#it’s quite a ride going through this album

[kithtaehyung]

— 📼 slow dancing (2023) !

[strang3lov3]

Bite Me

You learn two things on a particularly boring patrol shift - Joel loves to bite and you love to be bitten (5.3k)

Tags - 18+, smut, bite kink, lots and lots of biting, spitting, joel eats you out from behind because he's just in that kind of mood, brief ass eating, anything one can do with their mouth joel does to you, unprotected piv, creampie, not? gentle? sex, little dubcon bc joel is a maniac, little bit of blood, one (1) dad joke, skin tone is not described but bites and bruises in reader's skin are mentioned. Fic help - @noxturnalpascal for editing and @endlessthxxghts and @beefrobeefcal for encouraging this!! i love you all! A/N - thanks for your patience! I’m working on bigger things that are out of my comfort zone so enjoy this snack sized fic until dinner’s ready. I wrote this with my heart but most importantly my pussy, I hope that translates.

You and Joel are on patrol together at your usual post, an old two story house about an hour’s ride outside of Jackson. It’s early July, which usually means there’s more activity to keep an eye on as the summer warms; raiders, infected, strangers and the like. But not lately - there haven’t been any major threats, nothing to make your patrol shifts daunting like they usually are. It’s just been quiet and peaceful.

Boring.

So. Fucking Boring.

You’ve picked through everything in this house several times over and never found much. There’s no food or tools or anything useful, but there’s not even anything particularly interesting either. No paintings on the walls, no photo albums of old families to flip through as you like to do. There’s no books in the house either, apart from a few damaged by water and with torn pages, rendering them unreadable. 

Joel used to get on your case about this, gruffly telling you to ‘Quit fuckin’ around’ and ‘Should be payin’ attention to your surroundings, not snoopin’ through shit that ain’t there’. But eventually, he got bored too. The surroundings never change, not much to really pay attention to, even for Joel. 

There was one time Joel didn’t yell at you as you wandered off, and when you came back upstairs you found him sitting on a couch in the room with a big window, hunched over a coffee table, picking up and laying down playing cards. Solitaire. 

You leaned over the back of the couch and tapped him on the shoulder, “Aren’t we supposed to be keeping watch?” you asked, teasing.

Joel turned over his shoulder and glanced at you, then turned back to his cards and continued playing. “Smartass,” he mumbled. “You gonna rat on me?”

 “No. As long as you know you’re a hypocrite,”  you replied before rounding the side of the old couch and sitting next to him. You watched him as he flipped through the deck a couple times over, then he sighed in defeat. “Did you lose?”

“Yup,” he answered, gathering the cards and shuffling them a couple of times. “You’re losin’ next, though. You’re gonna play with me.”

“I don’t know any card games.”

Joel looked at you incredulously, “Bullshit,”  he said. A deck of cards was one of the most valuable things one could own post-apocalypse. Endless games for solo play and small groups of people alike. Not much else to do to pass the time, but then again, people stay busy in Jackson.

“Oh wait - yeah, I do know one. I know Go Fish. Do you wanna play that one?”

“Pass,” he answered. “I’d rather play nothin’ at all if that’s our only game. You know Crazy 8’s, don’t you? Gin Rummy?” 

“Nope.”

“I’m gonna rectify that, then. C’mere.”

Joel taught you three games that night. The first being War, because it’s easy and luck based - something for you to dip your toes into. The next was Crazy 8’s and then finally, Gin Rummy. 

You weren’t lying when you told Joel you didn’t know any card games, but only because you could never learn. You didn’t like the pressure of learning in groups, didn’t like the vague instructions being shouted at you. Euchre was particularly awful to learn, you were holding back tears trying to get through that game. But Joel taught you differently, he was gentle and patient and calm with an open hand of cards. He’d play fairly and wouldn’t take advantage of your inexperience. His patience paid off - after some time, he had a consistent opponent for card games and your patrols together became a lot less boring. Now Joel never has to play another lonely game of solitaire again. You play with him just about every shift now, when it’s quiet and there’s nothing going on. Your favorite games to play are Crazy 8’s and War, not much strategy involved in those but Joel enjoys them anyway. 

After taking your usual spots together on the couch, Joel reaches into a pocket of his backpack, the one on the inside that fits his deck of cards like a glove. “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. 

“What’s the matter?”

“No cards,” he murmurs, feeling around through his items and coming up empty. “Must’ve left ‘em at Tommy’s.” Tommy and Maria recently hosted a game night and invited a couple of people, Joel being one of them. And then Joel brought you along to be his partner in group games. Playing with him one on one made you feel special, but you liked that he took you along as his date of-sorts. He shot you secret little winks from across the table before clearing his throat and furrowing his eyebrows as he examined his hand. 

“Oh,” you say. “So I guess we’re actually patrolling tonight, then.”

“‘Bout time,” Joel replies with a soft chuckle. “Maybe somethin’ of interest will happen, finally.”

“Oh god, don’t say that. I really hope not.”

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, “Me neither.”

It’s nice to watch the sunset through the big window, very relaxing and beautiful. As the light disappears, the color in the room begins to fade and looks like television in black and white. Joel looks like one of those old-timey movie stars, he has the face for it. He stares out the window and twists the end of his mustache and you think that could play the criminally handsome villain. All dark and mysterious, with his sharp nose and inky eyes. 

“Whatcha’ lookin’ at?”

Oops. Busted. “Nothing,” you lie. You don’t catch Joel’s smirk as you excuse yourself to go look through the house for the millionth time. Maybe there’s something to do around here that you’ve not seen before. Or a book, you’ll read anything - an instruction manual to a vacuum cleaner or a Cuisinart food processor even. Anything. 

But there’s nothing new, nothing’s changed. Your fingerprints on cabinets and drawers from months and months before still sit in the dust. This place is fair and squarely empty. You sigh deeply before you return to Joel upstairs. “I’m bored,” you whine in his direction.

“Hi bored, I’m Joel.”

You could make waves with the power of your eye roll. “Are you sure you don’t have your cards?”

Joel rifles through his belongings once more and sighs. “Nope. Definitely at Tommy’s. God bless it.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “We’ll live.”

You don’t know that you will live, though. Death by boredom feels more likely. The minutes pass, but they feel like hours in the deafening silence. Joel makes no effort at conversation, which is very true to himself. He’s not much of a talker anyway, but leave it to Joel to sit in silence when even light smalltalk would make a world of difference in making this a less boring night. 

Some minutes pass and you’re starting to get fidgety. You crack the knuckles in your hand, one by one by one which garners a look from Joel. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he murmurs. 

You pick at your nails next, trying to even out some jagged and split edges. Joel looks at you again, glaring as you pick and pick. He fucking hates that sound. His chemistry teacher in high school used to pick at her fingernails during tests and it always made this awful, high pitched click, which was especially grating in the silence. The noise drives him crazy, like nails on a chalkboard. “I’d appreciate it if you’d quit pickin’ at your nails, hon, that noise makes my teeth hurt.”

“What do you mean, ‘makes your teeth hurt’?” you ask, still picking at your nails. You’ve almost got that one hangnail.

“Gives me the heebie jeebies, I don’t know–” Click. You got the nail. Joel shivers while gritting his teeth and groaning. “Knock it off,” he hisses.  

“Okay, sorry,” you say. “I’m done.”

“Thank you.”

Peace and quiet once more. Joel’s bored too, but he doesn’t mind the insipidity of the evening as much as you do. He likes having the time to reflect, to slow down and collect his thoughts. He’s thinking about his day off tomorrow, what he’s gonna do. Probably harvest some vegetables from his garden, do a load of laundry and–

Click.

“What’d I just ask?”

You freeze where you’re at, the nail of one of your thumbs picking at the other, you’re caught red handed. “Shit. Sorry, Joel.” 

“Uh-huh. Sit on your hands,” he commands. 

“What?”

“You heard me. Sit on ‘em.” You roll your eyes as you wedge both of your hands under your thighs just like Joel asked and he nods in approval. “There. F’you can sit still for twenty minutes, you can have your hand privileges back.”

“You can’t take away my hand privileges, Joel. They’re hands. They’re attached to me.”

“I can, indeed. If ya do it again, you’re losin’ a finger.”

A baseless threat, but you know Joel means business so you do your best to sit still. Surely he doesn’t actually expect you to not move at all. You’re allowed to adjust, move yourself into a more comfortable position so you do, and then you feel the corner of your nail get stuck on a thread of your jeans. You pull your hand from under yourself to examine it, feel the irregularity. You’re trying to ignore it but you just can’t. 

Pick pick pick.

Joel turns to your direction and in a swift movement, grabs both of your hands in his and squeezes, shaking you gently. “Enough,” he fumes, frustration in his voice. He loosens his grip slightly and you pull your hands away before you really do lose a finger, you fear that his threat did in fact hold water. “Hey,” Joel says, his voice softened. “That’s somethin’ we could do.”

“What’s something we can do?”

“Slap jack,” he answers plainly, nodding his head like he’s waiting for you to tell him you understand. You don’t. 

“What’s slap jack?” 

“You don’t know slap jack?” he asks. You shake your head, no. “You don’t know much, do you?”

“Hey,” you complain. Rude. 

“Relax, I’m teasin’,” he says, “You know you’re a smartass. Now give me your hands.” Cautiously, you extend your hands towards Joel and he takes them gently in his own, “Flatten ‘em,” he says, “Like this.” maneuvering your hands into place so that your palms are facing the ground. He places his hands underneath yours, his palms facing the ceiling. “Ready?”

“I guess?”

Bam. Joel flips his hands on top of yours and slaps the back of your hands. “Joel!” you shriek. “That hurt.” 

“Well don’t let me hit you, then,” he smirks. “That’s the game. You gotta move your hands before I getcha.”

You giggle. And Joel really didn’t hit you hard, you were just startled. The prospect of the game excites you. “Again,” you say. 

You lay your hands out flat, Joel holds his underneath yours. He uses his fingers to tease your palms, tapping and tracing along your skin. Smack. Back in the same position once more, with your hands on top of Joel’s. He doesn’t tease this time, just smacks you again. A third time you lay your palms on his, and he teases again - fingers creeping on your skin, tickling and thrilling you. With every minor movement of Joel’s hands, you pull your hands back. “You’re flinchin’ an awful lot,” he teases. “S’usually against the rules, but I’m bein’ nice.”

“You’re gonna hit me!” 

Joel shakes his head. “I’m not gonna hit you, sweetheart. Why would I do that?” Smack. You gasp and rub the backs of your hands, smiling at Joel with an open mouth. He beat you again. “You’re terrible at this,” he says.

“It’s my turn,” you decide, laying your hands out with your palms facing up. Joel places his hands on top of yours just like how the game goes. You flip your hands to slap his and hit nothing but air. He’s too quick. Settling back into place, you try again and Joel pulls away too quickly for you to slap him. It’s the same thing over and over again until you decide you're done playing. Offense and defense, you never win, only lose.

“You’re a sore loser, you know that? Card games too, you do not like to lose, do you?”

“I don’t - you’re just–”

“Just what?”

You’re not answering that. You know what the answer is, that he’s too good at these games and you’re not but you don’t need to tell him that, inflate his ego even more. “I wanna pick a game.”

“Be my guest. One that you can win, right?” You couldn’t slap Joel’s hands but you’re sure you could slap that stupid shit-eating grin off right off of his face right now. You just take Joel’s left hand and offer him yours. “What game’s this?”

You’re retaliating. He didn’t hit you hard at any point, but you’re gonna get him back. There’s not really a name for this game, it’s just something you used to  play when you were a teenager. It’s on par with those other stupid teenager games, truth or dare and spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven.

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s the biting game.”

“Biting?” Joel looks at you incredulously.

“Yeah, biting. I bite your hand, you bite mine. See who can take it.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very nice game,” Joel says.

“Well it’s fitting then, because you’re not a very nice man.”

Joel smirks,  “No, ‘spose I’m not.”

“So, do you wanna play?”

You don’t even let him answer before bringing his hand to your mouth,  fitting your teeth over the fleshy part of it - right in between his thumb and forefinger, where his unique bullseye tattoo sits. Joel follows suit, placing his teeth over your hand and letting them rest there. You feel the heat from his mouth, the softness of his lips. His teeth are blunt, threatening to sink into you and tickling your skin as he waits for the game to begin. “Ready?” you ask, your voice muffled by his hand. Joel nods, his big brown eyes sparkling in the low light. “Okay.” 

 You bite Joel, holding his gaze. His skin is salty and warm. Joel bites with you and you’re both rather tentative at first, biting the other gently. You take the initiative to bite him harder, “Mm,” he mumbles, surprised by the pain yet won’t go further.  

“That's all you got?”

Joel raises his eyebrows at your challenge. He squeezes his eyes shut as he bites down, hard. In turn, you squeal and pull back, and Joel releases your hand in an instant. You shake your hand and rub the mark he left, laughing. “Motherfucker,” you gasp.

Joel turns on a lantern on the coffee table and takes your hand back to inspect it. “You okay?” he asks, tracing the marks in your skin. “You don’t have much of a pain tolerance.”

“It’s a sensitive spot,” you reply. 

He makes an amused sort of expression at that, still rubbing your hand as he nods in response. The closeness in proximity, the peculiar intimacy of the game you and Joel have just played - it feels like something in the atmosphere changes, charged, the way the air feels before a storm. 

Joel breaks the silence, “Bet you’re sensitive like that everywhere,” he whispers. “Should grow some thicker skin.”

“Joel–”

He takes your hand again, this time skipping that fleshy spot on your palm and instead bringing your wrist to his mouth. His mustache is prickly on your skin. Joel bites your wrist, and you can’t help but let out a little gasp, even though he’s gentle just like before. He increases pressure until you’re yelping again, but this time he doesn’t let you go. He watches you squirm, catching your lip in your own teeth as you writhe in pain. You exhale in relief when he loosens his bite, then shiver as he drags his teeth along your forearm and bites you there next, then moves up to your bicep. Each bite is harder than the last, including when he pulls the collar of your top away and bites your neck. The skin is tender and thin and it hurts, really fucking hurts as you whine in pain. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” you gasp. 

Joel soothes the bite mark with his tongue which startles you perhaps more than his teeth did. “You can take it,” he whispers against your skin before searching for another part of your neck to bite. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts it to the side, allowing himself access to you. You feel him open his mouth and bite down, but this time it feels good. Joel notices your reaction, feeling the vibration of your moan with his mouth against your neck. “You liked that,” he says, it’s not a question. 

You’re at a loss for words. Breathing heavily, you pant, “Fu - Joel…”

“It’s okay. You can admit it.” Joel likes it too - all that flesh between his teeth. The marks of his teeth he leaves in your skin, the bruising that surrounds them - it’s his artwork, unable to be replicated. Nobody else has his teeth and nobody else has your skin. He’s not broken skin yet but he imagines the faint taste of your blood on his tongue, tangy and metallic mixed with the sweetness of your skin. Fuck, he could eat you whole. Make you hurt, oh, he’ll make you fucking hurt. He softly bites your earlobe next, “Feels good to hurt sometimes,” he purrs in your ear. The heat of his breath sends a shiver down your spine. “So I’m gonna keep bitin’, then. And you’re not gonna quit on me like last time. Are you?”

Despite the pain, the way it sort of intimidates you, you find yourself complying, nodding. You feel his mustache before his lips, his lips before his teeth, and finally his tongue, hot and wet. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced - salacious and erotic, frightening and tormenting, all at the same time.  You feel Joel everywhere, in places he’s not even bitten or kissed or touched yet. God, you hope he touches you there.  

Joel pushes your shirt up your body, his fingers brushing over you as he reaches behind you to unclip your bra. He pushes the straps off your shoulders, you watch as the undergarment falls into your lap. Joel taps your jaw twice, “Tilt your head back for me,” he instructs. He nips at your neck and collarbones before gently pushing you down on the couch, pulling your pants and underwear down in one movement before situating himself between your legs. You’re laid out for him, bare. His canvas to paint as he pleases. With darkened eyes, Joel pores over your body - he’ll hurt you here, pleasure you there, tease you somewhere else - the horizon is endless. 

He begins with kisses down the column of your throat, cascading down your sternum. He moves over to one of your breasts and you know it’s coming, but it startles you anyway. He bites hard on such a sensitive part of you, “Shhh,” he coos, quieting you. With a strong, masculine hand on your other breast, he finds your nipple and flicks it, drags his thumb over it until it pebbles beneath his touch, effectively soothing your cries of pain and turning them into noises of pleasure. 

“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck, Joel.”

“You’re doin’ good,” he tells you. “Doin’ just fine.”

