring you’d at least blend in with the grungier crowd that way. You put on one last thing to complete the look, hooking Matty’s chunky, silver chain (that of course, he’d left on your dresser) around your neck. You smile to yourself as you tuck it under your clothes, liking the feel of having him close to your heart like this. When did you become such a sap?

Meanwhile, Matty was pacing around your flat, making sure he had everything he needed and that you’d get there in time for doors. His reasoning for being punctual was much less about him than it was for you. He wanted you to fully experience being close to the stage because he knows how much you like to take pictures at shows, your constantly full phone storage being a telltale sign of that. He was going full-on concert boyfriend mode, also keeping your lipstick and your wallet in his little hip pouch so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying anything but your phone. He’d clearly thought this through quite a lot, he’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

A sudden kiss to his cheek quiets the hum of his overactive mind when you approach him, his furrowed brows sloping to a soft look of adoration as he insists on you standing still so he can take a good look at your outfit. He holds his fingers up in front of him in the shape of a square, squinting one eye closed like he’s framing you for a memory. Sure, the relationship was shiny and new, but something about the way he looked at you told you this wasn’t going to dull with time’s cruel hands, not any time soon at least.

“Ohh, yeah. Very punk rock, baby,” he smiles slyly, chuckling as you roll your eyes.

“Hardly! I don’t exactly have the wardrobe for this.”

“Shh, nonsense. You’re like a regular Joan Jett, babe. But hotter.”

“But hotter? Wow,” you laugh, now glancing down at the jewelry adorning his hands and wrists, “I like your bracelet.”

Matty cringes, sucking a breath through his teeth while looking up towards the ceiling. He recalls just how he’d obtained said bracelet as a teenager with something to prove. He was never a bad kid, just a highly restless one who got bored too easily. Besides, he never got in any real trouble since his parents would have strung him up by his toes otherwise.

“Erm, thanks. I think I nicked it when I was a teen.”

“You were a delinquent!?” you exclaim, causing Matty’s loud laughter to ring through the apartment.

“That’s a strong term, innit? Let’s call it… misguided… and stupid. Now c’mon, out the door, miss.”

You shake your head playfully as he shoos you out of the flat, imagining a younger version of your boyfriend getting into all sorts of mischief. You can almost perfectly picture his toothy, boyish grin as he runs around the streets of his hometown with his mates by his side, freckle-faced and carefree, his curls in an unruly mop on his head. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in his younger, wilder days. An odd part of you hopes he still would have liked you.

“Why do you still have it?” you ask as you start your walk to the train together. “What can I say? I’m unbelievably sentimental.”

The train ride is quiet, you share his wireless earbuds and listen to music side by side. The deal was that the queue of songs switched back and forth, you got to play one song, then him. He leans his head against your shoulder, the muss of hair atop the shaved sides of his head grazing your neck. He almost falls asleep as you start to scratch the top of his head. But, inevitably, all of his energy comes rushing back to him when the train comes to a halt. Immediately, he’s grabbing your hand to bound down the street to the venue, shouting about how good of a spot you’re going to get.

—---------------------------------------------

Once inside, at a glance, you don’t exactly fit in here. A sort of insecurity festers in you as you eye some of the girls dressed in spikes and leather, they looked like they belonged here, and so did your boyfriend. But, you try to shake it off nonetheless, even if you didn’t feel nearly as cool as you wanted to. This place was like the high council of people who exclusively wear clothes with tears in them.

Matty stands close behind you as you pack in with the rest of the grungy-looking crowd. His hands are on your hips as he glances around, making sure that you have enough space to stand comfortably. He knows how these shows can get, and he’s made it his personal mission to make sure no one ruins the experience for you. He shoots a look at any guy who tries to stand too close to you, the coldness of his stare sending them inching away from your personal space with cowardice. In an instant, the mean look is wiped off his face as he glances down at you, seeing how happy you seem to be there with him. He leans down, the cool metal of his chain grazing your neck as he speaks near your ear, just loud enough so you can hear him over the buzz of chatter throughout the venue.

“Can you see alright?” he asks, giving your hips a little squeeze.

You nod with a smile, having a fairly clear view of the stage. You’re only about three rows back thanks to Matty’s punctuality. You turn your head, grasping the necklace around his neck gently before pulling him down further so you can kiss his cheek. A grin breaks out on your boyfriend’s face, he can’t help but chuckle at your little move, he loves it when you get bold with him. His lips brush against your ear as he murmurs “little minx” before standing back up to his full height.

