#my most played songs are all from heart mind & soul

[gutsby]

If You Like Piña Coladas

Pairing: Neighbor!Joel x Reader

Summary: You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Foodplay (i.e., Joel fucks you with a fruit popsicle). Girthy, unspecified age gap. Mentions of blood.

Note: Loosely inspired by ‘Escape (The Piña Colada Song)’ by Rupert Holmes…minus the part about mutual infidelity LOL

Word count: 8.0k

Joel Miller had been on his own for too long.

The least you could get him was a date. Or even just laid.

Likes: Long walks on the beach

Actually…he hadn’t seen a coastline in ten years, at least. You backspaced slowly and then lowered Joel’s phone.

What did that old grump like to do, anyway?

In all the years you’d been living next door to Mr. Miller, you hadn’t seen him take pleasure in much of anything besides mowing his lawn, rolling his eyes, and screaming like a fiend alongside your dad at whatever game was on.

Likes: College football. Quality time with friends :-)

Nope. Corny as fuck. Backbackbackback.

You wiggled your thumbs over the keyboard in muted concentration. You knew you didn’t have much longer. Joel was currently engrossed in one of the three things he loved most—mowing long, careful rows through his backyard—and you were supposed to be watching the season finale of the Mandalorian while he did. That had been the pretext of your visit, anyway. It’d been a little over an hour since he’d stepped outside and a little under thirty since you’d let your curiosity get the better of you and seized his phone, so you figured he’d be back soon.

You had to think of something witty, and do it quick.

Feeling inspiration strike a second later, you typed:

Likes: Piña Coladas. Getting caught in the rain. Making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape.

Perfect. Easy. Everybody loved that song in the ‘70s.

Having thus put the finishing touch on Joel’s profile, you leaned back and let out a contented sigh. You scrolled. Flicked through photo after photo of your very own hand-picked selection and smiled, feeling proud.

You’d started him off strong and suave with a picture from Tommy’s wedding, wearing a tux that fit him well. Then a cool, casual snap of him at a brewery. A photo taken out on the lake, life jacket snug and showing off a sliver of his broad, bare chest. Then a picture of him at your graduation—you made sure to crop yourself out—followed by a candid shot of him playing dress-up with his niece. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that all the yet-unknown, lovely folks of Hinge would eat this shit up.

You set the radius to 100 miles. Beefed up the age range and gender preferences to include virtually every living soul over 30, tweaked a few more prompts to be cooler, then scrolled through his newly-minted profile. Again.

Oh, and— shit, wait.

Quickly, you toggled to the phone’s settings and disabled all notifications for Hinge. Then you grabbed the app and wrestled it somewhere deep within all the utilities ones that no one ever used. This had to stay hidden for now.

And, just as you stretched your thumb to make a couple last changes to his page, the back door thundered open.

Joel stumbled in, half-hunched. Rubbing his face with a towel and treading slow, heavy steps through the living room. With your heart about to burst from your throat and your impulses blown to shit, you panicked and crammed his phone in your shorts—like, in them.

Joel’s phone was just then settling above the groove of your ass when the man collapsed on the loveseat across the room. Instinctively, you drew your legs to your chest as Joel groaned and pulled the towel away from his face.

“The beast is at it again,” he declared, expression grim.

Before you could ask who ‘beast’ might be, he clarified:

“Marlene’s shit-for-brains labradoodle won’t quit diggin’ holes under my fence. Whole thing’s gonna fall if he—”

You didn’t mean to be rude, but you had to tune out the rest of what he said; your butt squirmed against the sofa as your neighbor’s phone traveled perilously down and took partial lodging between your cheeks. Then stuck.

There was no way you were getting caught like this. One stray phone call or text and you would have the world’s most jarring ringtone buzzing straight up your ass. And a very uncomfortable conversation with Joel, to be sure.

So, while he droned on about the chaos being wrought by the paws of old Sparky, you nodded to the window.

“Aw shit, Mr. Miller…did he just…dig up another?” You feigned surprise as you stared over Joel’s shoulder at a hole that didn’t even exist. Then, when he’d jumped to his feet and growled ‘No fuuuuuckin’ shot’ as he made his way over to the window, you acted fast and pulled the phone out of your ass and stuck the old, cracked thing on top of the coffee table where it’d been last and stood.

Before he could see—or say—anything else, you seized your own phone and made a swift beeline for the door.

Shouting over your shoulder, probably sounding like a fucking lunatic but not particularly caring either way:

“DAD’SCALLINGMEGOTTAGOMISTERMILLERBYE.”

And you left. You had no desire to explain your baseless, bullshit observation or why his phone was currently covered in a thin sheen of sweat from your butt.

You’d never seen so many roses in your life.

Joel Miller could legitimately give the whole Bachelor franchise a run for its money with all the goddamn virtual flowers he’d been getting from his Hinge admirers.

It’d been a week before you’d finally gotten the chance to abduct his phone again and check his ‘likes’ for yourself. Honestly, you hadn’t been expecting much—Joel was hot, but more so in a niche-ish sort of DILF-sexy way. You figured he’d be more of an acquired taste, really.

Once you’d scrolled through just over a hundred different messages, you realized at once how wrong you were.

‘GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure.’

‘Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry, I mean, Daddy?’

‘Need you in a way that is concerning to feminism.’

‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.’

And that was truly just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the wild, chaotic, and horny messages Joel had received over the last week. You couldn’t believe it.

You got to firing off responses as fast as you could. Sitting cross-legged on the back porch while your dad, Joel, Tommy, and a dozen other neighbors were busy grilling burgers and soaking up as much sun as possible.

The only other person who hadn’t joined them was Tess.

She peered over your shoulder and fought back a laugh.

“That man is a fuckin’ menace to society, I swear.”

“No, we’re a menace to society. All about team effort,” you corrected her as you typed up a lightning-quick ‘Hey ;-)’ to each message, fingers moving fast.

“He doesn’t even know you’re doing this!”

“He will soon enough,” you mumbled. Grinning. Then, “Mission’s not over until that old man gets his dick wet.”

You’d probably made it through seventy or so replies and got to go back-and-forth with a couple hot prospects by the time you heard footsteps trailing up the steps—heavy ones that you instantly recognized as Joel’s. Without another word, you exited the app, turned the phone off, and chucked it to Tess, who placed it discreetly onto the porch railing where Joel had left it.

That phone really should have had a passcode on it.

Two weeks later, it did.

You saw it as soon as you’d slid your thumb up the screen in the comfort of Joel’s living room—over at his place pretending to be watching your Star Wars spin-off again—and you felt your heart jump up in your throat.

Your passcode is required to enable Face ID.

Since when the fuck did your neighbor have a passcode? Or even know how to make Face ID a thing? Or use it?

These questions and a dozen more were thrumming through your skull when you heard the screech of the back door once again. This time, instead of taking his sweet time on his yard work, Joel had only been gone five minutes. You swallowed a scream and did that dumb, reflexive thing you had before: shoved his phone in your shorts and thrust yourself back into the couch.

Practically shaking when Joel stepped into the room.

Of course, he wasn’t sweaty. His shirt wasn’t smudged with flecks of dirt or swaths of green from the grass outdoors, nor were his Wranglers the slightest bit muddied. He was perfectly clean in a plain white tee, jeans, and boots. You couldn’t help but notice how tight the short sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps, and then you realized it was because his arms were crossed.

Joel regarded you with a look as long and as careful as the rows he was supposed to be mowing out in the middle of his backyard right now, and he let out a breath.

“Guess what,” he said.

“What?” you squeaked.

Your eyes widened without meaning to, and when Joel plopped down on the sofa beside you, you felt a shiver pulse through your body. Joel stretched his big, wide, denim-clad legs out as he leaned back, and you had to force yourself not to jump when his knee struck yours.

“I’ve gotta brush up on my Gen Z lingo,” he announced.

Wh— okay? What the fuck?

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, and feeling the slightest twinge of relief at this declaration, Joel started to tug something out of his pocket. It took you several seconds to see it, then a couple more just to work out what it was, then Joel was squeezing it. Flipping it open.

An old Motorola Razr? When did he get that?

“See, I, uh— met a girl last week,” Joel resumed, plainly careless in the way he fingered the thing in his grip.

Your chest tightened. Had he really?

“She’s a little on the…younger side. You might know her.”

Oh shit. Was Joel banging one of your friends?

You swallowed hard and nodded for him to continue. You pretended not to notice when he flipped the phone open and left it that way—starting to thumb through the keys to do something on it. You fought the urge to take a look.

To distract yourself, you watched his face instead. It was lax.

“She said somethin’ kinda funny last night, and I—” Joel paused to let out a breath of a laugh, and you nearly broke down to steal a glance at what he was looking at.

Narrowly, you resisted. And it was a lucky thing, too—the next thing you knew, Joel’s gaze was fixed right on you.

“Y’know what she said to me?” he asked.

“What?”

Joel blinked. You probably should’ve heard the click of a little button on the phone he was holding, but you didn’t.

You did feel the vibration of another phone under your ass a second later, though. That one was unmistakable.

That one was Joel’s.

Out of one more stupid, senseless instinct, you coughed. Loud. Like the momentary scratch in your throat might reasonably mask the sound and sensation of a small hunk of metal buzzing between your butt and the couch.

It didn’t, of course. You sat and stared at Joel as it rang.

Slowly, he brought the Razr to his ear. At one corner of his mouth, you could discern the first inklings of a smirk.

“Wanna answer that?” he hummed, nodding to your rear.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

You weren’t sure how you even had the strength to do it, but you reached back and plucked his phone out of your shorts. With your gaze still stuck to his, you answered it. Put it to your own ear out of habit—and a little bit of fear.

“Hello?” you said, stupidly.

“Hey.”

The second you heard Joel’s voice rumble out beside you on the couch and across the line, your heart dropped. Ironclad confirmation of all you didn’t want to believe.

You squeezed his phone even tighter and sincerely hoped the man couldn’t hear the wild, erratic beat of your heart as it throbbed and thudded in your chest. The noise was almost too loud for you to hear anything else, too fast-paced and frantic to discern another word until:

“Can you tell me what a ‘Hinge DILF’ is, darlin’?”

You rose to your feet, scarcely even realizing it.

You had to get off of that couch, had to get away from him and come clean, as calmly as you possibly could. The phone fell out of your grasp just as he ended the call.

“Shit— Mr. Miller— I-I-I-I can explain.”

Swiftly, suddenly, Joel recovered his phone from the floor. He set the other device aside and propped his feet on the coffee table, lounging a little more comfortably now that he could scroll the phone at his leisure. Before he did, though, he made a point to wipe the screen.

“Nothin’ I love more than ass sweat on my phone.”

Your cheeks heated to a thousand degrees.

You wished the ground below your feet would open up and swallow you whole. It was like you were floating somewhere over your own body, unable to move or speak. From this vantage point, and still paralyzed with fear, you could see Joel opening Hinge on his phone.

“Crazy how long the stuff sticks,” he mused aloud, starting to peruse his likes, “When you got up and high-tailed it outta my place that first day, I thought I must’ve been seein’ things—what with how wet my phone was.”

You would’ve closed your eyes in utter resignation if you’d had the strength. Joel had known this entire time.

The old man continued to scroll, cavalier as ever.

“I figured ya might’ve been havin’ some…personal time of your own on my phone—maybe your old man blocked PornHub on the home WiFi or somethin’—but then I kept diggin’ around…” As Joel spoke, his actions seemed to mirror his words, and he was really scoping out the app. Combing through profiles and roses and streams of old messages that you had sent, then shrugged to himself.

“…and all I found added up to jackshit,” he concluded.

This time, you managed to meet his gaze when he looked back up, but really, you hardly saw him at all.

Joel was smiling.

“I did see a text, though.”

He waved his phone, where a few messages were visible, though not legible, to you. You didn’t try to read them.

“‘Welcome to Hinge! Reply ‘C’ to confirm your phone number and get started,’” Joel rattled the first one off.

Of course you’d forgotten to delete the fucking text.

“And I know my memory’s all but gone to shit, but I didn’t remember ever replying ‘C’ myself, so then—”

“It was a joke,” you choked out, cutting him off.

Joel cocked a brow. He leaned even further back in his seat and crossed his feet. You were already vomiting words before he could attempt to get one out himself.

“N-Not a funny joke,” you clarified, voice shaking, “Fuckin’ stupid as shit, I just wanted to see— y’know— me and Tess were talkin’ ‘bout how hard it must be…in your…in your fifties— it’s just hard finding somebody.”

Joel didn’t know what you were trying to say, and his face showed it. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“So you think my sex life is a joke?” Mr. Miller quipped.

“NO!”

You hadn’t meant to say it so loudly. You quieted down:

“No. I didn’t…no. I just wanted to see who would…”

“…wanna fuck me?” he finished, blunt as ever.

If your face had been hot before, surely it was about to burst into flames right now. You didn’t get like this—not around Joel Miller, not around anybody—but here you were, chest constricting with humiliation and shame, wishing you were anywhere in the world but the place you were, and Mr. Miller was smiling, he was still smiling, and it was all you could do to just stand there and…stare.

And wince when tears started to prick at your waterline.

As if this day couldn’t get any more mortifying, you were actually crying in front of your neighbor, nose stinging and beginning to leak. Stupid, stuttered gasps leaving your lungs like you’d just learned to breathe yesterday, vision blurring the man in front of you and then dimming, momentarily, as you brought your hands up to your eyes and tried to shield this wretched display from his view.

You paced a couple hasty, blind steps away. You pressed the heels of your palms so hard into your sockets that stars started to dance behind your lids and a pain began to stab your brain. You continued to sob. It was just then dawning on you that you’d have to make a run for it now and never set foot near this man’s property again. You’d have to lock yourself away, never get to go to a barbecue again, probably face a restraining order from Joel and—

“FUCK!” you shrieked.

With all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, you tumbled over Joel’s end table and took a nosedive into the floor. Your hands had no choice but to fly out in front of you in an effort to break your fall, and of course, they had to land on a lone, stray beer bottle on the ground.

One lovely little container of Corona Extra went splintering under the weight of your whole body, and briefly, before the thing exploded beneath your palm, you swore you could’ve heard a tiny, self-righteous voice:

‘¡La Vida Más Fina!’

Fuck you, Corona.

You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. Even if the bottle had managed to roll far enough to nick just the edge of your hand, slicing a minuscule strip of skin beneath your thumb, you still wanted to cry even harder. You looked pathetic, crumpled up beside this man’s couch with your wrist pinched between your fingers and your tears paving two steady streams down your cheeks. Hedged in by a field of shattered glass, you cast a look around yourself and whimpered. Then cursed. And cried.

You heard the shards around you crackle and snap even more when a pair of boots stepped in and crushed them.

Joel made easy work of your deadweight frame—your body hanging limply in his grip as he hoisted you up to your feet. Your vision was still as bleary as it had ever been, nose running and stinging and still struggling to take in breaths, but Mr. Miller’s hold was steady. He guided you into the kitchen and straight over to the sink.

Water ran. Wounds stung. A couple more sobs clawed out of your throat while Joel held your hand under the faucet, dabbed a paper towel across your hand to dry it off, then disappeared, momentarily, to retrieve what you assumed would be a first aid kit from the other room.

Instead, Mr. Miller returned with a fifth of Maker’s Mark. You eyed the bottle of whiskey in his hand and grimaced.

“N-Nuh-uh,” you blubbered, emphatic, “No way, man.”

“Uh, yes way, man,” Joel mimicked your voice, nose scrunching for dramatic effect as he elevated the pitch, “Like, you totally need this antiseptic so you don’t die.”

“I don’t s-sound like that!”

“I don’t so-o-und like that!”

