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badasbebi · 12 days

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imagination's curse

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✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: you long for excitement in your mundane life, until you are suddenly visited by a strange, beautiful woman who upends your world and thrusts you into a whirlwind of pleasure and danger.

✦ genre/au: smut (MDNI!!), succubus!bada, basically pwp

✦ word count: 6k

✦ warnings: probably has grammatical/spelling errors, mentions of demons and occult activities, top!bada (she's doing all the work), fingering, cunnilingus, bit of thigh riding, y/n is a weakling, somebody dies (or do they?)

✦ a/n: this is very different from other fics I've written, in genre and length, because after watching bebe's imagination video on repeat, i decided to temporarily drop the other fic i was working on to write this! we will be getting back to the more simple (and long) fics I've written before, but i hope you guys still enjoy this in the meantime! i purposely left this open-ended in case i, or you guys, wanted to see a continuation of this story at some point. lmk if that would be of interest to y'all!

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Beyond the restaurant windows, rain pounds against the earth. The rhythmic drumming of the rain lulls you into a trance-like state, eyes glossing over and body becoming numb. The soft jazz music coming from the speakers overhead only enhances your drowsiness, making you melt into your seat like heated wax. You rest your chin in the palm of your hand and stare out at the street, watching cars pass by and disappear into the darkness. Your eyelids become heavy and you blink, attempting to bring your attention back to the real world, and, probably most importantly, the person in front of you.

You sigh, slouching forward in your chair. Your date, Seolhyun, has been droning on for the last twenty minutes about her schoolwork. Her mouth is moving, but your mind isn't registering her words. You can't bring yourself to care. She seems somewhat nice, and she's devastatingly pretty, but those were about the only two qualities of value that you could conjure up. This wouldn't have been so bad, if this date hadn't essentially turned into a one-sided conversation she was having with herself. You don't think you've said more than three words since the both of you sat down.

"Like, nursing is so boring and depressing. I don't get why so many people are into it," she says, taking a bite of her food. "I want to do something interesting and fresh, like, modeling, or something. Or, maybe I'll switch my major to art. I take really good pictures of my friends. Isn't there a photography concentration in the arts program?"

Seolhyun looks over at you expectantly, waiting for your input. You have no idea what the answer is, so you just shrug and give her a fake, tight-lipped smile.

"Yeah, you know what? I think I'm gonna talk to my advisor tomorrow. It's just that my dad is the problem. Whenever I talk to my dad he's like, nooooo. That's not what I've been sending you money for. He's so old fashioned."

"Oh," you respond, your voice monotone. There is a part of you that can't help but feel a little bad about zoning out and ignoring her, but you've had your fill of boring conversations about family and school and life aspirations. This was nothing new.

She slams one of her hands on the table, making you jump so high you nearly knock your glass of water over.

"And it's silly because he's the one who wanted me to go to college sooo badly, so how are you going to complain about paying for it? Its like—and not to sound like a cunt—we do pretty well for ourselves. I don't need to be the moneymaker! I get he wants me to be the head nurse at the hospital he owns, but honestly, fuck that hospital. Fuck the patients too!" she continues, her voice raised loud enough to capture the attention of the nearby tables. You can feel their eyes on you, and a wave of embarrassment washes over you. You glance around the room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, slowly sliding down in your seat.

"He's just...he's such a hardass. Doesn't let me do anything. It's a real shame," she finishes, huffing in annoyance.

You nod. "Right, it is a real shame." you mumble, still avoiding others' judgemental gazes.

She doesn't seem to notice how uncomfortable you've become, or the attention that she's gathering. Instead, she grins."I know! I'm so glad you get it."

The only thing you're getting is murderous. You needed to get out of here, quickly. As if hearing your internal cries for help, the waiter appears, asking if the two of you would like to see the dessert menu. You shake your head.

"Oh, no. Just the check please," you say, glancing up at him.

Seolhyun nods in agreement. "Yeah, I'm done. This salad was kinda trash. No offense. Sorry." She picks up her napkin and dabs it at her mouth.

The waiter grimaces. "No problem. I'll be right back."

As the waiter walks off, you turn back to Seolhyun, forcing yourself to smile. She jumps right back into her complaints, albeit more quietly, and fidgets with the stem of her wine glass. You tune her out again, no longer feeling guilty for doing so. The only thing that brings your attention back to reality is the waiter setting the bill face-down on the table. He bids you both goodnight before walking off, and when you look up, you almost want to laugh.

A guilty expression flashes across Seolhyun's face, and she leans over the table, looking at the check. She clears her throat, and you already know what she's about to say.

"Do you have your card on you? Sorry, I think I left mine at home. I'll totally venmo you after this." She laughs awkwardly, sitting back in her seat.

You roll your eyes, but reach for your wallet. "Whatever."

After dinner, the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the rain, huddling under the overhang as you try to find an escape from the downpour.

"Well, it was nice chatting with you, y/n," she says, stepping towards the edge of the overhang. "Hope we can hang out again soon."

"Yeah, definitely," you lie.

"Awesome! Talk to you later, then." She smiles, and you know she's lying too.

Seolhyun walks out into the rain and you watch as she crosses the street, heading toward a pink Tesla.

"Bitch," you murmur bitterly, pulling your hood over your head.

You don't want to spend money on an Uber, and the walk to the nearest bus stop isn't very far, so you decide to trek through the rain, praying that the bus won't take long. You zip up your coat and adjust your hood, stepping out into the rain. The cold pelts against your face and seeps through the material of your clothes, causing goosebumps to break out on your skin. You curse, and pull your arms close to your body, walking faster. The streetlamps lining the road provide enough light for you to see where you're going despite the dark clouds overhead, their glow casting an orange glow against the pavement.

As you walk, your thoughts turn back to your disastrous date. You didn't mean to act like such an ass, but it was impossible not to when the entire evening had consisted of her talking about herself and how difficult her life was. The worst part is, she actually seemed to think you were a good listener, even with your blank stares and monosyllabic responses.

Deep down, you know that it's not entirely Seolhyun's fault. Today felt like a culmination of all the ways you've been failing lately. In short, it's been a bad week. A bad month. A bad year. At all points, you've felt as though there was no escape from the dullness of your life, like you were being suffocated, drowned in a pool of water with no way to save yourself. These were your college years, and you came to the realization last year that all you've been doing was sitting in your room, studying, going to class, and then going home. No parties, no drama, no adventures, no romance, nothing. Even worse, it seemed like everyone else had already started their lives and were living them. It was infuriating, seeing everyone around you have fun, while you were stuck in this weird limbo of mediocrity.

In attempts to find some excitement, you downloaded a dating app and started going out more, meeting people, but so far, all the dates have ended up being like this. Boring, or just plain awkward. You've tried to make changes—different clothes, makeup, hair—anything to shake things up, and while that was nice and made you feel pretty, it didn't change the fact that your life was still dull. And now, you're just exhausted, constantly feeling like you're going through the motions.

Nothing has worked. This was probably the tenth horrible date you've been on in two months. Maybe, this was just your life now, and you had to come to terms with it. Bland, and as bleak as the clouds overhead.

Which seem to have gotten even darker, you notice, as you approach the bus stop. You stand underneath the shelter, rubbing your hands together and blowing on them. The streets are completely deserted. You shiver, your damp clothes clinging to your skin, and hug yourself tightly, trying to keep warm. You try to look for any sign of the bus, but the rain is coming down too hard, the air is heavy with fog, and you can't see further than a few feet away. A prickle of fear runs down your spine. You didn't even think to check if the buses were running late. What if they're not running at all?

Just as you reach for your phone to check the time, you hear the screeching of bus brakes and let out a sigh of relief. You're saved.

You stand at the edge of the sidewalk, watching as the bus slowly pulls up in front of the stop. The door opens and you step inside, moving as quickly as you can. The warm air instantly hits your face, but the heat does nothing to thaw the chill that has set in your bones.

You pay the driver and walk to the back, taking a seat near the window. The bus is nearly empty, save for an old woman and a couple of teenagers sitting towards the front.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and plug in your earbuds. Music starts playing, drowning out the noise of the rain and the rumble of the engine.

After a few stops, the bus reaches your destination and the doors open, the sound of the rain pouring down and the wind blowing in, bringing with it a cool breeze. You get off, and begin the trek home, your sneakers splashing through puddles as you make your way down the street.

The wind picks up, the gusts blowing hard enough to cause the street lamps to flicker and sway. They cast shadows against the ground and walls of the buildings, which appear and disappear in the blink of an eye. The rain comes down harder, falling in thick, heavy sheets. You quicken your pace, the muscles in your legs burning as you move, your heart rate quickening.

Finally, your apartment building comes into view. You run, sprinting the last block and darting up the steps, the water squishing between your toes. Excitement blooms in your chest as you grab the door handle and pull it open, the prospect of a dry place to lay your head making you feel better.

As soon as you cross the threshold of your building, you pull your hood down, the smell of mildew hitting your nose. Your shoes squeak against the wet floor, and you leave a trail of water droplets and mud as you head toward the elevator.

The ride up is excruciatingly slow. You tap your foot impatiently, watching the numbers climb, and think about the warm bed that's awaiting you, how good it'll feel to wrap yourself in a blanket and forget about this miserable night. If your roommate allows it.

Once your mind drifts to her, your excitement dwindles. Fatigue weighs heavy on your shoulders, and you long for nothing more than to be asleep in the comfort of your own bed, but you know it's a rubbish wish, thanks to Aeri.

Recently, home hasn't been particularly enjoyable either. You used to have a roommate who didn't bother you. Then, she dropped out, and you were stuck with rent, an empty room, and the task of finding a new roommate. It was a difficult process, with most candidates seeming creepy or annoying or gross. Then, you ran into Aeri, who was by no means a perfect match, but seemed good enough. She was a bit awkward, and you didn't really know what to make of the intense gothic attire she was sporting during your initial meeting. She seemed incredibly nice and easygoing, though, and she smelled good. Was that not all you needed? So, running out of time, you swallowed your apprehension and gave her the spare keys to your apartment.

For the most part, you didn't regret your decision. She was, in fact, one of the sweetest, most caring people you've ever met, frequently baking treats for you when she knew you were having a particularly terrible day and listening to you vent about your dating diasters. But, there were a few small issues that had cropped up, and they happened to occur most often at night.

Your stomach does flip-flops the higher the numbers get, until, finally, the elevator dings, and the doors open. You shuffle out into the hall, pulling out your keys and heading toward the apartment. When you're in front of the door, you hesitate, the key hovering in the air as you stare at the peephole. You take a deep breath and push the door open, the smell of incense instantly hitting your nose as you step inside of the dark apartment. You slip off your wet shoes and hang your jacket up on your worn-out coat rack.

"I'm back," you call, closing the door behind you. You step further into the apartment and glance around as you walk into the living room, where you are met with a sight you're not prepared for.

Your eyes squint to adjust to the dark and take in the scene before you. The air is thick and heavy, engulfed by the scent of a sweet, intoxicating perfume. Candles are placed throughout the space, their warm glow casting shadows on the wall. Aeri kneels in the middle of the living room, wearing a cloak, her hands hovering above an intricate pentagram on the floor. She mumbles something to herself that you cannot understand, her eyes closed. Her hair falls over her face and her lips move, but no words are uttered.

"Aeri, what are you doing?" you ask, taking a tentative step forward.

Aeri's head snaps up, her eyes wide, and the mumbling stops.

"Oh, hey, you're back," she says, her tone a bit nervous. Her hands tremble as she moves the hood of her cloak back. "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be back so soon. I was just—uh—you know."

"No, actually. I don't. What are you doing?" You repeat, folding your arms in front of you.

She looks around the room, before returning her gaze to you. "Uh...meditating?"

And this was the problem. Shortly after Aeri moved in, she brought her witchy occult shit with her. You don't really believe in any of it, so you typically ignore her and carry on with your day when you see her pull out one of her spellbooks at the dinner table. Except for days like this, when she goes too far, gets too loud, and keeps you up at night with her antics. Then, she becomes public enemy number one.

You glare at her. "With a pentagram on the floor? Please. This is..."

You pause, scanning the room again. There's something particularly wrong today, but you can't quite place it. There's heaviness in the air, a heightened version of the feeling you get when you're in a haunted house, except there are no clowns or people cosplaying as serial killers, just candles and a pentagram and Aeri, staring up at you.

"Bizarre. This is bizarre. Even for you." you finish, narrowing your eyes. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" She squeaks, her voice strained. "I was just...doing some reading about a spell that could, uh. Fix a problem that I’ve been having. I decided to try it out today"

You pinch the bridge of your nose and let out an exasperated sigh. You're tired. Your hair is drenched. Your shirt is clinging to your back. You couldn't be bothered with this.

"Listen, I don't think I actually care about what you have going on. But, I have an exam tomorrow, I've had a rough day, and I need some rest. Can you promise to keep it down in here while I sleep?"

Aeri looks around, a guilty expression on her face, before nodding her head. "Sure, yeah. No problem. I’m sorry."

"Thank you," you say, and turn on your heels without another word.

You make your way through the hallway and enter your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

Your room is dark and cold, but you can't bother to turn the lights on or get under the covers. Instead, you lay down on the bed, your limbs splayed out. Your hair is still wet, and you can feel the moisture seeping into your comforter, but you can't even think to move.

You're too tired to bother changing into your pajamas. Too tired to do anything but sleep. So, you shove off your socks and rain-soaked jeans and call it a day. You crawl into bed, pulling the blankets over your body until they rest just below your chin. The warmth envelopes you and you're finally able to relax. You stare up at the ceiling, watching the fan spin slowly, praying for a peaceful night's rest. Lately, you've been plagued by strange dreams you can't remember when you wake up. Although they've been forgetful, they usually keep you tossing and turning in your sleep throughout the night. But, tonight, your eyelids are so heavy you can barely keep them open, and within seconds, you drift off into unconsciousness, the world slipping away and the darkness consuming you. The smell of Aeri's incense and the sound of the rain lulls you into a slumber unlike never before, submerged into a dark void of nothing.

That is, until you feel something touch you. You awaken with a start, jolting upright in your bed, your heart racing. The room is dark, illuminated only by the light of the moon shining through the window. You glance around frantically, searching for the source of the touch, but there's nothing, no sign of life. Just shadows, and the sound of your breathing. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. It's probably just the wind or an insect. You're tired, and your deteriorating mind is playing tricks on you. There's nothing to be scared of.

You lay back down, pulling the blankets up to your chin, and take a deep breath, closing your eyes. Your heartbeat begins to slow, and you exhale, trying to relax. A few minutes pass, and you begin to drift off once again, when, suddenly, you feel something against your neck. A cold, soft pressure. Like a feather, brushing across your skin.

"Y/N." A soft, gentle voice whispers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you are met with the sight of a woman's face, inches away from yours. You gasp and shoot up again, nearly slamming your forehead against hers. The woman backs away, allowing you to regain your bearings. You blink a few times, shaking your head to try to wake yourself up, but she remains., staring at you with an expression that could only be described as amused.

The moonlight streams in through the window, giving the woman's figure an almost ethereal glow. You've never seen her before. She has a stupefying, otherworldly, beauty about her, with dark eyes and full lips that accentuate her sharp jawline. She's wearing a black, silky nightgown that clings to her body. Her pale, delicate-looking skin shines in the moonlight, and her dark hair, interlaced with another color, cascades down her back, falling over her shoulders.

You look around the room, expecting the lights to turn on and an elaborate prank to be revealed, but the room is just as dark and empty as you remember. When your eyes fall back onto the woman, she is staring back at you, a soft smile on her face.

"Who the fuck are you?" you force out, your voice trembling.

She quirks an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. "Were you not expecting me?"

You scoff, nearly choking on your own saliva. "No! Of course not. I've never seen you before in my life. What the hell is going on? And how do you know my name?"

Her eyes light up with mirth, and her smile widens as if she's in on some sort of joke.

"Oh, this is interesting," she starts, clasping her hands together. "This is very interesting."

As a primal fear takes hold of your body, interesting is the last word that comes to your brain to describe the situation you've found yourself in. Albeit hot, this random woman broke into your apartment to do God knows what to you and your belongings. Who knows if she's already murdered Aeri. Or, perhaps, this is a lucid dream, and you're experiencing some sort of weird hallucination. Either way, you wanted out. Now.

You release a shaky exhale in a poor attempt to calm your nerves. "I'm gonna call the cops, okay? But, I really don't want any trouble. If you leave now, I won't tell anyone about this."

The woman stares at you for a moment, her expression unreadable, before erupting into a fit of laughter. You blink, unsure of how to proceed. She continues to laugh, her hand clutching her chest as her whole body shakes. The sound is melodic, and it rings out like the chimes of a bell, the notes flowing effortlessly into the air. It's almost enchanting, and you find yourself lost in the melody until she quiets down and straightens up, a soft smile on her face.

"That's completely unnecessary. I'm not here to cause you any harm, Y/N," she says, and, somehow, her voice is even more hypnotic than her laugh. Some of your fear dissipates, but the confusion remains.

"Why are you here, then?" you question, unable to keep the suspicion out of your tone.

"To give you a little bit of help. I know you've been struggling." She replies, her voice dripping with sympathy.

"How do you know that?"

She smiles, the expression making her features seem even more radiant than before. "I know a lot of things. 'How' is irrelevant. What's more important is that I know exactly how I can help you tonight. You need...a stress reliever. I can do that for you. If you're up for it, that is."

"A stress reliever?" You echo, and the way her eyes sparkle in the moonlight, her lips quirked up in a seductive smirk, her voice low and smooth, makes it abundantly clear what she's implying. Your cheeks flush and heat rushes through your body. This couldn't be real. Could it?

"I don't think we're on the same page. I mean, a...stress reliever. I don't know if I understand," you say, shifting uncomfortably.