Matty talks over the pre-show music as he tells you a bit of background about the bands playing tonight, prattling on about who plays what and what makes them so cool. You listen to him with an enamored look plastered on your face, nodding along even when you have no clue what he’s talking about, but what else is new? It only makes you adore him more with every detail rattled off from the depths of his mind.

“... and this one here I don’t know shit about, to be honest. I reckon they’re probably fine though,” he shrugs, showing you the lineup on his phone.

You squint at the screen, tapping your nail against one of the names you recognize because of him. You blink up at him prettily, knowing he’s going to get a kick out of what you say next.

“This is the one with the guy who plays the drums with two pedals, right?” you recall, tilting your head at him, knowing damn well that you’re laying it on thick.

“Yes!! Yes, exactly,” he beams, his eyes instantly lighting up before he presses an enthusiastic kiss to your temple, “That’s my fuckin’ girl. The coolest girlfriend.”

Soon, the show begins, and Matty lets out an excited whoop as the first band makes their entrance, the one he’d bought the tickets for in the first place. He lets go of your hips, taking a small step back to give you the room to dance if you want to. He’s so considerate of you, it makes a glowing sort of warmth swell in your chest. You glance back at him and he gives you two thumbs up, his face scrunching up with a grin that’s so earnestly Matty, you have to resist the urge to just grab him and kiss him till your lips are raw right in the middle of the crowd. Not to mention how fucking good he looks tonight, his tank top allowing his tattooed arms to be on full display, and it should be illegal how tightly those black leather pants cling to his legs.

Your attention turns back to the stage as the first notes ring through the small venue, grungy guitar chords echoing off of the walls. Nothing gives you the same feeling as live music does, the pure thrill it makes rush through you is unmatched (sorry, Matty). The music is harsh, it grates on your ears, but in the best way possible. It’s invigorating, fucking electrifying, it’s thrumming in the hollow of your chest. You feel alive. Matty leans over to see it all happen from just a step away, watching the stage lights reflect in your eyes. He hadn’t looked at the band once, this was far more mesmerizing than anything that could be happening up there. You’ve completely captured his attention, and when you start bobbing your head to the beat and singing along to the chorus, Matty almost drops to one knee right then and there. He’s already mentally noted that this song will in fact be played at your wedding reception.

As the set goes on, his eyes stay on you for the majority of the time, he’s just so taken by watching you have this much fun hearing his music, which is now your music too. He’s simply beaming with pride. Every time you look back at him with that thrilled look on your face while you’re moving to the rhythm only solidifies to him that you’re his absolute dream girl. And of course, he’s having the time of his life too. Matty mouthes along to all of the words, nodding his head in a way that makes his quaffed mohawk bounce with his movements. And, shit, it’s hot in the crowd, you can feel the heat radiating off of the bodies moving around you. The hoodie you brought may have been an oversight, you can practically feel your mascara melting off of your lashes.

The show goes on, and when the moshing in the middle of the crowd gets increasingly rowdy, one man gets shoved and sent hurtling past the bodies between you and the mosh pit. You quickly hold your hands out to brace for the impact, knowing this can’t end well as you prepare to meet your leather-jacketed doom. The man is visibly very intoxicated and he would have stumbled straight into your body from the momentum if Matty’s hands hadn’t shot out to block him, catching him by his shoulders.

“Oi! Watch where you’re fuckin’ going, fuck’s sake!” Matty spits, sending him back toward the pit with a light push.

Now, had Matty done his fair share of moshing and getting absolutely catapulted into other people at breakneck velocity? Yes. It’s not even entirely the guy’s fault that he almost crashed into you, he was pretty drunk and didn’t have his wits or his balance about him, but in Matty’s mind, he might as well have tried to tackle you to the ground WWE style.

“I could have caught him!” you argue over the music, laughing at the bitter look on your boyfriend's face.

Matty raises an eyebrow at you and shakes his head with an amused smile, but doesn’t argue. Maybe you could have, but he wasn’t about to let some sloshed idiot break his girlfriend's back because that’s his job, dammit.

The band’s set is finished with a bang, the final chords echoing in your ears as you try to catch your breath from moving almost nonstop, your heart thundering against your ribs. You turn around to face Matty with a giant grin plastered on your face, letting out a breathless, excited laugh. He just chuckles, eyeing the strands of hair sticking to your face from the sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup rimming your wide eyes. He’s not in much better shape, his tank top is clinging to his body like a second skin. By this point, your hoodie feels like it has its own climate, and you’re dying to peel it off.