Of course your neighbor couldn’t be assed to show an ounce of compassion to another person for more than two minutes. He drew closer with the whiskey. When he grabbed your wrist, you huffed and shook your head.

“That’s gonna hurt. I don’t want it.”

“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river.”

Though as soon as he’d said it, the man winced a little. Maybe that had been a bit too harsh. You sniffled hard.

“Fuck you, Miller— I-I was doin’ you a favor!” you spat.

Tears and snot becoming the fuel for part of your newfound indignation, you shot Joel a look and scowled. You wrenched your hand out of his grip and made a point to rebuff the bottle of liquor as you moved back, shaking your head again. Mr. Miller stood there and watched you.

“Only time you ever leave this fuckin’ house is when you’re hangin’ out with my dad or your brother, you haven’t got shit else to do around here but mow that fuckass lawn and jerk off— I was tryin’ to help you out! Get you laid like any normal guy would like, but no, no— you’ve gotta go and be the world’s biggest ASSHOLE about it, just like you are with everything else. I’m sorry.”

Deep down, you were and weren’t remorseful at all.

You were sorry you’d gotten caught, ate shit over a side table and got your palm fucked up by a bottle of beer.

You weren’t as sorry that Joel seemed to be regarding you as a joke now—something to tease and poke fun at. Trying to pour his makeshift disinfectant over your cut and force you to obey his orders because you were just too dumb to figure it out yourself, then mock your voice.

Then watch you with tightly knit brows, eyes scanning your face with a skepticism that was almost palpable.

Condescending old fuck.

“What? Ain’t got nothin’ to say to that?” you seethed. Emotions running high—and humiliation momentarily usurped by anger—you stared him down and dared him to speak. You didn’t care what he thought of you now.

If it had been in your interest to care, you probably would’ve looked a little harder at what the man’s body language was communicating to you in the meantime. What his mouth was evidently loath to say, his hands and feet hardly displayed the same reticence: he set the bottle aside and stepped closer to you. He stared back.

It wasn’t until he’d approached near enough, had closed the space between your body and his with barely more than an inch or two to spare, and glowered down at you, face frozen with a frown, that your brain got the hint that he might not be the type to chicken out. Or back down.

He reached behind you and opened a cabinet.

“A favor,” Joel echoed, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to replicate your intonation as he said it.

He’d just marginally checked his douchebag predilection, was closing the cabinet door beside your head and was starting to rock back on his heels, when a little cylindrical glass swung low in your line of vision. Joel held the tumbler loosely, then lifted it and pointed with his pinky.

“You,” he said, accusing, “fuckin’ suck at those—favors.”

Your stomach clenched at the sight of a slight, impish smile just then starting to frame the sides of his mouth. The featherlight grip he kept fastened on the glass, the ease of his stance, even the jab of that stupid, rough finger, still pointing at you, all bordered on nauseating. You fixed him with a pitiless look as he leaned in again.

And when his knuckles brushed your side, you tried not to flinch. You arrested his gaze without a word and let the smug, sun-tanned, sweet-as-shit-pie son of a bitch have his fill ogling you back and closing in on the bottle.

“What? Having half the tri-county population on Hinge ready to suck you off isn’t really your style?” you jeered.

Joel popped the cap and poured his drink. He shrugged.

“They ain’t you.”

As casual as if he’d just told you the weather forecast for the week ahead, his favorite place to eat, or the mundane specs on a construction project he’d been saddled with for months. Nothing of note. Nothing unknown. Just a routine admission of truth that sent your head reeling.

“You wh— w— well that’s—” you stammered, equal parts astonishment and exasperation as he continued to feed you steady, unrelenting doses of that look: “GROSS!”

You were standing stock-still, forced to watch that blip of a grin morph into a full smirk, slowly. He had to be joking.

“You are…fucked in the head, Miller. That’s not funny.”

Now you were the one pointing. Joel was drinking.

“—and I’d never in a million years even think—”

The side of your palm began to throb. It bled.

Blood was trickling down your wrist, roaring like thunder in your skull as your heart thudded away, impatient.

Impatient.

Impatient, impatient, impleeeeeeeeease fuck me, Joel, PLEASE!

Your libido a filthy, rotten traitor to all the rest of your better sense, you continued to stand there and suffocate on words like something akin to acid reflux in the throat. Your thighs snapped together, your back collapsed with equal force against the rigid set of cabinets behind it, and slowly, almost excruciating this time, you felt the pulse between your legs give way to a bout of warmth.

That cockhungry slut governing your bodily functions was actually getting wet for this asshole, and you were powerless to the effects of her wily, DILF-lusting ways.

“Gross,” you uttered out loud, again, reflexively—face overlaid with a look of horror as the heat began to pool.

And, as though the man had been endowed with the gift of infrared vision, or else just an external thermostat to gauge how hot you’d gotten between your two sweating legs, Joel brightened. His gaze flirted down to that soft, unseasonably tepid spot with a knowing look and then—

“Gross,” he parroted back. The smile behind his eyes said he wasn’t disgusted at all, just teasing some more.

When he pinched your wrist to get back to the business of blotting out blood with a paper towel, he kept that smug look painted across his creased, ancient face.

“‘S’that why ya made a Hinge for me? ‘Cause I’m gross?” Mr. Miller applied pressure to the still-bleeding cut, then directed your other hand to hold the paper towel in place.

You shook your head.

“No,” you started, trying not to wince before he turned. Again, the man ambled out of the kitchen, only to come back momentarily—finally—with a long-awaited bandaid.

“I mean…yeah, you’re a perv, but that’s beside the point.”

Joel exhaled a little harder through his nose. He pressed the underside of your palm again, ensuring the bloodflow had stopped, then swapped the napkin for the bandage. The adhesive might’ve been in place for two seconds before he was retreating again; this time, to the fridge.

“Then what was the point?”

Joel yanked one door open. You glanced over your shoulder to the one that led out to the back porch.

The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to go.

Go.

GO!

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

From where you were standing, you weren’t sure why you’d decided to make Joel the profile in the first place. Your curiosity, for one thing, had been one hell of a persuasive motivator to getting you scrolling on Joel’s behalf, but why did you care one way or another if your neighbor was drowning in pussy or enduring Sahara desert-levels of dick deprivation at his big age? It sure as fuck wasn’t your business to care, and nothing about Joel Miller had ever intrigued you consistently enough to venture an inquiry about his personal life before, so…

“Why?”

Joel was looming overhead again, the force of his presence like a fist through your chest. In an effort to steady your breaths, you turned your gaze away from his.

“I should go.” You couldn’t have dodged his last question more clumsily, or pathetically, if you’d tried, “It’s…late.”

Outside, the midday sun was still high in the sky, and there was nowhere in the world you had to be, Joel knew.

“Okay,” he said at length.

Then he leaned in closer and held something out.

“At least take one for the road, alright?”

And he was smiling, almost kind.

You looked down and—shit.

There it was, clear as day: a creamy piña colada popsicle.

The sneaky, conceited motherfucker had remembered what you’d written in his dating profile. You winced.

You accepted the cocktail popsicle without a word.

‘Thanks’ or ‘You’re a fucking pig, Miller’ likely would’ve sufficed for a farewell on any account, but by then, you were far too shell-shocked—and frankly, incredulous—of everything that had just transpired over the course of the last thirty minutes. You didn’t thank Mr. Miller, nor insult him by likening him to swine or any other thing; you left.

Your feet carried you fast out of his house.

Down the steps of his back porch, across pristine, power-washed concrete, past seemingly endless beds of hibiscus blossoms, marigolds, cape plumbago, and those god-awful periwinkle plants—who the fuck enjoyed gardening in a heatwave, anyway?—you practically sprinted away in a fugue state until the toes of your shoes hit the edge of your lawn, then you stopped.

“FUCK!”

You’d forgotten your phone.

It felt as though your body were turning in slow motion, and for a second, you seriously considered abandoning the device altogether and begging your dad for another. Then you set your sights on the wide, uninviting exterior of the back of your neighbor’s house, the place you’d just been hauling ass to escape, and almost rolled your eyes.

Joel was leaning back against the frame of his open back door, arms crossed, expression smug as he watched you.

It was extraordinarily difficult to throw a half-decent punch at a man while wielding a popsicle in your hand.

“Give it back!” you barked.

“Give what back?” Joel grinned, easily side-stepping what struck him as neither a punch nor a slap—in fact, the hit never struck him at all. He laughed as it missed.

“You know what.”

Of course, you’d gone back. Of course, Joel had tried to play dumb and pretend like you’d never left your phone behind at all. And of course, he hadn’t budged until you’d threatened to shove your left foot so far up his ass his dentist would be picking toes out of his teeth for weeks.

‘Violent little thing, ain’t ya?’ Joel had replied, chuckling.

Then, when he’d attempted to brush you aside with a patronizing wave of his hand and an admonition to run on back to daddy and quit buggin’ me, all bets were off. You’d aimed right for center mass and nearly dropped your frozen treat with how hard you’d shoved his chest.

That was how the conversation had started.

That was how the so-called ‘altercation’ had come to be—Joel easily swatting you off and indulging you no further than to chuckle and laugh and taunt you like an older brother who was faced with a sibling half his size—and all the while, your injured hand was throbbing again. White, sticky rivers of melted popsicle now trickled down your wrist instead of blood, and you were just as pissed.

“Listen—” Joel began, catching a fist meant for his face.

“Gimme my fuckin’ phone, Miller!”

“—you—”

“Can go to hell.”

“—owe me.”

“Owe you?!”

You stopped. Your weak, one-handed assault was halted just long enough to peer into Joel’s eyes, and the gaze that met yours was solid. Sincere as you’d ever seen it and blinking slow as the chocolate browns of his irises moved lower over you. Whether they were drinking you in, sizing you up, or merely plotting your demise by calculated turns, you could have been no more certain, or prepared to hear, what came out of his mouth next:

“Wanted to do me a favor, didn’t ya? C’mere.”

And the next thing you knew—or felt—was one thick finger hooking into your belt loops. One swift tug in his direction, another light push toward the old wood railing to your side, and then more fingers crowding in, crawling over, seizing the coarse denim material and pulling hard like the thing was the single most annoying impediment.

“Take these off,” Joel grunted.

You were too stunned to move. Even breathing felt like a chore, every last sense elevated to impossible heights, it wasn’t surprising at all when Joel just went and did it all himself. In a blink, your shorts were yanked down and then dropped to your ankles, your legs guided backward in shuffled steps, and then, nearly tripping in the fabric at your feet, you fell back, ass smacking the flat railing. You winced at the warm, knotty texture of the cedar beneath you and, out of habit, shot the old man a look.

Joel cocked a brow in response, likely already knowing what that glare from you was intended to convey, and instead of giving voice to any words himself, just sank.

Lower and lower and lower, until his knees were the only things holding him upright on the floor before you and his hands were pressing—melting—into your thighs.

Audibly, his kneecaps cracked.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

While Mr. Miller’s mouth moved dangerously close to a place you should’ve been appalled to see him go, all you felt capable of doing in that absurd moment, it seemed, was laugh. You gripped the thick white column beside you, scooted back slightly until you were in a comfier seated position, then snagged your lower lip between your teeth to contain the sound, but it was of no use.

Joel was both drooling and scowling between your legs.

“That funny, huh?” he managed in a low, ragged breath, “Sound’a some crackin’ joints on a man as old as me?”

“Yeah,” you said. Smug, for once.

Admittedly, any other normal person in your position would’ve been concerned with about a million different, more pressing issues—namely, your neighbor and dad’s best friend sticking his face between your legs—but really, after all the frivolity, commotion, and fucking insane behavior the two of you that day, it was like your brain had logged off and left the body to its own devices.

You didn’t mind that for right now.

When Joel’s tongue grazed the space between the cusp of your panties and inner thigh, you really didn’t mind.

Fuck it. If this was the favor he’d wanted after all, so be it.

As if reconsidering the foray of his mouth for the time being, Joel tilted back a little: just far enough to get his hands on your underwear and start tearing those down your hips too. One short, hot puff of air from his lips was a bliss unto itself, and your knees instinctively kicked up. With the thin white fabric barely halfway down one calf, you hooked your ankle over Joel’s shoulder and cursed.

“My daddy’s gonna kill you for this, Mr. Miller.”

And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Joel smiled.

Bigger this time, as if to show he didn’t really care at all what the man next door was liable to say or do about his present endeavor as long as he got to stay. You let him.

He pressed a kiss to your slick, puffy lips and hummed.

“Fine by me.”

Without another word the tip of the man’s tongue glided up the length of your slit and curled in, drawing your arousal between his lips in a hungry sort of kiss, and then sank even deeper. Going nose-deep in just one go, the old man looked positively obscene burying his face so far inside; his features alone a cruel, unseemly sort of fixture between legs as smooth and supple and warm as yours—how did a man so many years your senior get to be so lucky?—and somewhere further, in the darkest recesses of your mind, the sight sparked desire. A hunger, really.

Seeing that silver, stubbled chin getting drenched in your wetness, the weathered lines of his face growing even deeper with each new movement of his tongue, the strain in his neck with muscles that were firm and taut and so visibly aged with decades and decades of life—

You adored it.

A man Joel’s age never looked more out of place and still somehow perfectly fit for the space between your thighs.

You lowered the hand that was cradling your popsicle, braced your weight against the railing with the other, and then pressed on either side of his skull with your legs, quiet moans tumbling one after the next off your tongue.

“‘S’all for me?” Joel breathed, licking and suckling kisses along your clit, “This sweet, needy pussy’s all mine?”

“All yours.”

You scarcely recognized the sound of your own voice. Your legs were shaking. Though you loved to see him make you come undone, piece-by-piece, you also couldn’t bring yourself to stare a second longer, stimulation too great and his tongue too good.

If he kept going at a rate like this, you’d have no choice but to cum, and you didn’t want to be done just yet. Or ever. You refocused your gaze to look down and tell him as much, when your mouth fell open around a gasp, rather than words, and the weight in your hand fell away.

Swiftly, Joel took the popsicle in his own grasp and slid it down to the vicinity of his lips and tongue, now grinning.

The thing was half-melted by now, having sufficiently soaked half your forearm and leaving a vague, sugary aroma in its wake, but it was still intact. Still unlicked—unlike you—and still perfectly cool and light and long. The off-white hue was almost taunting in the way it winked and caught rays of the sunlight shining behind you, and as the man slid it even lower, you jumped back.

“Joel,” you hissed.

“What?” he hummed.

“That’s not—” You blinked, swallowing a moan.

“Not what?”

One warm, callused hand pressed the tip of the frozen thing to your bundle of nerves—the first contact it had had since Joel’s tongue—and you let out a low whine.

Even after all that time in the sun, the popsicle seared your soft, wet, aching parts with a biting cold you’d never thought possible. It sent waves of a strange, trembling pleasure coursing through your lower half and left your head with no choice but to moan. And fist Joel’s hair in a vice-like grip when he angled the wooden stick lower.

Suddenly, the white, sticky head slipped from your clit to the rim of your yet-untouched entrance, and that made your muscles leap to attention once again. You cursed.

“Not what, honey?” Joel pressed, with affection—and as he did, sank the tip of the popsicle deeper inside you.

“Th— that’s not—” You were shaking your head, racking your brain for any trace of the English language and failing miserably, “Not…doesn’t…g-go there, fuck.”

Joel sank the pretty, dribbling popsicle another inch inside your pussy and sucked a whistle through his teeth. If your senses weren’t as raw and utterly shot as they were, you likely would’ve seen the expression on his face transform from one of pleasure and amusement to awe, eyes darkening at the sight of your hole opening wider.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he cooed, voice low.

Another couple soft utterances of ‘Joel,’ and your legs only parted wider. Free to grip his hair, the railing, the column beside you, or just the insides of your own palm as the icy sensation sank inwards and into your body, you whimpered. Your hips, instinctively, bucked toward the source, and you heard Joel’s groan join your sounds.