"You're a bit slow, aren't you?" she asks a devilish grin stretching across her face, and, she's probably right. You feel like a fish out of water, opening and closing your mouth like an idiot. The worst part of it is, she seems to be enjoying your floundering, grinning wider as she watches you stutter.

"There's no need to worry," she purrs, taking a step closer, her dark eyes shining. "You just need to relax. It'll be fun."

The sane, rational part of your brain is screaming, yelling, begging for you to run out of the room. Anybody with half a brain could decipher that the sensible thing to do in this situation would be to flee, grab a weapon, and call the police. Yet, here you are, lying still, the woman's words ringing in your ears. Fun. It's been a long time since you've had fun. You can't even remember the last time you've gotten remotely close to it. And, as if she was sent from above, here was a beautiful, mysterious woman, offering it to you on a platter. You can't help but be a bit curious. Curious about the strange, magical feeling that's coursing through your veins.

Plus, your body is aching for touch, and the idea of sleeping with a beautiful woman is incredibly tempting, especially in your state. It's been months since you've had sex.

The woman takes a step closer, and your stomach does a flip. This is stupid. It's dangerous, and stupid, and it would be so easy to say no.

"You won't hurt me, right?" You ask, a nervous edge creeping into your voice.

"You'll enjoy every second we spend together," she says, her eyes stroking over you. Her gaze is so intense, her voice so soothing, all you want is to please her. You don't think. You no longer have the ability to. Your desire is too strong.

"What are you going to do?" you ask, the words tumbling out of your mouth.

"That depends on you," she says, her fingers brushing the edge of the duvet. "What would you like me to do?"

You look into her dark, all-consuming eyes, and shiver. Your blood feels like it's on fire. "I—um—whatever you had in mind."

Her eyes narrow, her lips curling up into a smirk. She leans in, her warm breath ghosting your lips. You can smell her perfume, the scent of vanilla and lavender assaulting your senses.

Your heart beats fast, and you can't help the small whimper that escapes your throat.

"Are you sure?" she says, her voice low. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

She's right. For all you knew, her idea of fun could include a knife and a casket. But you couldn't bring yourself to care, not when she's looking at you like that.

"I don't care," you say, your voice hoarse. "Do whatever you want with me."

The corners of her lips curl upwards, and her eyes twinkle with mischief. "Okay," she whispers, her voice soft and sweet.

She leans forward, her lips ghosting yours. You hold your breath, anticipating her next move. Her hand moves up to cup your cheek, her thumb rubbing small circles on your skin that send a tingle down your spine. You lean into the touch, and her smile widens. She tilts her head to the side, and presses a kiss to the corner of your lips. The contact is soft, tender, and sweet. Her lips are warm, and the touch is brief, but enough to ignite the flames within your veins. You gasp, moving your head to try to capture her lips with yours, and she chuckles, pulling away.

"You're so impatient," she says, her eyes gleaming. "Desperate, even."

Embarrassment creeps up on you, and you flush, averting your gaze. She laughs again, and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her.

"Don't hide from me," she whispers, her voice soft. "There's nothing wrong with wanting something."

With her words, the fire within you flares, and the embers within your belly burst into an inferno. Your whole body is burning, yearning, and you can't help the sigh that escapes your throat. She hums, staring at you with her piercing gaze. You've never felt this exposed, so vulnerable, so completely bare in front of another person, and you are still partially clothed. She seems to be studying you, taking in every detail, memorizing the expressions on your face. She's looking at you like you're prey, a feast, and it should scare you, should make you tremble, but it doesn't.

"Kiss me," you murmur, and she obeys.

You let out a small gasp, and her lips curve into a smile against yours as you make contact. Your eyes flutter shut, and the warmth of her mouth almost sends you spiraling. The feeling is electric, like a bolt of lightning, and it sets every nerve ending within your body alight. Her tongue glides along your bottom lip, and you part them willingly, allowing her all of the access she desires. Her tongue is warm, and wet, and her kisses are intoxicating. She tastes sweet, like strawberries and vanilla, and you can't help but moan.

She pulls away, prompting an involuntary whimper from you."Is this what you wanted, y/n?"

"Yes—uh," you stop yourself, realizing that you still don't know her name.

"Bada," she supplies, as if reading your mind. She places a hand on your chest, and gently pushes you back onto the bed, her gaze locked on yours. You fall onto the mattress, your eyes wide.

"Bada," you repeat softly, tasting the name on your lips. Pretty.

She smiles and slips the blankets off of you. The cool air hits your skin, sending goosebumps along your arms and legs. You suck in a sharp breath, and her eyes rake over you, drinking in the sight.

"Beautiful," she whispers, her fingers tracing up your thigh.

She leans down to press a gentle kiss on your jaw. Her lips travel down your neck, and she bites at the sensitive skin, hard. A moan slips from your mouth, and she sucks and licks at the spot, soothing the sting. Her hand trails up the inside of your thigh, and her fingertips graze the band of your underwear. You arch your back, yearning for her touch.

"Please," you whimper again, and she giggles.

"At least you're polite," she says, biting down on your neck again.

Her teeth scrape against your skin, and you gasp, grabbing a fistful of her hair. You pull her closer, desperate to remove any shred of distance between the two of you. She groans, her nails digging into your thigh, her touch searing hot. She sucks at the tender skin below your collarbone, and you whine, heat pooling between your legs. It was a little humiliating, getting so worked up despite the fact that she's barely done anything, but it was hard not to when she's touching as if she wants nothing more than to devour you.

"So impatient," she purrs, her eyes gleaming. "So needy."

She kisses the mark she made on your neck, and you squirm, the pressure between your thighs growing.

Her fingers move higher, ghosting over your underwear, and you writhe under her touch, letting out a frustrated groan. She pulls away, a smirk on her lips.

"Something wrong?"

"You're fucking with me," you hiss, and she laughs out loud.

"Your impatience is cute," she says, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin on your neck, pausing where your heartbeat pulsed, right beneath your jaw. "Can't help it."

You watch as she moves her hand away from your neck, back to your underwear. Her fingers slip under the band of your panties, already dark and wet, and she runs them through your folds, spreading your already abundant slickness. You couldn't stand that you were so clearly proving her point about how needy you were, giving her more to make fun of you about, but how could you not be? It's been too long. and you don't know if it's ever felt this good this early on.

Your head falls back onto the pillow, and your hands clutch at the sheets, desperate for purchase. The feeling of her thumb brushing against your clit makes your hips buck up, and she pulls away to pull down your panties.

You shiver, the cool air hitting your exposed skin. She grabs your thighs, spreading them apart, and the anticipation nearly kills you on the spot.

"So pretty," she says, her voice filled with wonder.

She looks up at you, her eyes darker than before. She holds your gaze, and without breaking eye contact, ducks her head, and swipes her tongue along your slit.

A moan escapes your lips, and your back arches, your fingers threading through her hair. Her tongue moves in circles, and you feel her hands grasp at your thighs as you inadvertently try shut them close around her head. She spreads them further apart, and presses her mouth against your center, sucking on the bundle of nerves.

"F—fuck," you moan, your head thrown back, eyes shut.

She moans into you, the vibrations causing pleasure to erupt inside of you. You grip the sheets, the fabric crumpling underneath your fingers. She pulls away, and your eyes fly open, only to meet her intense gaze.

"Watch me," she whispers, her voice husky.

Your eyes snap to her face, and she smiles, her fingers trailing down your stomach. You squirm under her touch, and she grips your thighs, her eyes locked on yours. Her staring does something to you, makes the goosebumps rise on your skin, a funny feeling arise in your stomach. She presses her lips against the inside of your thigh, her eyes not leaving yours.

She slips a finger inside of you, and you gasp, the sudden intrusion causing a wave of pleasure to wash over your body. She curls her finger, and you arch your back, the friction driving you crazy.

"That's it," she purrs, adding another finger.

You throw your head back, moaning as she begins to thrust her fingers, moving in a steady rhythm. You clench around her fingers, and her eyes widen, a mischievous glint shining in her irises. You bite your lip, the pressure building, and she smirks, increasing the pace of her movements. She crooks her fingers, hitting a sensitive spot inside of you.

"Fuck," you cry out, and her lips curl upwards, pleased.

She leans forward, her lips capturing yours, her tongue invading your mouth. She swallows your moans, and you can feel her smiling against your lips. She pulls away, and rests her forehead against yours, her dark eyes boring into yours.

"Are you going to come for me, y/n?"

"Y-yes," you whimper, and she laughs, her hot breath fanning against your cheek.

She thrusts her fingers faster, and her thumb rubs against your clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. Your breaths come out short and quick, and your head spins, the room spinning.

"Come on," she whispers, her voice low and sultry.

The pressure builds, and you can feel the edge coming. You gasp, your eyes shut, and your whole body tenses up, the pleasure rippling through your body. You let out a string of curses, and she slows her movements, riding out the aftershocks.

"That's it," she murmurs, her fingers leaving your core.

She trails her fingers up your torso, and leans down, her lips hovering above yours.

"Open up," she commands, her voice taking on a deeper cadence that makes you immediately obey. She pushes her fingers inside of your mouth, and your tongue dances around her digits, tasting yourself, a musky flavor that leaves you feeling lightheaded. She hums and removes her fingers, a trail of saliva connecting her digits to your mouth.

"Good." she whispers, her breath tickling your cheek.

Your eyes flutter shut, and your head spins. You're exhausted, and you almost feel as if you're about to pass out, but her praise and proximity sends a thrill through you, your heart fluttering at her words. She presses another soft kiss to your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on her tongue. She pulls away, a lazy smile on her face.

Through your exhaustion, you manage to meet her gaze again, and you nearly gasp. Her pupils had swollen, the dark brown of her eyes merely a slim ring around a black void, devoid of any color. You swallow hard, a slight panic rising within you as you suddenly remembering the reality of the predicament you're in. Or, was it even reality?

"W—what's happening?" you stutter, the words tumbling from your mouth.

She grins, and you realize for the first time that her teeth are razor sharp, looking as if they could tear your flesh to shreds.

"I'm taking care of you, that's what's happening, silly." she says, her voice taking on a sing-songy quality. Her hand trails down your side. "And I'm not quite finished, yet."

She leans down and captures your lips in another kiss so rough that it nearly bruises. You're still dizzy, the blood pumping through your veins, and your head still feels as if it's full of cotton. As soon as her hands meet your skin, your exhaustion and worry disappear, replaced by euphoria. She reaches under your shirt, her fingers dancing along your torso, and you moan, your mind foggy. You can't help the small sounds that escape from your lips as she touches you, her fingers tracing every curve, every angle, committing every inch of your body to memory. Soon, your top is tossed to the side, and her hands are exploring your bare skin. Her fingers run up your spine, and you shiver, goosebumps forming. She pulls away, and a whine falls from your lips, a sound that causes her to laugh.

"So easy to please," she teases.

"Sh-shut up," you protest weakly.

Suddenly, she grabs you by the waist, pulling you into her lap with an ease that catches you off guard. You're stunned into silence, and she wraps her arms around you, enveloping you in a tight embrace. You let out a yelp, and her nails dig into your skin, the sting making you bite back a groan. She places her chin on top of your shoulder, and her hands move lower, settling on your hips. She squeezes and forces your hips into a grind, her thigh meeting the apex of your legs. Your eyes flutter shut, a wave of heat pooling between your legs, a warmth filling the pit of your stomach, a small moan escaping your lips. She chuckles, her breath tickling the back of your neck.

"Fuck," you choke out, the embarrassment clear in your tone as you continue to your center against the smooth skin of her thigh.

"You're funny," she murmurs with a smile, and presses a kiss on your cheek.

A blush creeps onto your cheeks, and you hide your face, burying it into her neck. You inhale deeply, her scent filling your nose. She still smells so sweet, like dessert, and you want to lick her, devour her, but instead, you press your lips to her skin, and she moans, gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark.

"God, you're so beautiful," she whispers, her nails digging into your hips. "So, so pretty."

You moan, the heat between your legs intensifying. Her words go straight to your core, and you can't help the small, high-pitched whine that leaves your mouth, a sound you'd be ashamed of if not for the fact that you can't think, can't focus, can't even process her words.

One of her hands slips around your waist, grabbing at the bare flesh of your ass. Your breath hitches, and she pulls you closer, her mouth finding the spot on your neck that drives you wild. Her teeth scrape against your skin, and her tongue laps at the hollow of your collarbone, the sensation eliciting a loud moan. You tilt your head, allowing her access, and her mouth moves downward, to your breast, her tongue circling one of your nipples. Your eyes squeeze shut, the tension in your abdomen mounting. It was overstimulating, her thighs, the way her tongue felt against you, the way her fingers squeezed at the flesh of your ass, the way her hands explored the planes of your body, and it was all too much.

"I'm gonna—" you start, and her hand moves between your legs, pressing her fingers against your throbbing clit.

You let out a cry, the orgasm hitting you hard, the intensity somehow stronger than before. Her fingers slide easily against you, and you clench around her, the waves of pleasure washing over your body.

She lets out a soft sigh, and she pulls away, her black eyes meeting yours. You don't care enough to feel frightened this time though, being so flooded with exhaustion that you collapse back onto the bed, barely able to keep your eyes open. Sharp, short breaths escape from your lips, and a numbness starts to spread throughout your limbs, a strange calm settling over your body that you've never felt before. Somewhere in the back of your brain, alarm bells are going off, but they're drowned out by a heavy sleepiness that takes over you.

"Go back to sleep, Y/N." she says, her voice distant, muffled. "It's alright."

You can feel the weight of the world bearing down on your shoulders, and the bags under your eyes seem to grow heavier and darker with every passing second. It has been a very long time since you were last able to sleep properly. You wanted to talk to Bada more, but you can feel yourself beginning to lose control, your mind going blank and your muscles becoming weak.

"Bada..." you mumble, her name rolling off your tongue.

Before you can further speak, the darkness seeps into your mind, and you allow yourself to succumb. But, the feeling that accompanies you into sleep is an uneasy one, a cold sensation wrapping itself around your body like a snake squeezing the life out of its prey.

"Good night," Bada whispers, the words echoing in the darkness, the sound fading into nothingness.

#bada lee #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #swf2 #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee imagine #bada lee smut

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s1llydr3amscape · 6 days

Text

LET ME OUT

Looks like someone failed the captcha test to many times!

Anyways I always wanted to doodle this specific pose from Toyless' animation why because I can :]

Extras under the cut :

This was the specific screenshot I based the pose off I love hands grabbing head!!! :

youtube

The original video ^ (I'll be real with yall I was shocked the original song was poppy playtime because my only experience with it was that all my baby cousins loved that franchise. And they would show me vids off it at family gatherings because I was the babysitter. One of em even debated me abt fnaf like chill out bro you weren't even born when it came out!!!!!)

Glitchtrap rambling time woohoo let's go!!!!

-I redrew em again because I think I'm almost 100% happy with its design!!!! Like I don't wanna change their face so much because the way his face is shaped is my fave!!! Like they have the same style of muzzle as sonic characters!!!!!! I just made it rounder cuz its their early days before this au lore

-I just wanna achieve the unnaturalness with their design. Like they don't belong here. They want to get out. LET HIM OUT. type vibe basically like that's why it has like those kind off teeth instead off the rabbit ones. They get those later in the au.

-I fucking love Glitchtrap so much you don't understand they're so peak!!!!!! I jokingly hate him because I despise what it did to Vanny.

-I was a fan since day 1 bro is just so unique like woah a non animatronic for a change?!?!? STRAIGHT UP A FURSUIT!??!?! Color me impressed!!! I love zooming on it its model and seeing everyy little detail!!! Like omg bro is crying and drooling on the suit!!!!! There's also a patch of uneven stitching pattern on the top of their head compared to their mostly symmetrical design!!!

-I was so fixated on em like my level of obsession for him was bad bad!!!! Like yeah it was still there when Vanny came around during the curse of Dreadbear DLC but you don't understand it surpassed all my Foxy art!!! The first fnaf character I fixated on!?!?? Like what and yall can ask my IRLS bro had lots n lots of art!!!!! I have so much trad art of glitchy it's embarassing!!! Atleast I improved tbh!!

-I just really really loved the fan animations were bro got to time travel to the older fnaf animations and fuck em up!!!! Causing them all to glitch out like hello PEAK!?!?!?! No im not biased to rabbit characters with whiskers shhhhh... SHHH...

-Because I know all those animations already and it's like omg omg OMG Glitchtrap kinda expanded my music taste imma be fr... Fnaf autism is so bad I omfg I only listened to fnaf songs and the only time I listened to other franchises songs is because someone animated fnaf over it... like yeah I was an animation meme kid but even then I only remember the lyrics and titles to songs if I saw fnaf on them (cringe!!!!) So yeah thank u Glitchtrap <33333

-I think Malhare is the cooler name but the Glitchtrap name is cool too because when the names end in trap like this it makes me think they're like warrior cats adjacent. So in this one they just fluctuate between either Malhare or Glitchtrap

-Also another reason he's my super fave is because my brain predicted it's gloop form!!!!

-Like no joke literally the same character I dreamt about during the early days before Princess Quest.

-Except mine was a shadow like the shadow animatronics. More wispy than gloopy. I think the reason I dreamt it was because Shadow Toy Chica and fan made shadow animatronics were getting popular!! But legit same character and colors!!!!!!!

-Just a big dark mass with purple eyes surrounding it like literally the same character my brain came up with and I'm just wow <3333 minus the fact my design had really big giant swirly white eyebrows

-However my Shadow Glitchtrap was kinda more wack to say the least. Like heheheh cuz Glitchtraps a fursuit there's no denying that I changed the dream design a bit. In my old Glitchtrap designs they'd have a zipper and so what would happen was they'd unzip and flip their insides into outsides to reveal the Shadow Glitchtrap thing which was hiding inside them.

-Like those plushies that you can unzip to reveal a different plushie design basically!!!!