“Fun?” he asks, as you start to lift the fabric over your head.

“Oh my god, yeah,” you breathe, your voice muffled by the hoodie.

“I-”

His next words die in his throat as his eyes immediately snap to your chest, his breath catching as he spots the clear outline of your nipple piercings through your drenched, white tank top and- was that one of his chains around your neck? He feels a stir in his tight leather pants as his mouth slightly drops, he can’t remember ever being so instantly and completely turned on. Heat ripples through his body, climbing up to his face as he shamelessly stares at your tits. Not only were you showing off his skillful work, but your pretty neck was adorned with the chain he’d forgotten all about at your place. It might even look better on you than it does on him.

You’re tying your hoodie around your waist when you catch the look on his face, your brows knitting together with confusion till you follow his gaze and find your piercings proudly displayed through your shirt. As the realization dawns on you, you look up at your boyfriend with a coy smile. Matty shudders, lust crowding his mind as he struggles to come up with a coherent thought, one that isn’t wildly pornographic. He can actually feel his hands tense with the urge to grasp, to lay claim to you with his fingertips. You simply look up at him through your lashes, watching him short-circuit right before your eyes.

Before he has the chance to say or do anything, the next band comes onto the stage, the crowd roaring to life a second time. You give him a knowing look before turning back around to face the direction of the music. Matty swallows hard, raking a hand through his mohawk like he’s grappling with demons… and losing.

The music is nothing more than a pulsing beat in his skull, his attention is fully on the back of your head. He begins to inch forward to you, his hands finding a home on your hips while you vibe to the beat. He brings your hips back against him, feeling your movements stutter as the protrusion in his trousers presses into your ass as if to say “Feel what you did to me?”. You get the message loud and clear, draping your weight against him, your head lolling back against his shoulder as you both rock to the beat of the drums, sweaty skin to sweaty skin. Matty’s hands begin to wander, mapping over the damp fabric of your tank top, up your stomach, over your ribs till- oh. You gasp, the stage lights strobing under your closed eyes as he squeezes your tits through your top. Matty can distinctly feel the barbells through the thin fabric, it drives him fucking wild. Your lips part as you melt into him like honey, your skin feels like it’s on fire as the music blares through the venue. Your stomach swoops when he dares to flick the piercings with his fingertips, danger humming in your veins as he gets bolder, as if you’re not surrounded by a sea of people. Your eyes snap open, you quickly glance around to find that everyone’s far too enthralled with the show to notice, not that Matty would give a shit if they did. No one can hear the way you whimper when he pinches your nipples. You stare down at the large hands that possessively grope your breasts, feeling a throb resound between your thighs.

“Matty, you said this was the band you don’t know, right?” you call to him, your voice uneven and unnaturally high-pitched.

His heavily lidded eyes look almost black with the way they darken as he reads between the lines. Even if it was one of the bands he liked, he’s pretty sure absolutely nothing could stop him from doing what comes next, not when his dick is this hard, and you’ve teased him this salaciously. Wordlessly, Matty lets go of your chest and grabs your hand, leading you through the crowd towards the exit. He moves fast, the urgency in his strides and on his face likely making people move out of the way quicker. You’d feel concerned about losing your spot up front if your mind wasn’t so scrambled with need, your legs rushing to keep up with your lanky boyfriend.

Your head is spinning as he swiftly leads you into the nearest gender-neutral bathroom. Matty’s hands are on you the moment he closes and locks the door, he’s all over you in every sense of the term. You breathe in the musk of his sweat between the melding of your lips. The kiss is messy, it’s searingly hot as he desperately licks into your mouth, his fingertips digging into your hip bones. He backs you up blindly until your hips meet the bathroom counter, his hands reaching to undo the hoodie tied around your waist and toss it aside without breaking the kiss once. You didn’t think you could get much hotter than you were in the crowd, but now you’re burning up from the inside with white-hot desire.

Matty hastily turns you around to face the bathroom mirror, tagged with graffiti and littered with lipstick prints at the border. It was clear that the space was well-loved, but clean. A culmination of every aspiring artist and sticker enthusiast in the area, almost no spot on the wall was left untouched. Your eyes are drawn away from the decor as Matty grasps your jaw from behind you, turning your head to make you meet the almost feral look in his eyes through the mirror. He holds you that way as he leans down to press dire, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his other hand snaking down your front to unbutton your pants. The feeling of his tongue stud soothing over faded love bites only makes you weaker in the knees. Matty fumbles with the zipper of your jeans for a moment before he shoves the clothing down your legs, the fabric pooling around your ankles. It’s clear that he’s not wasting time with his usual delicate, worshiping caresses of your thighs while he undresses you, this is an electrified frenzy.