He withdrew his new toy just far enough to make you mewl for him again, then drove it deeper. With the friction of that, a stream of white went trickling out.

Joel couldn’t help himself; he flattened his tongue against the stream and licked you clean from the spot where he’d split you open to the cusp of your clit. He circled that place over and over, worked the object in his hand even further inside and back out again, then, getting a taste of your arousal with the white, wet, sticky-sweet juices starting to mix together, he moaned.

It was a guttural sound, something just shy of the ‘feral’ demarcation but at least ten steps ahead of desperate. You relished the gruff, throaty sound reverberating from his lips to your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around it and for him, and were just about to throw your head back and grind your hips even harder when it stopped.

Joel stopped. He started to get up.

Quickly for him, but slow as molasses from your point of view, the man straightened from his place on the hard wooden floor and expelled a breath. His chest heaved, and his torso twisted to one side, momentarily, to get the strain out of his back as best he could. From where you sat, the spattering of grey in his beard seemed to glisten even brighter with the sheen of your arousal now sticking in it. He wiped his chin and reached in between your legs.

“Got any favors left in ya, sweet pea?” he smirked.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t sound like a question at all, and didn’t appear to be intended that way, as the next second had Joel pulling the largely-spent popsicle out of your slick and straight into your mouth. He didn’t inquire whether he could push it down on your tongue and make you taste your own cunt on the thin wooden stick, but the smile on your lips assured him that was fine by you.

Nor did he ask for your permission to flip you around, bend you over his porch railing, and take your hips in his hands. You were still sucking down the last traces of sugar and citrus and a vaguely tangy taste when you felt the head of something else prod your soft, wet folds.

Much bigger—and warmer—than the thing that had breached you before, Joel nudged at your hole with the tip of his cock, coated the head of it in light, gentle circles, and sucked in a breath. He didn’t have to ask, and you didn’t need to answer; he just parted your walls with the force of one steadying thrust, and the pulse of that sharp, dizzying pleasure was back in an instant.

Shared this time, and manifesting in sounds from you and Joel alike: you gritting the stick between your teeth and managing muffled cries of his name and whatever expletives you could scream, Joel with ragged breaths.

For a man who ostensibly hadn’t fucked since the Clinton administration, he was off to a pretty good start.

Joel gripped your hip even tighter and started to saw his cock in and out of your dripping, pliant hole, his other fist finding purchase in your hair for more leverage. His thrusts were shallow enough at first to get you used to the new stretch, and you could feel him making space in a way no man’s girth ever had before. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it had come to settle into a mix of guilt, rigid composure, and pussydrunk pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured behind you. Then, groaning, “Good fuckin’ girl, keep squeezin’ my cock just like that.”

You felt a slap on the ass and the speed of his thrusts pick up in turn. Your mouth fell open in a moan, and the stick on your tongue almost slipped out of place when, shortly, Joel leaned over your body and pulled you back. He snagged the popsicle stick between his teeth just in time to get your back flush with his front—in perfect position to get fucked against the nearest column.

Breaths coming out in short, ragged grunts in your ear, Joel teased the side of your face with the stick, then nudged it back in your mouth. You sucked it softly.

“One more favor, baby?” he panted against your cheek.

You nodded, not knowing what it was but that you wanted to be the one giving it. Joel pulsed inside you.

With every stab of his cock, every string of your wet, messy, combined arousals making the most profane noises imaginable between your body and his, you were squeezing him tighter and teetering on release. Joel’s hand snaked down between your legs, and just as the head of his cock nudged against that spot, you keened.

“Any favor?” Joel groaned and nipped at your earlobe.

The heft of his stomach and chest made for a warm, sturdy place to start rocking your hips, greying peach fuzz at the base of his belly a small comfort as you writhed against his body and whined that you’d do anything, anything he wanted, as long as he let you cum.

Joel’s middle finger found your clit, and you nearly screamed at the welt of pleasure coming to a head. Again, the popsicle stick tumbled out, but neither one of you could be bothered to try and keep it in this time.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The man behind you didn’t even attempt to conceal his grin as he leaned closer, hugging your body to his while he circled your clit and fucked you harder, lips straying every now and then to press a kiss on your shoulder. He plunged his cock deeper and was met with a squeezing, leaking mess trickling down his length and onto his balls, growing louder with each new wet slap against your ass. The old man was a tease, but he couldn’t hold on forever.

“Wanna fill you up,” Joel groaned.

“Cum inside?” you murmured.

You were barely able to tilt your chin to him, but when you did, he held it—made you look him in the eyes and, for once, give your unequivocal permission to do it then.

And you did.

You were startled to find Joel’s lips crashing against yours in the next second, mouth overwhelmed with the remains of your own taste, his tongue, and a series of relentless, hammering thrusts. It was only a matter of moments, then, before your resolve gave way and his followed suit, and the waves of pleasure between you both manifested in ropes of sticky, hot cum painting your walls. Joel held you closer, as though needing to feel his seed as he fucked you through it, groaning when he felt it start to move with each sharp, stuttered thrust.

You panted in his mouth coming down. You kissed him back. You almost couldn’t believe the sensation between your legs, soon to come dripping out and undoubtedly bound to make a mess all over the floor of Joel’s porch.

Equally unbelievable was the fact that you’d just fucked your neighbor in broad daylight, outside, with Marlene’s house directly to your left and your own on the right.

You stared out at the sprawling expanse in front of you—Joel’s impeccably kempt yard, one of the reasons why you were standing where you were just then—and, as you’d found yourself before, you felt the urge to laugh.

Not on account of Joel’s old, ailing knees, this time.

Clearly, the man still trying to catch his breath behind you suspected that that might’ve been the case, though, because you felt him shift his weight and grunt, lightly.

“What’s so funny? My knees crack when I cum, too?”

You could feel the smallest of scowls start to take shape, muted momentarily with kisses that he pressed on your cheek, and others, still more teasing, down your neck.

You let him, unfazed and still giggling. Then pointing.

It seemed Joel was loath to detach his lips from your neck—or his cock from the place he’d just stuffed full—but when you lifted your finger to indicate a direction toward the side of his backyard, his senses perked up.

There, along the white picket fence between his yard and Marlene’s, was the furry, merciless, lawn-destroying labradoodle that had been plaguing Joel’s life for years.

The man was out of you in an instant. He yanked his jeans up even quicker, tucking his dick back, clumsily, into its place in a fit of rage, then cupping his hands:

“WILL YOU FUCK THE HELL OFF, SPARKY?!”

[azullumi]

JESUS, TAKE THE WHEEL ?!

premise — to put it simply, hsr men driving. characters — boothill, sunday, aventurine, veritas ratio, jing yuan, and blade content tags — small mentions of reader, probably fluff, not proofread, i don't know how to tag this please | wc: 0.6k ; headcanons

note from me — this idea was brought to me after nearly crashing and getting multiple heart attacks while my dad was driving

BOOTHILL, races with the wind that it feels like you left your soul somewhere in the road—literally a wild spirit who seems to enjoy the feeling of the breeze on his skin. He probably got you lost one time too, or maybe twice, or thrice. He just loves fast cars and faster chases, likes the thrill of it (much to your dismay if you’re a cautious person). He’s probably cussed someone out for cutting him off his lane which led to him nearly crashing when he pressed the brakes suddenly. Despite his reckless driving habits, his quick thinking and reflexes keeps him out of harm.

SUNDAY, perfect law-abiding citizen—follows the traffic rules, doesn’t go past the speed limit, never crashes, never gets pulled over, you’re in the safest hands and you can trust the entirety of your life on him. You have a good road trip, a great driver, and someone who you can easily talk to. It’s perfect. He probably has a playlist ready with the most of it being his sister’s songs, playing and listening to it as he drives, often humming along with the melody.

AVENTURINE, drives like there’s no tomorrow when he’s alone but drives like the most responsible and careful driver whenever there’s someone with him in the car. He likes driving during the night despite the risk of it (and that’s honestly the point); he does love the quiet streets and the solitude he gets, taking long drives to often clear his mind or just drive somewhere where he wants to be, often taking the scenic route. There are times that he drives in complete silence, deep in thought, and taking random turns.

VERITAS RATIO, just your normal and average sane driver. Literally it’s all just normal with him that it feels so wrong. He’s quite the careful driver but is easily annoyed when someone cuts off his lane and you’ll have to deal with a rambling doctor that calls people who have no driving etiquettes foolish and reckless. He strictly follows the rules of the road, but doesn’t hesitate in voicing out his frustrations at those who don’t. Other than that, everything is fine. He rarely listens to music, however, opting to listen to educational podcasts or the radio instead—he says it helps in keeping him focused.

JING YUAN, bold of you to even assume he’s driving; he doesn’t drive, or he rarely does. He’s a passenger princess, a shotgun queen, the backseat sleeper,—preferring to sleep on his seat than focus his eyes on the road. If he ever drives, however, it’s slow and careful. He’ll reason that there’s nothing to rush for and that you all have the time in the world, and you don’t know if you’re supposed to accept his reasoning, especially when you’re going to be late. The chance of him falling asleep while driving is higher than the chance of arriving at your destination early (a 10-minute drive easily becomes a 30-minute one and no, it’s not because of the traffic).

BLADE, believe it or not but he’s, if not the most, but one of the trusted drivers. While he does go past the speed limit sometimes and maybe he does have to swerve the car that you’ll fly off your seat (if not without your seatbelt) ever so often, you never die while he’s the one on the driver seat—thankfully. Surprisingly, he does wear his seatbelt and even urges you to wear yours (even if he didn’t, you’ll have to because you have nothing else to hold on to). The most silent car ride to ever exist though as he’ll only speak when you’ll ask him something, otherwise you’re left on your own with a conversation in the wind. Nevertheless, you’ll arrive at your destination in one piece. Not until the mara strikes.

FELIIII, a lovely mention to the beautiful and lovely @dr-felitas !! i'm getting back to writing now since i'm back from vacation (which means i can do anything and everything i want, but not including ghosting 🔥) ANYWAYS i would like to say thank you for always being patient with me and my replies ,, like my bad g 🙏 i really appreciate your presence in my life and your constant understanding, and i know i already told you this but you're a very warm and comforting person and i only hope for the best things to come in your life (i know love and beauty exists because you exist and you're full of it). i will support you in each and every one of your decisions, despite how bad or stupid it can be. don't let anything hold you back boo, never listen to your haters or your opps 🗣, you're still young and you have all the time in the world to experience meaningful moments (even heartbreaking ones). so go talk to that girl bae <33 no matter what happens, i'll always be here for you. ily lots mwaaaa

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[str4ngr]

Hello!! Could u do number 5 angst with megumi jjk??

no. [crying.]

just not now.

m. fushiguro. | my drug, my addiction.

cw: angst, foul language, unrequited love, rejection, gn! reader. wc: 629. notes: we're not friends. not proofread

His eyes met yours like a scalding hot burn, piercing your soul in merciless indifference,

"Sorry, but no."

Megumi's voice echoed in your head, no longer the song that made your heart sing but what made it shatter. Your breath felt like it shrunk in your lungs while each word and emotion began to ball up into a lump in your throat. Your eyes were blown wide, staring right at him but it felt like you couldn't see him. The warm curves of his cheeks turned into the creases in his forehead as he raised a brow at you,

"What? Look, y/n, I don't see you like that."

It felt like autopilot, robotic smile on your lip as you nod, letting him walk away with a dry expression as he turned his back on you. He didn't look back, the uncomfortable glare of unreciprocated feeling lingering on your face as your back faced his. it felt hard to swallow, it felt like your head was coming unscrewed from how fast it was spinning. Were you truly that delusional?

They always say when a door in life closes, another open, but right now? Right now, it feels like every single molecule of space around you is a door slamming shut and squeezing you alive. Your feet dragged back to your dorm, phone discarded somewhere, muted as regretful texts from Kugisaki lit up your lockscreen.

Curled up beneath a behemoth mountain of sheets, you still felt cold, the reminder of his dismissive stare, his hands in his pocket, the way all those bubbly feelings in your heart bursted into searing rejection that felt like they tore apart your chest.

The wall felt happier to stare at then yourself. God, maybe you really were wearing rose-tinted glasses. You pursed your lips, think to every time your mind brought you to a hopeful la-la-land of your ideals.

Every time Megumi 'stared' at you, was he staring at you, or was it because you were sat next to Panda, who he was talking to? Or... when he remembered your favorite snack! Or maybe it's because Itadori told him, since he was the one who was supposed to get them. And he was the one you had told... How about your birthday? No, all he did was contribute to the collective gift given by the other first-years.

With how dehydrated you were, you weren't sure if it was now that you became deranged, or before. But probably the latter, considering your mind was now brutally slapping you in the face, each memory of your pathetic puppy love followed by the raging reminder of rejection.

Maybe today wasn't the day to feel confident, maybe you shouldn't have hyped yourself up in the mirror this morning.

Early morning practice was a weekly shenanigan; shenanigan because most of the time, those who were not dueling to the half-death were goofing around. Today was just another one of those days, with Maki and Kugisaki going head to head in a close combat training. Megumi had. just finished with Itadori, and fuck did he look beautiful, wrist wiping the sweat on his forehead, his fringe flipped back as his chest slightly heaved.

You couldn't help but admire the way the just risen sun's light glimered off each bead that trailed down his defined cheekbones, or how his sharp eyes glared into Itadori at some stupid joke he had made. Megumi had decided to go refill his water bottle, and you decided to trail along. God, did you regret that now.

How much more fucking obvious could it be? You were being delusional, desperate, grasping at the straws of romantically meaningless, platonic, actions, playing make-believe as if they meant anything at all.

Class would be much harder from now on.

notes: oh my gee i havent used y/n in so long....

[thebadboyfanclub]

Together As One (Daemon x Reader)

So this is more a twisted love type of hype, I hope you guys like the way I portrayed this request cause I wanted to give it more of a dark edge since Daemon is definitely a gray character. Hope you enjoy!

Mothers love their children, everyone could agree upon the unconditional love mothers held for their kind with no doubt in their hearts, songs, poems, plays, and any type of art one can think of have attempted to portray such devotion. None, however, could predict that some mothers have a certain type of fear for their child, like some whisper in the back of their heads warning them about the little glimpse in their eyes that was not like the stars but more of a scorching fire threading to burn everything.

That was the exact feeling Rhaenys had for her beloved daughter, the twin sister of Laenor, it would often baffle her how her husband could not see what was clearly there, (y/n) was always in competition with everyone about everything, the finest clothes belonged to her, she had to ride a dragon first, learn Valyrian faster.

Whilst Rhaenys prayed for her daughter's thirst to settle, the others praised her for her bravery, her determination, and her intellect, something that made (y/n) yearn for more.

“I would like to raise a toast to my dear brother, a married man to our future queen, may your wedlock be blessed with numerous children and a road paved with nothing but joy and success, Prince Daemon, hopefully you are next”

(Y/n) stood with a smile of triumph dancing on her lips before she raised her cup to gently take a sip, as she sat down Daemon's eyes followed her, he was well aware of her game, though he seemed unfazed and almost amused by her comment the truth laid somewhere deeper than the surface, not a single soul in this room would have been able to guess that the delighted twin of now future king consort was playing a game of cat and mouse with none other than prince daemon behind closed doors.

(Y/n) had been relentless in her ways to seduce Daemon, sneaking out at all hours of the night, sending people after him so she could know his whereabouts just so she could magically appear, the combination of sweet wine and her alluring voice was enough for Daemon to stumble and fall right on top of her, taking her for a ride to the addictive roads of lust.