-TBH I prefer Glooptrap because yeah!!!!! Amalgamation of hate let's go!!!!!! I think with how gloopy he is its just fun to draw I love the fact that the weird Glitchtrap blockers look like that it fits too much with my own preestablished AU lore.

-I feel like Glitchtrap turns into Glooptrap from like the seams of their suit. Like you see that each part the suit got stitched just turn black as black liquid pours out like ohhh that shit haunted!!!! Bursting outta the seams like oh this guy has no one inside they're all just black sludge!!!!

-In this AU specifically (The one with my millions of Vanny designs) is actually a spoof fnaf AU where everyone lives!!! Like I have 3 AUs technically one of them being the fnaf cast in my oc world where they become my ocs basically called Rabbit City. My other one which is my more serious canon adjacent fnaf AU where no silly stuff or shipping happens, and it's just more overall following my own formed understanding of the canonicity and the series of events with me trying to keep the animatronics more game accurate (I dont think ive posted any of that here due to me feeling like my style limits the nit and grit I wanna go with it). And this one I mainly post on here where everything is just silly and bends to my command and everyone lives because I love everyone <333333 Literally playing with my toys type AU where I do what I want which is why a million vanny designs are in this AU specifically. I usually tag it as this 🦭🩷🐇🐰🐇🐰🐇🐰🐯 because the original name of this au is self indulgent and I'm embarrassed but it's too iconic to change it.

-Glitchtrap in this AU is just much more goofy and silly infecting people like a zombie virus and possessing them for his own gain. Weird eldritch horror that came out of a fnaf fangame. Anything goes in this AU so if I wanna make Glitchtrap a mind controlling zombie warlock wizard so be it!!!! Sorry I love zombies soo much you will have to take this trope out of my cold dead hands!!!!! I love rot!!!

-That's why it's wrinkly because they too me are like a rotten banana (Even though his associated smell to me is lemongrass). Imagine squeezing a banana still with it's skin on. That's how I imagine bro turns into glooptrap if they didn't open the zipper in time. Also because I love the design trope of rotting and withering sue me. I love when the flesh sags across the body. Wrinkles are great bro theyre so real!!!!! Also because back then people kept drawing him as skinny as a twig??? Even though they have fat??? So I made them fatter mostly because like I love the gloop part of it hiding inside <3333

-They're more green pink and purple because imma be real my fave color combo ever <33333

-I wanna do an xray piece with them soon to show their insides but I'm still uncertain if I have the art prowess to concoct it exactly like how I envision it yet. Like I need to squash and scretch them more. They need to look more decrepit and horrible!!!!! something like the unknown from dbd!!!!

-They can't actually emote properly stuck in a permanent smile

-Glithctrap and Vanny’s dynamic is like Lord Hater and Commander Peepers in this one. There's more character adjacent to the dynamic between them concocted in my head but I wanna draw a comic abt it :]

-Like yeah one second they're besties and the next they're at each other's throats ready to strangle eachother. Vanny reluctantly trying to help him at first like how she was first called.

-Oh also in this specific AU Glitchtrap isn't connected to William in the slightest more just it's own thing!!!!

-He's like an AI that wants to be human. It believes it is human. They've mimicked people too much that they don't know what they are anymore. Or what it wants anymore. What do they want.

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munsonslove · 2 years

Text

Make It Up to You

(18+ only) (read part 2 here)

summary: After Eddie’s van stalls when he tries to leave your party, you invite him to stay the night.

wordcount: 5.3k

tags/warnings: fem!virgin!sub!reader (18+ and a high school graduate), softdom!Eddie, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, praise kink, sharing a bed, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dacryphilia, teasing, begging, use of pet names (baby, babygirl, pretty girl, sweetheart, sweetie, good girl), no use of y/n

a/n: first fic! kinda set it up for a part 2, so let me know if you want one~

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, baby?” Eddie asks as he ever so slightly grazed his fingertips up your thigh. You think back to where you were at the start of your day and wonder how you ended up here.

After unexpectedly learning that morning you would be home alone for the entire weekend you wasted no time calling up all your friends and telling them to come over after dark. Most of them were your fellow band nerds at the high school you graduated from a month prior, along with a handful of tutoring clients that you had kept in touch with. The first person you called was your best friend of the past four years, Robin Buckley. She, of course, is more than excited to hear the news, and tells you she’ll cover letting ‘the gang’ know.

‘The gang’ she’s referring to is the rather surprising group of friends she’s accumulated this past year. Steve Harrington’s been around the longest, having worked with Robin at the ice cream parlor in the mall that burned down last summer, and now at Family Video. Though you were skeptical at first that spending time with the former King of Hawkins High would be enjoyable, you quickly came to see why Robin loved him so much. Your duo with her became a trio, and despite the sneaking suspicion that the two were hiding something from you, having him as a friend made you happier than planned. The next unanticipated friendly addition was Nancy Wheeler. You didn’t know much about her back in school, just that she was head of the newspaper and Steve’s ex. Getting to know her now, she’s impressed you with her tenacity and cleverness. It’s clear why someone like her would get along so well with your Robin, but you still wondered how this relationship even came to be. Whenever you questioned them they gave vague answers and changed topics, so you ultimately decided to just give up on the subject.

Then there was Eddie.

Eddie Munson may have been the most unpredictable out of all of them. Sure, being in the marching band meant you and Robin rolled with the outcasts, but he was a different breed of outcast. His bold personality- often resulting in causing scenes in the halls and outbursts in the cafeteria- has always intrigued you. And though most wouldn’t have suspected it from someone like you, you found his personal aesthetic very attractive. You didn’t live in a strict household by any means, but that was only because you never exhibited the type of rebellious nature that made it necessary. Still, the lure of loud music, drugs, and taboo role playing games (that may or may not have to do with Satanism) was too tantalizing to ignore completely. You often found yourself gazing his way during your time in school and daydreaming, even back in freshman year when he was a junior. Coming back from spring break to see your best friend laughing at her locker with the super-super senior of your desires was definitely a shock.

Pretty soon it was nightfall and your backyard was packed with 18-20 year olds drinking lukewarm beers, happy to have a distraction from their impending dooms of adulthood. Luck was on your side tonight, seeing as your neighbors to the left were out of town, and the ones to the right were so old they wouldn’t hear a fire truck’s siren if it was directly outside their window. The tape playing from the boombox was a mix specially curated by yours truly to appease as many party goers as possible. So while it included Bowie, Blondie, and Beatles, it also had Black Sabbath. Every time a song came on that you picked out with Eddie in mind he would lock eyes with you, throwing a knowing and toothy smile your way. The confirmation that something you did pleased him brought butterflies to your stomach, and filled your mind with ideas on how to see that smile again.

Just to be on the safe side, you still kept the music as low as you could without hearing complaints from anyone. And by anyone, you meant Eddie, who liked his radio blasting so loud he could feel his eardrums vibrate. He did, however, turn the volume down out of courtesy whenever he picked you up for group hangouts. The gesture of that alone caused your heart to flutter more than it should have, and left you feeling like you were floating in his passenger seat. Him placing his hand on your knee while he drove would always bring you back down to Earth, though, along with migrating the fluttering feeling to a different part of your body. Distracted by the memory of his skin on yours, you don’t notice him making his way over to you until you feel his arm snake its way around your torso.

He stays by your side the remainder of the night, even as the crowd starts to thin out by around 2am. You’re left completely alone with him when Nance and Rob get into Steve’s car and drive off. You try to tell him he doesn’t need to stick around to clean, but he insists and helps pick up the crushed aluminum cans and red solo cups from your lawn. It doesn’t take long, much to your disappointment, and the easy conversation and inside jokes come to an early end as you walk with him around the side of your house. You both drop the trash bags filled with proof of a successful night of partying on the curb by the garbage bins his van was parked next to, and he pulls you into a hug. With a kiss to the top of your head (a habit he picked up early on in your friendship), he says his final goodbye and slides into his front seat. You wait patiently to see him off, but the stalling of his engine puts those plans to rest. He gets back out, returning to your side with a sheepish grin and explains that his engine’s been acting up recently and he hasn’t had the chance to get a look under the hood quite yet. Just as he’s about to ask if you have a toolbox laying around somewhere, you suggest that he should stay the night, since it’s already so late anyway.

“You sure you don’t mind? I didn’t mean to back you into a corner or anything, baby,” he asks, using his favorite pet name for you.

You roll your eyes and scoff, “Of course I don’t mind. We’re friends!”

The word ‘friend’ brings a soft smile to his face that confusingly doesn’t reach his eyes. The reassurance does calm his nerves about intruding, however, and he allows you to lead him to your house. Once you're both a little closer, he walks ahead so that he can open the front door and gestures for you to enter first.

“So,” he starts as he shuts the door behind himself and locks it, “do I get a tour of your bedroom before you send me to the couch?”

The sudden surge of audacity you feel comes out of the blue. In the past, the only time you’d been this forward with Eddie was when you were at the very least tipsy, but neither of you had had more than a couple beers tonight. So it was as much to his sober surprise as it was yours when you responded, “You don’t want to sleep with me?”

His eyes widen, jaw dropping to bring his mouth to an ‘O’ shape, but he quickly recovered to his signature smirk. “Well I certainly wouldn’t say no to that,” he chuckles, tone dripping innuendo on the final word.

The implication of what you said hits you like a freight train, and you scramble to correct yourself. “I just meant- I don’t mind sharing the bed! The air conditioning in the living room isn’t as good as mine, and it’s such a hot night-“

“Relax, sweetheart,” he interjects, using his second favorite pet name for you. “I’m just teasing. Trying to make you blush.” You suspect he succeeded in his attempt, if the warmth in your cheeks has anything to say about it.

Turning on your light, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He skims over your music collection, runs his fingers along the spines of your books, laughs quietly at the small collection of stuffed animals you still had from when you were a kid. Usually you would have felt embarrassed, but his laughter held no malice. He wasn’t making fun of you, simply reacting. You waited for his comment about your cuteness- a common adjective he’d use that you’d at first confused as mocking until realizing he meant it as a compliment- but it never came. Your room is slightly chilly, but it feels good on your skin after spending hours in the humid summer air. It even wasn’t that messy, thankfully, and the inviting softness of your bed was tempting you like a siren call despite your doubt that you’d be able to get any sleep with Eddie laying beside you. The man in question catches your attention again, tearing you from your racing thoughts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and unbuttoning his jeans.

“I sleep in just boxers, is that a problem? I mean, you know I don’t have a change of clothes or anything,” he explains.

“Yeah, totally fine!” you assure, trying not to be too obviously excited by the view of his tattoos on full display, “No big deal. Like really, it’s okay.” Admittedly, the reassurance was more to convince yourself than him.

He nods and takes his pants off- balling them up and tossing them to the side, then pulls back your duvet and crawls into bed, leaving enough room for you to get in as well. He lays on his side, one of his hands supporting his head as he stares at you expectedly. His unabashed behavior while undressing soothed your anxiety slightly, encouraging you to yank down and kick off your own jeans. You make the choice to actively ignore Eddie’s amusement at your eagerness. Normally this is when your bra would come off, but you decided instead to just leave it on, nervous that removing said item would be viewed as a step too far. Turning off your light, you slide in under the covers next to the boy you’ve had eyes for since you were 14.

You only have a full size mattress, so although the both of you fit it was unlikely the night would pass without making contact. The thought of even accidentally feeling his touch in your bed, in the dark, with neither of you wearing pants… It was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. You didn’t know if you should hope for or avoid it. Logically, in the long run it would be better for your own well-being to not let yourself fall too hard for someone who only thought of you as a friend, so you chose the latter. You tried to give him plenty of space and hoped he didn’t notice your slinking away from him. He noticed.

“What’s wrong pretty girl? Scared to touch me?” he jokes. If only he knew the truth in his statement. You deny it with a curt head shake, and he shoots you an unimpressed look at the obvious lie. Knowing he wouldn’t drop it, you exhale a shaky breath and scooch more toward the center of the bed. He still persists though, and your mind short circuits when he leans in close to whisper, “If you’re not scared, how about you let me hold you?”

He’s challenging you, and you’re not about to back down. You nod and roll over to face away from him before that little voice in your mind can tell you this is a bad idea. He wraps one of his arms around your torso- hand resting against the underside of your boob, his pelvis pressed firmly against your behind, and his leg found its way to be sandwiched between yours, thigh warm against your core. With the humiliating realization that there’s only a single layer of fabric between your growing wetness and his bare skin, you try to discreetly position yourself in a way where he might not be able to tell you’re practically dripping just from cuddling alone.

“Why are you squirming, baby?” he hums in your ear, breaking the silence in the room as he flattens his palm against the area just above your belly button and holds you tighter against himself. “Are you not comfortable?”

He’s not hard, but the thin materials of his and your underwear isn’t enough to stop you from feeling his length settle in between your ass cheeks. You hold back a moan and force out “I am comfortable, I just… Um…”

He props himself up on the arm that was previously under his head and scoots away just far enough that he can take your shoulder and roll you onto your back, urging you to look at him. The light of the streetlamps outside filter in through the thin slots of the blinds on your window and illuminate your face, allowing him to see you clearly.

“Aw sweetie, you’re blushing so pretty for me,” he murmurs, bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek. With a start, you realize from the gleam in his eyes that he’s teasing you.

You angrily push his hand away and accuse him just that. He doesn’t even try to deny it. Throwing the blanket off of you, you sit up and glare at him. He simply says that he ‘couldn’t help it’, and that ‘you just kept getting cuter the more and more flustered you became’.

“Is this a joke to you? I’m just some… some…” you struggle for the right words, clearly upset. “Some dumb girl for you to play around with when you know you have no intention of returning her feelings?”

His teasing sneer immediately fades as he follows you into a sitting position. “No sweetheart. Believe me, I never saw you that way,” he promises, “You’re so important to me.”

Your annoyance dissipates, hope blossoming in your chest. “Do you swear?”

“On my guitar.” he replies, smiling with you when you let out a small chuckle. A moment of quiet passes, the both of you just looking at each other. His flirtatious tone returns as he lightly caresses your thigh and says, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, baby?”

You’re brought back to the present when his hand on your bare thigh slipped underneath the hem of your baggy t-shirt and crept up the softness of your hips to pause at your waist.

“I could feel how hot you got against my thigh,” he whispers, dragging you closer to him then continuing the path of his hand upward until you could feel his calloused, guitarist fingertips along the underwire of your bra. “I could feel your pulse,” he practically growled, and you gasp out the air you were unconsciously holding, shocked by his statement. He pulls you closer even still, until you're nearly on his lap. His lips are almost touching your ear, and the hot breath released with his next words send a shiver straight through you.

“Just say yes, baby. That’s all I need from you. A yes.” You turn to look at his eyes and see no trace of humor.

“Yes.”

He removes his hand out from under your shirt so that he can take either side of your jaw. “If at any point you want me to stop, say the word and I will,” he tells you. Before you can question why you would ever want him to stop, he leans in and connects your lips.

The kiss is slow but firm, and you have to stop yourself from thinking about the women that frequent the Hideout on Tuesday nights, wondering if they have something to do with his supposed expertise. There’s no time for jealousy right now, not when Eddie’s brushing his tongue against your lower lip, wordlessly asking for entry. You grant permission, and when you feel the foreign muscle flexing next to your molars, you moan into his mouth. Eddie stops the kiss and laughs when that causes you to whine.

“Come here,” he says. “Straddle me.” So you do.

Sitting astride his lap with your knees bent and tucked beneath you, you place your hands on his shoulders. His own hands slip underneath your shirt once more, palms pressed flat against your lower back as he kissed you again, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, biting gently, and pulling away. You hear a quiet ‘plop’ noise as it snaps back into place. He starts kissing just below your jaw and navigates his hands to your sides, latching onto your waist. His grip tightens as he starts rocking you against himself.

You gasp, feeling his dick harden. “Oh Eds-“ but cut yourself off with your hand to your mouth.

His kiss leaves your jaw and his touch leaves one side of your waist as he roughly pulls the guilty hand away from your mouth, holding it raised beside your head. “Don’t try to be quiet,” he demands with an authoritative tone. You’re surprised by the sudden ordering, but the domineering was not unwelcome. His expression lightens and he relaxes as he explains, “It’s just us here. Let me hear all the pretty noises you make. The ones I've been imagining every night for weeks.”

The confession startles you even more than the ordering. “You think of me at night?” He hums in confirmation, letting go of your hand. It stays frozen in the air though, the shock from the image of him touching himself and getting off to the thought of you causing your brain to go blank.

“At night,” he presses a kiss to your neck, “the morning,” one to your collarbone, “afternoon,” another to the small bit of shoulder he can get to from where your shirt slid down. He looks up, his nose brushes against yours. “When I'm watching TV, playing guitar, planning campaigns... all the time. You don’t know what you do to me.”

Hearing that he’s been feeling the way you’ve felt for years drives you crazy. You grab his face and kiss him greedily, groaning when you feel him smile against your mouth and pull away yet again.

“I know you think about me too, babygirl. I know you’ve been thinking of me,” he accuses. Your embarrassment is ignored as he continues, “I see how you look at me. I see how your eyes bulge outta your head whenever my shirt rides up and you can see my happy trail.”

“What?” you yelp, “You knew you were turning me on?” He starts laughing, and presses his face into the crook of your neck. “Eds, I thought I was a perv! I felt dirty!”

His humor vanished abruptly. He raised his head and stared directly into your soul, before growling, “Oh, I can make you feel dirty.” A shiver went up your spine as he started rocking you against him again, “I can make you feel really dirty. Do you want me to, baby?”

“Please.”

He grins widely. “You begging sounds even better than I imagined. Keep moving your hips for me, okay?” His hands stop guiding your movements as they leave your waist to travel up your front, bunching the fabric as he groped your chest over your shirt. You moan wantonly and do as he says, grinding on his cock without any direction.