You gasp when you feel his teeth around your hardened nipple, threatening to clamp down. He bites you gently, oh so gently, just enough to secure the bud in place for him to roll between his teeth. He brings his tongue into play then, swiping it over your nipple and circling it. After repeating the action with your other breast, his head travels lower, lower. Biting at whatever he pleases, kissing when he feels like it. He bites your hips - a sharp pain, and then your thighs - dull. 

You can’t help yourself as your fingers find your sex, already so wet. You circle your clit a couple of times before Joel pulls your hand away, biting and sucking your arousal off your fingers. He replaces your fingers with his own, pushing two of his thick fingers inside you as he bites and nips at your thighs, sucking at your skin as well. His teeth, his fingers, all where you need Joel the very most - it all feels so good, so intense, you don’t quite know where pain ends and pleasure begins as he works his fingers inside you.You don’t know if he’ll bite you hard or soft, a small bite or a big mouthful of your flesh and you can only imagine the marks he’s made on your skin. He alternates between biting, sucking, kissing, licking you, using his tongue and lips and teeth to drive you wild, have you writhing and melting under him.

 Joel pulls his fingers from your core and brings them to your mouth, pushing them past your lips. “Suck,” he says, and you do, tasting the tanginess of your own arousal on your tongue. Joel takes your hips in his strong hands and flips you over on your stomach, then sits back on his knees. You hear the quiet rustling of his clothes, that discernable sound of his zipper being undone before his clothes are tossed on the ground. He bends one of your legs and leans over you to kiss and nip at your ankle, then the other, biting up your calves. He traces his tongue over the backs of your knees before he bites you gingerly, the action has you gasping and moaning. Joel chuckles against your skin. “Knew you were sensitive,” he murmurs. He kisses his way up your thighs, kisses your ass cheeks and bites where they meet your thigh. “Up, lift up, sweetheart,” he speaks softly, urging you to lift your hips. He finds his pile of clothes and bunches them beneath your hips, propping you up for him. 

Joel parts your lips with his thumbs, spreading your sick folds for easier access. You feel his hot breath on your heat and you’re nervous, anticipating that blunt feeling of his teeth on your most sensitive place, but it never comes. Instead, his nose - aquiline and perfect, tracing up your clit, your flesh until he finds your hole, his nose buried in your most private place. He spreads your cheeks and spits between them, the saliva drips down, down. He traces you with his tongue, circling clockwise, then counter. “Fuck,” you whimper, pushing your hips back into his face as your nerves tingle. He kisses the sensitive area before traveling lower, his lips finally meeting you where you need them most. “Oh god,” you whine. 

Joel dips his tongue into you, humming in pleasure as he does - he fucking loves it, the heat of your cunt and your sweet arousal soaking his face, and he knows that hours later he’ll still be able to smell you. He pumps his tongue in and out, delving into you. He drags the muscle through your folds, all wet and sticky with your slick before he finds your clit to lick and suck at that sensitive part of you. 

He eats you voraciously like he loves it, passionate and determined as he savors you. The way Joel’s lips wrap around your clit, his nose in the space he just fucked, on his knees - this is what he’s meant for, what you’re meant for too. It’s obsession. He’s all fingertips bruising into your skin under his crushing hold, his tongue a relentless assault on your sex. You feel his salt and peppery scruff scratching your inner thighs and rubbing you raw. In the coming days you'll still feel him, skin burning as the hot water of your shower runs down your legs. You love it now, and you’ll love it then. 

You’re moaning, babbling Joel’s name, begging him but you don’t know what for - For him to make you come and then to stop, because it’s too much. Begging him for more and less, the push and pull of it all. Joel smirks against your cunt, proud of the delirium he’s brought you to using just his mouth. His grip is still ironclad despite all of your grinding and wriggling, trying to right yourself like an insect on its back. He listens intently to your body and all the different noises you’re making, broken moans and those sticky, obscene sounds of your cunt being sucked and licked and lapped. When your thighs begin to twitch, your breaths become sharp and unsteady with your impending release, he doubles down on his efforts until you’re coming all over him, soaking him wet. 

You’re a mess of hazy thoughts, barely aware as he’s pulling your hips back, pushing your chest down. With one hand, he rubs soothing circles on your lower back as he holds the other in front of his face and spits into it before wrapping his palm around his cock, throbbing and angry. He pumps himself a couple of times, the leaking tip rubbing against your ass. When he’s ready, he reaches for your neck with the hand previously rubbing your backside and forces you up. He bites your ear first, then fits the head of his cock into your entrance. 

Joel offers no warning before burying himself into you inch by inch, splitting you in two. You whine as he fills you up, stretches and hurts you so nicely, he bites you harder the deeper he pushes into you. He doesn’t take time to let you get used to the ache, he knows you’ve come to love the pain he gives to you, because that’s what he’s made you do. Joel pulls out of you all the way and pushes himself right back in, harder and faster than before. “Know it hurts,” he says with your earlobe between his teeth, “But you gotta take all of it.”

Joel fucks you quickly at first, having already found the right pace and the right angle to make you squirm in pleasure. He wraps his arm around your torso and nudges your head to the side so he can bite into your neck again. You’re flush against his torso. He fucks you steadily - in, out, in, out. You keen into the sensation, losing yourself in it all - he’s hot and clammy behind you, his tuft of unruly pubic hair rubbing against you. You reach behind yourself and touch the side of Joel’s face where his graying curls are muttered against his skin, dampened with his sweat. Joel turns his head and bites into the fleshy part of your thumb. He’s a mess of curses and praises, telling you what a good girl you are between heavy breaths and sharp inhales, whispering fuck and Christ, sweetheart. 

Without a warning, he pulls out of you and falls back on the couch, grabs you roughly by your arm and sits you on top of him. You’re face to face with him now, staring into his dark, hungry eyes as he pulls you down on his cock, fucking you apart. He eyes you up and down, and then his lips curl into a crooked smile. “Look at you,” he whispers, tilting your head down to look at your body. “You’re all marked up, sweetheart. What a goddamn mess. Tried to tell ya this wasn’t a nice game.” 

He’s right. You look down to see your breasts covered in bites and dark bruises, the marks dotting your torso in the dim light. Some are swollen and angry, others not quite so. You see a bruise on your shoulder and think about what you can’t see, the bites on your neck and collarbones. “Let’s count ‘em together,” he purrs in a low tone. He fucks up into you, “One,” he grunts, “Two, three. Four. Jesus, sweetheart, you’re fuckin’ covered. But I ain’t done with you yet.”

Joel pulls you close to him, your chest against his as he thrusts into you. He brings his teeth to that place where your shoulder meets your neck and bites hard, harder than he has before. It hurts, truly fucking hurts and you cry out loudly, a choked sob escaping your throat. He’s broken skin. “Quit squirmin’, be still f’me. Breathe through it,” he instructs, finally tasting your coppery blood on his tongue. With each thrust he moans against you and his teeth sink deeper and deeper, but it feels worse than it is. You won’t scar, but he’ll be lucky if you do. “You’re doin’ so good. Know it’s a lot, I know. I know…”

He licks over the damage and brings his thumb to your clit as he does, pushing you back to examine your face. He wipes away the tears he expected you’d cry as he paints tight, steady circles into your clit, knowing it won’t be hard to bring you to the edge. He reaches up, pulls you close to his face and kisses you gently, tangling his tongue with your own in a way that makes you dizzy. “I gotcha,” he says, “Come for me.” 

You’re right fucking there, aching for release as he rounds your clit with his thumb and rolls his hips into yours. Your breaths are shallow, your moans are broken and you’re squirming - so fucking close. Joel seems to know just what you need: he sinks his teeth into your plump, swollen bottom lip as he works you with those tight, steadied circles, all the while he fucks you deeply. And then you’re there, and god is it intense, the pleasure and pain. You taste your own blood as you come, breaking into pieces in Joel’s arms as powerful waves pleasure wash over you, rough and unrelenting like the sea during a storm.

Joel comes undone with you, loudly, with grunts and groans and other noises of pleasure. With wild thrusts, he paints your insides with his hot come before he slows to a still. You climb off of him and his come spills out of you and onto the old upholstery of the couch. Joel’s breathing heavily next to you, and when he catches his breath he looks at you with relaxed eyes, eyes that go wide when he looks at what he’s done to you. “Fuck,” he mumbles, pulling his shirt from under you and wetting it with water from his canteen. You catch your reflection in the mirror and see some of the bruises and bites he’s left on you, then you look down at the rest of your body. This time, with the light in front of you, you can see it all. Marks on your wrists, your arms, your chest and your hips and your thighs. You smile. He’s added so much color to you, his very own temporary tattoos. “I don’t know what came over me,” he says. He dabs the wet shirt over your bloodied lips and then your neck, his big dark eyes full of worry as he holds one of your hands. He rests it loosely on top of yours, sort of like that game from before. He doesn’t notice you begin to wriggle yours from beneath his. “Gotta get back and clean you up, bandage you and–”

SMACK. You hit his hand, hard. Joel looks flummoxed. 

“Got you.”

When he realizes the game you’re playing, he rolls his eyes and smiles. “Nice one, smartass.” Joel lifts the shirt and examines the bite on your neck a little closer. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you too bad?”

You shake your head no. “I got you,” you repeat, smirking.

“Yeah, whatever. You got me.”

If you enjoyed, please reblog <3 i would appreciate an ask too, just tell me something good <3

[usedpidemo]

Shangri-la (Oh My Girl Yooa)

Thank you for the commission! I hope it's to your liking.

—————

“What the?”

What welcomes you inside the bedroom takes you by complete surprise. It’s the kind that leaves you with more questions than answers. She had been very vague about the whole ordeal, skittering around the details. she was completely straightforward about one thing: to get fucked. That’s the main selling point.

Her inviting tone, her sultry expression, her lust—it’s still freshly imprinted on your mind from an hour ago. You’ve heard those words—their many variations—a handful of times, but hers is by far the most enticing and the sweetest sounding:

“Wanna have sex with me tonight?”

—————

Admittedly, it was never on your bucket list to attend a concert, let alone a group who sings primarily in foreign. It was supposed to be just a kind gesture for a roommate.

He’s your resident nerdy K-pop fan, the kind that gets bullied in real life and on the internet. He’s the full package; posters on the bedroom wall, a book full of photocards, and a shelf of albums and lightsticks which he considers as his sacred temple. You were never meant to go beyond a toe’s dip into this unhealthy obsession he’s engrossed himself in; completing his homework was enough exposure. 

If there was one takeaway from your observations, it was quite obvious: the girls are really hot. And that’s all that you needed to convince yourself to go. 

Besides, you were his roommate—and his only friend. Out of the kindness of your heart, you have an obligation to be there for him, at least until you graduate.

For the most part, the show was entertaining. Again, the girls were pretty attractive, and they were dressed in outfits that flaunted their bodies exceptionally well. Your friend’s relentless screaming accustomed you to the crowd’s energy, which was no joke. Even in a small, intimate venue, there were several moments where you felt that the place might collapse off the audience’s deafening shouts alone. At least you came prepared with noise canceling earplugs.

It’s not a huge surprise when he suddenly vanishes after the show. He’s been in and out of sight the whole time; getting freebies, merch shopping, taking numerous bathroom breaks, to the point where he just straight up forgets he left his phone with you before running off again. 

To make things worse, it’s the dying moments of the night, when everyone in the VIP section, the two of you included, gets to greet the members for only a brief passing moment. He’d been acting like his entire life has been building to this moment, completely neglecting the fact you were his ride home. 

Of course you’re not entirely sure about who’s who in this group. Six equally pretty girls, all wearing the exact same shirt and short skirt combination, down to the colors, with equally warm smiles. You didn’t have enough time to familiarize yourself with each of their names; the internet in the area has been failing you for hours. The staff was strict with phones the closer you approached them. It didn’t help that everyone screamed through their introductions, too.

Unsurprisingly, nothing substantial came of your interaction. A series of repetitive, awkward bows and near-silent whispers of “hello.” You’ve been putting off Duolingo for months, and it showed. It should have been a forgettable affair, considering the hundreds of people they’re greeting just from tonight’s queue alone. It’s not like you particularly stand out from the rest of the crowd; a casual shirt and jeans combo that’s indistinguishable from the dozens in attendance, and you don’t have anything on you that screams ‘overly dedicated fan.’

So when you’re pulled aside by the same staff closely watching the queue during the meet and greet, asked to head backstage as part of some secret lucky draw, you’re not surprised. There’s an age-old superstition that states that you’re more likely to meet celebrities the less you’re familiar with them. It rings true, and you have first hand proof.

You’re led to this singular door in what’s basically an unused narrow hallway. The kind that criminals use to trap their victims. Definitely safe. The staff member instructs you to head in before leaving you there alone. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Instead of your friend, you find one of the members you just met, waiting on the other side. You have so many questions, but she she gives you another to entertain:

“You wanna have sex with me tonight?”

Much to her amusement ,you’re taken aback. At first, you’d think she was pulling some kind of prank. By the way she smiles and laughs, it’s a reaction all too familiar to her, like this is some kind of cliche. It’s not a surprise to hear those words from any girl, knowing your experiences at college parties and bars, but from a traveling singer? Simply put, it’s quite ridiculous.

“You’re joking right?” you say, hand close to the door you just entered, ready to make a beeline for it. You glance around the enclosed, compact space, searching for any possible hidden cameras recording the scene.

She shakes her head, taking a step forward. “Not at all. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Do you do this all the time?” you ask, her reply not easing you in the slightest. Your hand inches a little closer to the door. It’s not like she’s going to hurt you; if anything, her thin figure’s probably what should worry her if you dare to even breathe heavily on her, let alone touch. 

“Yeah. Every stop. You look really cute,” she says, reaching her hand out to you. “And you look like you can give me a good time tonight.”

There’s something flattering about her words, coming from an idol singer, complimenting you that hits a chord harder than other girls. Her sincere tone, doll-like eyes twinkling, and expressive lips certainly help. It’s alluring—devastating—to a casual like you; how much more to someone who worships her. 

Then, here comes the killing blow:

“So, what’s it going to be?” She kisses you on the chin, wrapping her arms around your neck. It’s not suffocating, not in the slightest, but you might as well be entangled by them. Her eyes, sharp and fiery, are daring you to say otherwise to her seemingly coarse question. 

Leaning your head against her shoulder, her scent and soft skin prove to be intoxicating. You can’t get enough. That hand you’ve been pressing on the door is no longer there; it’s coiled around her back, taking inventory of her slim waist and arched back, then teasing at the fabric of her shirt. Even if she wasn’t the girl you just watched perform on stage, she’s too gorgeous to turn down. And it isn’t like you’ll find your friend, anyway. Perhaps this is your way of getting back at him for being insufferable all throughout.

“Here?” you ask, whispering in her ear, playing with fire. 

She holds you by the cheek, tilting an eyebrow. Shaking her head, she drags her tongue on the ridge of your ear. “Somewhere nicer.”

—————

It’s only you and her in the backseat of one of their vans, windows tinted and the front closed off that it’s safe to assume that the driver can’t hear you—perfectly convenient. He probably doesn’t know you’re even there. 

It’s inside the car that you finally become familiar with each other. YooA, or as she’d prefer you to call her, Shiah, and you have this light bulb moment where you put it all together. You bring up this collection of photocards in your friend’s book holder; you recognize her face on some of the cards. She laughs. Heartily. Her face lights up, honored at the thought, and it’s a sincere look. Other artists would simply wave it off and move on, but she appears intrigued by the effort to obsess over her.

She calls it a bias, and you call it an obsession. In the other’s eyes, you’re both strange. To you, it’s unhealthy and strange; to her, it’s part of the appeal, part of the culture.

So it’s all the more surprising when you admit you’re simply there because of him, that you would have looked the other way otherwise. And in response, she has this warm, wholesome smile; she doesn’t appear offended by your candidness. You don’t know a thing about them, other than they’re delicious eye candy.

“So this is your first foray into K-pop? I hope it was a good one,” she says, flashing you a cute pout. “That means a lot for all of us.”

Yeah, you nod, your eyes wandering down her slim body, draped in darkness, only brought to the light by passing street lamps. You notice how slender and lanky she is. It doesn’t change the appeal; she’s unreal. “I should go more often if that’s the case.”

Shiah chuckles. “You didn’t pay, then. I bet you’re getting more than what he bargained for.”

To which you nod, barely holding in a particularly uncharacteristic grin. She catches it. An opportunity to twist the knife.

It’s a casual affair when you reach the hotel. There’s a surprising lack of fanfare upon your arrival. You assume idols have as much popularity as any other celebrity, but you’re both left alone—and without security, walking past the front desk without a care or a question. Tension gradually builds as you climb floor after floor, until you step out that elevator and into her room, away from prying eyes. 

What welcomes you inside Shiah’s bedroom catches you off-guard.