She was stunning, flawless, a true Targaryen that screamed opulence and elegance with a face sculpted by the gods, the common folk would gush over the “oceans Angel” a nickname given by the realm for her angelic features, how would they know how dark her mind could get in order to make everyone yield before her?

-

“Mother”

“Dearest, how are you on this fine morrow?”

“I am well, the little one finally decided to let me get some rest”

“When I was pregnant with you I remember thinking you would kick your way out of my belly, the Apple does not fall far from the tree”

(Y/n)s daughter, Leora, leaned as much as she could to kiss her mother's cheek before she sat down next to her to break her fast, queen Alicent had already taken her seat along with her daughter Heleana and (y/n)s other son Elion, Alicent and (y/n) enjoyed each others presence, a mutual bond based on respect had been build over the years that was sealed by marrying Leora with Aegon and Elion with Heleana.

“The maester said you should drink more orange juice, it will help with the fatigue”

“As well as eat more meat, pregnancy is no easy task, you must be as strong as ever”

Alicent chimed, the birth of her second grandchild was one of the most important events, Alicent adored her first grandchild, beautiful Hael, a strong boy who was just now starting to learn how to walk, still, he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“I appreciate your concerns but I am fine, healthy as a horse”

“It wouldn’t hurt, let us not risk it dearest”

“I thought once I get older I wouldn’t have to listen to my mother”

“Well I am sorry but that will never happen, drink”

(Y/n) had stepped up and appeared as the perfect mother, loving, kind, and caring, she did love her children, however, what she loved most was the things they could do for her, her firstborn daughter was now the wife of the king first born son, and her son was a strong, skill full knight that served the realm and came back in triumph, how could she not adore her perfect creations?

“How is the king?”

“I am afraid his health is decreasing, the maesters advise him to remain abed for the day”

“Rhaenyra will be questioned, he won’t sit this one out I am afraid”

“Ugh the precious Rhaenyra, I wish I could stay in my chambers until those god-forsaken days pass”

(Y/n)s smile was wiped from her face and in an instant it was replaced with an angry scowl, in a split second her hand had grasped her daughter, Leoras' eyes went wide with fear when they met the angry hues of her mothers.

“You mustn’t speak in such a way, I’ve taught you better”

Leora only nodded frantically, (y/n) had her own opinions over Rhaenyra, she however, knew better than to voice them, not even in such a secluded area of the palace, (y/n)s hold turned from forceful to a caress before she directed her eyes back to her friend and queen Alicent.

“Besides, the king will do as he wishes and if the gods bless him with the strength to stand he should be there, isn’t it right Alicent?”

“I couldn’t have phrased it better, my dear”

-

(Y/n) and Alicent were each other's shadows, one compelled the other and in the end one way or the other the result was one of their favor, (y/n) was disciplined and had mastered the act of a gracious and lovely princess, Alicent was strict and slipped under everyone’s nose as she cloaked herself with the act of a pious queen, the two of them had years up on the horse of being able to maneuver their way around the kingdom so the men would not suspect a damn thing.

Viserys had seemed to get worst which made him unable to attend even when Daemon and (y/n) went to his room to assist him, the king could not even sit up let alone walk, Daemon was disheartened, thankfully for him his dutiful and beautiful wife let him rest on her shoulder and like a soothing salve her encouraging words went over his wound of his beloved older brother nearing his end.

“My Love”

“(Y/n)? What- what has happened?”

“I apologize for waking you up my dear, it is your brother”

“Viserys? What about- no”

“My dear husband, you must be strong, I am so sorry”

(Y/n) grasped Daemon's hands tightly before she brought them up to her lips to kiss his knuckles, of course, she was one of the first to know, Alicent had rushed to her chamber and delivered the news herself, she had waited patiently as the king took his last breath, Alicent told no one, not even the maester, (y/n) had to know before anyone.

“Viserys”

Daemon had been taken over by his thoughts, they’ve always had their differences but at the end of the day, they shared the same mother and father, a bond that could never be broken, no matter how many times Daemon has run off he always ended up by Viserys side.

“My love, I understand that this is too much for you, however, we must prepare our daughter”

“What does Elora have to do with this?”

“She is to be queen, she needs her father”

“Queen? Have you gone mad?”

(Y/n) bit her bottom lip in combination with her head tilting to the side, as if nothing but a mere candle lit her face Daemon could still identify the features that he so adored but now he could not wrap his head around what was his wife suggesting.

“My lord husband, King Viserys has left us, it is only natural for his son to succeed him”

“It is expected for his firstborn, Rhaenyra, to do so, not Aegon”

“Where is the princess? But in a place where she could have visited if she wished, when has she even attempted to come and visit her beloved father who was in agony all these years? She only came when her privilege was at risk and then blamed Alicent who has served by the king's side for his illness”

“This is not a matter to discuss”

“But it is, the gods know I loved Viserys and he had been good to me, but let us not forget he killed his first wife in his desperate attempt for a male heir, he remarried and Alicent gave him an heir and a spare and still it was not good enough, he passed by you and his sons to bury his guilt by calling Rhaenyra the heir, it wasn’t because he trusted her or because he saw something in her, he passed the title on to her because he did not trust you and then because he wanted to wash the blood of queen Aemmas from his hands”

Silence fell upon them, (y/n) pulled away from her husband and headed towards the door, as his hand rested upon the handle she turned her head back to lord husband who was visibly shaken, (y/n) might appear disheartened but she could detect that her monologue had started to creep on to Daemons heart.

“I love you with all my heart, that is why I shall leave you to grieve, if you wish to run to her I will…. Understand, it is not like I ever doubted the unconditional love you have for the realm delight, now might be your chance to pursue it”

Her tone was drowning in sorrow leaving Daemon with an unwavering sense of guilt in a dark room as his wife had disappeared to place her hand over a war of fire and blood, (y/n) was correct, Daemon did love Rhaenyra, still, he did not place his flame for her over what he had built with his wife over the years.

(Y/n) walked away with a smile of triumph, she had done her part flawlessly and now she was certain that Daemon would be by her side before the crown was placed on Aegons head, however, she did not have time to waste, Alicent and (y/n) were the ones to wake the new king and queen, preparing them for what they had destined to be.

“You may enter”

“Prince Daemon is asking to see his daughter and wife, alone”

(Y/n) stopped brushing her daughter's head, carefully placing the golden brush down before she looked down at her daughter who nodded in approval.

“Let him in, do not allow anyone to disturb us”

“Right away”

The girl curtsied as quickly as possible before she disappeared only to be replaced by none other than Daemon. (Y/n) took a sharp inhale through her nose once he entered the room, preparing herself for a mental battle, surprisingly when her eyes scanned for his she was met with a certain lightness, an ease to him that caught her by a pleasant surprise.

Instinctively a small smile played on her lips, her Daemon was dressed in his black attire, leather suited him, and his hair was pulled away from his face the way she always told him to do it.

(Y/n) was not made of stone, she might play like she is though her heart skipped a beat every time she was near her lord husband, Daemon was one of the very few people that (y/n) would throw herself in the fire, even though their love felt like the flames licked her back, that sweet pain of admiration and devotion that the poets would sing and the common folk would go mad.

“My dearest loves”

Daemon declared, that their daughter rose from her chair and ran to her father, she was always the one known to succumb to emotions and this time (y/n) could not scold her over it, Leora was her father's daughter, (y/n) might not have spoken over the matter only to allow the young girl the solidarity of her feelings, inside Leora was always waiting for her father to walk through this door.

“You look beautiful, a perfect gown for the queen”

“Father I-“

“Before I handed you over to Aegon I made you a promise, do you remember it?”

“I will do anything to see you happy”

“I will put myself through war if you tell me that this is what you want, all you have to do is say it”

Daemon was no fool, he was certain that the second that crown graced his daughter's head a war would nip their heels, Rhaenyra would not go down without a fight and that meant that Daemon would have to face her in battle, a battle he was willing to put for his lovely Leora.

“I want to be queen, I want Aegon to be our king”

“Very well, I wish you a fruitful reign, may the Gods smile down upon you”

‘May the Gods have mercy on us’ he thought, with a smile he brushed away those dark thoughts only to place a kiss on his daughter's forehead, a small part of him screamed that this was the right thing, his brother never thought he was good enough, now his brother was on the ground and his daughter was crowned queen and would carry on the legacy of the Targaryen name.

“Go on now, I want to have a word with your mother”

“I will be waiting for you”

Leora informed them before she gave them the privacy Daemon desired. (Y/n) stood as still as a statue, her heart pounding on her chest as her throat grew dry and scratchy, she was the master of composure up until now, faced with the only person who could make her waver.

“My beautiful, sweet lady wife, you spoke harshly last night”

“I spoke nothing but the truth”

She threw back in a cold tone. Daemon only smirked as he started to approach her, she did not dare to move, (y/n) was comforted by his light-hearted manner though there was an underlying mischief, Daemon was playing something, and (y/n) was left trying to catch up before it is too late.

Daemon stood before her, his arm finding her forearms and giving them a gentle squeeze, his eyes gazing back at hers with a glimmer that (y/n) had grown to yearn for, she despised the fact that she had to manipulate him like this, she was left with no other choice but to do this, a side of hers cursed the day Rhaenyras and Daemons fates met, this would have been so much easier had (y/n) been the only women Daemon loved.

“You are so bright, I am almost disappointed that you didn’t foresee this”

“The war?”

“No, me, you think I have not caught wind of all the scheming against Rhaenyra? The upbringing of my daughter to become the wife of my brother's firstborn son, putting our son on the sea the minute he was born to have better knowledge of anything driftmark related to gain the favor of your father, every step you so amazingly calculated with Alicent so you can get our family here”

“You have gone mad”

“I saw behind the facade and that makes you nervous, I was there with you every step of the way you mustn’t be frightened, I let you do all this for only one reason”

“Alright, let us entertain this absurd claim of yours, what is the reason?”

“Because I love you”

(Y/n) mouth slightly parted in shock, Daemon had professed his love for her on multiple occasions but the weight on this one was different, he had pulled what she thought was the perfect cover, leaving her bare in front of him, uncovering her thirst that she had kept away from everyone.

“I love you so much that I will let my daughter become the target on Rhaenyras mind, I will go against the woman that you think threatens your position in my heart, I will put myself in the sword before I let her even get one strand of your hair because you and our daughter want this”

“And you don’t? You always held a grudge over the fact that Viserys never declared you as his heir”

“My brother is dead now and because of you our child wishes to be a queen, I picked you as my second wife because I saw your strength, your determination, you need to come on top, that is the Targaryen fire through and through”

“You truly mean all this?”

“You are my lady wife, you gave me a home, now it is time to show the realm that we are the rightful heirs of the throne, together as one”

(Y/n) reached daemons lips for a passionate kiss, his hands slid down to her waist and pulled her as close as humanly possible, sharing this moment meant everything to (y/n), she had him devotedly by her side, he saw her true nature and walked straight into her fire, surrendering in her and even shielding her and her family.

“Let us find out daughter, I want us to be the ones to place the crown on her head”

“I wouldn’t dare let anyone else have that honor”

Requests are open!

[undreaming-fanfiction]

When Eddie's band makes it big, Steve couldn't be prouder. He is the most supportive boyfriend anyone could wish for, joining Eddie for as many concerts as possible. He's always in the first row, cheering Eddie on. However, he doesn't really fit in - it's not just his clothes or the perfect hair, but the fact he stays very still, just bouncing on his feet. He doesn't headbang or hop.

Eddie doesn't mind at all, he knows how to tell that Steve's enjoying himself. But there are fans who have their own idea what people should do at concerts and Steve doesn't fit it. When they play at a larger venue, Eddie overhears two metalheads in the first row shit talking Steve, complaining how he looks bored, how his head doesn't even move, why is he even there if he's afraid to mess up that fluffed up hair? He doesn't know if Steve can hear, but he isn't taking any chances. They haven't been exactly subtle at concerts or after them, so he acts without thinking too much, too hard.

Clearing his throat into the microphone, Eddie asks for everyone's attention. "Thank you for being such a wonderful crowd tonight. I want to extend one special thank you to the most special person to me." The rest of the Corroded Coffin guys laugh and Gareth smacks his face, but they're not malicious. They just watch, wide smiles on their faces. "Here in the first row is my boyfriend, Steve. Can't miss him, he's the prettiest guy around. Thank you for being here with me, even if you have to be sick of hearing the same songs every night."

The crowd laughs, Steve mouths never at him and Eddie continues.

"You see, Steve isn't really into metal. And that's fine, baby, you're so kind and handsome I could forgive you anything, even this lapse of judgment. But what I really want to stress out here is how lucky I am. I am so fucking lucky that I have a boyfriend who is supportive, who comes to watch me perform even if this isn't his crowd. He still lets the music move him, even if he can't do what we all do because his migraines are no joke and headbanging is a sure way to start them. But he's still here. And that's what matters to me the most. So from the bottom of this cynical, hardened heart - I'm so fucking thankful you're here, baby. Thank you."

It is mortifyng. It is like baring his soul in front of strangers. But seeing Steve's wide smile, seeing how people watch him with newfound respect, it's so worth it.

Eddie takes a deep breath and leans into the microphone. "And with that, the show must go on! Let's start the next song!"

"About damn time," says Jeff, grinning at him. "You two are making us all here jealous, man."

From that night on, Corroded Coffin has a mascot. Not an animal, not a drawn figure, but a handsome young man who always wears the same thing - a yellow sweater. He's like a beacon, always in front of the band, and when the fans chant "Steve! Steve! Steve!" and Steve blushes so hard his ears become red, Eddie knows this is only right. It's only right for Steve to be loved for who he is. And the more the merrier.

[dee-writes-anime]

So I saw that your requests are open and that you do JJK and I was wondering if you’d be interested in the idea buzzing in my brain for the past week. Nanami is a total jazz lover in my mind and there’s a jazz club in town and the reader is a jazz singer full of passion. I’m thinking Nanami falls head over heels for reader especially with her voice as she sings love songs. Also I love your work it’s fantastic and always a joy to read.

The Echoing, All-Encompassing Sound of Love

FEATURING Kento Nanami x Female Reader

SUMMARY The Blue Note was a place Nanami went to unwind after hard, long days of endless, meaningless work. It was a place for him to fall into the shadows and familiarity of the deep blues and jazz, it was a comfort, but nothing had ever touched him, enraptured him like you had when you stepped on that stage.

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff, cuteness, introspective??, Kento gushing over his WOMAN (bark bark bark), obsessed man, this is some deep, soulful shit yall, only edited ever so slightly T-T

AUTHORS NOTE I have no idea where I went with this or how it got to this point, but I really hope I brought your vision to life darling anon. <3

The jazz club, nestled in the heart of the city, is alive with an intimate, cozy energy. The space is dimly lit, with soft, warm lighting casting long shadows across the room. A thin haze of smoke lingers in the air, adding to the club's mystique. The gentle hum of quiet conversations mixes with the soft clinking of glasses and the occasional low laugh, creating a comforting backdrop for the evening.

At a small, round table near the stage, Kento Nanami sits, his posture relaxed yet composed. His impeccably tailored suit fits him perfectly, as always. He swirls a glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid catching the faint light. His sharp gaze is focused on the stage, where musicians are setting up their instruments, tuning and adjusting, preparing for the night’s performance. The familiar ritual of the pre-show calm settles over him, a welcome escape from the chaos of his usual day-to-day life.

Nanami takes a sip of his drink, savoring the smooth burn as it slides down his throat, and leans back slightly in his chair. His eyes flicker around the room, taking in the scattered patrons, each one lost in their own world of jazz and ambiance. He’s been coming to this club for a few weeks now, drawn by the soothing allure of the music and the promise of an evening where the only battles to be fought are between trumpet solos and sultry saxophone notes.