“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart,” he praises, “Good girl.”

He’s never used that before. You’ve heard ‘pretty girl’, ‘babygirl’… never ‘good girl’. You like it. A lot. You never realized how much you wanted to be a good girl for Eddie. How much you wanted to be his good girl.

“Raise your arms,” he commands, and you obey without question. You hold still for him as he pulled your shirt off, but once the cool chill of your air conditioned bedroom finally hit your heated skin, you immediately continued grinding against him. Despite this, his nimble fingers were able to skillfully undo your bra, and he ripped it from your body like it was a personal offense. He quickly seized the opportunity to take one of your nipples into his warm, wet mouth. One hand found its way to the flesh of your ass, fingers digging in and probably leaving marks, while the other massaged the breast not being attacked by his tongue. Your movement grew desperate, hips aggressively meeting his as you threw your head back in pleasure and made ridiculous lewd noises that you never even knew you were capable of. After a while he switched sides, making sure to give the other nipple the same amount of attention.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned when his lips finally left your chest, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He was mesmerized by the sight of your tits bouncing in his face as you humped him. Your vulgar wailing never stopped as his lips went on with their assault to the delicate skin of your neck, in fact it impossibly raised in volume. “I bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you? Before I even get my hands on that pretty pussy.” You glanced down at him and nodded dumbly, lost in the feeling. “God, you're so responsive. No one’s ever made it feel this good before, huh?”

Your grinding stutters momentarily before picking back up again, and you look away, trying to keep your expression as unreadable as possible. His brows furrowed in confusion before it finally clicked. “Sweetheart,” he says, taking your waist and halting your movement, “you’ve never been with anyone else?”

You hesitate to answer. “Are you going to make fun of me if I say I haven't?”

His disbelief is palpable, but he shakes his head no anyway. “Of course not, silly. I just wish I had known. I got you doing all the work and it’s your first time.” He lifts you off of his lap, his voice going from comforting to seductive as he says, “Lay back for me, baby. I'm gonna make it good for you. I don't want you thinking about anything except for how amazing it feels, understand?”

You bit your lip and nodded, climbing the rest of the way off of him and laying down lengthwise on the bed as Eddie stood up. You expected to get on top, but to your surprise he instead cupped his hands under your armpits and manhandled you so that you were horizontal across the bed. He grabbed your hips and positioned them on the edge of the mattress, your legs hanging off the side, with knees bent and feet on the floor. Then, he got down on his knees in front of you.

You pushed yourself up just in time to see his awestruck face when he spread your thighs apart. “Jesus, baby,” he gushed, “you soaked through your panties.” You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed when he presses the pad of his thumb to where your clit is under the fabric. Your elbows give way under you and you fall onto your back, moaning loud. One of your thighs involuntarily twitches, rising up above his head as your calf tucked in and your toes curled. “All worked up aren’t you? Poor thing. I’m sorry for making you wait so long.” He holds your already raised leg in place, then slides his hand under your other thigh, hoisting that one up as well. With both of your legs elevated, he dips his fingers under the elastic of your underwear. “Up,” he instructs.

You dig your heels into the edge of the mattress and use them as support so you can do as he says. Once your hips are off the bed, he slides the panties off and down. You lower yourself and lift your heels, and Eddie finally pulls the last of the clothing off of your body. He tosses the garment to the side, not caring where it lands. After your feet lowered to rest on the floor again, he took your knees in both hands and spread you wide open, putting your drenched folds on full display. He kissed his way up to the apex of your thigh and you tensed, preparing yourself for his first contact with your aching center, only for him to turn his head and repeat this gesture on the opposite side.

“Pl-please Eds,” you disturb his actions with a broken voice, head thrown back again, this time in frustration instead of pleasure. “Please touch me. Please. I can’t- I’m so- Fuck.” Desperate and pathetic, you grasp both of his hands in yours as you look back down at him. “I'm so horny, I think I might literally, actually explode,” you exaggerate. “Please make me cum. Please, I can't take it.”

He stares back at you slack mouthed and expressionless as you finish shamelessly begging. Your eyes bore into his, absolutely pleading. Finally, he smirks and leans down to lick a single straight line directly up your pussy. You squeeze his fingers- letting out a relieved groan, and he finds it so sweet sounding that he wished he brought a tape recorder.

“So good for me, telling me exactly what you need and asking so politely,” he praises as he frees one of his hands from yours and starts rubbing slow, lazy circles on your clit. “Such good manners. Behavior like that should be rewarded, don't you think?”

“Yes. Oh my god.” It’s dark in your room, what with it being nearly 4 in the morning and the only source of light still being what little is coming in through your blinds. It does cast a slight glow as it bounces off your walls though, so despite the darkness Eddie swears he can see glistening in your eyes as you carry on rambling aimlessly. “Oh my god, thank you. Please, Eds.”

Eddie truly did mean to stop teasing you and get on with it, but the sight of you being so desperate to cum that you were reduced to tears shocks him so much he goes still. You sob out pitifully as you let go of his other hand and throw both of your arms over your face, hiding in the crooks of your elbows. He almost feels bad, but he can’t deny the deep throbbing it causes in his lower region.

“Are you crying baby?” he asks as he begins rubbing his hands up and down your thighs as if trying to console you. “You’re crying for me? I got you that needy?” You start squirming on the bed, and your feet stomp on the floor behind him.

“Watch it now,” he chastised, his hands stilling and his grip tightening, “Remember what we said about good behavior being rewarded? Throwing a temper tantrum will get you nowhere.” You removed your face from its hiding spot and threw your arms back dramatically on the space of the bed above you. Your eyes strain, trying to force your vision to work better in the dark, and you can just barely make out Eddie’s stern expression. His eyebrow raised, “You want to be my good girl right?”

You feel a tear roll down your cheek as you try and fail to keep your voice steady. “I do want to be your good girl! But I've been so patient-“

“I’ll decide when you’ve been patient,” he interrupts strictly, cutting off your complaining. You almost protest, but think better of it and say nothing. “Tell me who’s in charge,” he demands.

“You are,” you comply willingly, stopping your squirming, “You’re in charge. I’ll behave.”

He smiles and loosens his grip “There we go,” he goes back to rubbing your clit, this time faster, with more pressure. You let out a whimper, your moaning starting up again. “Now was that so hard? Since it’s your first time, I’ll forgive your little outburst. Be grateful I’m feeling nice.” He can almost make out the ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s hidden in between your whines.

Pulling his thumb away, he puts his tongue to work. He massages your clit up and down and side to side, until coming to the conclusion that spirals get the best response out of you. “Oh, found the way you like it, did I?” he asks between licks, “Is this the way your fingers do it when you’re all alone and thinking about me?”

You nod vigorously. Your eyes squeezed shut at some point, and you might draw blood with how hard you’re biting your lower lip. Reaching down, you comb your fingers through Eddie’s hair as he swirls his tongue in circles. Pretty soon, you are grasping at the bedsheets, heels dug into his shoulder blades, toes curling. You’re loud, but speaking no words. Your head is completely empty and all you can focus on in the coil inside of you growing tighter, and tighter, and tighter. Suddenly, you feel Eddie slide two fingers into you and curl them upwards. You gasp so hard you nearly choke.

He lifts his mouth from your clit, quickly moving to continue the motions with his thumb, the fingers on his other hand working their way in and out of you fast and hard. “You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

You look down at him with pleading, teary eyes. “Can I?”

That response causes his actions to falter ever so slightly, then he carries on with even more force than before. His fingers speed up, pumping in and out of you and hitting you just perfectly in the right spot every time, and your moans get impossibly louder. “So well behaved for me, asking permission. Fuck babygirl. You can cum. Whenever you want to, you can cum.”

He returns his mouth to you and sucks in while circling his tongue. That was all it took for you to start spasming underneath him. You came so quickly after Eddie giving the okay that it was easy for him to tell you’d been holding it back for a while. He keeps his fingers inside of you during your climax, wanting to feel the way your walls tightened and clenched around them. The assault on your swollen clit never ceases, helping you to ride out your orgasm for as long as possible, and he only eased off when the sensitivity caused you to push him away. He pulls out his fingers and sucks them clean before standing and kissing his way up your trembling body as you struggle to catch your breath. Picking you up from under your armpits again, he drags you to the middle of the mattress, lays you longways, then lifts his knees onto the bed to crawl on top of you. When he sees your blissed out face he can’t help but kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. In between pecks, he strokes your hair and whispers comforts like ‘I got you’ and ‘Breathe, sweetheart, you did so well’. After about 5 minutes, you begin to regain your composure slightly, or at least enough to look at Eddie and see the adoration in his eyes. The sincerity in his expression makes your stomach flip, and it honestly almost feels like a small wave of aftershocks. He kisses at your neck again, sucking and biting slowly as he starts grinding on your thigh. You glance down, face full of lust as your eyes travel past his tattoos and body hair, until finally settling on the impressively sized tent he was still sporting.

“I want to make you cum, too,” you proclaim as you slide your hand down his abdomen until you reach his boxers and lightly graze his bulge.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he says, taking your chin in his hand and pulling you into a slow kiss. “We’re not done yet. Just letting you have a little breather.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic

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lihhelsing · 11 months

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Hate That I Loved You

Now complete on AO3!

Despite Eddie's wishes, everything just keeps on moving.

In a way, it's a little comforting to know that no matter how badly Eddie fucks up, life keeps going. It kept going when Lou almost broke him, it kept going every time he dumped someone or got dumped. It kept going when his mom passed away in the middle of the European leg of their tour.

It kept moving when he and Steve stopped walking in the same direction.

Eddie sits in his dressing room, waiting for his make-up to be finished. He barely slept during the night, a mix of anxiousness and fear of whatever was to come.

Eddie wants to talk to Steve and clear the air and explain that what he had seen the night before wasn't what he thought it was. There's nothing between him and Lou. Not anymore.

It's not like he thinks Steve still wants something with him. He's not delusional or anything, knows Steve is doing this only as a favor to him and nothing more. But he's done hurting Steve, needs to put an end to all this once and for all.

There was no time in between the band finishing up their part of the music video at around 3am and the super early call time they all had for the last day of shooting. When he got there, Eddie got dragged to wardrobe and make-up and had no time to even look for Steve.

He hoped Steve hadn't bailed because of whatever it was that he thought he saw last night, but if he had, they would most likely know by now. Probably.

But to be completely honest, Eddie doesn't even realize he's holding his breath in anticipation until the moment he lay eyes on Steve again.

Eddie gets into the studio all ready for the shooting. His clothes are a perfect match to what he used to wear back then, right before Corroded Coffin made it big. A sleeveless CC shirt with ripped skinny jeans. Always black. Chains and rings and a leather jacket on top of everything.

It feels even weirder once he gets a good look at it. The studio had been completely modified and now he can see a perfect representation of his uncle’s old trailer. The place where he made most of the music for their first album.

The place where he fell in love with Steve.

But now that Eddie is really looking at it, he can see only half of the trailer. The other half is actually the recording studio where they had made their first album.

Half and half, torn in the middle, just like Eddie had been back then. Unable to choose between life with Steve and the band.

Whenever Eddie was with Steve, his brain was thinking music and lyrics and chords. He itched to put his hands on a guitar, to take notes, to write.

Then, when he was with the band, he kept thinking about Steve, missing him, missing his touch and his kiss and-

“Hey,” Steve’s voice sounds unsure, like he had tried getting Eddie’s attention more than once.

“Hi. Sorry, it’s… Weird being back here,” Eddie says and Steve gives him a soft smile which… Don't seem like a bad thing.

“Yeah. Brings back a lot of memories,” Steve agrees and motions forward as if he’s going to touch Eddie’s arm.

But then the director is calling their names and asking if they are ready and Steve drops his hand, turning away from him.

“Can we, uh, talk? After? I really wanted to explain what you saw yesterday.”

Steve shakes his head. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Eddie.”

“No, I know. But I want to. If you… Please?”

Steve looks over at him and there’s this unreadable thing about his expression that tugs at Eddie’s heart. He needs him to say yes. Needs him to listen to him. He needs to still have a chance.

“Yeah, ok,” Steve says finally and Eddie can barely react before they are being directed to their places for the shoot.

They have both the places that tore Eddie apart, and they are separated by a thick glass. Steve is standing on one side, a symbol of Eddie’s past life, the one he left behind when he started to pursue a life in music.

The other is all his dreams coming true. Everything that he ever wanted becoming real. Back then, Eddie thought Steve didn’t fit in it. Steve didn’t feel he fit in. He never made Eddie choose, but soon it became clear Eddie wouldn’t be able to balance the two things at the same time for long.

He’d be away too much. And Steve needed him near. Wanted him there and Eddie wasn’t there. They fought, screamed at each other out of frustration and heartbreak.

Eddie wanted to stay and he knew he needed to leave, but he only found courage to do it when Steve told him he didn’t see a future for them, that Eddie should put his chips on something more certain.

He realized that day he would never be enough for Steve. He was splitting himself in half for him, trying to make everyone happy, and even then he was failing. Couldn't get things right.

The day he walked away, Eddie felt like his heart was going to give in. And he feels that way again as he looks into Steve’s eyes and sings how he hates that he loved him.

There's this glass in between them and Eddie can't get through. No matter how loud he sings, no matter how much he tries, he can't have it all. He starts to wonder how much different his life would be if he had bet on his relationship with Steve.

Wonders if he would've been happy with any other job. Maybe he would have become a music teacher somewhere. Have a white picket fence house with three cats and Steve. Maybe that would've been enough for him.

Or maybe he'd resent Steve, like he always said he would. Every time Eddie missed something related to the band because Steve, he said that. Like Eddie couldn't make his own decisions.

He knocks on the glass as Steve walks around the trailer with his back to Eddie. He wants to reach him, but he can't, and suddenly there's this suffocating need to tell him everything. To tell Steve how he feels.

It's not past tense. His feelings for Steve never went anywhere, always there, always alive. He needs him to know. Even if Steve doesn't feel the same anymore, he's sure Steve has moved on from their thing a long time ago. He just needs him to know.

Maybe back then it wasn't time for him and Steve, but maybe now it can be.

#hate that i loved you #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfic #stranger things #rockstar AU #second chance romance #I wrote this in one sitting and never looked back #forgive me if it's awful #next part will be better I promise

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medicetwork · 1 year

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Mercs if they had modern day cellphones!

Heavy:

The screen is too small and his fingers are too big.

The screen also tends to hurt his eyes after a while but he absolutely refuses to turn down the brightness, saying it would make it even harder to see than before

His main favorite functions are video calls with Medic or his family and listening to music.

His life is complete when he discovers E-books

He can’t read them on the screen but he loves being able to clean Sasha while having his favorite book read to him

Medic:

Really doesn’t use it for much else than phone calls and the occasional google search at first

When he discovers mobile games that takes his interest though!

He becomes a candy crush mom.

Oh you have a broken arm? Wellll…You can tough it out, champ. He’s on level 7,229 right now.

He would make all the other men get Life360

Scout:

Total social media zombie(I say as if I am not one)

Surprisingly he’s very popular on apps like Twitter and Tik Tok. People think he’s hilarious!

Unfortunately somewhere along the way he says something less than respectful about something and his account gets banned

Eventually he’s on account number 6 and trying to regrow his following

It never recovers

He finds out about NFT’s

Sniper:

Mainly uses it to watch youtube and play music

His phone is always on silent and Do Not Disturb

He loves those videos where those guys go out into the middle of the woods and just start building a fucking house out of clay and sticks.

He prefers texting to calling, finding it much faster(he just like me fr)

Baffled by just how much porn he has access to now….

But he’s not complaining.

Soldier:

He doesn’t use it because he just keeps breaking his phones.

They’ve been dropped, blown up, set ablaze, dropped in water, eaten by a bread-tumor monster, eaten by Soldier(???) and run over.

Even if they didn’t get destroyed within 3 days he still wouldn’t use it for much else besides setting alarms and sending confusing group texts.

However, with each new phone he has gotten he asks Pyro for stickers and sticker bombs his phone just for fun

Has an American flag wallpaper

Pyro:

Watches a lot of Youtube!

They love art tutorials, cooking tutorials and those videos with the guys that put molten hot metal balls into water and those videos of people crushing things in Hydraulic presses

Their search history is so fucking strange:

“my little pony free episode”

“my little pony movie free”

“how to draw clouds”

“gasoline cheap prices”

They follow Scout’s pages and always send him nice comments and like his videos

Engineer:

Loves listening to music and watching movies on his phone

Eventually learns how to code and make his own apps

This is also how he discovered he could jailbreak his phone and turn it into a universal remote for his sentries

Very slow texter

Uses way more emoji’s than needed

“Hello yall 👋🏻 going to the hardware store today 🔨let me know if yall need anything while im out👋🏻🚶🏼”

His most used app is the settings app

Spy:

Of course all of his phones are burners.

He never uses one for more than one week

Loves pirating movies on it and watching them in bed

He has no contacts. No personal information and keeps his location off at all times

Likes to pretend to be different people and play around with Google and Youtube’s targeted ads and algorithms

One day he’s an 86 year old woman that’s recommended nothing but metal bands and funeral home ads

The next week he’s four years old and getting recommended Mario and Minecraft let’s play videos

He uses twitter

He’s doxxed many people on Twitter

Like Scout he has MANY banned accounts and has also hacked and stolen many accounts

…He hacked one of Scout’s accounts and got it permanently banned

Demoman:

Loves watching Top 10 videos

Also loves having so much ease and access talking to his lads

He video calls his mother often even she just nags him the whole time and keeps accidentally hanging up

Is frequently texting the other team’s Soldier and laughing at what he says back

Uses Discord and Reddit and is in many servers and communities that focus on paranormal activity, urban legends and cryptids

Actually makes his own youtube videos searching for said cryptids

Frequently comments “cringe” under Scout’s posts

#tf2 pyro #soldier tf2 #tf2 demo #tf2 engineer #tf2 archimedes #tf2 headcanons #tf2 oc #scout tf2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 spy

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im-a-marvel-ous-hoe · 7 months

Text

Baby, Please Come Home | Bucky Barnes (1st Day of 🎄)

(Credits to the owner of this gif!)