“No bra, baby? Is that how you want to play?” he mutters, his lips grazing the column of your neck teasingly.

“I-I didn’t-” you begin to protest, only to be cut off by your own moan as he gives a rough pinch to your nipple through your top.

Matty follows the curve of your midsection with his hand, intense honey-colored eyes locked on you through your reflection, the image swirled at the edges with colorful spray paint. A shudder reverberates through your body as his fingers venture lower, dipping below the waistband of your soaked panties. Your body instinctually arches backward against his, mewling when his calloused fingertips brush against your swollen clit. It’s like he can light up every one of your senses with just a graze, your breath getting shallower by the second. You feel his stiff cock twitch in his trousers as you press yourself impossibly closer to him, every inch of his glowing skin flush against your back. Matty continues his loving assault on your neck as his thick digits gather the arousal pooling between your thighs. Your dazed vision trails downward as you stare at his hand shoved inside your panties from behind you, watching the fabric shift with every movement of his skilled hand. You whine as he circles your slit before beginning to sink his slicked fingers into you, your eyes squeezing shut as the dizzying pleasure thrums in your veins.

“Shhh. You know how much I love your pretty noises, baby, but be good, okay? Can you do that? Don’t want anyone to know what we’re up to, do you?” he murmurs, dragging his plush bottom lip against your ear lobe.

You nod wordlessly, afraid that if you open your mouth, noise will overflow from you uncontrollably, his fingers being knuckle-deep in you is just too damn good. If you don’t control yourself, anyone outside could hear you, could know how good your boyfriend is filling you with his fingers, satisfying you to your very core. The thought of it alone makes your heart hammer in your chest harder. You don’t want them to know… because that would be wrong, it would be undignified… it’d be… kind of hot.

His digits stretch you open as he begins to diligently pump them in and out of you, curling them towards the spot that he knows will make you see stars. He works quickly, his pace is almost feverish from his determination to make you fall to pieces as efficiently as he can. Matty’s other hand is groping your breast, squeezing the fullness of it, his rings pressing into your flesh through your thin tank top. You bite down on your lip hard enough that you think you might tear the flesh open, desperately trying to keep your whimpers quiet. Matty’s gaze on you is cautionary, his eyebrows slightly raised like he’s testing you, seeing just how much you can take.

The last of your defenses come crumbling down as the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, the flood of sensations making a moan burst from your throat as he begins to draw tight circles on the bundle of nerves. In an instant, Matty’s hand is off of your chest and is clasped over your mouth, muffling any noise. Fuck.

“I mean it. Pipe down, or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, smirking at you as he feels your walls flutter around his fingers.

“No- no, please don’t stop,” you babble against his palm like the idea of it was simply unbearable.

Matty’s hand stays firmly over your mouth as he withdraws his fingers from inside you, ignoring the way you squirm in protest, whining uselessly. He tugs your ruined panties down your legs, letting them join your pants in a heap around your ankles. It’s almost embarrassing how you can hardly contain your desire, but he likes it that way, knowing how needy you are.

“Matty, please, fuck, need it,” you mumble, and he can see the way your desire is clawing at you from the inside just from a glance.

“Be patient for me, my love,” he smiles, hurriedly pulling himself out of his uncomfortably skin-tight pants with his free hand, “You’ll get what you want. Being stuffed full with my cock, hm?”

You whimper as Matty nudges your legs further apart with his foot, leaning you forward over the counter onto your elbows. He whistles lowly at the sight of you, his eyes following down your spine, over the curve of your ass, and to your dripping pussy. You tremble slightly as he reaches between your legs, collecting your honey on his fingers before spreading it over his shaft, slicking himself with your arousal. A whine vibrates against the palm Matty holds over your mouth as you swing your hips in a desperate attempt to entice him. He just chuckles darkly, keeping his hand securely in place as starts to guide his cock through your folds, the head kissing your aching clit as he rubs it back and forth.