He doesn’t know it yet, but tonight will be different. Tonight, a new performer is set to take the stage, and with her first note, Nanami’s world will begin to shift in ways he never expected.

Nanami wasn’t the type to indulge in luxuries. He preferred the quiet satisfaction of a well-brewed cup of coffee, the crisp pages of a book, the efficiency of a perfectly executed plan. But there was something about this jazz club that drew him in like a moth to a flame. The dim lighting, the haze of smoke, the low hum of the bass—these were not things he typically sought out, but here, in this place, they provided a strange sense of comfort.

Tonight, the club is alive with its usual hum of activity. Patrons sit scattered around small tables, their faces barely visible in the shadows, illuminated only by the soft glow of flickering candles. The scent of whiskey and old leather mingles with the faint traces of smoke, creating an atmosphere that is both timeless and ephemeral. The band on stage plays a slow, steady rhythm, a saxophone gently crying out a mournful tune that fills the room with a bittersweet nostalgia.

Nanami sits at his usual table, close enough to the stage to see every detail, yet far enough to remain unnoticed by most. He’s dressed impeccably, as always, his suit crisp and neat despite the casual setting. He swirls his glass of whiskey, watching the ice cubes clink softly against the sides, his gaze occasionally drifting to the stage. His mind is calm, his thoughts quieted by the gentle rhythm of the music. He’s been coming here for weeks now, finding solace in the music, in the anonymity of the darkened room.

But tonight is different.

The moment you step on stage, something shifts in the air. It’s as if the very essence of the club changes, the room becoming quieter, the audience collectively holding its breath in anticipation. Nanami feels it too—a subtle tightening in his chest, a flutter he can’t quite name. He watches as you move into the spotlight, the soft, golden light catching on the sequins of your dress, making you shimmer like a dream. Your eyes are closed, your posture relaxed yet poised, as if you’re in a world all your own.

And then you start to sing.

The first note is like a whisper, gentle and soft, yet it carries through the room with a clarity that demands attention. Your voice is unlike anything Nanami has ever heard—smooth as honey, rich as velvet, with a depth that speaks of experiences and emotions he can only begin to imagine. Each note is carefully controlled, each word filled with emotion, and he finds himself leaning forward slightly, his focus entirely on you.

As you continue, your voice grows stronger, more confident, filling the room with a warmth that wraps around everyone like a comforting embrace. The lyrics are a love song, simple yet profound, speaking of longing and hope, of heartache and desire. Nanami feels each word as if it’s directed at him, as if you’re singing just for him, your gaze occasionally sweeping across the audience, and he can’t help but wonder if you see him.

The way you move on stage is mesmerizing. You sway gently to the rhythm, your hands occasionally rising to emphasize a particularly powerful line. There’s a passion in your performance, a raw emotion that spills out with every note, making it impossible to look away. Nanami’s heart races, a strange sensation for someone usually so composed. He doesn’t know why, but something about you, about this moment, feels significant—like a turning point he didn’t see coming.

He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, the liquid warming him from the inside out, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth your voice brings. As you hit a high note, the room seems to hold its breath, and Nanami feels a shiver run down his spine. He’s never felt so captivated, so drawn to someone. It’s as if your voice is a thread, pulling him closer, wrapping around his heart and refusing to let go.

For the first time in a long while, Nanami feels something beyond the constant grind of his duties. He feels alive, his senses heightened by the music, by your presence. He doesn’t know who you are, doesn’t know your story, but in this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is the music, the way your voice makes him feel, and the strange, undeniable pull he feels toward you.

He tries to stay for the rest of the night, anticipating the moment he can go up and introduce himself when all the performers do crowd work. However, it seems his phone has different plans as it buzzes insistently in the back pocket of his slacks, calling him cruelly away from the opportunity to catch your name, to hear your voice once more. Kento Nanami doesn't consider a man who's easy to anger, but that night, having lost the opportunity to know you, to catch just a single glimpse at your soul again, he can't help but feel his blood boil under his skin.

As he leaves the club, he convinces himself that he will see you again, that he will take the next opportunity as it comes and talk to you.

And that is how Kento Nanami quickly becomes a fixture at The Blue Note, his visits growing more frequent, timed perfectly to coincide with your performances.

He never deviates from his routine: arriving a few minutes before your set, he always sits at the same small table near the stage, his broad shoulders relaxed yet somehow still commanding in his perfectly tailored suit. He orders a single glass of whiskey, savoring it slowly throughout the evening.

His presence is quiet but unyielding, like a shadow that’s always there, watching, observing. Every time you step on stage, his gaze is already on you, unwavering, a steady anchor amidst the flickering candlelight and swirling smoke. It’s a look that’s intense, focused, as if he’s trying to unravel the secrets hidden within each note you sing.

You’ve noticed him, of course—how could you not? At first, he was just another face in the crowd, another patron drawn to the allure of jazz and dim lighting. But as the weeks passed, you found your eyes lingering on him more and more, intrigued by his quiet demeanor, the way he seemed to hang on to every word you sang. There was a mystery about him, a sense of restraint that made you wonder what thoughts lay hidden behind those piercing eyes.

As the days turn into weeks, his presence becomes a comfort, a constant in the ever-changing tide of the club’s clientele. You start to look for him as you step on stage, your gaze naturally drifting to his usual spot. The way he watches you feels different from the others—more profound, more attentive, as if he’s listening not just with his ears, but with his entire being.

And each time you sing, you can’t help but feel a strange connection to him, a silent understanding that grows stronger with every performance. His steady gaze becomes a source of inspiration, a quiet encouragement that pushes you to pour even more of yourself into each song. It’s almost as if you’re singing just for him, even though you’ve never exchanged a single word.

One evening, after a particularly soulful rendition of an old jazz standard, you notice him again. He’s there, as always, sitting at his usual table, his eyes following you with that same intense focus. But tonight feels different. There’s something in his gaze that you can’t quite place—an emotion that lingers in the air like the final note of a song.

The club is quieter than usual tonight, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room. As you step off the stage, your heart still pounding from the performance, you find yourself drawn to him, almost against your will. You’re not sure what compels you—perhaps it’s the curiosity that’s been building inside you for weeks, or maybe it’s the intensity of his focus, the way he seems to see right through you, as if he knows every emotion behind your songs.

You make your way through the tables, your steps slow and deliberate, your heart beating a little faster with each one. As you approach, you notice the subtle shift in his expression—his eyes widening slightly, a flicker of surprise passing across his otherwise stoic face. He sets his glass down carefully, his movements calm and measured, but you can see the tension in the way he sits up straighter, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Hi,” you say softly, your voice carrying just above the soft hum of the club. Up close, you notice the sharp angles of his face, the way his hair falls neatly over his forehead, and the intensity of his eyes—eyes that are watching you with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something deeper.

He nods slightly, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile. “Hello,” he replies, his voice low and smooth, matching the ambiance of the club perfectly. There’s a moment of silence, the kind that hangs heavy with unspoken questions and unsaid words.

You take a breath, steadying yourself. “I’ve noticed you here before,” you say, trying to sound casual, though your heart is racing. “You come to listen a lot.”

Nanami’s eyes soften, and he nods again. “I do,” he admits, his gaze steady and sincere. “You have a… remarkable voice. It’s not something one can easily forget.”

His words catch you off guard, the sincerity in them striking a chord deep within you. You smile, a genuine, warm smile that reaches your eyes. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

He tilts his head slightly, a subtle curiosity playing across his features. “From me?”

You nod, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his presence. “Yes. You always seem so… focused. It’s hard not to wonder what you’re thinking.”

Nanami chuckles softly, a rare sound that seems to surprise even him. “I suppose I’m just… listening,” he says, his voice thoughtful. “Trying to understand the emotion behind each song. You sing with such passion; it’s hard not to be drawn in.”

Your heart flutters at his words, at the honesty in them. For a moment, the world outside fades away, and it’s just the two of you in this small, smoky club, sharing a connection that feels almost tangible.

As the evening goes on, the conversation flows naturally, each word revealing a little more about the enigmatic man who has been such a mystery to you. And as you talk, you find yourself wanting to know more, to understand the quiet strength behind his stoic exterior, and to uncover the emotions that lie beneath his calm façade.

Tonight, you’ve taken the first step into a new rhythm, one that neither of you could have anticipated.

But your exploration ends there-- at least, for the time being as Nanami finds himself pulled back into the Jujutsu world, all his extra time lost to consistent missions and training as a grade-one sorcerer.

It's only about a month later that he is finally able to force just enough time into his exhausting schedule to come see you again, the dim glow of the jazz club's lights dances across the walls, and the familiar hum of chatter fills the room as patrons settle in for another night of music.

Nanami sits at his usual table, but tonight feels different. His normally calm and composed demeanor is slightly frayed at the edges. His fingers tap nervously against the rim of his glass, and he takes a slow, deep breath. He’s been thinking about this moment for weeks, rehearsing his words, imagining every possible outcome.

He can no longer ignore the pull he feels toward you—the singer who has become more than just a beautiful voice on stage. Every performance has drawn him deeper into your world, and he finds himself wanting more. He wants to know you, to understand the person behind the melodies that have captivated him so completely.

As the final notes of your current song fade, you take a small bow, the audience’s applause a warm, familiar comfort. When you lift your gaze, your eyes naturally drift to his spot, widening ever so slightly when you see him watching you with that same intense focus. There’s something different in his expression tonight, a hint of determination that makes your heart skip a beat.

When the set ends, you make your way offstage, your steps lighter than usual. As you head toward the bar for a drink, you see him rise from his table, his tall figure cutting through the smoky haze of the club. He’s coming toward you, his movements purposeful but not rushed. There’s a resolve in his stride, a quiet confidence that makes your pulse quicken with anticipation.

“Hi again,” you greet him with a smile as he approaches, leaning casually against the bar. Up close, he’s as striking as ever, his presence commanding but not overpowering. There’s a softness to his eyes tonight, a warmth that wasn’t there before. "Long time no see."

“Hello,” he responds, his voice a touch lower than usual, an embarrassed blush lightly dusting his sharp cheekbones. He pauses for a moment, searching for the right words. You can see the faintest hint of nervousness in the way he briefly glances away before meeting your gaze again. “I wanted to… say something.” He hesitates, then continues, “First, I wanted to apologize for my absence after our conversation. I see how it might seem that my lack of attendance is directly related, and I want to make it clear that it wasn't."

"That's alright," you say so sweetly, your voice dripping with a honey that doesn't reach the stage. It makes him pause, that soulful tone that you sing with is so at odds with your personality it almost makes him want to enquire whether or not you are the same woman.

But he has more important things to do, like reveal his truth. "A-and also.. your voice… it moves me in ways I can’t quite explain. It’s like every note, every word carries a piece of you, and… it reaches me.”

His confession is quiet, almost lost in the low murmur of the club, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes now, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the composed exterior.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you feel a playful urge to lighten the moment. “So, does that make you my most dedicated fan?” you tease gently, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

Nanami chuckles softly, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. “I suppose it does,” he admits, a small, genuine smile breaking through his usual stoicism. “I can’t seem to stay away.”

There’s a moment of shared laughter, and in that instant, the tension between you softens, replaced by a warm, unspoken connection. It’s a feeling that’s been building for weeks, and now, standing here with him, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you have a favorite song from my set?” you ask, curious to know more about the quiet man who seems to hang on your every word.

Without a second’s hesitation, he answers, “The ballad you sing—the one about longing and quiet devotion. It… resonates with me.”

You nod, recognizing the song he’s referring to. It’s one of your favorites too, a song filled with deep emotions, a story of unspoken love and silent yearning. His choice surprises you, but it also makes your heart flutter. There’s something incredibly personal about his answer, something that touches a place deep within you.

As the evening progresses, you prepare for the next set. Nanami returns to his table, but there’s a newfound lightness in his demeanor, a subtle shift in his posture. You take the stage again, the band picking up the soft, familiar notes of the ballad he mentioned. The room falls silent as you begin to sing.

Your voice carries through the club, each note delicate and filled with emotion. As you sing, your eyes search the crowd, drawn inevitably to him. When your gaze finally meets his, it feels like the air is charged with electricity. His eyes are locked on yours, and suddenly, the song takes on a whole new meaning. It’s no longer just a performance; it’s a conversation, a silent exchange of feelings that neither of you has dared to voice until now.

The words spill from your lips with a newfound intensity, each lyric filled with the raw emotion that’s been building inside you since the moment you first saw him. The love song, once a simple ballad, now feels like a confession, a declaration wrapped in melody. You can see it in his eyes too—a depth of feeling that mirrors your own, a quiet devotion that makes your heart race.

As the final note fades into the silence, you realize that the room has disappeared, leaving just the two of you connected by the invisible thread of the music. The applause is distant, a faint echo of reality, but all you can focus on is the way he’s looking at you—as if you are the only person in the world.

In that moment, under the soft glow of the club’s lights, something shifts between you. It’s a beginning, a step into uncharted territory, but it feels right. And as you both stand there, wrapped in the warmth of the song and the quiet understanding between you, you know that whatever comes next, it’s a melody you’re both eager to explore.

It's not long before the nights at The Blue Note become something more than just performances and applause. After the crowd disperses and the lights dim, the club transforms into a sanctuary of quiet conversations and shared silences. Nanami stays longer now, his reserved demeanor softening with each passing evening. You sit together at the bar or at his usual table near the stage, sometimes talking late into the night, sometimes just sitting in a comfortable silence that says more than words ever could.

You’ve come to look forward to these moments—the way Nanami listens so intently when you speak, as if every word matters, the way his eyes soften when he catches you smiling. There’s a calm about him, a quiet strength that you find yourself drawn to more and more. He never pushes, never asks for more than you’re willing to give. Instead, he’s just… there. A steady presence that has quickly become a constant in your life.

You learn things about him in these quiet hours. He speaks of his work in vague terms, his shoulders tensing slightly whenever the topic drifts too close. But he’s open about his love for jazz, about how he finds solace in the melodies and rhythms. He tells you about the first time he heard you sing, how something inside him shifted, how he knew he would return again and again.

In return, you share pieces of yourself with him—stories of your childhood, your love for music, and how it’s the one thing that has always made you feel truly alive. You tell him about the first time you sang on a stage, how nervous you were, and how that fear melted away the moment you began to sing. He listens with an intensity that makes you feel seen, truly seen, in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

As the days turn into weeks, an unspoken bond forms between you. It’s there in the way Nanami orders your favorite drink without you asking, in the way he waits for you to finish after every performance, ready with a quiet smile and a listening ear. It’s in the way you look for him in the crowd, your heart lifting just a little each time you find him sitting at his usual spot, watching you with that steady, unyielding gaze.

You begin to see the depth of Nanami in the little things—the way he’s always mindful of your space, the way he listens more than he speaks, and how his rare, gentle smiles are more precious than any grand gesture. He shows his affection in thoughtful ways—a book he thought you might like, a warm cup of tea on a rainy night, a steady hand at your back when you’re feeling overwhelmed.

It’s these moments, small but meaningful, that make you realize just how much he’s come to mean to you. He’s become more than just a regular at the club, more than just a face in the crowd. He’s someone you’ve come to rely on, someone whose presence brings a sense of calm and comfort that you hadn’t realized you were missing.

Tonight, the club is busier than usual, the crowd buzzing with energy. You’re back on stage, the warm glow of the spotlight casting a soft halo around you. The band starts to play the familiar opening notes of a love song, the same ballad Nanami had mentioned that night—the one filled with longing and quiet devotion. Your heart flutters with a mix of nerves and excitement. Tonight feels different, charged with a new kind of energy.

As you begin to sing, your eyes naturally seek him out. Nanami is there, as always, sitting at his usual table. But tonight, there’s no distance between you. He’s no longer just a quiet admirer in the shadows; he’s someone who knows your stories, someone who’s seen you in your most vulnerable moments. And when your gaze meets his, it’s like the whole room falls away, leaving just the two of you connected by the music.