Hello hello hello! Alondra here! I haven’t written anything in a long time, so I apologize if this is shit lol I’m doin a 12 days of Christmas sort of thing and I’m praying that this doesn’t flop 😅

Christmas Masterlist <- check out my other holiday fics! ✨

~~~~

“Merry Christmas, doll.” I heard Bucky’s voice through the phone, his tone in a slightly higher pitch than usual. I smiled to myself as I sat down on the couch, startling Alpine for a moment as she was just starting to fall asleep. She yawned and stretched out her little white paws in front of me, her claws peaking out as she started to climb onto my lap. The princess has spoken. Looks like I’m gonna be stuck here for a little while.

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.” I spoke. The realization that we’re not spending Christmas together this year comes fluttering to the front of my mind no matter how much I've tried to ignore it these past few weeks. The only sense of warmth I have of him in our house is some old shirts he left behind and our baby Alpine. She’s quiet and craves cuddles, just like her dad. “It uh… it doesn’t sound as good on the phone as I was hoping than in person, does it?” He chuckled out, trying to find a way to lighten the mood. I shook my head, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see me. “No, it does not.” I replied, clutching my phone close to my ear trying to imagine that he’s here right in front of me and his voice isn’t so staticy.

“You want to say hi to Alpine? She’s right here.” I looked down at the small animal on my lap as my hand began softly scratching her head. “Of course I do! Put her on.” I placed my phone on the arm rest and pressed the speaker button on my screen. “You’re on speaker, baby.” I heard him shuffling on the other end of the line before speaking up. “Alpine? You there?” The cat’s ears turned up and looked towards my phone. “You takin’ good care of your momma?”

She stood up and leaned closer to my phone, inspecting it. It’s like I could see the cogwheels in her head turn as she wondered how she could hear her dad’s voice if he wasn’t here. “She’s been keeping me company.” I smiled and heard him laugh on the other end. “Really?” He said. I could almost picture him smiling. “Yeah! We’re best buddies now. We have so many intellectual conversations.”

“I can’t wait to see it in person. I gotta get Sam to help me figure out how to take a video so I can just do it without messing up when I get home.” I chuckled at the thought of poor Sam having to deal with Bucky’s lack of phone knowledge and the constant bickering they’re bound to have. I swear, sometimes he really does act like a 100-somethin’ year old man. “Sergeant Barnes, you are something else.”

“Hey, you know I still have trouble understanding! I didn’t grow up with this kind of thing.”

“Then how is it that my grandmother is able to figure out Facebook better than you?” I laughed as he grumbled. “Your grandma had more time to figure it out! It’s not my fault she’s hip.”

I could just imagine what his face looks like right now. His eyebrows are probably scrunched up, his gaze is on the floor and his lips are pouty and just waiting to be kissed. I let out a chuckle and looked around our house. The decorations were put up soon after Thanksgiving. We played Christmas music in the background as we both decorated our tree, Alpine seeming to think this is another place for her to climb and make hers. Once Bucky put the star on top, everything just felt perfect, even though I knew I wouldn’t see him on the day of. “I’m really sorry that I wasn’t able to be there this year.” He said. “I tried my best to – ”

“Bucky, don’t worry about it. It’s okay, I completely understand. Our line of work doesn’t exactly allow us to have vacations, sort to speak. I’m not holding it against you.”

“I know, doll, but still. I thought I would at least be home for Christmas.”

“I know, baby, I know but there’s nothing else we can do about it. We’re in two different places and flights are backed up, so I guess we’ll just have to make due with what we’ve got.” I could feel tiny vibrations on my leg as Alpine purred against me, my hand not stopping to show her love. She seems content. He sighed and spoke up once again. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

I smiled. “I know you will.”

He cleared his throat as if he was trying to mask the sound of something. “Bucky… was that.. were you in a – ”

“Baby, did you get the thing that I sent you yet?” He cut me off as I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. “Um.. no, no I haven’t. I haven’t gotten anything.” He let out a groan. “No? Are you sure? FedEx promised me it would arrive in time for Christmas.” Alpine leaned in closer to my hand as I scratched the top of her head. “Doll, can you please do me a favor and keep an eye out for it? It could be arriving any minute.” I smiled to myself as I nodded. “Okay, I will.”

“I wanna hear as you see what I got you for Christmas.” I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “Bucky, you know I will love whatever you got me, but what I really want is you and I don’t think FedEx can send people over like that.” He let out a laugh. “Maybe they’d let me if Steve was to put in a good word.”

“You’re such an idiot.” I laughed and Alpine stirred in my lap, a quiet reminder for me to not move or else she’s gone and she’s the only thing in this house keeping me company. I could hear him huffing on the other line as I tried to figure out what he’s doing. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

“What do you mean where am I? You know where I’m at.”

“No, I mean are you outside? I could hear you huffin’ and puffin’. Are you trying to keep warm?”

“Maybe there’s another reason why you can hear me breathin’ so hard. I’m talkin’ to a pretty girl on the phone and she misses me just as much as I miss her.”

I stayed silent for a moment as I processed his words and gasped. You cheeky little fucker. “James!” My outburst along with Bucky’s laugh startled Alpine once more as she got up and left. “No! Kitty come back!” I could hear him practically wheezing in the background as she left to God knows where in our house. “What happened?”

“You made me scare Alpine out of my lap!” I whined as he continued to laugh at my expense. “Hey, you were the one who got the joke late and yelled, scaring our poor baby Alpine! That’s not my fault!”

“It is too! If you hadn’t made that joke, I wouldn’t have reacted that way!” I’m sure my face must be red from embarrassment as he continued on. “And to answer your question, with no hidden dirty jokes, I went out for a walk. I couldn’t stay in that hotel with Sam trying to find ways to decorate my arm with holiday decorations. Note to self, don’t let Sam buy tinsel and say it’s for the “tree at the Stark Tower”.”

I smiled at the thought of Steve being in the middle of these two teasing each other like children and not knowing which side he should take. Hearing his voice, even if it’s not crystal clear, makes me forget for a moment that he’s not here. There’s almost this sort of echo in the house that really makes you feel like you’re alone. It still breaks my heart, but I wouldn’t tell him to make him feel even worse about it. He’s trying his best and that’s all I could really hope for.

But I do wish he was here. Wherever Bucky goes, that’s home.

“Hey, I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say that you didn’t take the trash cans in like I asked you to.”

I was silent for a moment as I thought about what he said. “You didn’t, did you?” I shook my head and spoke. “Um no, I’m pretty sure I did.” I tried to lie and pretend like I didn’t forget, which in fact I know I did.

“Oh, really? Hmm… are you sure? ‘Cause something is telling me that you forgot.” I smiled and leaned back more into the couch and got comfortable. “I know I tend to be forgetful, but I’m pretty sure I already took them in.” I heard him chuckle. “Alright, alright I’ll believe you. I know you wouldn’t lie to me, baby..”

“Trying to put the guilt trip on me even when you’re not here, baby?” I laughed and grabbed the remote to turn on the TV. “I’m just stating the facts.. oh, hey, one second! I’m getting another call. I’ll be right back.” I waited for him as he placed me on hold and began to browse through Netflix to look for some good Christmas films to watch.

Before I could go to my suggestion list, I heard the doorbell ring.

“Weird, wrong number…” I heard his voice once again as he took me off hold. “Hey, I just heard the doorbell ring.” I spoke as I went to stand up. “It’s probably FedEx. Go check it out and take me with you!” I stood up, grabbed my phone and went to go and find a sweater to quickly put on. “Just uh do me a favor.” He requested. “Sure, baby. What is it?”

“I know you’re lonely at home, but try not to check out the delivery man too much, okay? Even if he is very handsome.” I laughed and shook my head. “Ohh, I don’t know Barnes. I gotta see what kind of a package I’m lookin’ at here.” I joked as he laughed. I walked over to the front door and opened it. My body stood still as my phone fell out of my hands.

“Delivery, for Mrs. – ” Before he could even finish the sentence, I jumped up and wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him towards me. I could feel and hear him laughing against me as his arms embraced me tighter into him. I could feel the cold air from outside come into the house, but I didn’t care. He was warm and he was standing at our doorstep.

He pulled me back so he could look at me and I could see a sheen of tears in his baby blues as he leaned down for a kiss. Both hands cupped my cheeks as he held me in place, his cold lips meeting my own. He’s grown out his stubble and it lightly tickled my top lip. I reached my hands up to tug at his hair and felt him smile against me as soft moans of content left his mouth. He pulled away too soon for my liking and looked down at me and laughed.

“Did ya miss me, doll?” I pulled him in for another kiss as he mumbled against my lips. “I can hardly tell.” His metal hand moved a strand of hair away from my face as he continued to smile at me. “But… how are you here? You’re supposed to be in – ”

“I know I know but we managed to finish the mission early and catch a flight. Turns out, Steve doesn’t mind using the Captain America card to get on a plane while running late.” He chuckled. He rubbed small circles on my cheek as I leaned into him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” He leaned in to grant me one more kiss before pulling away to make a comment. “I know it seems hard to believe, but I made you a promise that I will try to be home for Christmas and I keep my promises… unlike someone I know who didn’t bring in the trash cans.”

Fuck…

“Oops? You’re not upset, right?” I asked as he shook his head. “No, baby I’m not upset. I could care less about them. I’ve just gone and gave myself the best present a guy could ask for… the love of his life, crying and cheeks reddened in his arms, clinging to him with all the might they can muster..” He laughed as he held me against him.

“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere… now let’s get inside, get a warm drink and see if we can warm ourselves up with each other.” He winked as I playfully slapped his arm. “Let’s go surprise Alpine.”

“Ahh! That’s right!” He walked in and yelled out. “Alpine? Daddy’s home! Where are you sweetheart?” I closed the door behind us and smiled at the thought of him finally being home. He took off his jacket just as she came out from wherever she was hiding. He crouched down as she walked up to welcome him home. “Hey, you. Ya missed me?” He chuckled as he looked up at me.

“Doll?”

“Yeah?” He smiled up at me, his cheeks rosy as he uttered, “Merry Christmas.”

~~~~

I hope y’all liked it! Please let me know your thoughts! Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #christmas imagine #Bucky Barnes christmas #Bucky Barnes Christmas imagine #12 days of christmas #12 days of ficmas #please go easy on me #i haven't written in so long #i hope y'all like it #✨🎄✨🎄

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venusgirltarot · 1 year

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What Would An Album About You Sound Like?

Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

Close your eyes, take a deep breath, envision the person you are thinking of and then choose the pile(s) you feel most drawn to.

Pile One

Ahhh okay this is so cute. Im going to try to explain this as best as I can, Pile 1. So this seems like a concept album. The idea of the album (not the sound but idea ya know) reminds me of “Melodrama” by Lorde. I’ll leave a quote here for a better description but it’s like a concept album about a single night

“Melodrama is described as a loose concept album that explores the theme of solitude, in the framework of a single house party with the events and moods that entail it”

The album about you is similar in the sense that it’s a “loose concept album” but it’s about the writer seeing you. It’s like you’re at this party that the songwriter is also at and they’re obsessed from the moment they lay eyes on you. You’re like this beautiful unobtainable being to them and they want to get to know you so bad but they just can’t seem to talk to you. This could also progress to a one night stand that never progresses to more because of a lack of communication to this album is going through the writer meeting you and watching you throughout the night and then goes into their regrets and what they wish they would have said to you the next day, if that makes sense.

They see you at a party and think you’re so beautiful but can’t seem to find the words to tell you that. I keep hearing “I like the way my bedsheets look on your body” from “hello!” By role model. (I believe that’s the right song but lmk if it’s wrong so I can fix it!) and I keep being reminded of this musician on TikTok “Chappell Roan” and their song “Red Wine Supernova” I think that’s similar to what this album would sound like and it also fits the aesthetic. I highly recommend you listen to this song because it fits your album so perfectly. I tried to find a lyric that resonates the best to include but they all work so well that I couldn’t choose.

Despite this entire album being about only you and just one night leading into the next morning, it’s still so diverse (I hope that makes sense) like you’d think there’s only so many songs you could write about a 12ish hour time frame and one person but this writer has endless things to say about you and the night you met them. I could see one song having a feature and it’s later in the album somewhere between tracks 7-12 or so. The aesthetic of the album is very neon lights, the dance floor on prom night after everything has died down and people are starting to go home, slow, melodramatic and just really pretty. Again, I highly recommend you check out “Red Wine Supernova” because it fits so well.

Track list:

1. Pretty

2. Blooming

3. missing you

4. Shinning Eyes

5. Dying Slow

6. Party Streamers

7. Old Fashioned (Feat. Another Artist)

8. Starlight

9. Nova’s Surprise

10. Sunset

11. morning after

12. You

Pile Two

Pile two, your album sounds like one written by Hozier, Noah Kahan or The Lumineers. It reminds me a lot of “Angela” by The Lumineers. Specifically the lyric “Angela, spent your whole life running away” and “vacancy, hotel room, lost in me, lost in you” it also reminds me of Ethel Cain in the sense that it’s a concept album about running away and starting a new life (but not as dark as ethel’s and with a much better outcome than she got. I heard “success story” it’s about leaving behind a difficult past and moving forward. There’s hope for the future in these songs, remembrance of the past and healing trauma. It’s a beautiful album with a good balance of different emotions. I could see this album coming with a short film or a series of music videos that piece together to tell a store. Similar to “III” by the Lumineers.

I keep hearing a few snippets from the deluxe version of “Stick Season” (that will be out June 9th 👀) like “Medicate meditate swear your soul to Jesus / Throw a punch fall in love give yourself a reason” or “we ain’t angry at you love, you’re the greatest thing we’ve lost” it’s such a beautiful album with so much soul and emotion.

I could see this album getting an acoustic live version that artists do sometimes like “Album, live from Wherever” you know? This album has very unique and catchy lyrics that stick with people, the type of lyrics people take and sell on things in their Etsy shop or use as a quote in their yearbook or put in their instagram bio. It almost feels like poetry. I also heard “escapism” this is the type of music that paints a picture and takes you somewhere else. This album will kind of chronologically tell a story about you moving forward and healing from trauma and finding a peaceful ending. Ending with a song like “Angelia”

Track list

1. movement

2. Adelaide’s Interlude

3. mother

4. farmhouse

5. leave me behind

6. baby blue

7. mustang

8. you’re gonna go far

9. more than this

10. peace

11. at your own pace

12. growing pains

13. at last

Pile Three

I feel like this album has a soft rock sort of sound? Like hozier with a rockier edge if that makes sense? It reminds me of the way hozier sings about love. He sings about a very deep and impactful love and his writing his like poetry and I think that’s what an album about you would sound like. I think this album could be about the writer/musician fighting feelings for you because they’re focused on career or are just concerned about the outcome of the relationship. They might have a fear of falling or something.

However, the last card I pulled was the 10 of cups so the outcome is very good. I feel like this album is coming from a reflective place like this is after yourself and your spouse have settled down and had kids or pets or whatever you would like and your partner is looking back at your relationship from the very beginning up until now and writing about it.

I keep hearing “I’m in love with an emo girl” I don’t think this is what the album will sound like but maybe that’s your aesthetic/vibe? This might just be conformation for you. I also keep hearing that Shania Twain song “you’re still the one” this is the kind of album that fans would dissect like narrow down the time you met your person and talk about every lyric and how that lyric relates to you and your relationship etc. this album talks about how devoted and in love with you your person is but also talks about the (I heard “trials and tribulations”) it took for you two to get there so it may include religious reference. Like religion by Lana Del Rey or Don’t Blame Me by Taylor Swift where there’s this slight aspect of religion/devotion to your partner.

You hear a lot about how you have to actively choose your partner everyday to make a long term relationship work and this album would definitely delve into that a little. It could also be produced by you and your partner’s mutual friends or people who have been there since the beginning or very early in in your relationship. I think this would be a longer album and there’s definitely 18+ songs on there 👀

Track list

1. October

2. Cosmic

3. Full Moon

4. Bourbon Street

5. She’s All Over Me

6. Starla

7. The Empress

8. Diamond Eyes

9. Find More of Me

10. Dreamscape

11. Escapades

12. Midnight

13. You’re All I Need

14. Mirror

15. Apartment 32

16. Deep End

17. Eternity

#free tarot readings #free readings #tarot cards #tarotblr #tarot reader #spirituality #tarotcommunity #tarot related #paid readings #tarot #love tarot reading

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hwajin · 13 days

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✞ 「 .✶۪ .° ✞ : 𝐇 𝐈 — 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐄 !! : a series

☆ — chapter one; Soda Pop :

✞ 「 .✶۪ : see series masterlist and warnings here

✞ 「 .✶۪ : chapter word count: 12.1k

✞ 「 .✶۪ : chapter warnings: fluff and angst, y/n's kind of an asshole, first mentions of cheating!!, stupidity and immaturity

✞ 「 .✶۪ : heavily inspired by: 'nana' by ai yazawa!

author's note: it's finally here!!!! i've been crafting on this series for a good year now, and while i know it's nowhere near good because serieses aren't my strength at all, i hope you'll still enjoy it!! pleaseee please please let me know what you think of it, every bit of feedback is highly appreciated <3333 enjoy <3

The sound of console buttons and video game soundtrack filled the stuffy studio, particles of dust dancing in the burning summer sun. Han bit against his lip piercing while he plugged his guitar into the old AMP the bunch of you had found on a flea market two years ago – it’s been roughly thirty dollars, and you had sworn to have found heaven back then; admittedly, though the old box was working to its’ best abilities, it was high time to hunt for a new one. Han’s heavy silver rings scratched against the yet untuned strings of his instrument, and the sound was almost uncomfortable; though never quite, for it was music after all.