“What the?”

The person sitting at the center of the bed turns to your direction, shouts out your name. You can recognize that voice anywhere.

“Hey! There you are!”

You immediately turn to Shiah, who replies gleefully, “Of course I knew. Your friend told me everything. He wanted me to invite you along.”

Forget that your friend orchestrated the whole ordeal. It’s the fact that he wants you to join him in a threesome. You expected him to be greedy with the rare opportunity to have a beautiful idol all to himself, but instead, he’s somehow still involving you in the action. There’s a lot to take in, and you don’t exactly know where to start.

“Is this even allowed?” you ask, unsure of your place in this room. You’re slowly soaking up the scenery; none of it makes any sense. Scattered on the bedroom floor is Your friend’s shirt and his bag, freebies and personal belongings alike,, while Shiah casually saunters around the mattress, gradually removing pieces of jewelry from herself and placing them on the nightstand.

“Of course, dude!” says your friend. His energy hasn’t waned in the slightest. You’re amazed his voice hasn’t changed at all, let alone his ability to speak. He had been screaming beside you for the entirety of the show, you’d probably go deaf because of him if not for your earplugs. “I wouldn’t have asked her if she wasn’t allowed to, or if she didn’t feel it.”

“He’s right,” adds Shiah, unbuttoning her jeans. Looking at her again, she grabs your attention with the casual stripping of her pants, pooled around her ankles, leaving only pale colored panties that leave nothing to the imagination. “Plus, I haven’t tried having a threesome before, and tonight seemed like a good idea to try that.”

Surely, you’ve heard weird things before, but none were as out of pocket as this.

“C’mere dude,” says your friend, gesturing to you to take the spot beside him on the bed. “We’re going to fuck an idol tonight. And not just any idol, my freaking bias!”

Your eyes continue to linger on her. Shiah, now undoing her top, candidly tossing them aside. The one time you regret not having your phone on hand to capture without obstruction. Her tits are bite-sized handfuls, nipples firm and on full display, and her figure is so paper thin, you’ll break her when you hold her by her ridiculous proportions. The only thing missing is some fragile warning label plastered on her skin as a reminder to handle her with care.

This is the most awkward you’ve been with your friend since you first met, when he first moved into your dorm. Seated on the mattress, you’re anxious of what’s about to happen. You worry she won’t be able to handle you two; he worries that he won’t be able to ruin her to the fullest extent. 

She meets you at the center in nothing but panties. She scans you both from head to toe, and notices your contrasting expressions. Facing you, she says, “Hey. I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t confident about the idea. If you don’t make me unable to walk after tonight, I’m gonna be quite disappointed. So chin up.”

Reassuring of a tone it may sound, it doesn’t ease your worry even a little. It doesn’t discourage her either; it’s part of the challenge.

She drops to her knees, and that’s when you come around on the idea. Her fingers make work of your pants; yours first, then your friend’s. With eagerness written on her face, your hard cocks hang between her tiny face. Pausing, undecided, she takes a moment to think which one to satisfy. The way she eyes both yours, then your friend’s—you can tell how hungry she is: how she wants them shoved inside her mouth, down her throat, taking all that delicious load. If she could fit both at once, she certainly would.

“Which one should I take first, boys?” she asks, innocuous sounding, her doll-like eyes pleading up with a playful pout. Knowing full well she already has this whole thing already planned out. You and your friend swallow hard, telepathically aligned, thinking of the same idea, based on the rather silent response.

Shiah has your eyes fluttering, hands already gripped to the edge of the bed, lips letting out a string of delightful moans. It sounds like relief, agony, and ecstasy all at once. She’s leaving soft kisses on your tip, her tongue running circling around your length, and her fingers slowly pumping at your base. All your doubts and hesitations, gone in an instant. The very few glimpses you catch of her, her eyes speak to you, staring, telling you to take it all in.

She feels so good, handles you deftly, as if she’s already acquainted with your cock, even though it’s the first time. Pushing all the sensitive, perfect spots and getting you into a steady rhythm. 

“See? I told you it was gonna be—fine—fuck—” 

Your friend folds just as quickly as you do, if not faster. His words, instantly reduced to echoed grunts, groans, and curses, his hand palming Shiah’s scalp. She’s focused, taking turns with each cock, kissing and teasing you both with the prospect of shoving it down her needy, thirsty throat. One hand on your dick and the other on his, stroking you at near-synchronized tempo, then vice versa. You wonder exactly why she’s even hesitant and nervous about taking two at once when she’s clearly a natural at satisfying cocks. 

She’s well aware that she has only one mouth to fulfill her craving for cock. There’s a look of regret every time she stops sucking one cock in place of the other. It’s almost as if she’s failing, even though the pleasure-ridden expressions on your faces say otherwise. “I hope this is good enough,” she frowns, taking a moment to plant another direct kiss on each cockhead. “I wish I could fit you both in my mouth, but I—”

“Shhh.” Your friend interjects, tugging harshly at Shiah’s dark locks, then rubbing his hand around her forehead. “You’re doing so fucking well, so much better than we hoped—”

Suddenly, he finds himself slowly crumbling. Precum coating around her dainty fingers, while he loses grip on his consciousness, lying flat on the bed. If there’s anything you’ve learned in the very short time you’ve had Shiah on her knees, it’s that she’s particularly gentle. You can feel she’s not going to ruin you instantly and that she’s nowhere close to crushing your cock, unlike some of the girls you’ve known in the past. 

This is all new to your friend, after all. It shouldn’t be surprising.

Still, she continues to pleasure you both, taking a moment to slip his erection inside her throat, slurping and swallowing his cock whole. Her eyes instantly slam shut, mumbling a songful hum, finally soaking in the taste after intentionally restraining herself from her lust. Turning to your side, your friend clearly can’t take her; his mouth agape, his chest heaving, breathing heavily, his eyes widely staring at the ceiling in a useless effort to distract himself. In his mind, she’s relentless, overwhelming, cruel.

Her eyes slide in your direction, brows furrowed, apologetic. You shake your head, smile lightly, perfectly understanding of the situation. It’s not that she’s ignoring you; her other hand’s pressing on the base of your cock, down to the underside, pressing on your balls. She’s already left her mark on you even though she’s doing the bare minimum. The layer of precum on her fingers is clear proof. That should be more than enough. 

And when you find your friend completely unresponsive, breathing through his mouth, you tilt your head at an angle and make this poor sleeping impression—something he hasn’t had in over 24 hours. It’s the command that causes Shiah to slip his cock from her mouth with a silent pop, his dick throbbing with her spit dripping from the tip. Her focus turns over to you; her eyes meeting yours, her hands pressing on each knee, and your fingers brushing loose strands of hair aside to see her pretty face, flushed but flawless. It’s now just down to you two. 

She gives your head a playful swirl, and you lift your brows in approval, subtly biting at the lip to show her you like it. Her eyes lock in, scanning through each subdued wince, waiting for the go ahead.

It’s the slightest head motion that nearly ends you. You’re uncertain if you even said yes or no.

Shiah looks so much better with your cock in her mouth than anyone else’s. She knows, too. You pause to take the sight in—your length buried deep in her mouth, occasionally poking her throat, her cheeks hollow, her eyes looking wide at you with a fiery glint, begging you to take her, use her, ruin her. You’re perfectly positioned to work her; your hand is palming the back of her head, giving her this assertive stare that appears demeaning, but you can tell she prefers to be seen that way. It would be criminal to have her on her knees and not have your way with her.

And you do just that.

You hold her still, using the little increments of strength to motion her into a bobbing motion. She surrenders herself into your control, moving her head back and forth with the grip of your hand. Like the swing of a pendulum, you watch your base disappear and appear between her lips. You’re nowhere close to burying yourself entirely in her mouth, but she feels so incredible, so intoxicating, she may as well be deepthroating you.

It’s not the firmness of her luscious lips kissing your cock nor her lewd expressions that shake you, but her suction. She hums this wistful note while sucking your cock—a song of satisfaction. In contrast to the steady rhythm you’re attempting to impose, she drags your length along her tongue, forcing you into this playful tug-of-war whenever you draw your cock back, directing where your cum should land. She envisions it: the notion of your hot load collected on her cheeks. Her fingers point where she wants them, using her pleading eyes and brows to entice you. 

And you’re not going to deny her request. She’s too charming and expressive to turn down. Even more so when your cock is lodged between her lips. 

You utter this particularly incomprehensible mix of a groan and a grumble while your throbbing cock unloads the warm cum she desires. Without wasting a single drop, she takes it all, puffing her cheeks with your seed while carefully pulling your cock out her mouth. Your hand is no longer resting on her head but rather around her shoulder and collarbones. She plays with the load in her mouth, gargling, swishing, before swallowing it all. Afterward, she sticks out her silky tongue, face completely flustered, showing you the aftermath: leftovers of your cum painting her mouth.

“God, Yoo—I mean, Shiah—” you breathe, lightly falling back on the bed as your legs go numb. Your flaccid cock isn’t enough to show how much she’s drained you in one fell swoop. “How are you so—”

“I told you I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t so confident about it,” she remarks, rising to her feet before pushing you down on the sheets, straddling herself on your lap. Her energy remains steadfast. It’s infectious. Winking and pouting, she adds, “Now fuck me till I can’t walk.”

You’re completely sold on the idea, but you can’t do it alone.

Pushing Shiah off you, you shake your friend back into consciousness. You’re holding her by the shoulders, giving her lips a quick kiss. A soft gesture telling her to be a tad patient. Her eyes clue you in; she’s dying to be fucked, to be used, to be ruined. Your friend looks around, feeling hazy, completely unaware of what transpired, even though it’s only been less than 10 minutes. 

“What’d I miss?” he asks, still trying to make sense of things. The last thing he remembers is Shiah on her knees. Now he sees you and his bias in each other’s embrace. Surprisingly, he’s not fazed in the slightest. The bed’s tremors—rumblings—are good enough indicators.

You’re unable to completely look him in the eye, and you don’t know what to answer, so she does it for you: “Your friend blew a nice load inside my mouth. We were just about to have round two. Join us.”

To her amusement, the reply has you staring at her utterly gobsmacked. It’s not the fact that she’s telling it straight, with zero sugarcoating, but her candid, conversational delivery and deadpan expression, as if they’re close friends catching up on lost time. He doesn’t seem bothered, nor does he ask any further questions. Knowing him, he’d be disappointed if you didn’t. 

Really, what’s there to question when given an opportunity to fuck an idol without any conditions or red tape. He’s not making the most of the moment as you have, and the hurried jump off the bed to take position behind her indicates he’s not going to waste any more time. You’re scared you might get into a confrontation over how you’ll take her.

“Say the word and I’ll move aside,” you tell him, calmly. 

“Let me have her tight ass,” is the reply, straightforward. Chalk it up to tension, but there’s a hint of harshness in his voice, as though some bitterness is leaking. He subtly pulls her away from your side, prompting you to let him take full control. 

You aren’t surprised at where he ends up taking her. The bed is the comfiest option, but in his mind, the safest and the most cliche. A shower to ease the tension and stress in the muscles—that’s a good one too, on top of having her possibly pressed against the panels and the idea of soaping her tits while fucking her in the wet. This luxurious suite, which feels like walking from the one end of a parking lot to the other on weary legs, has a handful of mirrors to watch her get railed on. None are as captivating and inviting as the biggest one—the large glass windows that overlook the city, lit up by lights from nearby skylines and the illumination from the living room. 

He presses her tiny frame against the window, then on air, giving her tiny butt a firm slap. Followed by another. Something about Shiah with her back arched, yelping with each spank, arouses him. Her too. She whines, biting on her lip, hands trying to latch to anything. There’s plenty to claim—from her bite-sized chest, to her slinky waist, to her soiled panties. Something he slips down to her ankles. 

In the moment, your friend doesn’t acknowledge you. He’s all up in her hair, licking the shell of ear, a set of clenched digits digging into her warmth. Her eyes fluttering, she whines, pressing a hand around his waist, mumbling, begging, “Fuck me, please, fuck me.”

You can tell she’s apologetic, wants to be punished and manhandled like a naughty girl. Your friend has this glare in his eyes—a look of hunger. His fingers pump away at her core, without care for pace or comfort, just the satisfaction of hearing her cries and the need for her to cum. Bumping her against the window, he’s kissing her, claiming her as his own. Red marks form everywhere on her neck, collarbones, and back. Her entire body. All his. 

You let him. You watch. Not out of guilt, not out of arousal. It’s his moment.

He looks over his shoulder and finds you just watching. “C’mere,” he growls between muted groans, tone low. It should be awkward (it is) but all that tension disappeared the moment she got on her knees. Approaching the twosome in such a strange fashion, he continues to finger Shiah, shifting her away from the window, binding her from behind by one hand. He’s suppressing his tongue, teasing his cockhead against the entrance of her pussy, barely able to restrain himself. 

When you’re in front of her again, you’re greeted by a hot mess. Her juices are dripping down her thighs, pooling around her feet. His coated fingers line around her warmth, around her tight hole. His lust is on full display, cussing out a storm about how incredibly wet and tight she is while she prepares herself to get fucked into oblivion. It’s not the first time you’ve heard him say these things; he talks a loud talk about how he’d fuck his biases in explicit detail, writes particularly concerning essays about the positions they’d be railed in, how they would cum, and how many times he would make them cum. 

At the end of the day, it was none of your business.

And ultimately, he might have been onto something.

You let out this loud unsuppressed moan burying yourself inside her tight cunt. She’s suffocating, overwhelmingly tight—the kind of heat that can make you cum almost immediately. You’re still recovering from your first orgasm, putting you on the backfoot. Still, her walls are too inviting not to get hard again. Meanwhile, your friend, who’s been eager to fuck Shiah’s ass for the longest time, is in no rush. His cock is barely entering her tight hole, slowly easing himself inside her with deep breaths. He’s grabbing a handful of her flesh, openly moaning and grunting taking her.

“F-fuck, Yoo—” he mutters, grabbing at her petite cheeks with an ironclad grip. Pulling her closer to his body so his cock can split her in half. He’s growing greedy—and desperate.

Everything you’re doing to Shiah can be seen in the window’s reflection: you pounding into her tight cunt, your friend’s cock spearing her from behind, her body practically sandwiched between your twosome. The combined weight is more than capable of crushing her slim frame, her skin like tire marks on both your chests. Neither of you move with an understanding of working as a team, and it shows; your collective strokes are unsteady, erratic, chaotic.

This isn’t good for your back—at all. Shiah’s bent forward in part to your friend’s slow, deep thrusts into her delicious ass, rippling with each stroke. She’s clutching to your shoulders for support, screaming from the absolute depths of her lungs getting doubled up. The uncomfortable position is mostly clouded by the overwhelming sensation of your cocks tag teaming on her two sensitive holes. You’re leaning, steadily falling back. That inescapable warmth—that intoxicating heat—keeps you coming back for more, friction be damned.

God, Shiah’s pussy is so fucking perfect.

And that’s what you end up muttering. In an endless choir of ecstasy-charged moans, profanities, and wet sloppy slaps of skin against skin, you throw those words out to the wind. So good, so tight—those doubts you had entering the room, now just thoughts from yesterday. She’s everything you want in a satisfying fuck; your hands intertwined with her waist, rocking her frame with every plunge, savoring each entry into that needy womb.

It’s no surprise then that she cums so soon.

It’s been slowly building to this moment. The signs were there all along; the blink and you’ll miss it patch on her jeans, the phallic object in her purse, the wet puddle forming on her panties, the not so subtle gestures she’s giving fans between performances—she’s been desperate to cum on a cock and her wish can finally be granted. 

In dramatic fashion, she’s all over you. Clinging to you like her lifeline, showing you how you’ve ruined her. Body trembling, legs quaking—the ripples send shockwaves through your body, also in the process of falling apart. Throwing out her hips, a new layer of juices coat both cocks, dripping to the floor. You’re there to break her fall, but you have nothing to stop yours. 

Passing through deaf ears, her screams revert to soft pleas. “Cum, cum in me—please—fuck—” she whines in bursts, riding out her climax in waves, waiting for you two to join her over the edge. You’re preoccupied with the raging fire in your loins, restraining your urge to release your seed inside her needy cunt prematurely. At this point, you’re almost done, holding onto the last of your resolve not to spurt right then and there. The layer of her slick coating your cock doesn’t do you any favors, either.

Propping her body straight, your thrusts remain relentless. Steadied pace, at your own will, rocking her senseless—that’s how you want to finish inside her. You want to keep her in that position: cupping her tiny chest, wrapping an arm on the neck, resting a hand on your light shoulder. Shiah’s body is the perfect plaything.

All of that is too good to be true.