Your voice carries through the club, each note filled with a tenderness that wasn’t there before. You sing for him now, every word an unspoken confession, every melody a shared memory. The song is more than just a performance; it’s a dialogue, a way to say all the things you haven’t yet put into words.

Nanami watches you with a quiet intensity, his eyes soft and warm. You can see the emotion there, the depth of feeling that he so rarely shows. And as you sing, you can feel it too—a warmth spreading through your chest, a sense of belonging that makes you feel more alive than ever.

The final notes of the song hang in the air, a delicate echo that slowly fades into the silence. The crowd erupts in applause, but all you hear is the quiet, steady beat of your heart, all you see is the way Nanami’s lips curve into a gentle, knowing smile.

You take a small bow, but your eyes never leave his. There’s a shared understanding between you, a silent promise that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together. And in that moment, under the soft lights of the club, with the music still lingering in the air, you know that you’ve found something special—something worth holding onto.

As the night draws to a close and the crowd begins to thin, you make your way off the stage, your steps light and purposeful. Nanami is waiting for you, his figure a steady presence amidst the shifting shadows. He doesn’t say anything as you approach, but his eyes speak volumes—filled with a quiet devotion that makes your heart swell.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs softly, his voice carrying just above the soft hum of the remaining patrons.

“Thank you,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “For everything.”

Nanami nods, his expression gentle, and without another word, he offers you his hand. You take it, feeling the warmth of his touch, the strength of his grip—a silent promise that whatever comes next, you won’t have to face it alone.

And as you stand there, hand in hand, with the music still echoing softly around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

[snailpebbles]

Charles Tries Piano Tiles - CL16

pairing: Charles Leclerc x long-time gf!reader

summary: it's bedtime and Piano Tiles is kicking your ass, so why not spread the gift to your loving boyfriend?

tags: vomit-worthy domesticity, purely fluff, yeah they're just too cute

a/n: this is kinda all over the place and ass but whatever

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

It's late at night, both of you tucked up into bed all cozy besides one another. Charles is reading some book he found at the local market, glasses you fondly refer to as old man spectacles propped on the end of his nose. Your arms are pressed together just like your legs are tangled beneath the soft blanket, the comfortable silence having been curated over your long term relationship. Charles loved the peace you brought into his life and how everything seemed to soften around you; every moment with you is one engraved in his heart, soul, and mind.

"Fuck!" The explicative comes out of the blue, your boyfriend startling next to you. As he glances over in confusion, his heart melts further. You look absolutely adorable with your little frustrated pout and furrowed brows. A smile tugs at his lips as he peers over your shoulder, only to dim once more to confusion.

"Love.. what are you doing?" He murmurs, watching your fingers tap little black boxes on a scrolling screen. A faint song plays from your phone, one he'd previously tuned out in favor of listening to your breathing; a sound that always soothes him.

"Piano Tiles." You mutter, too focused on correctly playing the Can-Can to look at your darling boyfriend. You've been trying to beat this song for God knows how long, the Can-Can haunting your dreams like Ferrari haunts his. At your response Charles leans closer, his warm breath brushing against your neck and cheek to distract you. From this, you mess up and the Can-Can mocks you from Hell.

"Why are you playing this game? I can teach you piano!" He offers, the idea making him light up in a way that relaxes the wrinkle between your eyebrows. You place your phone down beside you, knowing if you see that losing screen for one more second your phone will end up embedded in the wall. Charles, unaware of your seething rage at the children's game, seems absolutely taken by the thought of teaching you his passion.

"I have many books we can use and I'm sure you will love it.. oh, we can do duets!" He borderline squeals, already halfway out of bed as if it isn't almost twelve. You gently take his hand and pull him back, chuckling quietly.

"It's time for bed, remember?" A grin spreads across your face as a pout takes over his, his body slumping back beside you. Charles sulks, but then again, he sulks at everything. Knowing the perfect remedy to his silly dilemma that is time, you grab your phone and open the cursed app again.

"Would you like to play Cha?" The sickeningly sweet smile on your face should be noticeable, but Charles is too excited to learn something from you to care. Whenever you offer to teach him something, no matter how miniscule or simple, he suddenly becomes the most dutiful student with a slight (extreme) staring problem. He carefully takes your phone and, after a bit of direction, begins playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. He finds it easy, just like how his ego is easily inflated.

"My love, this is so simple. I promise that real piano is much more challenging, you would like it more." Charles exclaims, your earlier frustrations still not clicking with him. A wonderful, potentially cruel idea forms in your brain. That same smile spreads across your face and you rest your head on his shoulder to further lull him into a false sense of security you secretly use any excuse to touch him.

"Here's the one I was playing, maybe you can teach me it?" You click on the dastardly Can-Can, almost feeling pity at the naive confidence he displays. An excited smile glows on his face at the mention of teaching you; He'll take any excuse to spend time with you and getting to be squished beside you on a piano stool is a definite plus. When the song starts though, that confidence drains almost instantly. He manages to play for roughly seven seconds.

You giggle quietly as he tries again, and again, and again... and, you guessed it, again. By this point he's frowning and mumbling curses you don't think he even knows the meanings of, his shoulder tense beneath your cheek. Trying to draw him out of his relentless torture cycle, you gently kiss his stubbled jaw. Charles puts your phone down, all attention instantly on you as he relaxes.

".. Why would you introduce me to this game?" Charles asks, wrapping an arm around you to hold you closer. You cuddle into his side, tracing shapes over his white sleep shirt.

"Everyone needs Piano Tiles trauma, it builds character." You explain, peering up at him from his chest. Unable to resist such a cute sight, he kisses your forehead as his other arm comes around to hold onto your hip. A laugh bubbles in his chest though once he registers your words, only growing when he realizes you're fully serious.

"Really? You do this to me for character development?" Charles gasps as though you've offended every part of him, shaking his head.

"I can never forgive this crime my love." He tuts as you sit up a little. It's obvious what his charade is since he does it at any chance he can whether that be you forgetting a goodbye kiss or just bumping into him. A dramatized sigh escapes your lips as you cup his face, ready to plead for mercy over this horrendous offense.

"How can I make it up to you hm?" You hum, kissing the tip of his nose and giggling when it skews his old man spectacles. His nose scrunches at the peck and he glances up at the ceiling, clearly deep in thought. As he ponders what could give you retribution, you play around with his soft hair, giggling to yourself as you make pigtails and whatnot.

"I will forgive you if.." He dramatically pauses, of course, and you tap the top of his head as a mock drumroll. A goofy grin breaks through his serious facade before he fixes his face.

".. You let me teach you piano tomorrow." He says decisively. Obviously you saw this coming and can only pray he forgets (he won't). Charles can get.. passionate while playing piano and with you struggling to play alongside him.. well, you've fallen off the bench enough that he puts pillows down to catch you.

"Yes, yes alright." You groan, tucking yourself back up under his chin. He laughs quietly, knowing your exact train of thought. As compensation though he holds you extra close, arms tightly wrapped around you and legs hopelessly tangled while he rubs your back. You feel sleep tugging at your eyes, the steady heartbeat of your boyfriend only makes it harder to stay up. Wordlessly you reach a hand up to take his glasses off, the movement second nature from the many times you've had to help out the forgetful man. He murmurs a quiet thank you, followed by an 'i love you' that never fails to warm you right up. At your whispered reciprocation his heartbeat speeds up a tick, one that you can hear and makes the task of tomorrow worth it.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

[sefinaa]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞.❞

Who is your soul tribe?

Subliminal channel | Masterlist

Tips | Paid Readings

This is a tarot card reading. I pulled out 2-3 cards for each pile and a little bit of advice.

18+ readings: @enchantressiren

Pictures | divider

Pile I

Knight of cups and nine of swords.

Your soul tribe is mainly focused on forgiveness, love, devotion to yourself, and humanity. I am seeing a group of people wearing stereotypical, spiritual clothing, and they are in a circle together, as there is a fireplace in the middle of them. And one person is playing an acoustic guitar. Some of the other people are slowly clapping their hands or using an instrument to make a sound that is calming for the mind. I see someone with a wooden shaker, and that person is someone who is dear to you. And then I see you sitting on the log as they all do this beautiful relaxing song for you, as now you are part of the tribe, and you will listen and sway your head back and forth, and you’ll feel so much peace within. And my intuition says, “this is the first time I have felt peace. I am finally with my people. Thank you, (whoever higher up you believe in).” My intuition basically explains how you finally found the people who were already fated for you, but at the same time who are there for you to feel the sensation of happiness and accomplishment because they are your soul tribe. This is your fated destiny, as it is meant for your soul to find its right destination and finally feel complete.

With the knight of cups, you were able to follow what your heart wanted instead of what you have been doing for most of your life. You have been someone who was a follower and someone who always used logic instead of focusing on what was in your heart. You have a desire for a journey because everything in your life, as of this moment, is stale and the same. Nothing changes, and you try so hard for change. For a sense of purpose, but nothing happens as you keep chasing. And you are confused about what to do. So stop chasing; don’t even worry about attracting. Just do what your heart wants, and you will get everything you want.

The nine of swords, indicates anxiety and a feeling of despair and hopelessness, and that’s how you feel right now. You are afraid to stop chasing and find your people—your soul tribe because you believe that everything you do comes to a complete failure. But that’s because you focus on logic instead of your heart. You must focus on what your heart wants, and if you cannot figure it out, then take some time alone and figure out what you want. Write them down, talk to yourself, record them, scroll on random websites, and figure out what sounds appealing to you and what makes you happy. And once you do that, and your mindset hits your ideal, you will find your soul tribe since it’s the end of the destination.

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Pile II

Four of swords reversed, ace of wands, and knight of pentacles.

Immediately from your soul tribe, I can feel such enthusiasm, excitement, and screaming of ''AHHHHHH, I LOVEEEE YOUUUU,’’ and ‘’you mean the world to us, keep rockin’!’’ Wow, your soul tribe is made up of very cheerful and loving people who will always praise you for the little things you do in your life. For example, let's say you passed your exam and it wasn't a big deal to you, but to them, it is everything. They will be celebrating everything with such huge smiles on their faces, and all of this is genuine. I can feel your energy, ‘’is this really going to happen?’’ and yes, it will happen. You deserve their love, not because you chose this pile, but because you are a worthy human being who deserves the best love. So, with the four of wands reversed, this card focuses on restlessness, burnout, stress, and this is your overall energy. You guys keep trying to please your parents, those around you, your role models, etc., but you haven't tried to please yourself. You already see no point in rewarding yourself because you aren't getting the validation you deserve from these people, but remember.. You must learn to ask for your own validation because, at the end of the day, we only have ourselves. I know that you guys love the work you do and you guys think it's the best, but you lose your encouragement because of them, so stop going to them for it and find your validation from within.

As I was reading, 11:11 pm appeared on my phone, and this angel number is about the journey of having your manifestation come to you. This shows that you are on the right path and that you shouldn't give up. Keep moving forward and keep striving for what you want, not what others want. All of your manifestations are coming to you; you truly do not have to worry!

Your soul tribe will also be focusing on how you express your power within—basically, how you express how you feel with others and how you can show who is boss. They want to help you understand that everyone is powerful because they're the boss of their reality and that no one should stop them from doing what they love. I hear that a lot of you guys want to focus on the art industry, but the people around you will not support you with it because it's ‘’impossible=ble’’ to make money as an artist, but remember this: whatever you desire, whatever you want, if you keep doing what makes you happy, you will have what you desire because your vibration increases to the right frequency to gain this abundance. In other words, keep doing what makes you happy, and abundance will appear because of the happy energy that is within you. This goes for the rest of you as well. Some of you guys are thinking about majoring in business to have your own business, and you want to have the knowledge to have it, so keep striving for what you believe will work.

With the knight of pentacles, this card speaks about efficiency, hard work, and responsibility, which explains why I mentioned manifestations. Your soul tribes are already master manifestors; whenever they want something, it always comes to them because they have a strong belief system and they have done what they wanted. They will show you the same knowledge they have learned because they know that you are worthy of it and that everyone deserves this knowledge. They go by the motto ‘’knowledge is power.’’ They know it is powerful and can be used in the wrong way. That is why they are selective with the right people because they don't want anyone to harm this knowledge. At the same time, they do it without expecting anything, despite the hard work they put in to show their friends or tribe all about it. They know that no one in it will use it maliciously, and they have a feeling in their heart, or heart chakra, that no one in their tribe will trick them. So, you should stop seeing yourself as a bad person too. How can a ‘’bad’’ person be a part of this welcoming and trustworthy tribe if they believe that those who are good within deserve this knowledge? No, they do not believe that a bad person on the outside isn't worthy of it. They can feel the energy of people and will determine if their hearts are good. For example, my intuition tells me that one of your soul tribe members is a criminal who killed many people but has made amends with their dues. They have changed drastically to the point where they are an advocate for those who have their children killed and will protect anyone.. Does this sound like a bad character? No, it is not—definitely not in my book and surely not in theirs. My intuition also tells me, ‘’my dear, you have a harsh conception of what is wrong and right. You must reduce this negative thinking and understand what it is like.. To be someone who is actually bad, you are a good soul, and you are deserving of love. Change your mindset to meet your tribe.’’

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Pile III

The star, queen of wands (reversed), and king of pentacles (reversed).

Before I explain who your soul tribe is, I want to get in depth with how you feel before I tell you. I feel a huge sense of jealousy, possessiveness, anger, frustration, etc. I want to take control of other people and treat them like puppets. But these are not my thoughts. These are your thoughts, your inner feelings, and how you have been projecting to other people because you deem yourself worthy, but everyone else is incompetent compared to you. You have a stick up your ass. And you can get mad at me if you like to, but I like to keep my readings as honest as I can. So, I want you to fully understand that everyone is intelligent in their own way. People will not have the same hobbies as you and will not understand things the same way you do. If everyone was like that, everything would be boring and monotonous. Do you want a world that is like you for every single thing? That would be like cloning yourself constantly, and you would be sick of it. I know you would be. So reduce your possessive energy because if you don’t, you will not find your soul tribe, and I want you to. I want you to improve yourself as a person and find the people who are going to elevate you to a higher level. I believe that everyone deserves a second chance. Everyone is deserving of love, no matter what happened in their past, because the past is the past. But you must make that change in your life to have what you desire in it. You must change your thoughts—you wonder why the things that you want aren't coming into your life; you aren’t aligned with what you desire. You are only aligned with negativity because your mindset is negative.

To start off with your soul tribe, who are they? Your soul tribe will give you the hope that you want. I know that a lot of you have had extremely shitty childhoods and that you’re actually projecting that feeling because your father or your grandfather always said that they were better than you, that they are better than other people, and that no one is deserving of anything good except them. I’m hearing a huge God complex. And it is okay to think of yourself as worthy, great, and powerful. To have a mindset like this where you think you are better than everyone and you’re more superior really allows your ego to win, and instead of allowing yourself to fully understand and be like, “ok I’m not better than everyone else, but I’m not worthless either; I’m worthy of things I desire, and that is my truth.” This will help you understand that you don’t have to go all the way into that mindset to be confident. You can be confident and empathetic toward other people.

I’m also feeling that when you do reduce this mindset and find your soul tribe, you are going to be happy and full of abundance in your life. You are going to be able to feel a sense of fulfillment like a phoenix when it dies. Think of the tarot card for death. Death represents a new chapter in her life, like our old shelves have melted away and we are coming to our path, and a stronger version of us is a more healthy, more compassionate part of ourselves that we used to deem unworthy because it showed vulnerability, but vulnerability is okay to have. Vulnerabilities and emotions make us human, and it’s completely normal to have them. When we become more tuned to our vulnerability and emotions, we experience more peace and happiness. You cannot have happiness and peace without understanding your emotions.