You would never grow tired of it, you thought. Of music, of everything revolving it – it was your everything, your earliest memories, your dearest experiences; your closest friendships, even. Ever since your parents had bought you your first electric piano – one for kids only, and not of best quality altogether though you had loved it all the same – notes and tunes had been all around you, always. With seven years old you’d been signed up for your first piano lesson, which no other kid in your course had been as excited to visit as you had been; with ten years, mere three years later, when Han had moved into your neighbourhood with his parents, you’d convinced your own to let you visit guitar lessons with him. They hadn’t needed much persuasion; they’d noticed early on just how much you enjoyed the hobby, and they’d never been ones to forbid you passion. There had been fights when your parents had realised you’ve been far more serious about music than they had imagined, or hoped, even; at fifteen years old you had planned to drop out of school with your best friend, and both your and his parents had lost hours of sleep and nerves convincing you of the opposite. Two years later, at seventeen, both you and Han were sure not to apply to college, initially – that, too, had caused tears and frustration over both of you and your parents. You and Han, having felt pressured to take action, had decided to apply to a college, somewhat pretentiously, where you would start an amateur band – it would keep both you and your families happy.

You set up your microphone, guitar long in hand, the worn-out leather band cutting into your neck, pulling at loose strands of hair, the weight of your instrument laying heavily on your shoulders. You were used to it; enjoyed the feeling like nothing else.

“Guys, wrap it up, some of us have classes soon.”

Just then Changbin’s groan sounded against Jeongin’s shout of victory – in three years of knowing the pair there has been only one occasion on which Changbin has won a game of Mario against Jeongin; that the younger had been knocked out drunk back then, Changbin never wanted to admit. The older man threw his console onto the carpeted floor in frustration, emitting a cloud of dust where it hit – his determination to win was admirable, if you were honest, though his pouting and sulking was amusing every time anew.

“Bro, I swear you’re dead next time.”

Jeongin snickered as they both made their way to their positions behind you, and the rest of you erupted in a fit of protests and laughter. “You should accept defeat to be honest, I’d be embarrassed by now if I was you – there’s bad game play, and then there’s you.”, Han’s voice thinned out towards the end of his sentence when Changbin shot him a deadly look – the younger momentarily busied himself with his guitar again, merely smirking to himself at his friends’ sensitivity.

“Guys, c’mon now, we don’t have all day.”

The two friends both mockingly imitated you, though got behind their instruments – Jeongin stood behind the long-ready piano, Changbin picking up his long-tuned bass. The small college studio momentarily filled with vibrations and resonances of instruments – Jeongin playing warm-up chords, Changbin letting chime a long tone, Minho, who all of you – after you’d seen a commercial on the TV you had now long forgotten – had started calling Lino over your years of friendship besides his very active protest against it, gave a couple experimental sounds against the snare of his drums behind the thin plexiglass he was seated. It was heaven to your ears. There was nothing, you’d argue, that you loved more than the sound of the small room filling up entirely with the harmonies of your instruments, every single one coming together to play the songs Han wrote so diligently for your little amateur band besides his college assignments. Not that he was taking them too seriously, anyways – he planned to be a musician, no matter the cost.

“Alright, everyone in position, everyone ready?”, you waited for the lot to groan softly in agreement, looking back at them all to give you a nod, “I’ll count in…”, the tension in the studio thickened now, all bickering forgotten; and everyone waited for your commando, “five…”, a beat, your voice sounding through the room, “six…”, another beat, your voice louder now, your fingers ready on your instrument, everyone else watching you intently, adjusting in their position, “five, six, seven, eight!”

The room erupted in deafening volume, Jeongin’s synthetic piano sounding softly against Lino’s loud kick drums, Changbin’s bass harmonising with Han’s guitar; your voice sounding above it all.

It hadn’t been until you were out of school four years ago when you had started singing, so, naturally, you weren’t the strongest vocalist; it was Han who had convinced you to give it a try, arguing the tone in your voice to be unique, and diminishing, simultaneously, the necessity of looking for a vocalist for the band you had started planning back then, already. Your skills had gotten better over the years – your bandmates had made it fashion to remind you of it, no less because you yet needed to learn to acquire confidence in your skill. Four years later – you liked your voice, and the five of you had found the sound that fitted it best, despite your remaining weaknesses.

‘Hope’ – the name of the band, the name of Han’s and Jeongin’s favourite cigarette brand. You had been nineteen and not very creative, had all, except Lino, met on the first day of college which only half of you took seriously – you were one those after your initial rebelling against it, wanting something stable and secure in case practical music wouldn’t work out in the long run; so, you’d decided to study theoretical and historical music, hoping to find yourself in the same field after all. You enjoyed your studies – as much as one could enjoy talking of chords and cadences and harmonies instead of playing them, or discussing composers of genius minds who have died centuries ago –it was no comparison to the time you spent in the studio, the passion it brought, the utter joy that coursed your veins whenever you held your guitar in hands, stood before your microphone stand. Mozart and Bach could only spark your interest so much, if the small, dusty college studio and your bandmates in it were right around the corner.

Changbin and Jeongin were both English students; both figured that taking a universally, to quote them, ‘easy major’ would allow them to focus on their music, and to spend as little time in a classroom as it was humanly possible to still pass – you wondered if they’ve ever seen one from the inside, altogether.

Lino on the other hand, a business major and taking his studies with diligence, though never seeming to be actually doing his assignments, only ever having finished them with perfect grades, seemingly magically, didn’t put too much hope into an amateur band, and simply enjoyed his hobby while working towards his future career. It was a shame, though – he was a genius drummer, his loudest when he carried two sticks in his hands; you didn’t remember if you’ve ever truly heard his voice over the past years, though he was compensating his usual silence the moment he sat behind his instrument; and if it wasn’t his instrument, he preferred spending his time with cats rather than with humans.

And lastly there’s been Han and you. Best friends since you were little, though you’ve never visited the same school, so all the more excited when you had decided to apply to the same college together – despite not for the same majors, you would still be together. The band was his idea, initially.

“LOOKING FOR: DRUMMER, BASSIST, PIANIST, SECOND VOCAL FOR AMATEUR BAND. CONTACT HERE.”

had been written on the hundreds of flyers Han had taken with him for the first day of college you had anticipated giddily, and he had hung up the pieces of paper on every free space of wall and pillar he could find around campus – back then you hadn’t been aware of needing a written permission of the colleges’ office to hang up advertisements, and Han was forced to take down his flyers within the same week –, you had laughed at him and called it silly; though Changbin and Jeongin, friends since a little before college, had sat next to you both at the first-semester-students ceremony, and had caught eye of the papers in Han’s lap.

“Wait, it’s your flyers we’ve seen around? We’d be so down!”

You had eyed them sceptical back then – they had looked far too typical for an amateur-college-band, almost, heavy silver chains hanging around both their necks, their nails coloured pitch black, Jeongin looking at you with a nose piercing and blond streaks in his hair, their outfits raven and dark; though you had looked at Han, unevenly self-bleached hair, an eyebrow piercing adorning his face, his own scratched down black nail polish begging to be reapplied, boots on his feet two numbers too big, and you’d noticed, almost shamefully, that all four of you had looked like the prime example of people to form an amateur-college-band on the very first day of classes. It hadn’t needed much more conversation after that; the two friends had been welcomed into the band that had previously consisted of only you and Han, and Lino had contacted you three days later – right before Han had bashfully taken off his flyers.

It had needed some time until the five of you had started to click and work together; though yours and Jeongin’s voice had mixed well from the get-go, and everyone’s skill had been to a far higher standard than either you or Han would have anticipated. Lino had surprised you the most; while Changbin had been cocky from the first day you met him and Jeongin had been confident about his skills, Lino hadn’t talked much, nor had he looked, even, like a typical drummer. Not that there was a certain look to them, you simply wouldn’t have expected that under the quiet nature there was so much vigour and emotion, so much volume the moment he had given you a first idea of his level and skill, to see if he was a fit for your band at all; it had been fascinating, was to this day.

The song ended, the cups of your fingers aching, your neck strained, your voice in need of water; it was a successful practice. Jeongin and Changbin both expressed sounds of satisfaction, Han joining them while the echo of your instruments vibrated in the room for a couple moments, before they died out eventually.

“That was so good! The best we did so far, I think!”

Voices sounding through the room, and you turned around to look at your friends. Everyone joined into exclamations of praise, turning off and unplugging their instruments, stretching, cracking their knuckles. Conversation of pride filled the room; the praise never lasted long, though.

“Bin, stay in my rhythm a bit more next time, especially in the second half – don’t get too excited.”, Lino’s voice from behind the glass while he made room to get up from behind his seat. When you had first started practising with him, the tone in his voice during words of critique almost scared you, though with time you acquired to him, and learned to love his honesty – he was never condescending about mistakes, and always accepting of bettering his own errors.

“Yeah, I noticed too, my bad. I lose my count after the chorus. And I was distracted by you two,” Changbin gave a quick look between you and Jeongin, “you need to harmonise better. There was some dissonance after the first part, you need to sit down and figure out the second half better.”

You nodded at Jeongin, he returned it, knowingly. There were never hard feelings after critique, not anymore – initially, when you had started out, all of you had wanted to prove your rights, all far too proud to accept defeat, though now you loved your bandmates for being able to speak what’s on their mind, for it would only improve you as a whole.

“Well, and you two lovebirds were perfect, as always.”, Jeongin commented nonchalantly while unplugging his piano and mic. He meant you and Han, though neither of you were bothered by the comment. It was a running joke; you bore the longest friendship in the group, harmonised near perfectly every practice – how could you not, if practising and playing the guitar together had been everything you’ve busied yourselves with when you’d been younger? Despite having tried to convince the rest of the band that neither you nor Han bore any feelings for the other, nor would fuck to ‘get it out of the system’, as Changbin had so lovingly commented once, the jokes never ended; you had simply grown indifferent to them. You snickered, shooting your best friend a quick look; he winked at you approvingly, turning off the AMP and packing away his fire-red guitar – you followed him, unplugging and turning off everything that needed to be unplugged and turned off, before putting your own black instrument on the designated stand in between Han’s and Changbin’s ones. Lino already waited by the entrance door, bag thrown lazily over his shoulder, a pack of ‘Hi-Lite’s in his hands, one cigarette between his lips. He offered Changbin one when said male reached him by the door, and didn’t bother offering the rest of you any – you didn’t smoke not to damage your voice, Han and Jeongin couldn’t stand the brand the other two men smoked. Han got hold of his bag lying on the old leather sofa and his scattered belongings – headphones, notebook and a pen, a snack he had bought earlier, a pack of his beloved ‘Hope’s – and gave Jeongin a cigarette while catching one between his teeth himself. The bunch of you made it out of the studio – Lino, as the oldest, bore privileges over the key to the studio, locked the room and scurried over to the rest of you as you already made your way to the main building of the University. You weren’t a college band, not officially, though your location of practice was on campus – you had asked Mr. Hwang, your music teacher and head of the music department, if there, by any chance, was a forgotten room the five of you could use. To your surprise he had been most enthusiastic about both your question, and your band in general; allegedly he’d been in one as well when he was younger which had never lead to success, so he took pleasure in encouraging you with your own; his visiting during your practices weren’t a rarity, and the five of you were quite fond – and amused, slightly – of his support.

“Ji, you have fire?”

The guitarist searched for a lighter in his jeans’ back pocket, handed it to everyone after lighting his own cigarette.

“God, I need this before class.”, Changbin expressed in exaggerated exhaustion, blowing out blue smoke into the hot summer air. His black hair fell over his darker eyes, and you giggled at his comment.

“Do you, now? As if you and Innie will go to class today.”

Han laughed softly at your words, blew out his own puff of smoke while Changbin and Jeongin started to get defensive – a habit they acquired lately, because both of them were on the verge of failing their semesters. You knew they’d skip their lessons anyways.

Lino was the first to bid goodbye, having to walk opposite of the rest of you for his classes. He left saying he’d be back after his hours for another session of practice; the five of you had acquired to practice twice a day, more if the time gave chance. You all saw him off, continuing your journey further down campus. The heaviness of your boots crunched against the pavement beneath your feet, the black of your clothes attracting the burning sun and making you sweat more than it was comfortable; though you were used to it. Changbin and Jeongin separated at last, despite making their way to their classroom they surely wouldn’t have enough self-control to truly sit there for a whole two hours. You teased them about it one last time before they saw you off with curses and middle fingers, and you and Han made your way to your favourite spot on campus; the vending machine right behind the music building.

Ever since you had started college you had come here with Han to get a drink before most of your classes – it surely wasn’t a healthy habit, it was your favourite one, though. You had deemed it a necessity to find a spot which throughout your college years would work as a safe haven against teachers and possible annoying co-students, a spot where you could talk music and gossip and, inherently, everything and nothing, entirely undisturbed. The vending machine didn’t stand far from a huge weeping willow, working perfectly against the summer sun, and it was being refilled only about once a week – it was an old and shabby machine, and you’ve never seen anyone but you two in the proximity of it.

“God, I’m so unmotivated for class today. Wish I could spend your free window with you.”, you expressed in anguish as you and Han reached the dispenser and the shadow of the tree with sweat-laced faces. Han chuckled while plopping down on the bench by the tree trunk, leaning back, eyes closed and played malicious joy writing his features.

“I told you, we should both drop out and focus on the band. I don’t even know if I’ll go to my one class for today.”

Your loose coins clinked soundly in your palm before you threw them into the vending machine, pressing the number two for a classic can of Coca Cola. You huffed out in amusement at Han’s proposal, snickered at his laziness.

“It’s like you wanna fail. You know your mom’s gonna kill you if you change your major again.”, you bickered while taking the cool bottle out from behind the plastic hatch; the cold condensation felt nice against your hot skin, and your mouth watered in anticipation for a freezing drink. “What are you doing with all your free time skipping class, anyway.” Your tone wasn’t condescending, nor was it much lecturing; you’d lie pretending you didn’t care for your best friends’ education and future, though, and his nonchalance towards it was concerning more often than not – you weren’t even sure what his major was at this point, and it worried you that he might not know, either. He did have the talent to become a successful musician, yet the industry had never simply relied on skills; it was luck and appeal and timing as much as all else.

“Well, first of all; duh, I wanna fail. At least I won’t have to study anymore, and my mom won’t be able to tell me I didn’t try.”, he returned with pride you didn’t quite deem appropriate given the context, and you tsked while he made his way from the old bench to the older vending machine, playing with the loose change in his pocket.

“And second, I use all the free time to write songs for the band you’re in, by the way, so you’re welco-”, he traced off, something external catching his attention mid-sentence, something yet unknown to you, and the man went from cocky demeanour to absolute and utter frustration in mere seconds, “No!! No, this is so unfair, they haven’t refilled my fucking root beer yet!!!” His sorrow echoed through the open, and you needed a moment to register his words, the true mundanity and vanity of them before you started laughing at him whole-heartedly. He went to lean against the glass of the vending machine dramatically, a puffed cheek against dirty glass and it mushed his face, driving to humour you further. One hand of his slid down the glass where the empty spot of his favourite drink stood in all its’ pride; it was almost Oscar worthy, and, to take matters further – and to make you laugh some more, you were sure – he topped it off with fake-crying; you almost choked on the Coke you had started drinking already. You had always adored his humour, his ability to bring light-heartedness into all and every situation – you knew he prided himself in the sounds of your laughter, often took jokes far beyond limit, until your stomach pained, and tears smudged your mascara.

“You know, I don’t even feel bad for you. Root beer is fucking disgusting; it’s a sign that you should change your go-to drink.”, the cold, bubbling liquid felt nice against your lips when you took a gulp after your snarky comment, which earned you a snarkier look. You shut up with a last giggle, and watched your friend carefully eyeing the available options for a drink, brows furrowed as though a far tougher decision than it was, lips caught between his teeth in utter – yet playful – seriousness.

You loved him. Not romantically, never romantically – you cringed at the thought alone as you sat and lay your eyes on him, huffing out in amusement about his seemingly real frustration; yet you loved him. There was no other person dearer to you than him; you’d had your ups and downs as young teens, when hormones had been the only thing ruling your bodies and brains, though you had survived that time, and had been closer than ever afterwards. He was fun; there had never been a boring day if it was him by your side. He didn’t take himself nor others too seriously, viewed the world carelessly, which you had always admired – there’d been days you needed a listening ear, and days where you needed someone to get you out of the static of your own thoughts. Han had always been able to provide both, never not taking you seriously, besides his immaturity, for the lack of a better expression; he had always been the shoulder you cried on after heartbreaks, or fights with your parents, or ulterior and general hopelessness; and he had always been the happiness you craved for right after, his talent to distract you with music or video games or his own banal miseries far more admirable than he’d ever admit. Around him, you bore no filter, and you knew he didn’t either; with him you were human, had always been.

“Guess I have to be basic and take a Coke too, then.”, he tsked as you watched him dial the same number you had after throwing in his share of coins, and you laughed at his comment. His lip piercing was caught between his teeth as he made his way over to you onto the picnic bench, swinging one of his legs over the seat – his large boots always looked too big against his slim body, almost comical; yet it suited him, strangely. His dry, bleached hair fell over his eyes in bangs as he settled in comfortably, sipping his drink with another exaggerated sigh and faked disgust on his features at the loss of his beloved beverage; you scoffed in amusement, taking another big gulp of your soda. While Han enjoyed a free window after practice – and had both the courage and enough lacking willpower to not visit the class he had scheduled right after –, you had to rot away in music class until the five of you were able to meet up again, for afternoon practice; the hours during classes you always spent counting the minutes to be back in the studio, and sometimes the temptation of dropping out and embracing the band full time with Han by your side was so calling, that mid-lesson texts of it, and hopeless, juvenile plans of a music career weren’t a rarity between your best friend and yourself – the guilt of giving up with no solidity beneath your feet yet always took the upper hand, so big plans of bigger stadiums stayed texts, and you continued spending your daily classes in excruciating boredom.