“Cumming, gonna cum—” you mutter, rather ashamedly, though you’re holding up better than anyone ever expected, especially after already orgasming once. You press her to your friend, almost a flat out shove. The line couldn’t be any thinner. “Shit—”

Your legs are on the cusp of crumbling, but at least they’re generous enough to let you savor this moment. Spilling your pent up need, you fuck that remaining cum into her. It’s fulfilling, euphoric. All the proof is down there, dripping between her legs and on your cock. The sight of her splayed, wrecked hole, oozing with seed, tempting you to stick a thumb around her slick core. She squirms at your sensitive touches, still needy and in want.

Only after the orgasm does your vision clear again. It’s an amusing scene; your friend is still pounding into Shiah’s tight ass at a feverish pace. Last one in, last one out—at least you think, that’s how the saying goes, until he lets out this guttural groan, indicating he’s reached his own climax too. If not for the setting, it’s an accomplishment worth cheering, the kind that’s worth a celebration of a life milestone. Cocks buried to the hilt, the sight of her holes spilling seed never grows old. 

At least you both can agree on one thing: staying inside the welcoming warmth that is Shiah’s heat. Neither of you want to leave, even when you regain mobility in your legs.

You’ve got the rest of the night to ruin her, leave her room hobbling or crawling on her feet. Your friend has a bucket list of positions to fuck her in, so it’s the least of your worries. Besides, both of them know you have no intention of leaving. And in the middle of this non-existent conundrum, while your friend is leaving soft kisses all over her back as a victory lap, she takes a moment to glance at you both. Noticing the similarity of smiles on your faces and your supportive nature towards your friend, she’s reminded of something she shares with her members, apart from the fact they’re getting railed at this very moment:

True friendship.

—————

(A/N: Expect a bit more crowdedness aka more-somes over the next few fics. I also haven't written an Oh My Girl member since Arin in over a year, so that's one off the list! This one took a while, had a whole other story involving roadtrips and hitchhiking, which I ultimately scrapped. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

slippery when wet

pairing: post re8! chris x reader

cw: fingering, thigh grinding, thumb sucking, reader is frothing at the mouth (metaphorically)

summary: reader applies to babysit chris' child (he's rose's legal guardian in this one), and she's v into her boss. one day, she ends up in nothing but chris' shirt when her clothes are in the laundry.

a/n: title not inspired by the bon jovi album (doesn't really fit the vibe, despite having some bangers)

wc: 2.4k

“Jobs that don’t require a degree”. You type it into the search bar for the millionth time this week. Grocery store clerk, delivery driver, server, you’ve tried them all. And quit them all. You’re going to have to settle for working as a coal miner soon - and you’re a 21 year old girl who lives nowhere near a coal mine. 

Babysitter. You’ve done it before, when you were younger. In fact, as exhausting as the job was, you were actually pretty good at it. Maybe you could even get a referral from your neighbors. The job posting was on a local message board online. The pay looked like a sweet deal - top tier babysitter pay. Could probably hire a nice German or Spanish or Russian au pair and make your kid bilingual, but these parents chose to ask your town of American idiots to apply. Parent, singular - not even parent - you come to find. He’s her legal guardian, which probably means her parents are dead or in prison but you don’t think it’s appropriate to ask such invasive questions at your interview. Not if you want the job, at least. And you really want the job. 

The interview is surprisingly casual, which is good because it’s not like you own business attire. You expected this: a young woman with a tired - and very forced, almost pained - smile comes to the door holding the cranky child while the dad shakes your hand on the way out to spend the day with his buddies from college. Their attempt to quell their marriage problems by getting a sitter will not get them off their track to divorce.

But it doesn’t go like that at all. A man - older than you’d think a new father should be, but far from elderly - opens the door. (honestly, if he were elderly, then you’d be whatever the opposite of a cradle-robber is. A nursing home robber?). Mr. Legal Guardian tall, muscular, kind of intimidating, but also incredibly sexy. He could choke you out but you’d get wet if he tried. Actually, you’d probably soak his nice hardwood floors if he so much as touched you since all he’s done is shake your hand and you’ll probably need to change your panties when you get home. 

Either you’re good at hiding your feelings or he couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re trying very hard to keep eye-contact and avoid the overwhelming urge to look and see if you can tell what he’s packing through the pants he has on. 

“I’m Chris Redfield. Nice to meet you,” he says and you’re really hoping that you said your own name in response and not what you were thinking which was “Oh god, please fuck me, Mr. Redfield, I don’t care about the job anymore”. 

You’re pretty sure you kept that thought on the inside because he seems to think this situation is totally normal and ignores the obvious sexual tension - or maybe it’s just you and there’s no real tension. Maybe you need to buy one of those fancy Hitachi wands and fix the leaky faucet downstairs. You’d need money for that. Money… Oh, right, you can get a job! How convenient. 

You keep the conversation going because you want to hear him talk, you want to burn it onto a CD in your brain and play it on the car ride home. No, you’d crash if you did that. 

He tells you the baby girl’s name is Rosemary.

“That’s a pretty name. How did you decide on it?” Or did your wife choose it? Was the divorce bad? Or is she dead? 

“I didn’t. Her parents did. I don’t know if it was her mom or her dad’s choice,” he says, matter-of-factly. “I think it’s a good name, too,” he follows up with, “Mostly, everyone just calls her Rose, though.”

“It’s probably easier. I’d imagine it’d be hard for a baby to say ‘Rosemary’.” You realize you know very little about child development. “Can she talk?”

“Some. Only small sentences and she still pronounces half of what she’s trying to say wrong, but she usually gets the point across. She calls me ‘Dada’ because it’s easier to say than ‘Chris’.”

Is she gonna call me ‘Mama’? Does she need a stepmom… or whatever? Anyway, can you please, please have sex with me, Mr. Redfield? If you don’t get dick soon, they’ll have to institutionalize you.

You must’ve done way better than you thought because you got the job. You’re lucky that Rose is more well-behaved than most babies you’ve met. 

She does call you ‘Mama’, though. 

You bring a change of clothes to work every day because babies don’t know how to avoid making a mess of everything they get their little fingers on. Rose is pretty tidy for a kid her age, but her favorite food is ketchup, so half of your wardrobe is stained red by the second week of work. 

One day, she’s sitting in your lap holding a sippy cup of apple juice with a lid you were sure you’d closed, but as it turned out, it had not been screwed on right and the bottom of your shirt as well as your jeans end up soaked in apple juice. You only have yourself to blame. 

You brush off the issue to the kid because you don’t want to upset her, but you hate being sticky. She’s lucky she gets a bath. You don’t think Chris would appreciate finding you in his bathtub, playing with rubber duckies, unfortunately. 

Once Rose is in new, dry clothes, Chris walks in the door. Rose reaches out to him and he picks her up. He notices the wet patch on your jeans and you realize how it looks when he raises an eyebrow. 

“Did you piss yourself?” 

“No!” 

You’re about to explain the apple juice spill situation when Rose chimes in, repeating what Chris said, without any idea what she’s saying. 

The way he groans makes it seem like it’s not the first time she’s picked up bad language. “Those aren’t nice words. Don’t repeat them.” Chris tries to remain serious, but you’re both holding back laughter. 

“It’s just apple juice,” you clarify, “My fault, not hers.”

“Do you need new clothes?”

“In theory,” you say because you do, but you don’t want to impose. 

Rose yawns and Chris says, “How about you put her down and I will find something else for you to wear?”

“Okay,” you say because it’s shorter than, “No, no, you don’t have to do that.” Plus, he will inevitably insist that “Yes, yes, he has to do that.”

Rose is reluctant to go to bed without saying goodnight to ‘Dada’. Luckily, he joins the both of you in her bedroom, holding clothes for you. 

“Here,” he says, “I don’t have any pants that’ll fit you, but I think this shirt will probably go down to your knees.”

“Thanks,” you say, taking the shirt. 

“No problem,” he says, “Go change and bring me your clothes so I can wash them.”

You nod and walk into the hall bathroom. Chris is right - the shirt is about mid-thigh length, so as long as you don’t bend over, you’re covered. It was probably a bad day to wear a thong to work, though. Or maybe it was a great day to do just that. Glass half-full?

You find Chris in the hallway and you give him a slew of apologies and thank you’s because you feel bad that he’s doing your laundry. He dismisses them all kindly, but the look in his eye has changed - scrutinizing, yet amused. 

“Normally, I would say, ‘you’re free to go’, but -”

Am I getting punished? God, fuck, yes, please. 

“- You probably shouldn’t wear that out.”

You look down at your state of dress - or undress, depending on how you look at it. Yeah, you definitely shouldn’t go out like that.

“You can if you want,” he says, “but you’re welcome to stay at least until your clothes dry.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

You’re standing awkwardly in his living room when he says, “You know you can sit down, right?”

You sit down next to him on the couch - an appropriate distance away, of course. There’s an awkward silence while you try not to stare at him. 

“Why are you so nervous? You’re acting like you’ve never been here before,” he says.

“For one thing, I’m not wearing pants right now. And, two, I’ve never been here while you’re here. I’m always here alone with Rose.”

“Do I make you nervous?” His smile says he knows more than you think. 

“No, not really.”

“Not really?”

You smile and nod. 

“Rose told me something she heard you say while I was gone…” “Oh shit. Did I swear in front of her? I try not to do that.”

He shakes his head. “She said, ‘Dada is sexy’, and as you can imagine, I was curious as to where she heard that…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but his eyebrow is raised. He knows.

Your heart is beating out of your chest and you can feel your face flushing. 

“She must’ve heard that from someone else,” you lie. 

“Who else would’ve said it?”

“I bet most people think you’re sexy. I mean, look at you, it seems like the most obvious conclusion any normal person would come to.” You shrug, trying to play it off as if you didn’t just reveal yourself entirely. 

“So, you didn’t say anything about my attractiveness in front of Rose, but you do think I’m ‘sexy’? Am I correct?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“No, it’s a rhetorical question.”

You’d bolt out of the room if you had pants on, but now - wearing nothing but Chris’ t-shirt and a thong? It looks like you’ve already slept with him. 

You try to form a sentence, but much like Rose, all you can do is echo Chris’ words. “Do you think I’m sexy?” you ask. 

“Much more so than you were when I walked in - you know, with apple juice all over you.”

“So, you do feel the same way about me?”

“Correct.”

He looks like he’s thinking, considering next moves, but you’re already scooting closer to him on the couch. He hums in approval. He picks you up and puts you in his lap. 

“Do you wa-” He tries to say, but you cut him off with a kiss and he takes it in stride. One of his hands rests on the back of your head and the other is on your waist. His tongue is in your mouth and you think you can feel him getting hard, which makes you wetter than you already were, and now you’re really considering if this thong was of any use at all. Guess one more thing needs a wash. 

Chris reaches between your thighs like a psychic, though he acts surprised at how aroused you are. “Are you always this wet?”

“No, not always.” Liar.

“I’ll take it as a compliment then.”

As he should. 

His hands snake their way under your - his - t-shirt and find your tits. His fingertips brush your nipples and you absent-mindedly start to grind on him, longing for any friction you can get. You’ll ruin his pants at this point. Another load of laundry to do. 

He takes your hips and positions you on his thigh. 

“This should help,” he says. 

Out of embarrassment, you halt the movement of your hips. 

“What? It seemed like you wanted to get off and I’m not going to stop you.”

He acts nonchalant but it borders on teasing because you can see the amusement in his eyes. Maybe he’s not used to desperate little girls like you. 

You grip his shoulders to steady yourself - if you’re going to pathetically grind on this man’s thigh, you’re going to do it right - and you resume your back and forth pattern. You catch a glimpse of the smirk on his face and you let your head drop, not allowing yourself to look him in the eye. There’s no way you’d be able to continue like that. He lifts your chin, but it’s not to force your eyes back on him - he kisses you again, more passionately this time. Not romantic passion, the sexy, sloppy kind. You pull back first to catch your breath. Maybe it’s just nerves, but this whole thigh-riding activity is doing a number on you. Chris takes note of your struggle and puts his hands on your hips, taking on half of the work. Somehow, he does a better job than you, and if he’s this good at something so simple, you wonder about his other skills. 

“Suck,” he says simply, putting his thumb between your lips. 

In that moment, you discover your oral fixation - and Chris is observant enough to recognize it too. 

“Good girl,” he says, removing his thumb from your mouth and using it to rub your clit. He really didn’t need the lubrication and he must’ve known that. Admittedly, you’re a bit disappointed when he takes his thumb away from you. 

“It seemed like you were enjoying that,” he says, rubbing his other thumb over your bottom lip. You open your mouth and hope he won’t make you beg for it. “You’re lucky I have two hands.”

He flips you around so that you’re sitting in his lap with your back pressed against his chest. He returns his thumb to your mouth before you can grab it and shove it back in there yourself. You are lucky he has two hands, you come to fine, when he begins pumping two of his fingers in and out of you while rubbing your clit simultaneously. You moan around the finger in your mouth and he can tell you’re getting close. 

“Gonna cum for me?” he asks. 

You hum and nod frantically as your orgasm approaches quickly. Your inner walls clench and release as you gush around his fingers. When you come down from your high, you notice that you’ve left a considerable wet patch on the couch and on Chris’ pants.

“Don’t worry. We can do another load of laundry after this one’s finished,” he says. He checks the time and then says, “It looks like we have about 25 more minutes until the washing machine’s done. What do you want to do until then?”

“Depends? How much laundry detergent do you have left?”

[eddiernunson]

Master List

Master List of everything I've written

I'm gonna be honest, I'm proud of Trapped, it's something I spent a year on, but I have written so much better since then, especially since I've been writing so much lately.

The higher quality written project is Really Drives Me Mad, something I'm even more proud of.

All content is 18+

Long Form Stories (All Reader x Eddie)

Trapped Master List (Completed)

Summary: Story summary: Reader has had a crush on Eddie Munson for about three years when her friends have had enough of her mooning and find a way for them to be alone together. They do get together, and smut, firsts, and shenanigans ensue. (18+ for the smut in each chapter)

Found Again (Sequel)

Summary: The year is 2005. Vecna is defeated, Steve Harrington is finding grey hairs. Eddie has already been dead for 19 years. Unfortunately, you have too. Since 1989. In a new life, new state, new friends, new school, you find yourself drawn to the new kid, and he to you. Something tells you it had to do with the dreams of a man with long hair when you were small.

Part 1 | Part 2

Really Drives Me Mad (Completed)

Summary: You've been dating Dylan Munson for a little bit, and it's going well, or at least you feel like it is. Despite everything right with Dylan you can't help but feel uneasy...then you meet Eddie Munson, his dad... and find yourself wet at the sight of him. (reader is in her 20s, Eddie probably in his 40s or so)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him (Completed)

Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your Adam and him, young and dumb. You;re home for the weekend, which so happens to be the same Weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum lip gloss for the in of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4/5 | Part 6

Blurbs

Face Riding Eddie

Cockwarming with Eddie

One Shots | 18+

Take My Anger | Mean Eddie

Summary: Eddie is pissed after a session from Hellfire and you offer for him to take his anger out on you.

The Taste of You | Rockstar!Eddie

Summary: after attending a successful and rather sweaty concert from Corroded Coffin, you send the front man a rather thirsty DM on his instagram. You wake up to his response...and an offer to go backstage to follow through.

The Splash of Rain on the Roof | Best friend!Eddie

Summary: you're best friends with Eddie Munson after moving to Hawkins, the new girl who ditches the cheerleaders for the Freaks. A year later, you've fallen head over heels for him, and you're convinced there's no way he has any interest in you. It finally seems confirmed when you find out (more or less) that he's into a fucking cheerleader. Your heart breaks.

Nice to Meet You, Where You Been?

Summary: your college roommate takes you to the annual Harrington Halloween Party, where you expect to do nothing but get drunk and dance for a night. That was...until you turn around to the person dancing against you to Eddie fucking Munson.

"Do You Want One?" | Corruption Kink

Summary: your cousin shows you around Hawkins High for your first day, and is surprised to say the least when her sweet cousin hooks onto Eddie Munson. Just seeing him brings a swoop to your stomach you've never quite felt before, and become desperate for more of him

Selfish | Steddie x Reader

Summary: Reader is torn as she wants two people at once, and she figures it's impossible...in the sense that they would never want her. She is proven wrong after making an accidental audience with Eddie one night...

Waiting Room Problems

Summary: a rough landing in a fight with your brother causes you to land in a crowded waiting room. Meanwhile a rough deal also sends Eddie the same fate. Somehow, somehow you try to keep your eyes on your phone and off his tiny little waist. It proves... difficult.