With your soul tribe, they will teach you how to release anger and how to release your anxiety. You have this assumption that you are just pure consciousness, that the thoughts that you have in your mind or just pure experiences don’t necessarily exist, and as you breathe in and out, you will allow your mind to let your thoughts pass by, like driving a car. They will teach you how to go into the roots of your trauma, and they will teach you how to use those roots in a positive way instead of allowing them to affect your life in a negative way. They will teach you how to earn abundance in your life without having a greedy mindset. With the king of pentacles reversed, this card focuses on greed, indulgence, and sensuality. Basically, my intuition tells me they will be teaching you how to lift off your spirits into a higher light to achieve your higher self, because my tarot card that has king of pentacles is a man who has veins, trees, and roots covering him and chaining him up. There are animals near him, and in the background there’s a fox, and then his hair is scattered and pulled up, but on top is a white circle. So my intuition tells me this is you; you are the man here. The roots that are around the man are your thoughts and the possessiveness that you have at the moment. The animals surrounding him are your soul tribe. There is a fox, a raccoon, and a badger.

Foxes are known to be highly intuitive, and they are playful and secretive, but they are compassionate to those who are close to them. Raccoons are smart. They have great solutions to their problems, and they think I have a box. They focus on their surroundings, and they’re very present in the moment. Badgers are those who protect others and themselves, and they want to fulfill what they desire, mainly about humanity as well. My intuition tells me that badgers like to help other badgers, they like to help themselves, they like to make a community, and such.

So why am I explaining to the animals that I see you? My intuition tells me that each animal that is in my tarot card is your community or your soul tribe. I hear the leader is the fox, the people in your soul tribe are the raccoons, and you are the badger deep down inside. I know you are the badger. Despite possessing that negativity energy that you had surrounding you before your trauma developed, you were extremely sweet, so damn loving, and so helpful that you were always there for other people. But then things start to happen, and you start chaining up that sweet and loving soul and a fear to protect yourself, but I want you to remember that it’s okay to be a good person to care about other people. Just try to make sure that you know who the good people are and who the bad are, and if you cannot tell, try to use your intuition. And do not tell me that you do not have intuition because you had to find this pile that was right for you. You must learn to trust yourself, because that is how you will find your soul tribe too.

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[stylespresleyhearted]

what’s the secret project you posted 👀

oh gosh i keep meaning to answer this and then i keep forgetting or pushing it back for reasons unknown to me i think im just unaccustomed to having any asks lol but anyways this is something that actually started because of a certain thing me and marina yell about when it comes to austin and then as our love for callum grew it came to something else grand and beautiful. now it’s only something that has been discussed in the chat, it has no doc or nothing official to it, it may never even come to fruition (marina is already gifting us with so much goodness in the fic worlds she dabbles in)

but i will share some of it and feel free to come further talk about it if it interests you 😘

Warnings: nsfw below the cut, open relationship, threesome, guy x guy, guy x guy x girl

So we’re all aware of how Austin put his blood, sweat, tears, and soul into his Elvis role. This man gave it his all and I’m truly so grateful to him for it because in my opinion (and most importantly in Lisa Marie’s opinion) he did Elvis Presley justice.

• Bree is a famous and highly esteemed guitarist, singer, and lyricist. She’s won multiple Grammies and written for and with Lana Del Rey, Arctic Monkeys, etc., that’s more her vibe. Baz hires her on during the making of Elvis movie so she could help him modernize the soundtrack and help with the choosing of songs. Maybe she’s even there when Austin gathers all the people from the record label and has them ridicule Austin after his first run through.

• But she’s there before filming and she’s there during filming and her and Austin even shack up together for a while during the first COVID lockdown, spending time with him in his apartment and staying up at all hours of the night to help him get certain scenes right. The bed sheets are tangled, kisses are shared, breakfast is eaten in bed not in the kitchen and there are multiple walks on the beach taken together.

• Bree tries her best to be there for him through all of it. She can sense he’s about to sky rocket and rightfully so, she doesn’t think anyone around can currently measure for his talent. She tries to be a soundboard and a friend and a girlfriend of sorts and a co worker and he’s got her playing all these different roles to keep up with him but keep in mind he never asked her to do any of that. She’s doing it because she loves him, maybe she isn’t in love with him or if she is she isn’t aware of it yet but she does love and care for him.

• And he’s going through his shit. He isn’t sure where Austin begins and Elvis ends and he isn’t in the headspace for a relationship, especially with Bree who deserves the world so when he’s sick as a dog and bed ridden before heading to London he makes sure to have the conversation with her. They were never official. Never went public or had rumors swirl. It’s better to end it on a good note and leave it how it is.

• So consider his surprise when a few months into filming MOTA, Bree shows up on Callum’s arm being introduced as his girlfriend. It’s supposed to be a lads night and Barry dragged him out and now someone who he calls one of his closest friends is introducing Bree as his current girlfriend. A close friend who he goes on walks in the parks with, who places kisses on his cheek after a few drinks, who places his hand on the small of Austin’s back when he approaches him, who pinches his cheeks and welcomed him with open arms. Dating someone who was there at his worst and gave him her heart and stayed up entire nights talking him down when his anxiety was too high and made him do self care when he forgot he was supposed to be his own person.

• and see, Callum and Bree are both Brits so they run in semi same circles and they knew of each other and were friends but Callum was with Vanessa Kirby and they were in love and for a while Bree was with Alex Turner and them afterwards there was Austin. So Callum and Bree were already friends and when they run into each other at a record shop and then head to lunch after and maybe Callum gave her a kiss goodbye when they went separate ways - it all just grew from there.

• so maybe Austin feels a green jealous monster growing inside his chest but who he’s jealous of he’s unsure and a larger part of him is actually happy for both of them. They’re good people, they love each other and both deserve each other.

• they’re suddenly everywhere. She accompanies Callum on set and it’s clear to everyone how in love they are and one time when they’re filming the POW scenes and everyone’s on lunch Austin is looking for peace and quiet so he wanders into their “bunks” but there right in front of him - Callum holding Bree up against the wood panel walls, pounding into her as she moans his name so prettily, his sheepskin jacket still on and making him sweaty. Callum’s eyes open and he catches Austin walking, Austin who trips over his own feet to back away but Callum just smiles and winks at him.

• and later Callum approaches Austin with a high five and a cheeky, “see how good I was giving it to her, mate?”

• and fuck, Austin gets hard thinking about it. Gets hard thinking about Bree’s moans and Callum’s grunt and his sweat and her breasts bouncing against his chest.

• then filming wraps and Austin’s free of them. Doesn’t have to be in there presence every day anymore and he meets someone, a nepo baby who’s beautiful and kind and he’s in a place where he feels he can be with someone so he goes for it and he falls in love.

• and MOTA press isn’t until 2024 so it’s two years of only a handful of run ins with them but then press starts and news break: Callum and Bree are engaged. And the entire cast and crew are happy and they all celebrate.

• She didn’t join Elvis press because she was touring.

• so now Austin is around his engaged friends and he has mixed feelings regarding both of them. See he’s happy and he loves his girlfriend and his career is good but if he’s being honest something is missing and when he wants to torture himself he admits he knows exactly what it is. And he’s doing interviews and Bree is backstage and Callum’s always so touchy and so kind in his words in regard to Austin and one day Callum admits Bree told him what went down between Bree and Austin and Callum’s a confident guy, he assures Austin it’s all fine.

• But maybe it’s the first screening of MOTA, and Callum and Bree are tired of Austin’s sad puppy dog eyes every time they catch him watching them so Bree corners Austin backstage. Gets close and starts palming him through his pants, assuring him Callum wouldn’t mind, in fact Callum has been purposely teasing Austin during interviews trying to get him to cave.

• Callum and Bree both decided if they all wanted it how could it be wrong? Why not go for it?

• And Bree’s falling to her knees and taking Austin in her mouth, pretty pouty lips wrapped around him as she takes him all the way in and suddenly Callum is there, watching them, talking her through it.

• “Isn’t she phenomenal, mate? Had to work with her to get rid of that gag reflex and now she can deep throat me.”

• and Callum waits until Austin mewls his name and calls him over, begging him to be a part of this somehow, to please hold him. So Callum is joining them, Bree so pretty on her knees between them and Callum is flicking Austin’s nipple and letting Austin let his moans out in his neck.

That’s all we have more to come soon if ya’ll wish 🌚

• oh yeah there’s a scene where Bree holds Austin’s hand the first time Callum fucks him because she’s aware of the pain of how large Callum is.

@precious-little-scoundrel

[officialdaydreamer00]

Good Old-fashioned Lover boy

in which he pines for you in his unique ways

format: song lyrics drabbles

characters: cater, jade, floyd, malleus

content: pining; no thoughts, head empty, only fluff; irene's favourite love languages: singing, dancing, physical touch and quality time; severe brainrot for queen's GOFLB

reader is not yuu, reader is gender neutral

song used:

"I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things

We can do the tango, just for two"

cater would take you to the light music club room an hour or two before the official meeting time. he would strum his guitar in a more gentle manner than his usual upbeat style, and he would sing songs that he thought you would love, keeping your song preference in mind. there were times he would play songs you both knew by heart, and he would extend his hand to you, as you both dance away in the empty club room. just the two of you.

he might not say it out loud, but he adored those moments. they were short but sweet, and he cherished them with his entire heart so long as it is still beating. because those moments are the ones he shares with you.

"I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings

Be your Valentino, just for you"

jade leech is a busy man. besides his schoolwork, his role as the vice housewarden, and his own club, he barely has much time to be with you. and oh how he hates it.

the next time he sees you, he would invite you to his club room, keeping you close to him as you both take care of the mushrooms. he would even hum the merfolks' entrancing melodies that he learned before his venture on land. oh how he adores that cute little blush you adorn every time his gloved hand brushes yours, or when you sneak glances at him thinking that he wouldn't notice. it puts a silly smile on his face, knowing one day you would sing with him a perfectly harmonised melody of your own.

he doesn't mind waiting for you, he is a patient man after all. he doesn't mind, as long as you choose him in the end.

"Hey, boy, where'd you get it from?

Hey, boy, where did you go?

I learned my passion in the good old-fashioned school of lover boys"

there are many words people would use to describe floyd. spontaneous, unpredictable, bat-shit crazy. but never in his life has he heard someone calling him "passionate", and that dumb brave soul being you.

so naturally, he was intrigued. the little shrimpy wasn't afraid of him? but you were so tiny and fragile and cute, he could just eat you up! he decided to stick with you for a few days, just to make sure :)

you really weren't afraid of him or his infamous squeezes, you even reciprocated most of them! floyd was ecstatic, he ultimately decided to greet you every day with squeezes and hugs reserved just for you shrimpy!

you wouldn't refuse his growing affections for you right, shrimpy? after all, he has binded his heart with yours, he likes you too much to let you go <3

"I'd like for you and I to go romancing

Say the words, your wish is my command"

malleus is THE textbook definition of a good old-fashioned lover boy.

a literal crowned prince, the future ruler of a land, and one of the most powerful mages in all of twisted wonderland. that's who he is. to say you have someone of such status falling for you, people would brush it off as a joke due to how utterly ridiculous that claim sounded.

of course, outsiders wouldn't know the entire details. your late night rendezvous are something malleus looks forward to the most in his years long time being alive. you are the first ever friend he made, and the only friend he had, it is only natural he grew emotionally attached to you. his affections were more and more obvious with each night you spent together, talking and dancing the night away, how his eyes were on you, and you only, and how he gave your hand a tender kiss at the end of each meeting before he (regretfully) had to return to his dorm.

he hoped you could reciprocate his love one day, and he would wait for you, until the end of time.

taglist🏷️ @azulashengrottospiano @aqua-beam @identity-theft-101 @shyhaya @ceruleancattail @dove-da-birb @moonlit-midnight @hisui-dreamer @cecilebutcher @leonistic @ang33333333l @siren-serenity @krenenbaker @twistwonderlanddevotee @axvwriter @minimallyminnie @iseethatimicy @siphoklansan @bun-lapin @red-viewe @thehollowwriter @jaylleoo14 @wordycheeseblob

reblogs are appreciated!

[pep-rambles]

Lucifer is a Swiftie headcanons because I kin this man so much I am projecting my other hyperfixations on him

But also I mean c'mon,

Look at him

yes there is RadioApple in this

-It probably started from Charlie. When she was in high school (post emo phase obviously) she may have enjoyed Taylor Swift (maybe Fearless got her through her senior year because I can't stop projecting) Lucifer started listening to try and have something to bond with his daughter about. But about the time Charlie kind of lost interest is about the time Lucifer doubled down on his obsession.

-He has been to basically almost every Eras concert, usually in really good seats because many a swiftie has offered to sell their soul for tickets. He said keep your soul just let him tag along.

-He is definitely an Evermore stan mostly because of relating too hard to the divorce narrative of it.

-Speaking of, Charlie has threatened to lock him out of his Spotify after catching him on the floor crying to “Champaign Problems” on repeat too many times. She never would but most definitely tried to ban him from listening to it for a month.

-She then caught him crying to “You’re Loosing Me”

-Angel Dust is most definitely  Beyhive (killer bee probably) and though initially joking that they are rivals the two men bond over their love for the two queens of pop, recommending songs and videos to each other.

-Angel is a Reputation Stan though 

-After one of Lucifer’s many tiffs with Alastor,  Charlie is expressing her frustration asking her dad why can’t they just get along and Lucifer explains that he doesn’t trust Alastor because “I think his ever-present grin is a little troubling” and is a little upset when she doesn’t get it 

-One day, Luci is sitting in the Lobby doing his work while listening to Taylor on shuffle. He’s casually minding his own business jamming out to one of her poppier love songs and Alastor wanders in commenting on the “Obnoxious trite little diddy” Lucifer doesn't even hesitate to take the bait

L: HOW DARE YOU! SHE IS A TALENTED GODDESS!! A DOWNRIGHT MUSICAL CHAMELEON! You are such a snob Alastor! Good music didn't stop getting made after your tiny little lifetime.

A: I never said it did but it's certainly not this frivolous noise!

L: Oh, you uninformed uncultured cur! She is a fucking poet!

He then proceeds to play examples for Alastor of her most creative and heart wrenching lyrics (he absolutely makes Al sit through all 10 minutes and 13 seconds of ATW) 

After all that though Lucifer will never get Alastor to admit that he finds T.S. musically talented (or that Lucifer did in fact catch Al tapping his foot a couple times)

        -Alastor does come to Lucifer, after a bit of research, admitting that though he does not find her music enjoyable, he respects her business cunning. Luci figures that's good enough. For now. 

-because I bet my non-existent Eras tour tickets that Lilith was a hater. I’ll leave it at that.

-OP works at Barnes & Noble and let me tell you there are about 80 different Taylor Swift magazines that even my swiftie ass thinks is excessive but Lucifer has every single one

-including the Taylor Swift paper dolls magazine (yes this is a real thing). He probably gets a few because he convinces Charlie to use them as a team building activity.

-He has at least 3 copies of each of the covers for the 2023 TIME Person of the Year magazine. 

-Also all cardigans. On a casual day he definitely lounges in them and has a set rotation of when to wear each one (and I am totally not gonna draw that nope)

-Well, it seems Lucifer is no longer crying to the depressing break-up songs on repeat but now he seems to be angrily listening to “Gorgeous” on repeat. Charlie asks him about it and he goes full denial mode “No no Charlie I'm not thinking of anyone specific, I've just been really into this song lately.” Everyone else in the hotel, besides Alastor, has already figured out what's going on

Alastor: If I have to hear that obnoxious noise one more time I will reduce that tiny maniac’s room to rubble as well as the abode of whatever sad sack is making him play it.