During the couple minutes you had together, right after practice and before your next set of lessons, Han and you talked of everything and nothing. More often than not, it was involving music, his ideas and plans for new songs, possible schedules to practise, mistakes you and he had noticed in the rundown before and needed to correct for the rundown after. Rarely, though not never, both you and him would express doubts or feelings of hopelessness regarding the band and its’ future; another point you were ever comfortable speaking of in the presence of only him. Not because the others wouldn’t understand, or care; they surely would, and you thought they could even be decent listeners and advisers, much to your surprise had you first met them. Yet you preferred to save insecurities for later, when you and Han were in lonesome, could talk undisturbed; neither did you know of the importance the other three bore for the band, nor did you think it a good idea to talk of pointless negativity – ‘Where do we go after college?’, ‘What if the band never really breaks through?’, ‘Do we want it to break through, or are we simply five friends enjoying music and each other’s presence?’ –; you deemed those thoughts to lead to discouragement to practise and play altogether, let alone keep the motivation should you ever decide to take the professional route. Yet, you could always talk of such fears with Han, for he always shared your worries; though currently, he was rambling about a new song he was planning – one he was allegedly writing specifically for you, and for your voice.

“I’ll show you the song when I’m done, I still have to edit a ton and it’s basically completely unfinished, and…”, a sip from his Coke and he looked at you, curiously, “I know you’re not the most confident in your voice, and the song might be out of our skill range…”, Han watched you listen to him carefully, piercing eyes following his every word, “but I’m writing this song to fit your range and tone perfectly, like- I’m writing it for your voice.”, his hands fiddled with the tin of the can under your gaze, almost nervously, as if confessing something he shouldn’t. His cheeks painted pink, only a shade or two yet you noticed, and he seemed to suddenly blink more than usual; strange. You emptied your Coke in a last gulp and Han’s eyes caught yours before you scoffed, softly.

“It’s unlike you to be so nervous about it. I’m sure it’s gonna be a good song, and I bet we will like it – I know I will; it’s written for me, basically.”, you snickered, and Han merely replied with a choked chuckle.

“I’m not… nervous about the song. I actually think it’s the best I’ve made so far, and, like- I think it’s gonna sound insane live, just… I don’t know. Whatever.”, another chuckle, forced, almost, and he avoided eye contact; very strange, truly.

You watched him carefully, wondered where the sudden insecurities stemmed from. Music, and songwriting in particular were his passions as much as they were yours, yet admittedly, he bore far more talent than you did; you had always admired it rather than growing envious of his skill, so far more confused now at his sudden humbleness.

“Show me the song when you’ve finished writing it, I bet it’s nice. Don’t be weird about it.” You nipped at the can of Coke one last time before throwing your worn-out bag over your shoulder, sighing exasperatedly. “Anyways, I have to hurry now. Don’t want Hwang to scold me in front of everyone for being late again.”

Han mumbled a reply, and you cocked your head at him in curiosity one last time – he wouldn’t leave a nagging thought uncommented, not if it was truly bothering him, though maybe he wouldn’t want to distract you before class. He would surely, you thought, mention whatever was making him nibble at his pierced lip and light another cigarette before you were even out of sight later before practice, and you took a mental note to ask him when you’d see him again. You left your empty can of Coke by the bench – you always allowed Han the pleasure of the deposit money for both his and your drink; he never not returned it by standing you a soda every once in a while – and made your way apart from him, from the cooling shadow, from the freezing drinks inside the dirty vending machine, from the comfort of your best friend – you bid goodbye with a last “See you later!” and disappeared behind the corner towards the music building, not without questioning Han’s last seemingly troubled expression.

☆.☆.☆

You sat behind your shabby, wooden desk in the hot, sweat-scented classroom, dimming out the chattering and gossip all around you with your earphones, scribbling doodles and lyrics into your notebook. Your blue pen materialised hearts and clouds and words into your yellowish piece of paper as you waited for Mr. Hwang to enter the classroom, as you waited for the two hours of boredom to pass as quickly as it was possible – or for your teacher to talk of a subject which could interest you, for that matter.

You furrowed your brows at the verses you were trying to make sense of; you weren’t much a songwriter, and despite Han’s patient teaching for the past couple months and your urge to improve your skill you were far from happy with any recent results. Your texts didn’t seem to carry a red line, context was hard to make sense of; you wondered if you had any talent for songwriting at all, or if you should leave said work to your best friend. You’ve acquired a habit of writing down anything you could think of for the sake of practice, to gather any spark of inspiration in written form, and going over it with Han on later occasion – only few verses and sentences of yours found themselves in a couple of his songs, and though you wished it could be more, he made it fashion to remind you it was already something to be proud of.

The heavy creak of the door and the following footsteps were the reason you stopped the music which blasted in your eardrums before taking out your earphones, the silhouette of your teacher strutting through the now murmuring classroom, whispers which sounded like questions, and a general confusion spread between the students; unbeknownst to you, yet, as you packed away your phone and opened your notebook on last weeks’ notes, before you finally converted your eyes to the front, finally caught a peak of you teacher; though it wasn’t the teacher you’ve expected to walk into the classroom, not Mr. Hwang, and your jaw would have hit the rough wood of your table if you’d had been any slower at gathering yourself. The man – not a stranger, though unseen and unthought of by you for the past five years – made his way into the spacy classroom, brown briefcase in hand, white dress shirt hugging the lines of his muscles, the ones on his arms exposed as he’d rolled up his sleeves. His attire was missing the tie you remembered him in, and, different to five years ago, the two top buttons of his shirt lay open around his chest – not showing inappropriate skin, though enough to tease, almost, to make you drool in your seat. His black dress pants moved with him as he settled behind his desk, briefcase on the table, one watch-adorned wrist making its way into his pants’ pocket leisurely as he looked around the class. He was visibly older, now that you had a good view of him – smile lines deeper, skin more textured, a certain calmness writing his pleasant features –he was just as attractive as you remembered him to be; more so, you’d dare to argue.

“Hi, my name is Mr. Bahng. Professor Hwang suddenly fell ill, unfortunately, and I’ll be his substitute teacher for the time being. I normally don’t teach college classes, but other professors sadly didn’t have the time – I’m well acquainted with Professor Hwang, though, so I agreed to take over his class for a few weeks.”

He was friendly. A charming smile adorned his face, a slight blush played around his nose as he looked around the room, looking at each student for a second or two before locking eyes with the next. For closure, for trust. Then he locked eyes with you, and it felt just like five years ago, when you were fresh eighteen years old, and a bored high school student in your last year before graduation.

.☆.

“I’ve never been so excited for class, oh my god.”

You had sat giddily in your seat, anticipating the arrival of your new music teacher. You had only seen him once so far, last week, when he had freshly relocated to the high school you’d gone to, and had been, quite literally and much to Felix’s misery and irritation, head over heels for the man – not because your friend had borne a crush for you; simply because you’d been utterly annoying with your high school love for your teacher. You’d known your yearning had been futile even back then, had known that Mr. Bahng wasn’t possibly interested in a mere girl who had just turned eighteen, yet you’d been young and in need for fun distraction, for amusement. And if that meant drooling over a young, hot teacher who had been just your type, it seemed, then you couldn’t complain.

Next to you, Felix had huffed in amusement as you kept eyeing the entrance door of the classroom, then the clock on the wall in front of you, then the door again. He had prepped his material for class already, in much contrast to your own entirely empty desk; saved for a piece of paper and a pen borrowed from your dearest high school friend.

“Your crush is getting unhealthy… he’s not gonna fuck you, you know.”

Felix hadn’t been judging, yet his voice had been teasing. You’d shot him a glance, had tsked at him which your friend returned with a mocking impression of you – fluttering eye-lids, airy lashes, a dumb-ish smile adorning his face.

“I know he’s not gonna fuck me… that’s not the point, though. Class is boring, and you take your academics way too serious to distract me from it.”, you’d retorted sarcastically, which Felix had accepted with a light-hearted scoff, going back to his notes from last week. You hadn’t been wrong; he wanted to get into college, and with good grades preferably. He’d known you had other priorities; he’d respected, enjoyed, even, your passion for music, and you'd always have the talent for it. The two of you had always been inherently different, though it had never bothered your friendship in the slightest.

Just as Felix had been about to retort with a snarky comment – or another far too accurate impression of your behaviour whenever Mr. Bahng was around – the door to the classroom had opened, and your music teacher had walked in – dress shirt buttoned up all the way, sleeves rolled down even in the hot weather, a careful tie adorning his fit. There’d been fewer lines of muscle back then, though they had been prominent enough to drive your teenage mind utterly insane. Your eyes had been glued onto him as he had welcomed the class, and Felix had struggled containing his laughter; you had been bashing your eyes at him, and you had been wearing a stupid smile around your lips at a mere look at him, just like your friend had mocked about earlier – and you had been either unaware of it, or you hadn’t been bothered enough to care.

You had eyed your teacher the entire lesson, and as much as Felix had wanted to stay focused, he had giggled and laughed at you, amused at your heart-eyes for someone so entirely unattainable. More often than once you had been in need to copy Felix’s notes because your thoughts – and eyes – had been elsewhere than the board, and more often than not Felix had pretended to stop helping you out in class any further, until you’d gotten over your crush; only in light hearted manner, though, because he couldn’t truly deny you of his help, would have felt far too bad to. Though, Felix had always admired your self-reflection in the matter of Mr. Bahng – there hadn’t been one incident in which you’d been unaware of the hopelessness and the unattainability your one-sided love presented – much to his dismay, because during free windows you would complain about it to no end –; and altogether, you had never spoken of love, in the first place. It had been butterflies, distraction from lessons, stupidity and immaturity – and you had always been aware of it; had always been aware of the impossibility.

.☆.

“Oh! And…Y/N, right? It’s nice to see some familiar faces!”

While you had been deep in thought, eyes wide and mouth agape – looking but a deer caught in the headlights, and upon the realisation of your expression you grew bashful – Mr. Bahng had named few students he remembered teaching back in school, happy some chose to follow the musical path before he started with the class, not lingering on you for a second longer after you nodded and smiled in approval; it almost frustrated you, his lack of attention to you – though anything else would have been strange, admittedly.

He had changed almost tangibly, though not by a lot, and into a direction far more pleasant than you'd had dared to expect. There was a change to his behaviour; when you had first seen him teach, he had been nervous, clammy; despite never in loss of control over the class he had clearly not borne much faith for his skills as a teacher yet. Now, standing before you in all his glory, black hair carefully slicked back in purposefully messy waves, constant lazy smile painting his features, he was more confident, far more secure in himself. It made sense; he’d been a fresh teacher five years ago, when he had walked into your classroom in uncertainty, so the gained experience surely did his practice advantage. He spoke with ease – about what, you weren’t quite sure –, each of his word dancing past his lips in serious and clear, yet laid-back manner, his writing on the board as messy as you remembered it, and more cursive now, his eyes finding home on every student sitting in class for a few moments before he moved on; he wasn’t pushing, yet he lured you into trusting him, into listening to his lesson – if you hadn’t been far more interested in his alternative qualities.

Mr. Bahng had always been a good teacher – though it had barely been the quality you liked about him most. You weren’t realising the pain your teeth caused your lips while you were looking at him, melting at the sight you had entirely forgotten over the past years. It was embarrassing, the way your eyes scanned the outline of his shoulders straining against his white shirt when he stretched to write on the board, how they followed the lines of his arm, the tensing of the muscles there when he applied pressure to the charcoal. You watched his hands – veinier than you remembered – as he erased older writings with a wet sponge; the water dripping down his skin felt far more erotic than it should, and, as though teasing on purpose, he got rid of the fantasy far too quick with a simple tap of a towel, leaving his hands dry, and you hot and bothered.

It was embarrassing, the way you couldn’t get your eyes off the curve of his back, and how the tucked-in button-down hugged around his torso, the slimness of his waist in contrast to his shoulders. He presented himself so very matter-of-factly before a class not his own, and it didn’t leave you cold – the subtle dominance, the care he radiated got you squirming in your seat, fiddling with your pen. The two hours you usually spent listening and taking notes were spent in utter awe at the man, in fantasising – you suddenly wished to be kissing down his chiselled jaw which tensed with every of his word, dreamt of licking down the vein on his neck which appeared whenever he turned his head to his right. His hands danced upon your body in your imagination, pressing you against his table, hovering over you and engulfing you whole, sending shivers down your spine with every kiss he granted upon your neck, with every bite he teased against your skin –

You coughed, without much purpose but it tore you out of your thoughts, and you straightened your back to sit up-right in your chair. You grew bashful at yourself, your imagination and the wet patch between your legs; you wouldn’t have expected the man to have the same effect on you as five years ago, and if you truly thought about it, it was quite embarrassing. You hadn’t even thought about your high school music teacher the moment you had graduated, had forgotten him entirely; now you were sitting in his class again years later, as though freshly eighteen anew, a dumb student yearning after a far older man; only now, you noticed as you watched him talk, the circumstances were far different – far more to your advantage. Technically, Mr. Bahng wasn’t your teacher anymore; he was teaching you, though you doubted it to count. He’d be gone again in a few weeks, when Professor Hwang felt better – so, you convinced yourself, he wasn’t your teacher, not technically. The age difference had stayed the same, quite obviously; though now it didn’t seem to quite bother you, not anymore – you’ve been with guys his age, and not rarely. Now you were older, and your crush of far better solidity, realer, almost; you could have him, could manage to wrap him around your fingers. The chances were far better. You weren’t, in fact, freshly eighteen anymore, nor were you a dumb student; and you bagged experience. It wasn’t of advantage to you that he remembered you from school – there was a risk you had stayed a student in his memory, young and immature and far too involved into a music teacher, though you didn’t think that would stand in your way; Mr. Bahng would be easy prey, surely. He wasn’t an impossibility anymore, he was there and real, easy to seduce.

“Let’s see… Y/N, you know the answer? You look sort of distracted.”

You hadn’t much realised the shameful path of your thoughts until the very man you had been sinfully thinking about had started speaking to you himself; you had, in fact, been distracted, and, much to your embarrassment, did neither know the answer nor were you aware of the question he had asked, altogether. You blushed, apologised bashfully – he simply continued with an understanding hum and a quick, kind gaze your direction, before picking another student to answer his question; you needed him, as soon as you could have him.

You’d be ashamed of your fantasising and longing, if it had been under different circumstances; though expectantly, you weren’t at all surprised about the tension flooding in the pit of your stomach at the sight of Mr. Bahng, or the way your thighs rubbed together when his eyes scanned yours for mere seconds; it had been ages since you’ve last been intimate with anyone, and your body was urging for closure, for contact and touch – it wasn’t an absurdity that the man who had caused many sleepless nights prior was now the culprit of a similar outcome.

You picked up where you had last stopped your train of thought; you could seduce him. Surely, if you craved intimacy and closure there were far easier men to aim for – but where would be the fun in that, truly? You had always liked a challenge; you had always liked him. And though your skills hadn’t been of much use lately, you believed yourself to have the charm – there wasn’t anything speaking against your plan, if you thought about it. If you disregarded the morality of the situation, that was.

The two hours of boredom flew past you today. Your notebook was entirely empty; you already dreaded having to find someone ready to lend you their notes of the lesson, though you cared only little while you watched student by student disappearing into their next lessons after Mr. Bahng had dismissed the class, each student opening the opportunity of talking to your teacher further and further. You took your time with your own belongings, dragging out the process of packing away your paper and pen, searching around in your bag for your headphones though it wasn’t at all necessary as they lay right atop your other stuff, only standing up when the last student left the hot classroom; and you found yourself alone with Mr. Bahng. He smiled up at you kind and unknowing as you made your way up to his desk, eyes not much lingering on you as he continued collecting his own materials and leaving the desk ready for the next professor; only when your smiling figure hovered over his own across the desk he looked up at you from beneath his lashes, his seating position painting the illusion of curious puppy eyes – he was far more attractive in the close up, and excitement, a sense of anticipation filled the entirety of your chest.

“Y/N, hello! Do you… need help with anything?”

You stood and stared; you hadn’t even thought of things to talk about with him, hadn’t prepared a pretentious question that could work as a possible opener – suddenly you grew embarrassed, bashful. You felt stupid under his gaze; what the hell were you doing?

“Oh, no… I just wanted to say hi! I haven’t seen you in ages… are you doing alright? Are you still teaching in *insert name of school*?”

Not bad, you thought, though you cringed at yourself; you wondered where all the previous confidence went the moment you stood before the man. The effect he had on you was far too embarrassing. You were far too old to feel like a teenager in love.

The teacher cocked his head at you, brows raised; he hadn’t expected the question, hadn’t anticipated small talk, seemingly. Yet he huffed out in amusement after blinking at you for a few seconds, and your heartbeat against the bones in your chest was deafening. You hoped he couldn’t hear it.

“Uh, yeah, it has been a while… I didn’t expect to see you here, to be honest.”, he snickered, stood and continued packing his stuff. “You were… never really good in my class. I never knew you had an interest in music.” Seemingly harsh words though it was a light-hearted comment as he ended it in a laugh, and you joined his amusement. You were sure you were blushing, though you decided to ignore it.

“Yeah… I never had an interest in school, you know. I always liked music, though. I just prefer listening to and making it, instead of… just learning about it.” Your voice sounded smoother now; he was easy to talk to, kind, funny. He gave you a quick look before continuing collecting his variation of pens and a last notebook, a smirk dancing around his lips – god, you needed him.