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Best Friend!Eddie

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back

[hitlikehammers]

feel the bigger thing

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, rockstar!Eddie, domestic husbands are domestic ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, rockstar husbands, love is lying on top of each other on the sofa discussing buying a new house with a pool, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day twelve: Love is having hope for the future together (@acasualcrossfade)

you know how the rockstar husbands talked about lights for their pool in the original fic, je ne regrette rien? well GUESS WHAT FEATURES HERE

“These numbers,” Eddie’s reading over the printouts from their manager, sales projections and preliminary tour dates and all the rest: “baby, we can get the new house, hell, we can keep this one and have a second house if we want it,” Eddie kisses the top of Steve’s head where he’s got him bundled up on his chest, tucked under his chin where they’re currently both sprawled on the couch; Eddie says he likes to think like that—likes to know Steve’s there by design, no question, the weight of him evident every time he breathes, he says; held close to my heart, baby, in fact, is what he also says.

Hopeless goddamn romantic, his husband. But he wouldn’t have him any other way.

“We don’t need a second house,” Steve points out, smooshed against Eddie’s sternum.

“We can get the pool,” Eddie added with the audible equivalent of his brow-wiggle and okay, fine, that’s a good point, because Steve may not have really used the one at his parents’ after, well, everything, but he…does kinda miss having one. Now that the memories are distant enough in both time and miles that he doesn’t see standing water deeper than four feet and start fucking hyperventilating anymore.

So…yeah. Compelling argument regarding a pool.

“This record,” Eddie blows out a long breath, slow and even as Steve rides it where he’s braced atop his chest, lifted with his lungs: “this record’s gonna change everything.”

Steve turns his opposite cheek against Eddie’s heartbeat, huffs a little as he gets comfortable again before he asks:

“You think so?”

Eddie doesn’t move, but the fact that he stills so completely is kinda like a motion in itself.

“You don’t?”

He doesn’t sound angry or anything, or even upset. Not disappointed. Maybe just…surprised.

And Steve gets that. The numbers attached to this album are…if they’re right?

This is going to be huge.

But.

“I mean,” Steve shrugs, which is kinda useless given his position, so he sorts of ends up nosing at Eddie’s shirt instead as a byproduct of the hushing of his shoulders: he’s not mad at that, as the outcome:

“I guess, not really,” Steve finally settles on because it’s really not any more complicated than that.

Then Eddie’s got his fingertips at Steve’s nape and he’s spreading them through Steve’s hair and oh.

Oh, that’s so fucking nice.

Which is probably why he pairs the sensation with the question he follows with:

“It’s not good?”

And Steve almost doesn’t hear it, and he wouldn’t even fucking feel bad for not hearing it or not processing it when Eddie’s hands are in his hairlike that because fucking hell, Eddie knows what that goddamn does to him; but Steve does hear it. And again: it’s not angry, or upset. It’s maybe a little surprised. It’s not even quite…hurt, or disappointed, but it’s far closer to either or both than Steve’s comfortable with, than Steve ever wants to hear in that voice, so:

“God no,” he answers with real feeling, shaking his head to back it up and also to—mournfully—dislodge Eddie’s distracting fucking hands; “it’s spectacular,” Steve tells him, plain and honest because it’s the fucking truth: “definitely your best yet.” Also true.

Eddie goes still again, and Steve tips his head up and back at the most uncomfortable possible angle to catch Eddie expression, to read its clues: he’s watching Steve so intently, like he’s something unfathomable and dear enough to spend eternity decoding—but that’s strange in itself. They kind of know each other inside-and-out by now.

So Steve rolls back the words exchanged, looks for the catch, the dropped stitch, the record-scratch.

Gonna change everything—

Ah. Steve’s breath hitches a little, but: he thinks he’s found it. Right.

He makes himself breath in deep but slow, gentle and calm as he can, and Eddie’ll pick up the tension he can’t wholly wash out just yet, and Eddie’ll feel the uptick of his pulse where his one hand holds Steve still around the ribs. But it’s fine. Because they’re fine.

Okay.

“I just,” Steve exhales long; “you said everything,” and Steve tries to make his tone hold the word itself to account, to fill it up with all of the things that came to Steve’s mind and made him denounce the possibility on sight—change everything? But there’s so very little about Steve’s life, about this life together, about their life that they’ve clawed and fought for and now get to relish and bask in: Steve doesn’t want that changed.

And to think a fucking album release could change what they have, that was just, insanity.

…right?

“You said that, and I—“ and that’s as far as Steve gets before Eddie’s dragging him up, firm but so tender, and so full of love in just the touch that any misgivings—and they weren’t even that, that were just…just little off feelings that Steve knew weren’t of real consequence, because he knowswhat they are and what they have and his first instinct was right damnit, and he knew that like he knows the sky is blue and Eddie curls frizz no matter what you fucking do to them: they won’t change in the ways that matter, because they’re…unshakable.

So Steve knew that already, and he knows it now in just Eddie’s touch drawing up upward and closer, but if somehow he’d managed to miss both of those points?

The way he kisses Steve is…fuck, it’s like sucking his soul to consume.

“Oh, oh baby,” Eddie speaks so that they’re lips aren’t ever anything but locked tight, but touching close and with feeling; “not everything, no,” he promises, seals it, vows it straight into Steve’s open mouth so it��ll slip safe down to his heart and soul:

“Not everything,” he whispers, still close enough they can’t breathe without the other there, too, and: that’s heady. That’s real.

“Good,” Steve exhales but with a weight to it, a finality: a seal and vow of his own as he nips Eddie’s swollen lips once, twice, and then tucks himself under Eddie’s chin again, where Eddie’s arms are waiting to envelop him even closer, now; tighter still somehow.

“You’re the center of my world, you know that?” Eddie finally murmurs into Steve’s hair once their breaths have calmed a little, and he can say it steady and sure like he means to, and Steve really just smiles, and burrows that half-an-inch closer, where he compresses Eddie’s flesh to the bone so he can feel the nearest a person can be.

“I do know that,” and it’s not even a fib, or a half-truth: and Eddie already knows the understood ‘you’ of the sentiment clear and well-established—Steve knows Eddie’s love in all sorts of ways, big and small and in between but the first way he probably believed it best was coming to grips with the fact, the unwavering law-of-the-universe fact, that Eddie Munson’s heart beats for Steve the very same Steve’s beats for him. No difference. No more or less. Perfect concert, exact same time signature: precisely shock-start to pump in the first place, like the same spark keeps time in both their chests.

Steve knows he’s loved in ways that don’t have words. Because he loves the very same, and so he knows them intimately, no labels required.

“I already told the promo team we work around your schedule or I’m gonna have to by inconveniently down with the flu for appearances,” Eddie adds as Steve settles back on his chest, soft again and languid: he wasn’t fearful, or even truly hesitant, but—it’s nice. To lean back in and cuddle close.

“You know you don’t have to—“ Steve starts but Eddie tuts him quiet in a flash.

“I do have to. Save my heart the aching, baby,” he presses lips to Steve’s temple and speaks there, drags his mouth wet to the skinL “more important, save yours the same.”

And Steve maybe can’t help but press his own lips first through the cotton of Eddie’s shirt straight to the center of his chest, and then leaning up a little, to the stretched-out collar sneaking the lowest peek of flesh beneath his clavicle: kisses there too, a little sloppy and a lot overfull of feeling as he breathes:

“I love you something wild, Eddie Munson,” and his pulse skips happily, a little dance under Steve’s mouth as he smiles before propping his chin on Eddie’s chest and looking up, meeting the eyes he knows are waiting for him, waiting to lock with his.

And when they do—even after all these years, and Steve has no expectation of it ever change with more to come—but when their eyes meet it’s Steve’s heart that goes giddy, a little off-kilter for joy, and it fucking is that, isn’t it.

It’s wild.

“I love metal, baby,” Eddie answers, and Steve tips his head a little; an odd direction, but he’s intrigued: “music and D&D and meeting the fans,” and Eddie’s playing with his hair again, and he knows what that does, but—

“I feel something so much bigger, for you,” and Jesus, Steve’s in love with maybe the only person in the world who can match him for romance; sometimes outstrips him, even. His heart goes back to dancing chaotic and he couldn’t fucking stifle the grin if he tried, and fuck if he’s ever planning to try.

“Fucking sap,” Steve mouths tight against Eddie’s chest, damp through his shirt for the chuckle he breathes there, weightless and marveling because he gets to have this; they get to have this: they’ve had this for so long and they get to keep it.

“You love it though,” Eddie runs his cheek back and forth across the top of Steve head, and Steve just hums:

“I don’t love it,” he insists with intent in it: “the bigger thing,” he corrects, makes clear: “I feel the bigger thing.”

And Eddie just ducks a smile against Steve’s hair, warm where as it spreads, and Steve can feel it; can’t help him mirror it full as he sighs:

“So tell me more about this pool.”

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[iwannasuckyourmonstercock]

Make the night a little darker

Genre: Smut, Romance

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend and you finally leave the work party. That doesn’t mean that you’ll stop partying.

This was a request btw I hope you like it @sadfragilegirl <3

The laughter inside was still very loud as you left the party. It was undeniable that parties like those pulled at your nerves - especially on your feet. Whoever was the culprit behind the invention of high heels would be doomed if they’d be at your mercy.

“Are you okay? You look a little tired.” you heard a soft voice, making you turn your head. It was Hongjoong. One of your colleagues, he worked in another department.

You two had met during another party - one with more music and less work being the cause of it.

It had been a one night stand - that turned into him serving you breakfast in bed and giving you a massage as you couldn’t walk anymore the day after.

Unfortunately you had forget to exchange phone numbers and you also were too shy to just go back to his apartment. Until you rushed into your new workplace, desperate to get the elevator as you already ran late. You couldn’t be late for your first day, could you? It had been quite a surprise when the person holding the door open for you was the same you had slept with a few nights ago.

From than on he had taken you on multiple dates and recently you two decided to make it official.

“I’m alright… I don’t like work parties much, that’s it.” You shrugged a little but he just fondly patted your head before he took his jacket off to put it on your shoulders.

Obviously Hongjoong had looked right through your facade, he knew it wasn’t only the party. And luckily, he knew exactly what could ease your pain a little.

“Come back to my place. We can walk there in ten minutes and than I’ll give you a little massage.” He offered.

His soft hand touched your cheek again and he made you look at him. You could only stare at him as he gave you his sweetest smile that was reserved for you only.

“Sounds like a plan.” You finally agreed.

A huge smile was on his face as he turned around, offering you a piggyback ride. You definitely wouldn’t pass on that and so you put your hands around his neck loosely. Hongjoong picked you up, his hours of training with his friend San finally paying off.

It did take him a little until he was home and you did have a bit of pity with him. But you knew if you walked any further your feet would kill you. Besides that he had offered to do that and if you had rejected him or tried to get off now he’d only start a fight claiming you basically called him weak by doing so.

Finally you arrived at his apartment. Your boyfriend placed a soft kiss on your forehead after he had put you down. Than he got on his knees, working to get your feet out of your shoes.

“God, I told you to wear the flatter shoes..” he complained, as if he had just hurt himself. “But you always know it better…”

You decided to leave this without a comment, just sighing as they finally came off.

After some more minutes you two were on his couch, enjoying the awesome view along with a glass of wine while his hands worked to give your calves and feet a quick massage.

It was easy to relax under his touch, especially when he worked your muscles so well. His newest purchase was playing softly in the background - a nice jazz album from an artist that was probably long gone by now. But it was exactly Hongjoongs style and you didn’t have any complaints.

“Are you already feeling a little better, my love?” Hongjoong asked softly, placing a kiss on your left knee.

A relieved sigh left your lips and that was enough answer for him. Although - it wouldn’t be Hongjoong if he was satisfied with just that. So instead he moved your body easily and now you rested against his chest. His hands began their work again and he began to massage your shoulders. Slowly you felt how all of the weight from the last few weeks melted away just from his touch.

“You should’ve become a masseur.”

A light chuckle left his lips and he leaned down to kiss your shoulder softly.

“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t have met you again otherwise.”

Your eyes stayed closed, but the smile on your lips was enough to satisfy him. Sometimes your reactions meant much more to him than your words and he had learned to read them just way too good.

It was a blessing and a curse.

“You’re a dork, really.” You finally answered, turning your head to look at him.

“Ah, how so?”

“You’re trying to charm me, you think I don’t notice that?”

Now he was the one who didn’t respond, only giving you a sly grin and grabbing your chin with his hand.

The intensity of his eyes was enough to make you waver a little, but it wasn’t like you really wanted to put up a fight in the first place.

You gulped and couldn’t help yourself much as your eyes flickered to his lips for a moment. They looked delicious. Rosy, shiny from the wine and so, so kissable. Quickly you looked back to his eyes but the sparkle in them already told you that he knew.

Hongjoong already knew that your wetness was pooling in your panties and that he had you. Just for you, he decided to play along. How couldn’t he? It was so much fun to let you pretend like you didn’t crave him just to make you crumble piece by piece.

“You’re a minx. I am spoiling you and you already think that I’m trying to seduce you… That’s taken as an offense.” He pouted, acting as if he was truly offended.

But you didn’t miss the way his left hand wandered to your hips, fondly squeezing it.

“Dork.” You giggled, leaning back and turning a little so you could press a kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Minx.” He whispered against your lips, his other hand land finding the back of your head so you couldn’t escape him.

Not like you wanted that.

Your lips found each other and it started very soft. Both of you knew it would end any but that.

Not like the both of you would mind tho.

For now you enjoyed the sweetness. It made you turn your body, so that you were now sitting on your knees. Your own hands found their way to his shoulders, your lips still on his.

Who needed to breath anyways when he was giving you the sweetest kisses there could be?

Soon his greedy hands began to wander down your body, squeezing and touching your hips before he reached for your butt. It was probably his favorite bodypart from you. He loved how soft it was and he always made sure to appreciate it throughly.

Hongjoong pulled you closer now, making you straddle his lap. Your dress was slowly rising up but you didn’t have an ounce of shame in front of Hongjoong. That pervert had kept more than one of your precious panties, you knew that even if he claimed he hadn’t seen them.

“Fuck… You’re so beautiful…” he praised you, eyes opening and lips parted as he still had to catch his breath after taking yours.

“Ah, really? I thought you didn’t think I was-“

Your boyfriend interrupted your yapping with a greedy kiss, obviously having enough of your sarcasm.

A whiny moan left your lips when he squeezed your ass at the same time. His hands pulled you against his growing boner, making you feel exactly how beautiful and sexy he thought you were.

Not like you even had time to doubt that at all. Not with the way he worshipped you like a goddess.

“Is this the only way you can shut me up?” You breathed out, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

Your endless teasing was slowly pulling on Hongjoongs patience. But that was exactly the point.

“Baby…” he growled “you’re doing this on purpose, hm? Acting like a little brat just to rile me up. Just asking for my dick would make it easier for you.”

“But not for you and that is a problem for me.”

This sentence was the one making him man’s handle you in your back, two of his finger finding their way to your lips, softly tapping in them.

You whined again but opened your mouth for him obediently, letting them slide into your mouth. Slowly he pushed them against your tongue, making you choke a little on them as he put them deeper down your throat. But he knew your limits, so it didn’t exactly worry you.

“Not much to say now, hmh, brat?” He chuckled, placing a kiss on your cheek. “Just behave for me and I won’t have to edge you all night, my love.”

He knew he had you when you began to suck on his finger, looking into his dark brown eyes. In this dim light they seemed even darker, especially with the heavy lust for you that was swimming in them.

“That’s it… that’s a good girl, right? You just need a little reminder sometimes.” Hongjoong cooed at you, making you bite his finger lightly.

With a sigh he pulled his finger out and shuffled down so he was right between your legs.

Your dress didn’t leave much to his imagination anymore and he groaned when he looked under your skirt.

“The red ones? You want to drive me crazy.” He growled, immediately grabbing your thighs and pulling you against his mouth.

Greedily he licked over your clothed cunt, making you shiver a little and whine out. Oh, it’d only be better if he would finally remove the panties. But if you said anything you knew he’d seriously get mad. That wasn’t the goal, you just wanted to rile him up a little, make him feral and wild.

You loved when he got like that.

It didn’t take long until your boyfriend got too impatient, pulling your panties down clumsily and pocketing them.

“Hey, I saw that! I knew you- f-uck! Rude!” You complained as he cut your rant short by stuffing you with two of his fingers and sucking at your clit.

A devilish smirk was on his face and you could only watch as he began to destroy you. His fingers were so nice, thicker than yours and even if not much, they were still a little longer.

Soft moans left your lips as he curled his fingers into your most sensitive spot, making your back arch. He loved how you moaned for him, whether it was his name or just nonsense - he loved both.

Especially when you weren’t too far away from your orgasm anymore. That was the best.

“Moan for me, baby. You know I love it.” Hongjoong growled against your lips, now working to replace the faded hickeys on your thighs with new ones.