Matty doesn’t waste a second longer, you can hardly process it before he’s pushing inside of you, gasping as he fills you inch by inch. His fingertips press into the side of your face as he tightens his hold on your mouth to muffle your mewls, watching as your lashes flutter, your face contorting with pleasure. He can feel your hot, heavy breaths fanning into his palm, your chest heaving as he bottoms out inside of you. Matty groans loudly, tossing his head back as he’s fully surrounded by your velvety warmth, forgetting his own volume rules that he’d set for you. Hypocrite.

“Oh, fuck, you feel so good,” he sighs, reaching to pull your tank top over your breasts, “Stay like that for me, yeah? Wanna see your perfect tits.”

He barely allows you a moment to breathe before he’s snapping his hips against you roughly, letting out a strained grunt with every thrust. Sensations trickle up your spine like flickering flames as a muffled cry spills out of you. Matty angles his hips just right, hitting so deep inside you that you feel as though you’re being split open by each drive of his cock, it’s mind-numbing. Your whole body jolts against the counter with his purposeful movements, the edge of the porcelain biting into your hip bones. He can hardly focus on just one thing, his gaze darting from where he’s disappearing inside of you, to your gorgeous face, to your breasts. Matty’s raspy voice makes your eyes refocus on him, you watch in the mirror as he licks his teeth like he wants to devour you whole.

“You see how pretty you look? No, no, sweetheart, don’t look at me, look at yourself. God, isn’t she pretty?” he drawls, “You look so sexy, wearing my chain like that while you’re taking my cock.”

At his instruction, you meet your own eyes through the reflection, your eyebrows sloping as you realize that he’s right, you do look pretty when he’s fucking you. Your rosied cheeks, your blown pupils, your glowing skin… and your boyfriend’s hand over your mouth. Your chain bounces against your collarbones in tandem with your pierced tits, it’s no wonder he’s loving this position so much, he gets to watch everything at once. While you’re gazing at yourself, Matty reaches around and begins to rub two fingers on your clit, swirling them in intoxicatingly quick figure eights. You watch your own eyes go wide as the pleasure ricochets through your bones, making you light-headed. This must be the expression Matty lives for when he’s got you like this, the face to his sweetest wet dreams. You’re almost mesmerized by seeing yourself get railed to high heaven, it’s sort of an odd feeling.

In one swift motion, Matty lets go of your face and grasps the chain around your neck, pulling it taut against your throat from behind, ripping a shocked cry from your lips.

“Ohh, she liked that one,” he grins lazily, tilting his head back with a groan as he feels your walls clamp down on him like a vice, “Shit, not gonna last if you keep doin’ that, god damn.”

It feels like he’s stolen the air directly from your lungs as he lightly chokes you with the silver links you’d so slickly “borrowed” from him. Even just the slight restriction of oxygen has you reeling, your eyes rolling back as your hands claw at the counter, your whole body buzzing with mortifying heights of exhilaration. It’s a dizzying combination of thrill and precarious risk as Matty keeps a tight hold on the chain while fucking you with such vigor that you don’t feel attached to your body, the counter being your only loose grasp on reality. It only makes every drive of his cock feel that much more visceral, the tension coiling tighter in your belly. Heat prickles at your cheeks and the bridge of your nose at the purely obscene sounds of him thrusting into your sopping cunt, skin on skin echoing through the small space while his fingers abuse your clit.

It’s all building up so fast, quicker than usual due to Matty’s frenzied rhythm, his hips meeting yours again and again, unrelentingly. You bite back a wail as the tension so deep inside you reverberates in crackling pangs, threatening to break you to pieces as you arch backward. Your hips writhe against his hand both like you’re chasing the friction and trying to thrash away from its intensity. He can tell you’re on the edge of euphoria, teetering with every swipe of his fingers, every slam of his hips. He gives the chain a harsh tug, knowing it’ll send you spiraling into the depths of pleasure just beyond your fingertips.

“Fuck!” you gasp, one of your hands flying to grip his wrist as your mind goes impossibly blank, your nails digging into his skin, “I’m gonna- I-I can’t!”

“Shit, me too, angel. So close. Oh, fuck, cum for me, sweet girl. Cum for me while I fill you up,” he grunts, a burst of energy coming over him as he manages to piston into you even more brutally.