Mr. Bahng hummed approvingly at your words, locking eyes with you after snapping in the locks of his briefcase. A smile and a cocked head, and you bashed your lashes at him; just like Felix had mocked five years ago. What were you doing, truly?

“Making it? You’re a songwriter?”

The genuine interest in his voice made you light-headed, stole every thought from you. His dark eyes pierced through your own, unmoving and sure, and you almost trembled under his gaze; if you wanted to get anywhere with him, you needed to channel the charm you thought you acquired, and grow resistance against the giddiness he caused in the pit of your stomach. Your current attempts were all but miserable.

“Uhh, not really. Not yet, that is. I’m... my friends and I are in a band, though. We’re practising here on campus.”

You tried to sound as laid-back as possible, watched his reaction carefully; you enjoyed being able to look at him to your desires, eyes travelling his features up and down, growing weaker any time you passed his plush lips he couldn’t seem to stop wetting with his tongue, or his jaw which tensed with every word he spoke. He was as irresistible as you remembered him to be, and you needed to learn to have the same effect on him. You had a time limit after all; Professor Hwang wouldn’t be sick forever.

His brows raised the moment he heard the word ‘band’ – his mouth formed a silent ‘ah’, and your body heated up at the anticipation of his next words; he was interested in you now, and you deemed that to be of advantage to you.

“In a band, huh?”, he huffed in reminiscent amusement, eyes growing softer, “I love that. I’m jealous, actually. My friends and I had always been so busy in college, but making music together has kinda always been… a dream, you could say. If I can be so honest.”, his cheeks blushed at the sudden confession, the tips of his ears reddening; he looked even more insatiable when flustered.

The man swung his briefcase over his shoulder; the conversation was obviously coming to an end, yet you felt as though you couldn’t let it. You didn’t expect to fuck him right then and there, today, to succeed with your plan in the short span of ten minutes – yet you needed more of a lead than you currently had.

“Well, you’re never too old to start. Except, you know, you’re busy with… a wife and kids, or whatever.”, you laughed at your own joke, eyeing him curiously; and the man didn’t join your amusement. His smile drooped, the creases between his brows deepened; and only now you noticed the shimmering gold band around his left ring finger. Undeniably, he did have a wife, and kids possibly; his reaction and the ring spoke for themselves. Yet, undeniably also, and much to your contentment – he didn’t seem to be on good foot with the subject. As the pair of you continued making your way to the door of the classroom you apologised upon having noticed his silence and sudden clamminess, yet, internally, didn’t regret your joke in the slightest; any form of closure and trust you could tickle out of him would work best for you in the long run. You flinched at your own sadism and the utter lack of remorse you felt at your planning. Though, there wasn’t any reason yet to feel guilty; as of now, and as far as everyone could be concerned, you were a student talking to a substitute teacher you’d known from high school. Whatever developed would be as much in your hands as it would be in his own; after all, no matter what your ultimate plan would be, Mr. Bahng would need to be the one accepting or dismissing your approaches. So really, no matter how you viewed the situation, you couldn’t be the villain in the picture. Not really.

“No, no, don’t worry. We’re just… my wife and I had been hitting rough patches lately, for some time. Nothing crazy, just- typical marriage stuff. Not that it is of any interest to you.” Flustered again, his face changing into a light tone of pink, and he hid behind the classroom door he held open for you. 'Rough patches. Some time now.' – his words shouldn’t fill you with the excitement they did, and for only a second you wondered if your plan – dumb, now that you truly thought about it – was futile, immature altogether. You’d be a homewrecker, you’d be moving in morally grey area, you’d get yourself into a messy situation which would distract you from music and the band if you let it get to you; though then you watched the teacher exit the classroom behind you, a hand in his pocket to fish out his keys, warm and curious eyes on you as he locked the door – any doubt ceased to exist that very moment and having the man fall for you over the next couple weeks materialised as a plan in your path of thoughts again after you bid goodbye, the pit of your stomach ripe with giddiness as you hurried to the studio; Han would die hearing the news.

☆.☆.☆

When you opened the door to the studio the soft vibrato of an electric guitar filled your senses; right before Lino’s classes start, he hands the key over to Han, to let him use the studio in his free windows while waiting for the rest of you. You knew the stuffy room was Han’s favourite place to be creative in, to use for writing songs and practice whenever the five of you couldn’t get together. You would always be the first to meet him right after your music classes, the others arriving about half an hour later – though today you took longer, so you didn’t have much time to gush about your news.

“Hi! You’re late today. Did Hwang keep you?”

As soon as Han had heard the door open his eyes had searched for your figure, and the sounds of his guitar died into nothingness. He took his instrument off – the worn-out fabric having left a visible red mark on the soft skin of his neck – and plopped down on the sofa positioned in a corner of the room, right beside the set-up of instruments. He chewed on a piece of gum, lounging onto the old brown leather after placing his guitar on its’ standee; he hadn’t yet noticed the buzz you radiated as you closed the door behind you and made home in the dusty studio, throwing your rucksack against the sofa carelessly. Without awaiting an answer from you, Han started talking mindlessly, scrolling through his phone in the process.

“I actually thought we could practise this new song I finished earlier. I could play it for you when everyone’s here and go over it all. It’s not the one I was telling you about befo-“

“Wait, wait, wait, I need to tell you something. Urgent. Don’t need the others to know.”

Your voice cut off his, and Han’s eyes lost the screen of his phone now. He converted them to you, perplexed; finally, he noticed the blush around your cheeks and neck, the mischievous sparkle in your eyes, the smirk on your lips – you had been up to no good. You stood against the backrest of the sofa, watched him sit up a bit to look at you properly. His eyes were curious, his phone gone in his jeans’ pocket again, his brows slightly furrowed; the look in your eyes was almost scary, your hovering body over his own near bone-chilling.

“Do you remember Mr. Bahng.”, your voice was almost trembling, and he thought to see stars in your eyes at the sound of the name, whereas his heart stumbled in its rhythmical beating at it and calmed only seconds later. The tempo had increased though, and he felt the heavy muscle pump against the bones of his rib cage in silent fear of your next words. He looked at you wordlessly, speechless.

“My high school music teacher.” Your face emitted the same excitement and giddiness as it did when you talked of your many celebrity crushes, in anticipation of something Han wasn’t even sure of, nor wanted to know. You must have taken Han’s silence for memory loss, though he surely didn’t need the explanation.

Mr. Bahng; the name couldn’t not ring a bell. Though the both of you had never gone to the same school, there hadn’t been a single Wednesday in which Han hadn’t been victim to your gushing and thirsting over a man almost double your age, and the whining about the unfairness of the situation – if you’d been born just a little later, or Mr. Bahng just a little earlier you would have had a chance to get into his pants, yet you’d been left to only yearn for him from behind your desk, every week anew, a hopeless teen in a bad romance movie. Han did remember your high school music teacher; though he couldn’t make sense of the importance of him now. And he was scared to find out about it.

After his further silence you continued, Han’s face unchanged.

“Hwang is ill, and Mr. Bahng is gonna be my substitute teacher for a couple weeks. He’s so hot actually... I forgot how hot he was.”, excitement in your voice, and suddenly words gushed out of you in a waterfall, “He like- I didn’t expect him to walk in at all and then he suddenly stood there at the desk and he remembered me and he got so much hotter and like- I sat there and I felt like I was in school again but I realised I’m not in school anymore and am way older now so the age difference isn’t that weird anymore, you know?” Han almost hadn’t caught the question, realised too late that you expected him to say something, anything. Wrongly so, because he was still processing your words. You were excited, far too much for his taste, though he wasn’t sure why he despised the anticipation in your voice when you talked about your teacher. And, besides; ‘age difference’? ‘Not weird anymore’? He wouldn’t be able to answer even if he wanted to, because he couldn’t find any correlation in your words. When Han didn’t make a sound after a whole twenty seconds, when he kept looking at you with big, questioning eyes and a mouth agape you sucked in your breath, stepped closer to the backrest of the sofa. “Do you know what that means!?”

That sparkle in your eyes again, and Han did, in fact, not know what any of your words meant – still his heart sank, his gut felt as though having taken a punch. He wasn’t expecting anything he’d be excited to hear.

“I can fuck him now.”

The boy choked on his piece of gum, coughing in reaction to your words – his eyes watered, his palm beat against his chest in order to get rid of the sting in his throat, to fill his lungs with proper oxygen again. He hadn’t expected your words; and yet internally, he must have. His body had reacted before you had declared your news; when you had first mentioned your teacher. The name itself sent a set of shivers down Han’s entire body. The absurd confession of wanting – and planning, apparently – to fuck said teacher was even worse. A feeling he couldn’t quite explain found home in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in the veins pumping right beneath his skin. His hands felt clammy, far too sweaty. What was that reaction? It’s not like he was jealous, he couldn’t be; your words couldn’t make sense to him, though, sounded utterly wrong. Fucking? Your teacher? It wasn’t like you.

“That’s insane. He’s your teacher.”, Han retorted after far too many moments of silence in which you had nothing but stared at him, expectantly. Han reciprocated your gaze with an emotion in his eyes that caused you to furrow your brows; it wasn’t agony, per se, but it was more than worry. It confused you.

“Well, he’s not really. He’s only here for a couple weeks, it doesn’t count.” You made your way over to take a seat next to Han, shoving his legs to the side to make room. He let you, feet flapping off it without resistance, the heaviness of his boots against the wooden floor echoing through the room; the strange expression in his eyes deepened, and it was too intense for you to keep looking.

“That’s still… he’s still a teacher. Like, he’s in a power position, you can’t- you can’t just fuck him. That’s insane.”, Han’s voice was far too agitated for your liking. “And besides, I doubt he’d fuck you. You’re just, like- a student. What’s in there for him except the loss of his job.” He didn’t look you in the eyes while talking – a rip in the old leather sofa was far more interesting to him suddenly, and his teeth nibbled on the silver metal of his piercing. The fingers in his lap fiddled; he was too nervous, too upset and it angered you.

Your head snapped at him; you wouldn’t have expected him to be so against the idea. Maybe you had been dumb, after all. Could Mr. Bahng lose his job? Have you been delusional, too enamoured by his looks you had forgotten over the past five years and influenced by the lack, the drought of any recent intimacy? But then again; Han’s reaction enraged you. It felt like jealousy, far less like the worry you would have understood. And you couldn’t make sense why it did.

“First of all, don’t act all high and mighty when I know you’d happily sleep with like half your current professors if you’d be given the chance – the only thing you ever tell me about class is how good Mrs. Yoo's ass looks in the skirts she’s wearing.”, your voice sounded loud through the room; not truly angry, but defending, maybe. You were too stubborn to admit the stupid plan was all but immature; and you despised that Han wasn’t as excited as you had been. His behaviour ticked you off; it didn’t occur often that the both of you weren’t on the same page about something.

“And besides, maybe Mr. Bahng is horny for me, too. His marriage is shit, as much as I know, so he might- “

“Marriage?! Y/N, don’t tell me you’re serious?” Han’s voice vibrating through the studio made you flinch in your seat, and you looked at him, eyes wide and brows scrunched into one thin line. You knew where he was coming from; but he acted differently altogether. You knew he wouldn’t be in one boat with you about the marriage bit, but you hadn’t imagined him to react this way, throughout the entire conversation; he was jealous, and you had never seen him this way. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it, and the irritation over it caused your head to ache.

“Well, I am serious. Just because you can’t get laid doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun with someone I’ve had a crush on since forever, now that the opportunity is there. Besides, I haven’t even fucked him yet, so get your head out of your ass.”

Your words were harsh, and you regretted them the moment they had materialised in the stuffy room. The studio tensed, your bodies did; and you stayed silent. You didn’t apologise; your stubbornness wouldn’t let you. Additionally, you didn’t even believe to be in the wrong, not entirely. Sure, you were moving in morally grey areas, and you had hit a sensitive spot within your friend; but you hadn’t lied, and he knew it as much as you did. Yet he only kept looking at you, for two seconds, for six, for ten; with every second you grew more and more bashful under his gaze, with every passing second the words you’d said sunk into his brain, embedded there. Until he truly grasped them a whole of twenty seconds later; the fact you were ready to screw your teacher, the fact you’d thought Han would have been excited about the news, the fact you wouldn’t apologise now or rethink your plan in the several moments he was granting you stabbed a wound into his fastening heart. A wound the motive of which he wasn’t all too sure about, yet it felt deeper than he’d anticipated it to. You stayed silent and he stayed looking at you; until he couldn’t bear holding your gaze anymore.

“I need to go out for a smoke.”

The guitarist got up, almost tripped over the dirty carpet under the sofa as he made his way out of the studio. You were fuming, felt guilty, felt bad; you were 22 years old; how could you still fight with Han as though you were both mere teenagers? How could you continue being so very stubborn, believe with so much conviction to still be in the right?

Han didn’t get the chance to open the door to the studio; before his hand could reach for the door handle Lino walked in with the rest of your bandmates, all chatting and quarrelling about something unknown – and, in your current state, uninteresting – to you, before they all fell silent at the sight of the both of you; Han’s head hung low, the usual excitement when everyone arrived absent, you sitting in the corner on the sofa with crossed arms and a look in your face which nothing but scared the rest. Changbin looked from Han to you and back to Han again while Lino and Jeongin made their way inside – slowly and quietly – to set up their instruments; not without questioning looks in their faces. The tension in the room was tangible, and the silence between the two of you was unusual, so you didn’t blame them for their sudden bashfulness.

“Yo, did you two fight? You look beaten up man.”, Changbin expressed with a palm to Han’s shoulder. You ignored his question, got up from the sofa to set up your guitar. You would get it over with practice, and see Han again tomorrow; everything would be settled by then, as always. You would talk again as though nothing happened, if you only survived today.

“It’s nothing, just need to get out for a smoke.” Han’s voice not convincing and to make matters worse, he shoved Changbin’s hand off, and the elder looked at the others with confusion-written eyes when Han left the studio without another word. All three of them looked at you then, wordlessly; though you continued setting up your instrument, throwing the leather band over your neck, plugging the cable into the AMP before turning it on, and soft vibratos halled through the room as you started tuning your guitar. None of them said a word, neither did you; you didn’t as much as look at them. Maybe you weren’t all that grown-up, far more immature than you believed yourself to be. Maybe the idea with Mr. Bahng was stupid, and Han had been right entirely; and the fight for nothing, inherently. It wouldn’t be the first time your ego was too big for your wrongdoings to be visible to yourself – though, in the heat of the moment and in your anger, you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, so you continued sulking, until Jeongin declared to go out for a smoke as well, and the others agreed to join him; leaving you in the studio by yourself, alone with your thoughts – you were thankful for it, if they’ve left on purpose or not.

Han was in the wrong, you thought. Not that you were entirely in the right, either; but he had overreacted, surely. Mr. Bahng wasn’t really your teacher – he wouldn’t lose his job if he fucked you, not if no one caught you until he was gone again. And that was only a matter of weeks; you weren’t sure how long it would take to persuade him – if it would work at all –, so, for all you cared he could be gone before you caught the chance of getting into his pants. You remembered your previous train of thought, and Han’s words; if there was nothing in there for Mr. Bahng, the situation would dissolve, anyways. Eventually, it was up to him if he’d accept your seducing or not – you would simply open the opportunity, everything else wasn’t in your hands anymore. The marriage was the only thing you felt worse about after having talked to Han. You felt guiltier now, were aware that you shouldn’t pursue a married man; and yet, again, you remembered your thoughts you had brewed on when you’d sat in the classroom. If Mr. Bahng’s relationship was so great and worth working on, he would shut out your attempts. He would pretend not to notice your flirting – however you would you didn’t know yet – or he would shut you off clearly, verbally. You would only offer yourself; the rest would be up to him.

It was your stubbornness, surely, and maybe you should simply sleep over your thoughts for a night, but no matter from which perspective you looked at the situation, you couldn’t truly feel guilty. Or maybe you didn’t want to – whatever the reason was, though, giddiness filled your insides again at the thought of next weeks’ class and the possible start of your attempts; until then Han and you would laugh about your fight, and he’d be as excited as you were.

Outside, Han was puffing blue smoke into the scorching air. Changbin and Jeongin talked of something he didn’t pay attention to, Lino eyed him occasionally, which he didn’t notice; neither of them talked to him after he had shut off the question if he was fine with a voice that led them to understand he wasn’t really, but wasn’t in the mood to talk about it, either. He was thankful they didn’t push him, that they acted indifferent.

It’s not like he was jealous – he was simply being a good friend to you. Who knew what kind of trouble you would find yourself in if you fucked your teacher; surely, he was only being caring, prioritizing your well-being. The stinging pain in his heart when he remembered your excitement he chose to ignore, and the insides of his stomach flipping and squeezing together in agony at your carelessness about his reaction, about the entire situation he couldn’t quite interpret, so he chose to ignore that, too. Because if he thought about it too much, confusion and perplexity formed his entire being; confusion about his own reaction, perplexity about the fact he had expected to be excited with you but couldn’t be, physically. As though something was holding him back from feeling happiness about your own, when it involved another. He was angry, he was irritated with himself; atop all, he hated fighting with you, deeply. You were the one person he shouldn’t fight with, ever, the one anchor in his life. If things were bumpy with you, everything else felt out of balance.

“C’mon, let’s practice.”

Han hadn’t noticed how the others had grinded their cigarettes with the soles of their shoes, and with a pat to his shoulder Changbin entered the studio first, followed by Jeongin, then by Lino; who didn’t go in without a last concerned look at his younger friend who was eyeing the asphalt beneath his feet. Han almost didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to face you – he feared his bodily reactions if he happened to see you, he feared to feel the sting in his heart again, the one he found so hard to understand, to name. He threw his cigarette on the ground, tapped out the burning, orange blaze with the pad of his boot. He would get over with practice; tomorrow you and him would be back to the old same again.

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