He loved to do that. While he was mature enough to understand that hickeys in obvious places would embarrass you, his primal side still loves to see at least some part of you marked by him. It was such a natural instinct, he just couldn’t resist it.

And you wouldn’t complain. It felt amazing when his soft lips were sucking on your soft skin, occasionally he even bit down a little. The way he was tender and rough at the same time was just mind blowing.

Meanwhile his fingers still worked their way into you, and by now he had three fingers in you. Your hot cunt clenched around them as his thumb slid up to your clit. He rubbed right where he knew you liked it.

Your mouth was hanging open and you felt a bit of drool running down your cheek. But you couldn’t care less right now.

“Fucking hell, baby. You are dripping. Might need a new couch afterwards.” He joked, but it was very much true.

The sweet juice was running down your folds, and Hongjoong would hate for his couch to get stained. So he stopped marking you and began to lick it away. As always, he was greedy doing it. And the texture of his tongue felt even better now that you were stuffed with three of his fingers.

With how you clenched down on him and how you were letting your juices out for him, he knew it wouldn’t take long until you’d cum.

Just before your release he pulled away, his tongue darting out to kick some remains of you away from the corner of his mouth.

“N-no! No, Joongie! I just needed a little more!” You cried out, some tears in your eyes now.

Your boyfriend only tutted, grabbing your wrists and holding them up with one hand.

“Calm down. I’ll let you come, but only in my cock. Now spread your legs like the good girl you are and let me fill you up just how you like it.”

He didn’t need to say that twice. Your legs were spread and you pulled down your dress a bit so he could see your chest as well.

His right hand was lifted and he began to play with your tit, massaging it and pulling on the nipple a bit. Than he wiped your juices from his hand off on them and gently slapped your tit.

Finally he reached for his belt, opening it quickly before he opened his pants and pulled them down.

“That’s a good girl… fuck, yeah….” He mumbled, thick cock now out and obviously rock hard already. Lazily he pumped it a few times before he slowly tapped it against your entrance.

The action made you clench around nothing in anticipation. It was so mean to tease you like this - and he knew it.

“Hongjoong, fuck if you don’t-“

“If I don’t what?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and now rubbing his tip over your soaked folds. It felt so nice and hot and honestly, he could probably cum just like that if he didn’t hold back.

“We both know you can’t do shit, just take whatever I chose to give you.”

A soft whine left your lips when he finally pushed into you. It was only a bit at first, his teasing obviously not finished yet. Time seemed endless as he continued to push his tip in, just to pull out again.

At this point tears were gathering in your eyes. Deeply your boyfriend chuckled when he saw it. You were just way too cute for him. Always yapping so much but the moment his dick entered you it was always over.

And as you didn’t complain again and really took what he gave you, he decided to be lenient today. So he finally pushed into you all the way, stretching you out around him and making you choke out a moan.

Gently his hands rubbed your thighs, his eyes finding yours to get some reassurance that you were fine. After you gave him a soft nod he began to move his hips, gentle and slow at first. His tip nudged against the best spots inside of you and your eyes fell shut at the feeling.

This was really something you could get used to and the slight buzz from the alcohol just made it all feel much better.

As he realized that you were enjoying yourself very much, Hongjoong began to slam his hips harshly against yours. It wasn’t fast at all but every thrust made you sink deeper into the couch and soft whines filled the room along with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Hongjoong was just equally in bliss, his eyes watching how your tits bounced and how your face contorted in pleasure. And the way your walls squeezed him so nicely, holding him in a warm embrace and slowly bringing him closer and closer to his edge.

“You’re so fucking pretty…” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your neck again, his hands moving from your thighs to your hips to hold you in place as he picked up the pace.

“And all mine… you’re just mine.”

Each kiss reminded you of just that and eagerly you nodded, whining for him as he placed a kiss on your neck again. Softly he began to suck on that spot before the softness began to fade and he harshly pulled at your skin, inevitably turning the spot into a mix of blue and purple.

“F-eels so good… Joongie…” you whined out, hands on his biceps and fingernails digging into his skin.

His pace was picking up more and more, and his groans and breaths gave away that he’d come soon.

He was very much aware of that and so one of his hands moved down, freshly manicured thumb finding your clit and with much expertise he rubbed it just the way you had showed him when you had first been intimate.

It was nice that he just followed the advice you had given him - after all most men never wanted to listen, claiming to know you better than yourself and than being petty about not being able to make you cum. With him it was different. He listened, he valued your pleasure just like he valued his own. If not even more.

“Joongie…” you whined, already feeling your peak.

“I know baby, I know… just let it go… you’re doing so fucking good for me, hmh? Such a good girl, just cum for me.” His slow kiss on your lips along with the steady pace of his hips and his thumb made you tumble over to edge with a moan into his mouth.

Patiently he fucked you through your orgasm, his motions not stopping until he didn’t feel your cunt pulsing around him anymore.

Only than did he take his thumb off of your clit and place his hands next to your head, beginning to move faster to reach his own high.

It made you whine and cry, but you didn’t complain, wanting him to feel good as well. And if you were honest, the overstimulation did also feel good

Your eyes opened and you watched him. His eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed a little as he fucked harder into you.

“You feel so fucking good… a-h…” he groaned, pushing himself deep inside of you as he came, his hot cum pumping into you.

Another whine left your lips as you felt it, his hips not stopping as he fucked it deep into you.

“Love you…” you said softly, making his eyes open and his face light up a bit.

“I love you so much more…” he whispered against your lips, softly kissing you again.

- - -

The sun was already rising and Hongjoong was drinking the last remains of his wine while you rested on his chest. His empty hand gently ran through your hair and he smiled as you both watched the sunrise.

“I can’t stop the sun from rising now… but we can at least make the night a little darker.” He whispered into your ear.

[starsomens]

Hear me out,okay? Thigh riding Noah while…are you ready?…while Noah is making music. Let me paint the picture:

Noah is in his home studio working very hard on a new album. It’s probably about close to midnight. The house is quite, like very quite except for a his groans when something doesn’t sound good. You are off somewhere in the house doing something, reading a book in bed, watching TV in the living room, eating a snack, you chose. He sits back in his chair and lets a frustrated sigh.

After a few minutes of him just staring at his computer he calls out for you. “Princess?” You stop whatever you are doing and walk to his home studio. “Yes, my love?” You ask softly. He loving stares at you for a second before he talks again. “I need some inspiration…come ride my thigh…please.” Your heart skips a beat, your whole body starts to feel hot. With a soft smile on your face you walk over to right beside him as he pushes his chair away from the desk to make for you and pats his thigh with that damn smile of his.

“Pants and underwear off.” (Oh he means business!) You take off your clothes from the lower half of you and straddle his thigh. He plants a few kisses on your forehead as you slowly start to grind away. Noah watches you as soft moans and whispers fall from your mouth. He leans to your ear and soft whispers.

“Such pretty sounds, god I love the way you sound.”

“Keep going…that’s it that’s a good girl.”

As your grind harder and faster on his thigh, more of your pretty sounds become louder. Noah reached over and hits the record button on his computer. He sit back in his chair with his full attention to you. Watching you come undone from just his thigh alone. The room fills with moans, whimpers, ragged breathing, wet sounds, and of course, his praises.

“So wet and just for me, princess, thats it.”

“God you look like a masterpiece.”

“Gonna make a big mess,huh?, that’s okay you can lick it clean when you’re done.”

“I should put your moans and whimpers in a song or should I keep them for myself?”

You can’t answer him. No words are going through your head. Nothing, just the feeling of his thigh in between your legs. Your whole body begins to shake as you feel close. He sits there watching you with a smirk. You feel like you are gonna explode. With a final few grinds, you come. Letting out loud gasps and moans along with his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close rubbing your back, kissing your forehead and cheeks as you calm down from your high.

“That’s a girl.” He says in your ear

IM SORRY THIS IS SOO LONG!! I though it was gonna be short be I was very wrong.

IM SOWWWYYYY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT ANYWAY

YES OMG GIRL

YOU ALWAYS COME UP IN MY INBOX WITHT THESE STEAMY ASS IDEAS I CAN'T ADD MORE TO THESE BUT I LOVE THIS

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM BEYONCÉ'S COWBOY CARTER *  assorted lines from the album, some slightly adapted, adjust as necessary

nothing really ends.

for things to stay the same, they have to change again.

hello, my old friend.

you changed your name, but not the ways you play pretend.

do you hear me?

let me make myself clear.

can you hear me, or do you fear me?

can we stand for something?

now is the time to face the wind.

can you stand me?

this isn't the time to pretend.

they used to say i spoke "too country."

they don't know how hard i had to fight for this.

goodbye to what has been.

you were only waiting for this moment to arise.

i had to leave my home at an early age.

i'm not in my bed.

i gotta choose myself.

i might cook, clean, but still won't fold.

i'm still working on my life, you know.

only god knows.

i got art to make.

i got love to create.

they won't dim my light.

i had to sacrifice and leave my fears behind.

you'll remember me, 'cause we got something to prove.

i will lead you down that road if you lose your way.

i'm born to be a protector.

even though i know someday, you're gonna shine on your own.

i gave water to the soil, and now it feeds me.

there you are, shaded underneath it all.

i feel proud of who i am.

i first saw your face in your father's gaze.

how many times have you let yourself get down?

be fond of your flaws.

i just hope you love yourself like that.

i really hope the best for you.

you're my love, my sweetie pie.

don't let go.

lay your cards down.

i'll be damned if i can't slow dance with you.

don't be a bitch.

there's a heatwave coming at us.

i give you kisses in the backseat.

you make me cry, you make me happy.

just toss it.

they couldn't have me and they never will.

sometimes i hold you closer just to know you're real.

sometimes i take a day off just to turn you on.

i could be your bodyguard.

you should let me ride shotgun.

you know how people like to start shit.

someone better hold me back.

i'm warning you, don't come for my man.

don't take the chance just because you think you can.

the games you play are nothing new.

you don't want no heat with me.

i know my man better than he knows himself.

shoot your shot with someone else.

i'm warning you, woman, find your own man.

i have to have this talk with you.

i really tried to stay cool, but your arrogance disturbed my solitude.

look what you made me do.

if you cross me, i'm just like my father.

you say move a mountain and i'll throw on my boots.

how does it feel to be adored?

think about leaving? hell no.

time moves quickly, and so do i.

i don't need anything.

here's to hoping i'll fall fast asleep tonight.

i need to get through this.

i came here for a reason, but i don't know the purpose.

time heals everything.

i'll be your backseat baby.

been a while since i haven't tried to pull away.

come here, you sexy little thing.

baby, you play too much.

i'm looking super hot.

i'm a fucking animal.

every time you know just what to do.

no one ever got me going quite like you.

girl, i wanna take you home.

they won't be around.

i hope that you know that once i loved you.

history can't be erased.

got you up all night and now you don't wanna leave.

how can a true love go so wrong?

put on a show and make it nasty.

let me sink into your arms.

i died and someone brought me back to life.

i plan to steal your heart again.

who am i to judge?

i will carry on.

baby, i've been waiting my whole life for you.

wherever you wanna go, that's fine with me.

all i see is the best of you.

i'm gonna give you the best years of your life.

you owe me a debt.

i hated you once.

tap me on the shoulder when you reload the gun.

i know they're looking for me.

i fall to pieces each time i see you there.

it don't matter what nobody says.

we can take back roads.

just say what you need from the store.

i'm coming home.

take that shit on the chin.

have mercy on me.

this house was built with blood and bones.

i need to make you proud.

[moseyluvs]

Terlingua Girl - Pt.1

Matty Healy x Cowgirl!OC

A/N: she’s here!! It’s mostly preamble so things make sense in the future but nonetheless she is HEREEEEEE! Enjoy hotties.

Word Count: 1378

Warnings: none.

———

For the first time in a long time, Matty Healy is completely silent. Sitting in the last row of the large black SUV, looking wistfully out the window sits an utterly quiet Matty. Dark curls tousled, eye bags prominent, it's almost unsettling to the rest of the boys on the “detox” that his headphones haven't left his ears since the plane ride here.

He’s in his head, swirling thoughts of past conversations, paths he’d wished he’d taken, Matty is starting to spiral. He can’t get out of his head.

That's why they are on the trip in the first place. No phones, no social media, no civilized society, nothing but making a record on some Texas compound in the middle of the state. He knows it's for his own good, leaving everything behind for a while. Savoring the final moments of his phone he types his passcode in with his thumb almost secretively, almost like he’s ashamed to care that the message sits there at all. He checks his messages one last time, maybe it's changed, and maybe he’ll have to courage to open it.

1 Unopened Message Look Matty I love you it’s just…

He sighs and clicks the power button, taking out his wired headphones to join the lively conversation taking place in the row in front of him.

“-Nah mate im telling you it'll be good, you lot are too accustomed to the city,” says Arthur driving the car, one elbow casually resting on the center console.

He's a producer friend of Jamie’s and has some connection to some property in the country that's “so fucking cool it's mental mate”. He works well with George and after a particularly harrowing cancellation, a weekend plan turned into a summer-long break from the public eye.

“Oh look who decided to join them convo, you done being dramatic?” George smirks turning at the shuffling of Matty putting his headphones in his too-full backpack.

“Fuck off,” Matty mutters not even caring to look up at the blonde.

“It's jokes mate, but god knows you use your mindset for this album well chart!” Ross laughs shifting to face Matty as well.

Giggles are let out amongst the grown men in the car. Matty is not amused in the slightest, a scowl finds its way upon his face. Matty looks up at the men and opens his mouth to rattle off some witty dig when Arthur interrupts.

“Everyone hold on this is where things get a little bumpy” He sharply turns onto a dirt road, and everyone is too busy holding on for their life to continue their tiff.

—----------

They pull up to the compound at dusk after excessively long on the nauseating dirt road. Matty wasn't quite sure what he was expecting, maybe a horror movie house, full of spiders and creaking floorboards but what he was met with was far nicer than anticipated.

The spacious ranch house is surrounded by fields, with a little creek rolling through the property cutting it in half length-wise.

A sprawling deck extends from the back of the house, full of outdoor furniture with a barbeque and a fireplace. Adorning the deck are delicate string lights, their glow illuminating the space warm and inviting, especially as the pink skies fade into pale powdery purples. If he hadn't given up his phone to Arthur a few minutes prior he’d have taken a picture to send to his mom.

It's as he’s surveying the property when he sees it, a small house just on the other side of the creek. He swears he can see a silhouette in the window, lights softly glowing through thin curtains when a hand lands on his back startling him from his discovery.

“Let's go in yeah?” Says Adam with a soft smile. He leads Matty inside one hand on the strap of his own backpack, the other still on Matty's back. Matty shrugs it off and walks beside him in silence breaking apart to claim his room for the future months.

After he gets slightly unpacked and changes out of his travel clothes, the group congregates in the living room to set up where they’ll be physically making the record.

“There’s honestly plenty to do just help yourselves to the land and the house whatever sparks your creative juices you know?” Arthur starts unpacking production equipment, making a makeshift studio while giving his spiel.

“Just don't fuck with the livestock Lou gets all pissy when you fuck with the livestock and I do not want to be yelled at because someone wanted to pet a fucking cow and spooked the whole herd again,” Arthur says sternly, eyes wide.

“Who the fuck is Lou?” Says George, visibly confused.

“Livestock attendant, the compound is technically a vacation house for some rick fucks so they needed somebody to watch the land and keep up the animals,” Arthur explains continuing his grappling with the tapestry. Ross reaches up to help him, pinning it in place immediately. “Thanks, mate.. well that person is Lou”

Matty has no interest in another guy joining their circle, another guy to mess up their dynamic, another guy to mistake as a friend. Adam senses his uncomfortable energy and shoots Ross a look, the bearded man shoots him one back, shrugging.

Matty ignores the worried stares and unspoken comforts and walks to his room without so much as a peep, feet padding along the cold concrete floors.

“We’re worried about him yeah?” says Adam still looking at where Matty stood only seconds ago, as if he left a dark cloud in his path.

“Yeah” Sighs George.

—--

Matty shoots up, sweaty, rigid, and breathless. His legs stick to the white sheets of the bed, crisp cotton turned damp and constricting. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon but the heat of the day has already started. The thick air is filling his lungs, Matty needs a smoke.

Not bothering to change out of the plaid pajama pants and lack of a shirt, he rifles through his backpack pockets searching for his cigarettes. After finding his saving grace in the deepest pocket, he rushes down the long halfway to the back porch frantically lighting his cigarette when he sees her.

She sits on an old wooden fence, all pouty lips, tangled hair, and long legs knocking around in an old pair of cowboy boots. She’s facing the other way toward the pasture, head turned over her shoulder to get a look at the shirtless stranger who looks far too out of place.