It crashes over you like a thunderous wave, spiraling through you from your dizzied head to the tips of your curled toes. He lets go of the chain, putting his hand over your mouth again to stifle your cry, the disorienting rush of oxygen almost making your knees give out from underneath you, and they just might have if Matty hadn’t kept you supported against the counter. It feels like pure white light is fizzling under your eyelids as Matty makes you reach the stars with your climax, dousing you in pulsating bliss as you clench around him tightly. He lets out a deep, animalistic sound as he spills inside of you, warmth flooding your insides as he fucks you through your orgasm, his rhythm beginning to falter from the effort.

“Fuuuck!” he hisses through gritted teeth, along with other breathy strings of profanities.

Slowly, his body stutters to a stop, giving one last roll of his hips before he collapses over you as delicately as he can, enveloping you with his chest to your back. He lovingly presses kisses to the back of your neck as your head hangs forward slightly, both of you gasping to catch your breath.

“H-holy shit, babe. You’re so good…you’re fucking incredible,” he mutters, seeming just as dazed as you are.

He can’t seem to stop complimenting you and loving on you as he keeps you held up with his hands on your hips, rubbing little circles into your skin as you both come down from the highest of highs. The afterglow clouds your head in a way that makes you feel like you’re floating with Matty being your only anchor to the ground.

“Matty…” you mumble, reaching back blindly for his face.

“I’m right here. Right here, love,” he whispers, guiding your palm to his cheek.

You smile warmly as you feel the scruffy sides of his head at your fingertips, Matty keeping his hand over yours sweetly. At the same time you both glance upwards at the mirror, letting out simultaneous giggles as you appreciate the state you’re in. He leans to kiss your cheek, peering into your eyes adoringly through the reflection, pulling your top back down over your breasts.

“Oh my god… we’re a mess,” you snort, rubbing aimlessly at your runny mascara with your free hand.

“You mean you’re a mess, I look damn good,” he jokes, starting to slowly ease you both back up into a standing position.

You both let out a breathy sound as he pulls out of you slowly, his cum beginning to streak down your thighs. Of course, Matty stares, swallowing thickly like he’ll never quite get used to the sight while he shimmies back into his pants. Diligently, he reaches for a handful of paper towels, keeping a gentle hold on your hip. You reach to try and smack his arm when he laughs at the way your legs are trembling, your knees wobbling due to how hard he’d railed you. He dodges the blow, grinning at you triumphantly.

Matty gently wipes away the residue of his pearly release, whispering a hushed “I know, I know” when you squirm at the sensitivity. Once he discards the paper towels, he kneels down to pull your underwear and your jeans back up, kissing his way up the outside of your leg as he does so, looking into your eyes with a playful glint. He kisses you deeply while he buttons your pants with nimble hands, not even letting you lift a finger as he takes care of his girl. You throw your arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as he teases his tongue piercing along your bottom lip just to make you shiver.

“My perfect girl,” he mumbles against your mouth.

You stay in the bathroom for just a little longer, kissing and whispering sweet things to each other while your bodies fully come down, Matty shouting at whoever keeps intermittently knocking on the door to fuck off. You can’t help but feel a little tinge of guilt in your stomach for “christening” the restroom the way you did, but you highly doubt you were the first.

After he reassures you that the makeup streaked down your cheeks is “hardcore” and that you should leave it the way it is, you finally leave to re-enter the show (not before one final, drawn-out kiss, of course). Your boyfriend keeps you close by his side, his fingers interlocked with yours as you find yourselves at the very back of the pit, scattered with only a few other people. Matty guides your arms around his neck, grinning at you like a fool as you start to rock back and forth to the rhythm of the drums. His smile is infectious as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours, singing to you when the song reaches its chorus. He looks incredibly dorky as mimics the wail of the guitar solo, swinging his hips while his hands rest comfortably on your waist, almost like you’re about to slow dance. You tell him as such and Matty just tosses his head back with a laugh like a little kid. His eyes are sparkling, but not just from the iridescent stage lighting, it’s the look he gets only when he’s with you. You feel your heart swell in your chest as you continue to dance like you’re the only two in the venue, and he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the whole world.

—-----------------------------------------

SO I was a liar and I did write another part. I intended this to be a blurb but I had so many more thoughts about them and their relationship eeeeee

The ending was soooo “do you wanna dance, dance at the back of the hall”

I love them. I need them to be happy forever actually.

This one is dedicated to my lovely lovely friend B (@haveyouseenherlately) thank you so much for the ideas, you get body piercer like no one else, queen. Love you!!!

Go check out her stuff if you haven’t it SLAYS <3

#body piercer!matty #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #the 1975 smut #the 1975 x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy x y/n #the 1975 x you

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