Matty rakes through her appearance, light wash cutoffs, and a white tank top you can see through if you squint. She's a gangly little thing really, with freckles upon her cheeks and brown hair bleached a dirty blonde from the sun. She seems unruly, with bruises on her legs, and hands dirtied from caring for the creatures, but she seems…free.

“I take it you’re my new summer neighbor” she breaks the silence, revealing a slight southern drawl, spinning around on the fence to face the man who more so resembles a flustered teenager in the current predicament.

“I’m Lou” she continues cocking her head to the side flicking her eyes to his tattoo-filled abdomen. A slight smirk playing on her pink lips.

It hits Matty that this is the Lou he was worried about. Lou is not a man, she's instead quite possibly the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. Matty feels the need to puff out his chest suddenly self-conscious of the vulnerability, and the shy nature he doesn't typically carry.

“Oh- uh- yeah I guess I am” he manages to choke out.

She grins. There’s a sparkle in her eye, a glint of curiosity. He's something shiny, something new, something to discover.

“Well alright stranger, If you go put on some real clothes I'll show you something cool, yeah?” She states as if he would immediately obey. Matty Healy is no “simp” he doesn't do whatever a chick wants him to do. He is a cold player who calls his own shots. But the way he treks back to his room to throw on a pair of jeans and an old band tee makes him seem quite the opposite.

[brightlypainted]

I went completely bananas and wrote a full analysis of Joker Out and JO fandom stuff and situation... idk

Hi baby boos!

I’ve seen some confusion regarding JO’s latest announcements and social media activity (or lack thereof) so I've tried to analyze the current situation with a critical eye 🤓

I don't use Tumblr much so you're probably more familiar with my Twitter but I got suggested to post this here for easier reading (and... better audience in general 👀)

Long rant under the cut:

Before I begin I must point out that these are my opinions and theories. I have no idea how JO’s communication and management is being organized right now, I’m just making assumptions based on my perception as a fan 🤷‍♀️

(also I’m a communication graduate but my studies and current job cover this sector only tangentially so I may not know how some/most of this works…)

Let’s start with comparing last year’s situation to the current one: one year ago the boys were riding high on the wave of enthusiasm, having had a successful ESC (despite the ending placement) and having gained a lot of attention as fan favorite competitors ✨

A very high % of the growing fanbase, esp the international one, was coming directly or tangentially through ESC and how do you maintain that attention once the contest is over? you increase your social media presence and you start planning international concerts. which they did!

This constant exposure to content made the fandom flourish: we were all witnessing how easily people from everywhere could join and already feel at the very center of attention, both because JO’s communication was being very active and successful and also thanks to fanmade organizations like JokerOutSubs, group chats, old time Slovenian fans sharing juicy pre-ESC content, etc. I'll be grateful forever

We had a past year that could be divided into 2 halves in terms of communication: it all went extremely well until more or less the end of 2023 (last tour dates in Spain) and then started gradually becoming very odd and chaotic all through 2024 until last month’s complete draught

We know that they mostly tend to manage their online presence on their own, so ofc during breaks and during very busy times is harder for them to find good content to share. They had also been very clear about needing time off their phones all through the London era and the album recording in Hamburg, so that didn’t come as a surprise for fans 🤷‍♀️

But having very sensible, personal reasons to quit/decrease social media presence has unfortunately no meaning in communication, where the laws are very simple: once you stop sharing, you stop existing

I don’t want to criticize their choices, because they are entitled to their privacy and offline time. I’m just pointing out that this very long, hiccup-y period probably could have been avoided with better management and with the presence of a smm/pre-planned sm communication 🙃

It also unfortunately happened concurrently to the new ESC season, which was bound to “organically” erode part of the fandom anyway, and to an EU tour that, although successful, has still highlighted a lazy/bad management and yet again a communication that made little to no sense at times (es. the whole campaign that subtly asked people to go to more than one concert, which clearly made fans with less financial and logistical possibilities feel ‘lacking’ and ‘inferior’) 🙄

In their defense, the tour was to establish a fanbase more than gaining more fans and exposure, so pushing for getting more of a loyal than an occasional fanbase wasn’t completely wrong an idea… it just backfired

And it did because the greatest part of their international fanbase is made of very young people who aren’t financially independent and whose interests are bound to be fleeting and shifting ESPECIALLY when they aren’t constantly met with content production/consumption

Let’s also not forget that having completely shifted their attention to international waters at the expense of the Slovenian/regional fanbase has been very risky. We still can’t tell if the gamble was successful or not

It’s never a good idea to ignore/neglect your hardcore supporters, the very people that helped you raise to your current standards. it’s true they are the most loyal, but they are also very easily the ones that could feel more betrayed

I also think it’s very risky trying to shift the fans’ content consumption out of social media and into a (controlled, easier to manage, ofc) site like Openstage for two main reasons: as said before, complete disappearance from socials means communicational suicide and until now, the “dedicated content” directed toward fans on the site has been… too bland and generic (sorry)(they can learn how to improve that)

Openstage has other very interesting uses tho, firstly the early access to ticket sales and secondly the tracking of international fan presence, which was pretty clearly the main goal and reason why they opened the site in the first place... so it’s not ex ante a bad communication choice, just (until now) one that has yet to show its potential and usefulness

So what now? I think it’s time they make a few considerations and sensible choices to maintain what’s currently the status quo and in order to tackle festival season in the best way

They need to keep their international presence by opening their fanbase to a new kind of fans: festivals bring exposure to bands from a very specific type of fanbase, more interested in music than in contents. If they manage to capture the interest of Sziget people, for example, they could gather a new type of international fanbase less interested in the “social media” content consumption and more in the “I wanna see these guys play again, somewhere else, maybe a show of their own” way

(which, to be completely fair, could be the best choice to cure their current crazy/shifting/confusing fanbase state, giving them more peace of mind, more privacy and a more “normal” rock band experience than the one they had in the past year… that we can all agree has been pretty bad at times)

I personally think this summer season must go in the quantity direction (gaining more new fans) and at the same time in the quality direction (less shows, bigger stages) and this is why some of you are disappointed in seeing so little shows compared to last year or to the SYS tour... I get it

Many of us, me included, won’t be seeing JO live for the whole summer season, and I’m aware that is disappointing, but I hope this analysis has helped you put things into perspective and consider maybe one of the possible reasons why this next phase for Joker Out is being organized this way

I’m still hoping they’ll find a good compromise with their social media communication, because right now I really feel that being the main issue with the gradual but constant drop in traction (please boys hire a smm. i adore jan’s sad edits and the unhinged video and stories like the next person but serious work has to be done too)

Ending the rant on a note of hope: I wish to see you all enjoy the summer and the content to come and I hope for the boys to have a successful, fun season full of new experiences, new music, new people, fresh ideas for the future. I’m honestly very excited for what’s to come! 🌻

[avatar-anna]

Idk if you like this concept but i can't stop thinking about harry with swiftie y/n who always sings London Boy to him. And likes to tease him about the fact that he dated Taylor

swiftie!y/n by @harrysfolklore is superior, but i did my best!

(also, i know london boy isn't actually about harry, he's just being a tease)

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

“Hello everyone. My name is Y/n Y/l/n, but only because my boyfriend hasn't proposed to me yet.”

In the dim lighting, you could just make out Harry's figure at the back of the bar, where he promptly flipped you off. Laughing a bit, you continued.

“He told me we weren’t going home tonight until I got up here and performed, and while you are all a lovely bunch, I fear I am growing a little tired, so here I am.”

You and Harry were spending some time in Japan. Tokyo, to be exact. He'd just come off his first solo tour, and you both thought it would be nice to get away for a little while. He liked Japan, and you had never been, so it was perfect.

In the few weeks of being in Japan, you and Harry frequented a couple of places, one of which was a karaoke bar a few blocks from the apartment you were staying at. It was all locals and the two of you, but everyone was welcoming, especially when Harry started doing rounds of sake and getting on the small stage to perform here and there. You were content to watch, though Harry tried multiple times to get you to at the very least join him. And now that it was nearing the end of your stay, he was pressing a little harder.

So now you were on the stage with a microphone in your hand, trying not to look at anyone for too long.

“You got this, babe!” Harry shouted from his seat, resting his fingers in his mouth to blow a sharp whistle.

“Thank you,” you said. “This song goes out to my boyfriend, my London boy. And Taylor Swift, who I am forever grateful to for breaking up with my boyfriend so that I could have him one day, and I hope she'll follow me on Instagram one day so we can become best friends and dress up as Charlie’s Angels together for Halloween.”

You weren’t typically the kind of person that over shared, but it took a good amount of alcohol to get a microphone in your hands, and you tended to share a little too much about yourself when you were drunk.

Harry gave you a thumbs up as the music started, and since you called Taylor Swift “mother” on a regular basis, you didn't really need the words on the screen to help you along.

“We can go drivin' in, on my scooter. Uh, you know, just riding in London. Alright. I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal. And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey...”

It was safe to say that you loved Taylor Swift. You grew up with her music, each album speaking to the different phases of your life as you went through them. Her music, her lyrics, the stories she told...you just understood all of it, you felt understood by her songs.

Meeting Harry, falling in love with him, it was all chance. He came into the clothing store you worked at, and you only recognized him as the guy from that boy band who dated Taylor Swift (which you did not tell him until much, much later). But he took you by surprise. His hair was long and his smile was shy but kind, and instead of talking about clothing suggestions like you were paid to do, he asked about you, and you asked about him, and instead of walking out with shopping bags, he left with your number, and the rest was history.

You never really expected to fall in love with Harry. Honestly, you thought he would forget about asking for your number. But he texted you a couple hours after you met, and you stayed up almost all night talking about whatever popped into your heads. He made his interest in you quite obvious, so there was never a period where friendship became more, but you still considered him your best friend. You were just two young people in love and experiencing the world together, and you wouldn't have wanted anyone else by your side.

Harry knew now what a fan of Taylor Swift you were, courtesy of a night where you had a little too much to drink and accidentally showed him a picture of a teenage you dressed in a “You Belong With Me” costume at one of her concerts.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

“So, you’re a fan, are you?” he asked.

“That might be an understatement,” you told him, crawling into his lap. “You should know, if I believed in hall passes...”

Harry bursted out laughing, throwing his head back as you giggled with him. You thought he might be put off by your love for your favorite artist, but when he sobered up, he kissed the top of your head and said, “Noted. I’m very thankful that you don't believe in hall passes then.”

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

“You know I love a London boy, I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon. He likes my American smile. Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you...”

You were no performer, but you did your best, skipping between tables and trying your hardest not to sound horrible. You tried not to look at Harry too, because you knew he would be smiling no matter how good or bad you were, and you needed to make it through the song without getting flustered.

However, as the song came to a close, you went over to where he was and planted yourself on his lap, singing the last few lines just to him.

You could tell he was a little drunk too. His green eyes hooded as he smiled down at you. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and his grip on your waist made it hard to focus, but you managed to make it to the end of the song before kissing him.

His lips tasted like alcohol and the lip balm he kept in his pocket at all times. You held the sides of his face in your hands, thumbs rubbing at his temples as the patrons of the bar applauded your big finale. Eventually you pulled away to give the microphone back to the person in charge of the karaoke machine, but Harry didn't let you get far, his arms circling around your waist and holding you close.

“Let’s go home,” he mumbled as the next person got ready to perform.

“Can we grab something to eat on the way back? That left me starving. I don't know how Taylor does it.”

Harry chuckled as he stood up from his seat, leaving a couple bills on the bar before taking your hand in his as the two of you walked out into the chilly night air. “I perform too, you know.”

“I know, but she has these huge dance numbers too. It must be exhausting.”

“Are you saying I need dance numbers in my performances now?” he asked, but he knew you were joking around. He was a close second in your list of favorite artists, and he was well aware of that.

You shook your head, shivering a little as the wind picked up. Harry pulled you close, resting an arm over your shoulders. You wrapped your arms around his middle as you walked, pressing your cheek against his chest and savoring the warmth emanating from him.

You were both quiet as you walked down the street, content to just be next to each other. Until,

“You know I’m not from London, though, right?”

“Oh, I know. But Holmes Chapel boy doesn't have the same ring to it!”

Harry leaned down to brush his lips against yours. It was short and sweet and perfect, his most nudging yours as he pulled back just a little. “You’re right. I’ll have to give her a ring about that.”

“You have her number?”

[martyrsex]

Jason Todd x Singer reader (fem)

Author's note: I posted about this idea SUCH a long time ago. But it never really vanished from my mind, thankfully. Also, this is just a preview. If you guys like it, I can rewrite it and add more chapters.

Warnings: Terrible writting probably (I'll fix it later) also english is not my first language so sorry about any mistakes

__________________________________________________

Dick Grayson was laughing too damn hard. And he was looking at Jason. Which, obviously, made Jason worry. It's always like that with Dick. He starts to laugh like a maniac suddenly, and the reason always turns out to be something bad.

"What is it this time?" Jason asks, feeling already tired of this bullshit. It all got worse when Stephanie bursts into one of the TV rooms of the Manor, laughing just as much as his older brother. And also looking at Jason. He frowns.

"Check out twitter! Or X. What a terrible name, X." Stephanie says, suddenly contemplative. Jason ignores it and grabs his phone inside his pocket, going straight up to the trending topics. It wouldn't be the first time his persona, Red Hood, appeared on them. Or hell, even his actual name. Being a child of Bruce Wayne was just as bad.

Right on the first trending topic.

#RED HOOD'S NEW GIRLFRIEND

The second trending topic was a ship of his persona with a name he never heard of before. He sighs and looks back at Dick, that has an amusing grin on his face.

"Who is this chick?" He asks, clicking on the ship hashtag and scrolling through the tweets.

"You don't know her? She's like, ultra famous." Steph says, arching a blond brow. "I love her. She's super funny and-"

"I don't care. Why are people shipping me with her?" Jason asks, not finding this as funny as his siblings.

Dick laughs again and turns the TV on, putting a video from his cellphone on the large screen. The video is five minutes long. It was an interview of the singer at the Kurt's show, a famous journalist.

"So, I heard the repercussions of your last album were nothing but great. How does it feel to ascend on your career that fastly?" Kurt asked.

"It's great, Kurt. It makes me feel a little nervous. There is a lot of pressure and expectations from my fans, but I'm happy to do my best to satisfy them."

Jason notices the woman is young and well, gorgeous. She wears a black dress and a collar full of diamonds, her hair done perfectly.

"I heard you're a huge fun of... vigilantes. Is that truth?" Kurt asked once more, leaning closer to the woman. She giggles.

"What can I say? I guess they have a lot of fans, and that includes me." She answers. She has a polite smile on her face.

"Tell me, do you have any favorite?" She chuckles at that, the smile never fading. She was clearly having fun talking about this.

"I do! I'm a big fan of Red Hood." She says. Kurt's eyes go wide.

"That's an interesting choice. Why's that?"

"I like how he completes his job and actually ends the bad guys he deal with." She says. It's a bold statement to be done in public, even more considering she's famous. She doesn't seem to care.

"If you could say anything to him, what would you say?"

"I'd ask him to take me to a ride on his bike. Oh, and to get some hobbies out of the vigilantism stuff. I think he needs it. Also, maybe get a girlfriend. It also seems like he needs it."

And then the video ends. Dick and Steph are laughing loudly, and Jason just stares at the television. Get hobbies? Get a girlfriend?

He can hardly believe his ears. But at the same time, it is quite amusing. He goes back to reading the tweets in the hashtag.

Omgggg they'd make such a cute couple!

I'd let both of them punch my face

He can't help but laugh at some the tweets. People don't seem to hate him like the other times he was a trending topic. But it was a bit irritating that he was being shipped with a singer he knows nothing about. But that's just how internet works, anyway.

This can't become much of a problem for him, really. It's just a stupid ship. Nothing too serious. Nothing serious, at all.

Little did he know.

[gabessquishytum]

This has been haunting my head forever, but as we all know Robert Smith was the leading inspiration for Dream in the comics with more than a bit of Neil sprinkled in there (and a few other goth rock bands like Bauhaus' Peter Murphy) and I just can't get over the image of a goth rockstar Dream.

It's the late 70s, and our boy Dream is riding a creative high of LSD and pedal effects to the top of the pops. They're calling the band he fronts, name and members are up to you or whoever takes this idea on, Goth bc they're too dark for New Wave but are just upbeat enough to steer clear of Televison's particular brand of Post-Punk. It's a newer label but a fitting one considering how dour and moody the genre has gotten since Ian Curtis's death. One he despises as he claims he's very happy with his current success and how his life is going.

But he's not happy. He hates playing to the newly forming stereotype of his fans, but he isn't. Celebrity Marriages hardly ever last and his relationship with his novelist wife is crumbling around him. He loves his son but the touring schedule is killing all of his free time. He's also pretty deep into substance abuse but he wouldn't admit it to his big sister let alone the random journo who has a camera in his face while he's trying to catch a 5:30 am flight to start his newest tour. He's just burnt out and creatively stuck as the label tries to pigeonhole him into this new subgenre, which he doesn't want anymore. Life, his life, can't be doom and gloom forever even though that's where it looks like it's heading. Forever being hailed as the Nightmare King.

Meanwhile, three radio stations over, Hob Gadling is desperately trying to hang onto life. He's a bit older now than when he first broke out onto the music scene as a rambunctious coat rider of the Sex Pistols, but he's still going strong. Punk has always been his outlet. Life sucks and you keep on living despite it. It tried to kill him not long after he debuted with substance use, but he powered through it and got clean. His wife died in childbirth, but he stuck around to raise his son. He even took a three-year hiatus and completely missed how much the sound had changed from his younger years. Even as post-punk has risen in popularity and the friends he knew have either died or changed their sound completely, he won't give up hope! Punk's not dead and neither is he. No matter how long his hair gets or if he grows out of his leather jacket.

The two meet rather coincidentally. Hob just happens to be opening for Dream on the Europe leg of his tour. Unsurprisingly the tension around Dream's band has become a powder keg and when he finally snaps and fires his guitarist, his bassist also leaves. With half the band gone, Dream considers calling it quits right then and there. Fuck the new album, fuck the last fifteen or so dates. He wants to go home. But Hob sees how close they are to finishing the tour and puts his foot down. They will finish the tour! So he offers up his services to Dream. He's not bad with a guitar and if Dream can cover the bass, then he'll play all night if he has to. Because out there on stage? That's life and he wants to keep making people happy and give them something that might transcend time and space. To never die bc his name is there among the annuls of rock history.

And in time, Dream will come around to his new friend. He will learn to appreciate the zest for performing and living his new friend has. He will also think he has the greatest body known to man and will forever laugh at the terribly done anarchy A Hob has tattooed on his ass, but that's neither for here or there. For now, Dream pulls himself together and gets his bass out from the dark pits of hell the roadies call gear storage. For the show must go on.

Oh god I want an entire novel length story around this. It’s fantastic! I have so many thoughts about these two!!

Hob is falling in love with all the new sounds that he’s hearing. He spent his time on his hiatus being a suburban dad, and now he’s back on the scene is just feels amazing. He can’t get enough of Roxy Music and David Bowie and Elvis Costello. And he’s determined to drag himself back up among those names! He’s got so many ideas of where punk can go! And he’s fascinated by Dream and his band. The lyrics are a little dark and wallowy, but Hob understands that actually people need to hear that. Life in the UK isn’t easy, particularly for young people. They need something loud and desperate and real. Little does he know, Dream feels like what he’s doing is so far away from being real. He feels likes such a fraud. He can’t get off the hamster wheel except by shooting up and passing out.

Hob recognises all of this in approximately 0.5 seconds after meeting Dream. It makes him pretty sad, but he’s determined that he’ll lift Dream out of his funk. If nothing else, he’ll make him love music again.

So when Hob said he was OK with a guitar, he was lying - he's actually a bit of a genius, and it's fair to say that Dream falls a little bit in love with him about half way through the sound check. Instead of hiding in the dressing room and licking his wounds over the band breaking up, he actually watches as Hob opens for him. Hob is very classic punk, it's all very "fuck the government, fuck me up the arse" kind of stuff, but Dream doesn't get bored for a single second. Hob is just that entertaining, and his riffs are insane. Dream itches to write a song for him. And when Hob ends the set with a jokey little song that his five year old son allegedy wrote the lyrics for (lil Robyn is very punk, just like his daddy) Dream’s eyes actually get a bit misty. It's probably all the smoke.

And there's really no time to get emotional! Dream’s drummer, Constantine, thankfully didn't walk out with the rest of them. So somehow, with Hob’s virtuosic guitar skills and sheer determination, plus Dream’s refusal to fail yet again, they actually make a really decent show. Dream feels a tingle of the old spark that he used to get when he first started out - it probably has something to do with the way Hob upends a bottle of water all over his head half way through the show and grins like a maniac.

After the show they crash in a local hotel. Hob calls his kid from the payphone and Dream wishes that he had the courage to do the same. Instead he takes some pills so he doesn't have to feel the high from the show gradually wearing off into nothingness. He doesn't know why Hob comes and sits next to him in the dark, pressing against him from thigh to shoulder. He stays for the whole of Dream’s trip, in fact, humming something quiet and classic. Dream feels quite ashamed of himself, and for the first time he thinks that maybe he'd feel better without the drugs. Maybe.

As the tour gets off to a slow start, Dream starts to notice that Hob is having some kind of positive effect on him. Just little thing. They get breakfast together, so Dream actually eats something, which is unusual. Their little arguments don't get out of hand, because Hob never lets them escalate. When Dream is angry and spitting at the world, Hob is sure to point of something positive. Not that Hob doesn't get sad, too - he just deals with it differently. He goes for long walks, and turns off the news when it gets bad. He gets himself a snack when he's irritable, and laughs about it afterwards.

Dream writes him a near impossible guitar solo and it feels like a "thank you".

They have a sweet, unexpected first kiss. It's 2am and they're standing at the edge of the road, waiting for a mechanic to come out to their broken down tour bus. There's no one around to see, so Dream rests his head on Hob’s shoulder. He's sore, and weary. Hob turns his head slightly and tucks an arm around him, and it just happens. They kiss. It is, of course, the first of many.

And you can bet that Dream kisses that anarchy tattoo a million time, too.

[randaccidents]

Twenty-seven songs are yours Yet you still want for more?

I made some lyric posters for CCCC! (cause I was bored in class lol) They came out a lot like actual posters and Im honestly quite proud of them.

[I have not tested them as phone wallpapers yet BUT feel free to use these as phone wallpapers! Otherwise ask permission (shovel)]

Tiny things Im happy about (cause I wanna yell about stuff, itll go into the read more but theres Easter Eggs in there about stuff that literally writes itself but I couldnt fit in and hints to some of the deeper symbolism I used):

I started this because I wanted to make something really skeletal and visceral for Heart and Mind and it just went from there

Yes that is the Entire Reason why I used realistic body elements I had to separately import that heart in

Each of them has an element represents them - its the only element that is in front of the lyrics

Speaking of, Whole is special in their represented element (hint: Whole is only a medium for songs)

Having to make up something for Soul and Whole thats, yknow, a body part (or not in the end for Whole)

The lyrics in each poster is something that the character has said about themselves, said in reference to themselves in the songs or represents a view that they hold (mostly)

Speaking of I believe I represented almost every song/motif possible? I know I skipped Taken for a Ride - I think thats the only song not represented in at least one poster actually. huh. It is in the post though (I did that before I realised I didnt include Taken for a Ride)

Does this make the posters album posters instead lmao

The lyrics are also in order of song appearance!

The names of some of the fonts I went through are: Give you Glory for Soul, and Kollektiff for Whole. If the fonts weren't too small I wouldve kept them qwq the joke literally writes itself

Speaking of fonts, Souls final font is literally empty, zoom in and youll see that its made of only lines and no fill

The electric and acoustic guitar are flipped in the Whole poster. Thats cause uhhhh I planned it I dont have to make amends hahaha (I done fucked up thats why and Im lazy to fix it now)

Ironically, Heart and Mind were the easiest posters

Soul was meant to have a grey background but it was so fugly I just couldnt let it sit

Whole was a last minute addition, there were only supposed to be three in this series

I started Whole's poster expecting to lack lyrics. I have been proven VERY WRONG he has the smallest font size (and I thought Soul had a lot)

Whole is also the only one with coloured lyrics; HMS have their lyrics in black/white/grey

Mind has the least lyrics about himself (cause he spends so much of his songs dissing Heart lmao)

Canva doesnt have noose images :( /j/j/j

I absolutely forgot some of the tiny things but Im just happy about it and want to dump it out :) Maybe someone else would appreciate it too

[tikosblogg]

HIDDEN HEARTS// PT 1.

summary: love triangle? you grew up with folio, you are best friends. Both in very successful bands. folio tries to ignore his hidden feelings for you, especially when the one and only Noah Sebastian steals your heart.

Warnings: nothing really, some angst?

A/N: So this is definitely going to be a mini series, probably 5 parts. Reader is NOT poppy. It’s whoever you want it to be, but reader is the one featuring on van and everything.I really want it to have a happy ending, but they are going to go through a lot to get there! Also big thank you to @pedropascalsblog for help with this!❤️

I got an exciting call from my best friend Nick Folio this morning. He said that the lead singer of his band was interested in doing a collaboration with me on their current album! I'm a huge fan of bad omens of course, I’ve just never met any of them. Me and Nick have known each other for as long as I can remember.

Our parents were best friends growing up, so naturally we were too. I finished packing up all my things, waiting for the car folio sent to pick me up. He said that Noah wanted to show me the song we were collaborating on. I just recently got back from my own U.S tour. I’m also a singer/songwriter and have my own band. “Corrupt”

We finally got noticed, about a year and half ago. According to folio, Noah has been a fan since the beginning. As soon as they finished the song, I was the first-person Noah asked about featuring on it. Not gonna lie, that boosts my ego a lot. My phone buzzing pulled me out of my thoughts, Nick letting me know the car is here.

I texted back, letting him know I’d be there soon. I’m so excited about all of this. It’s a dream come true. Nick and I had a long conversation this morning. I’m gonna meet them at the studio, and they are gonna show me the song. Then I’ll record it, and then In a few days, they want to shoot a video for it.

After that, corrupt will be joining bad omens on tour, where we will perform the song together. After about a 15 minute ride, the car came to a stop outside of a brick building. I pulled my phone out clicking on Nick and I’s messages.

“Hey I’m here, can you meet me at the door?”

You’d think with me being the lead vocalist in a band, I wouldn't have such bad anxiety…but it’s quite the opposite. After Nick agreed to meet me, I put my phone in my pocket, walking towards the door. “Hey Dollface, glad you could make it!” Nick smiles pulling me into a bear hug.

“Me too! I’m so excited! Are the guys here. already?” I smiled looking around the hallway. “Yea, come on I’ll introduce you to everyone.” He pointed me towards the door, opening it. “Hey guys, Lungs is here!” Folio smiles, opening the door wide enough to let me enter behind him. “Lungs?” I ask, slightly cringing at the name. “Yea it’s what we call you, because of your vocals” Folio smiled.

“So this is jolly, he’s our guitarist” folio points to a slightly older male with long hair and facial hair. “Hi” I offered a small smile and a wave. “This is our other nick, or as we call him Ruffilo, he’s our bassist.” He points to another long-haired guy, but in a bun, slightly younger looking, with a couple of neck tattoos, sitting beside jolly plucking his strings.

I offered another smile and wave to him. “Last but not least, our lead vocalist, Noah.” I scan the room, my eyes falling on him sitting on the opposite couch. His light brown hair was short, and messy but still looked so good. He wore a pair of black joggers, with a matching hoodie.

Before I could greet him, he was on his feet walking towards me. He stuck his hand out, with a small smile. “Hey, its really nice to meet you y/n. Can’t wait to hear you bring this song to life.” I could feel my cheeks flush, as I took his hand in mine. “Thank you so much noah, that means so much coming from you. I can’t wait to hear it.” He nodded his, opening his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of folios drums.

“Let's go!” we laughed, as we took a seat. Noah playing the song and showing me the lyrics. After I memorized the first few verses, Noah showed me what tone, and pitch the song is in. Every Time he sang a verse, showing me how he wanted it to sound, butterflies erupted in my stomach. I mentally scolded myself every time.

Damn it y/n be professional! “Think you could do that for me?” Noah looked away from the computer screen, to me. My face flushing bright pink. “I'm so sorry, what?” I let out an embarrassed laugh, training my eyes on anything but him. “I asked if we could get you in the recording booth now? I mean if you're ready?” I smiled, standing from my seat.

“Of course, lead the way.” I gestured my hand out in front of me. I followed him into the small space. He adjusted the microphone, lowering it to my height. I thanked him, feeling my cheeks heating up again. Damn it y/n get it together! Noah grabbed the headphones, placing them on my head adjusting them to fit.

He kept his hands on the muffs of the ear phones, tipping my head up towards him. “Does everything sound right?” he lowered his hands, and I turned towards the mic, speaking a few random words into it. I gave Noah a thumbs up, and he left the booth, going to the other side of the glass.

I looked over at Nick, my smile faltering when I saw the almost sad look on his face. When he noticed me looking, he quickly smiled giving me two thumbs up. I gave a small smile back, nodding towards Noah that I was ready. I'll have to talk to Nick later. As soon as Noah got the go ahead, he started the track and I sang the lyrics. “Violence against nature….”

After a few takes, we finally finished and I exited the booth. Noah walked over to me with the biggest smile. “Holy fuck y/n that was amazing, and your screams were perfect, everything was perfect.” I thanked him, so excited that he loved it. I felt my face flush from the compliments.

“C’mon y/n, we need to get you settled at your place for the night.” I looked over at Nick nodding in agreement, bidding goodbye to the rest of the guys. Nick grabbed my hand, leading me out of the room. Before we walked out, I shared one more smile with noah. I had rented an air bnb, so I could be close to the site where we are filming the music video for V.A.N. The song was absolutely amazing. I am honored that Noah chose me for it.

Nick and I hung out for a while, after we unpacked all of my things. “I missed you a lot y/n.'' We sat on the couch, filling each other in on everything we have missed in each other's lives for the past 6 months. I smiled, patting his arm. “I missed you too. You’re my only best friend, gets lonely sometimes.” there he goes with that sad look again.

What is going on with him? “What's wrong nick?” he shook his head, standing up. “Nothing, I'm just tired. Long day.” He smiled down at me, bending over to place a kiss to the top of my head. “Get some sleep y/n, me and the guys will ride over tomorrow. We can hang out and talk about the video shoot coming up.” I nodded my head with a small smile, waving goodbye as he left.

I took a quick shower, hopping into bed. Today was great, but long. 10 minutes later I passed out. I woke up the next morning to loud voices in my living room. I jumped up out of bed, nearly falling on my face. I swung open the bedroom door, quickly making my way down the hall.

The guys were spread out across the living room, jolly placing some paper bags on the kitchen island. I just stood there, my brain still foggy with sleep and heart pounding out of my chest. They finally noticed my presence, all sending me smiles. “Morning sunshine! We brought you breakfast.” Nick smiled, walking over to me.

I huffed rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “Nick, I want the extra key back.” I grumbled, walking further into the living room. They all chuckled at my grumpiness, as I slumped onto the couch. “Oh come on y/n, perk up!” Nick laughed, handing me my favorite breakfast order from McDonald’s. I instantly straightened up, a grateful smile graced my lips. “Okay you’re all forgiven.”

I dug into my food along with everyone else. Noah took a seat on one side of me, and Nick on the other. After we finished eating, everyone started talking about the shoot tomorrow. “So I have some ideas, I wanted to run by you. Since you are the star of the video.” Noah turned towards me, with an excited smile. I nodded my head, turning towards him as well. “Shoot!” We talked for a good 30 minutes, swapping ideas.

“So that’s why I mentioned being in a glass case. I think it would look really bad ass.” Noah nodded, with a huge smile. “Absolutely, I agree.” We exchanged a high five. “You know we are still here?” Ruffilo chimes in, with a laugh. Oh shit. Me and Noah got a little carried away. I turned towards Ruffilo “I know.” I smile turning back towards Noah with an oh shit look on my face causing him to burst into laughter.

“You guys got any ideas?” Noah asked the three men sitting around the living room. “Nope, Sounds like you and y/n thought of everything.” Folio snaps, throwing his trash on the table heading out of the door. “What’s his deal, he’s been like that since yesterday?” Jolly says, throwing his arms up. “I’ll go talk to him.” Noah stands, following Nick outside. Ruffilo, Jolly, and I sat inside while Nick and Noah talked outside for what seemed like forever. When they finally came in the tension was thick, but was never addressed.

“We should get going.” Noah announces to the guys. Nick and Jolly stood up from the couch and we all said our goodbyes. “We will pick you up in the morning y/n.” Folio says before walking out. Noah was the last one to walk out. “Is everything okay?” I asked pulling him back from the door. “Yea, don’t worry. See you tomorrow?” Noah smiles reassuring me. I nod and wave him off as he walks towards their vehicle. I watched him drive away, wracking my brain for what the hell could be going on with Nick. I let out a sigh, closing the door, headed straight to my room. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, I need the rest.