Angel: *knowing smirk* I'm gonna hold ya to that one, Antlers. 

-Al may very well hear it one more time if Lucifer uses it as his confession song (I don't fully commit to this headcanon, I just think it's funny) 

-Anyway boy’s probably in his Reputation stan Era b/c LWYMMD is like his long overdue big F-YOU to Heaven song 

btw this is NOT gonna end at these headcanons I am running with this idea like scissors.

@nunalastor

@julsiemagne

@nose-nippin-fun (I know you're not a swiftie but we talked about this so idk if you care I can un-tag you if you want)

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Eternal Night (Part 4)

Summary: On one of many nights, Sevatar reflects on his feelings for you.

Jago Sevatarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power imbalance, violence, predator/prey

Word count: 1538

Author's note: there's nothing sexier than when a space marine who doesn't know what love is wants to kill you~

Song: She Wants Revenge - Red Flags and Long Nights

You can occupy my every sigh You can rent the space inside my mind At least until the price becomes too high

You are small and fragile as a mouse. You could easily be squeezed and crushed. Until your eyes become bloodshot and the air disappears from your lungs. The human body is viscous and fleshy. How many people lived their lives, dreamed, suffered, were living souls until they found themselves in the skinning pits?

Sevatar could do the same to you. Squeeze the life out of you and hang your skin around the ship like curtains. But then he will lose the peace that he has not felt in recent decades. He will lose you.

The last thought sits unpleasantly on the tongue. Sevatar has already allowed himself to become sentimental towards his distant relatives. Of course, if they were them. That's what he didn't expect, that he would worry about his little toy.

Nice and gentle. Small and fragile. Yes. That's what you were. Your whole image and the way you behaved, moved, took him far away. Far away in the rainy rain as black feathers swirled around him. But at the same time you brought a completely new feeling. To which he could not find a word.

It's a distraction. No, the first captain could lie to himself as much as he wanted, but this was not so. He still performed his duties properly. Even better. Now he could fully concentrate on them without thinking about his Gift. After all, you were always on hand to relieve stress.

And that's not to mention the sweet smell of fear. Eyes full of tears and unspoken pleas from soft lips. Quiet sobs in the depths of the night, when Sevatar had the idea of ​​playing with you. Complete dependence and submission to him and only him. The tattoo adorning your shoulder beckoned and tormented his thoughts. How could he resist licking the cocktail of ink, his blood and your sweat?

The primarch should not have waged a joint campaign with Fulgrim. The Nostroman language was already considered beautiful and sophisticated by the inhabitants of the Imperium. Now the Night Lords have picked up words from their fragrant cousins. Why so many words when everything is simple?

You are his servant, and he is your master.

Yes, it's simple. You are afraid of him, but he enjoys fear. Then why does he see in your eyes a plea not to stop, but to continue? Why do your moans of pain sound different at some moments? Why do you look at him as if he were your Emperor? The man only grinned at this funny comparison, which would give many mortals and Word Bearers a heart attack.

But that’s how it was. You depended on him because it was necessary. Because you wanted it. You liked it, he could feel it. He still remembers your eyes full of gratitude when he took revenge for you.

"Thank you"

Sevatar still sees this picture in front of him. You, trembling and tired, sit in a dark corner. Waiting for him. You cry from the pain that the mortal bastard (and Sevatar's hands squeezing your shoulders) caused you. Your pleading look. Your whole body, face, covered with someone else's blood that you shed. He would like to see you like this more often.

Never before had Sevatar enjoyed tormenting mortals so much. He did not deign to have the warden and the rapist disemboweled by his hand. But he was watching. Watching at the judgment. Punishment. Retribution. Sevatar did justice in the most perverted form.

"Thank you"

A spontaneous desire to tear out someone else's heart came to mind completely unexpectedly. As a child, the boy had to eat all parts of corpses. It was rare that he could take anything for himself, because all the homeless children he came across were weak and had nothing. Now he did not need trophies except for the skin on his armor.

So why don't you get the trophy you deserve? He will laugh at your reaction. Besides, you served the Night Lord. And at least the first captain liked your kind face and didn’t want to spoil you. You still needed to understand at least a little about the values ​​of your Legion. So that you could serve him better, understand, obey, open up -

"Thank you"

Your gratitude sounds like a parasite in his brain. This is how maggots usually find dead flesh and cannot stop eating it until there is not a piece left. Here's the same one. You are slowly eating away at Sevatar’s brains, forcing him to think about you.

Maybe Sevatar should get rid of you? Cut out the tattoo with the skin and send you to free floating. Until other Night Lords find you to have fun with you if you don't do a good job. Or one of them will realize how pretty you are and take you into his service.

No. He won't let this happen. You are his. You belong to him.

Your tears, your fear, your doom, your prayers and hope. It all belongs to him. Sevatar promised to take care of you. He was supposed to protect you. The tattoo was supposed to scare away your tormentor. But you had to defend yourself.

You didn’t say a word about this to Sevatar. And could you even blame your master for anything? But what the first captain didn't expect was gratitude. How something in you breaks and you, intoxicated by the feeling, put yourself in the hands of a man, trusting him in everything.

"Thank you"

Sevatar looks away from the ceiling and looks at the mattress at the far end of the room. You're having such a good dream. Surely you are now dreaming of the warm sun and the spiers of Terra which you will never see again. Not noticing the gaze of the Night Lord.

You are tender and fragile compared to him. Too kind and naive for this Legion. Too strange for the Imperium. The man did not know and did not want to know whether you were a hidden psyker. But even if that were the case, you would become even more dependent on the first captain. Only he can hide you from his brothers and the Black Ship. After all, you are so defenseless.

He wants crush you.

No, Sevatar did not want to kill you. And yet, lately he had a strange desire to squeeze you. A hot feeling, similar to anger, settled in his body and mind. He became even more fierce in training. His brothers were already openly avoiding him so as not to end up broken on the floor.

His obedient Terminators, his brotherhood say nothing, blindly carrying out the will of the first captain. But they noticed a change in him. They noticed that he was haunted by an obsessive thought, which Sevatar still could not throw into action. For now. He just didn't know what to do yet.

But the primarch clearly laughed at him. He knew what an unusual situation Sevatar found himself in. Konrad Curze sometimes looked at the Space Marine with such anticipation that any mortal would feel uncomfortable. Sevatar was only annoyed by this. He was devoted to his gene father, but sometimes it was difficult to be with him. He feels not like the first captain, but like a mother hen.

Sevatar will not ask Konrad Curze what is happening to him. Will not ask for advice. This type of relationship between Primarch and Space Marines is common to other Legions. Moreover, Sevatar, unlike his brothers, did not hang on every word of the primarch with anticipation. He was devoted to him, but he did not love him. If this feeling was even in his blood.

The man looks at your figure again, peering into your calm sleeping face. An entertaining spectacle. Calming. And yet the thought of your tears and moans seeps into Sevatar's mind again. Filling all the brain cells, leaving not a single space.

He would crush you under himself. Grab you in his arms. Lick his mark on you. Eat you. Subdue. Dominate.

These feelings, not inherent to space marines, no longer let the man out of his tenacious clutches. He should go to the Apothecary and get rid of them. Heal and start seeing you as a piece of meat. But he won't do it. Because he couldn’t and didn’t want to.

The white teeth of a predator sparkle in the darkness. A smile typical of a corpse appears on his face. But still sincere. There were few moments when something could amuse Sevatar, captivate him, or simply make him happy. But you did it.

The words of a mother from the distant past envelop the man like a blanket. A small clue that sheds light on his new feelings. Good girls always love bad boys. And vice versa.

And Sevatar was bad, right? There were no good people among the Night Lords. Only monsters, murderers and sadists who fulfill the Imperial Truth and bring peace to the worlds of people. Facade, nothing more. But you were good. And you will remain like this forever. He'll take care of it. He will shed as much blood as necessary. If only you were nearby.

[gxthicupid]

Heyo! Just wanted to ask if you could do a oneshot with the Six-Eared Macaque or Sun Wukong where the reader just bumps into them on a relatively normal day. (Or as normal as it can get anyway-) For Macaque, I was thinking, maybe the reader sees one of his posters advertising his shadow plays and he sees them staring at it for a rather long time and decides to spark some conversation? For Wukong, maybe she's a vet of some sort and one of his monkeys somehow manage to get off Flower Fruit Mountain (most likely washed up by the sea-) , all the way to her clinic where she cares for it immediately- and Wukong maybe finds out where his tiny child be at and things go from there? Do whichever suits you fancy or feel comfortable with! qwq

୨⎯ 𝑷𝑼𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑹'𝑺 𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑪𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻 [𝑺𝒊𝒙 𝑬𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒙 !𝑭𝑬𝑴! 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓]

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇxᴛ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴍᴀᴄᴀQᴜᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏꜱ?

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ <3

➨ The day seemed grim and dull, as everyone seemed to be at home, enjoying themselves inside and possibly watching the cable or working while you walked down the pathway and carried bags of groceries. You minded your own business while listening to music from your headphones and heading straight back home.

➨ However, as you were distracting yourself with a favourite song, you noticed an eerie poster on the corner of an alleyway. You stopped walking and took a better look with much interest. The poster promoted a recent shadow play coming into Megapolis about the legendary and tragic tale of ‘The Hero and the Warrior’.

➨ You stared in awe while the music continued to blast into your ears as white noise before seeing a stranger at the corner of your eye approaching closely. You turned around and freaked out while letting out a small yelp and immediately recognised him as the puppeteer from the poster.

➨ “Ah, I see you have noticed my poster?” A low and gravelly voice was heard from the hooded man as the shadows of the alleyway managed to hide most of his face, except for his mouth. “How? . . .Where did you come from?” You stepped back against the wall and questioned the puppeteer.

➨ He only gave you a sly grin, showing some noticeable canines. “I simply come around these parts whenever I’m on break. How about you?” His alluring yet mysterious tone responded, and you took off your headphones to listen to him properly. Then you replied honestly. “Me? Well, I was heading home from grocery shopping, and well – can I say that your poster looks amazing.” Besides the creepy introduction, you must admit that it’s not like every day you’re talking to the lead of a play that interests you. 

➨ The puppeteer chuckled slightly and came closer to you as a result, as your skin felt a slight chill before he spoke again. “Sorry. Where are my manners? The name’s Macaque.” He let his arm lean close, and you felt a heavy heat on your cheeks.

➨ You did not expect the puppeteer to have such a lovely voice; it was so pleasing to hear in more than one sense, and you managed to see more of his features the closer you got. His yellow eyes were so tempting it felt like they were piercing into your soul. 

➨ “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Macaque.” You couldn’t help but be swayed by his charisma and way of words. “I suppose you’re eager to attend one of my shadow plays, right?” For some reason, you couldn’t muster the strength to pull away from his gaze and only allowed him to come closer to you.

➨ “I am. When does your next show start?” You began to feel flustered the more you talked with Macaque, and the words slipped from your lips so easily. “Around 5:00pm. And speaking of, I should be heading back and getting ready for my next show." He separated himself from you, and you suddenly felt your heart beating hard against your chest.

➨ “See you later. . .Y/N~” He whispered into your ear in a husky tone before leaving the alleyway and you. You were utterly flabbergasted by what just happened, but at least now you had something to look forward to today. 

・❥・

➨ That afternoon, you made it just in time for Macaque’s shadow play, and you got some popcorn and a drink just in case. After what felt like forever, the lights in the theatre dimmed down into total darkness before a strange mist appeared on the floors of the stage.

➨ The curtains opened and revealed the puppeteer with a fascinating lantern. “Welcome, viewers, to a shadow play the likes of which you have never seen.” He introduced himself and glimpsed at you in the crowd before smiling and continuing the story. 

➨ “It follows the tragic tale of a legendary warrior, and how those who bring light into this world. . . inevitably bring darkness to those they hold dear.” Once he finished his sentence, a gust of harsh winds erupted in the crowd, sending goosebumps on your skin. You couldn’t help but mesmerise the scenery of his shadow plays. They were so astonishing to watch.

➨ The winds calmly settled once he spoke again. Throughout the shadow play, the puppeteer continues telling the story, and you can’t help but feel bad for the warrior character. Their life sounded so sad, and you feel like whatever happened to them shouldn’t have ended on such a sombre note.

➨ Finally, Macaque finished the tragic tale. Most people would have thought this ending seemed anticlimactic, but you were blown away by such a marvellous performance. While everyone headed out of the theatre, you went backstage to find Macaque, and he was examining the lantern that he used in the shadow play. Not paying attention to anything else.

➨ You walked over him and felt a little cheeky by sneaking up on him and getting your revenge from earlier. However, Macaque seemed to notice you and dodged your attack before pinning you against the wall again, but more ferociously than ever.

➨ Since it was dark backstage, you could hardly see him, even with the help of the lantern. All you heard was a deep chuckle that filled your stomach with butterflies. You listened to the ruffling of his hood being removed, but you saw nothing, thanks to the obscure darkness.

➨ “Hey there, Y/N~ Enjoy the show?” Judging from the tone of his voice, Macaque was attempting to flirt with you, and as a result, you laughed nervously before replying. “Yeah. . . absolutely amazing.” You tried to keep yourself together, but he was making it impossible.

➨ “You know, I was going to change the story a little in this performance.” His voice sounded so alluring that hearing him speak softly into your ears made you feel so weak under his grasp. Your mind felt so blank while the touch of his wrist slowly came up to your own.

➨ “H-How so?” You muttered under your breath, and you felt so lost that everything around you seemed not to matter anymore. All your attention was only on him. “I was going to describe a love interest for the Warrior,” Macaque continued explaining.

➨ “Who so happens to have E/C eyes, H/L, H/C hair and a face so beautiful that made the moon jealous.” He gently held your hand and placed a kiss on top. On the other hand, you paused for a minute and thought how all those features seemed to match yours, and when the realisation finally hit you, your whole face felt so hot from getting flustered. “Wait a minute. . .Y-You’re the–”

➨ “Yup. I’m the warrior in the story. Glad you managed to figure it out.” He interrupted you, and you managed to catch a glimpse of his eyes and how dark yet attractive they managed to become to draw you in so quickly. “But keep this secret between the both of us, alright?” You nodded obediently.

➨ You felt his lips were inches away from yours, and you slowly closed your eyes and embraced his warm and captivating lips within your kiss. You were in a moment of bliss before he let go, and you saw his sly smirk with the help of the lantern.

➨ You were dazed for quite some time before he suddenly began to walk away. “Well, I hope you stay tuned for my next show. It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N.” Macaque walked behind the theatre curtains, and as you tried to catch up, he disappeared into thin air.

➨ You noticed your hand held a slip of paper, and it revealed to be his phone number, along with a message: “Looking forward to talking with you more. XOXO Macaque”

୨⎯ 𝑨 𝑽𝑬𝑻 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑨 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑴𝑬𝑹 [𝑺𝒖𝒏 𝑾𝒖𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒙 !𝑭𝑬𝑴! 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓]

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇxᴛ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜɴ ᴡᴜᴋᴏɴɢ'ꜱ ʙᴀʙʏ ᴍᴏɴᴋᴇʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʟᴘᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ?

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ (ᴀɢᴀɪɴ)! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ <3

➨ Summer was at its peak upon Megapolis, and while everyone was enjoying the beach, soaking themselves in the fresh saltwater and bathing in the sunlight after a refreshing swim, you were stuck in your job as an Exotic Wildlife Veterinarian.

➨ The AC was not working at the vet centre. However, you survived the day until closing time and could return home. You felt relieved once you packed your things and finally felt the afternoon breeze sweeping against your skin.

➨ While waiting for your bus, you scrolled through the missed notifications and saw several messages from your online boyfriend. In short, you have been talking with a guy named 'Wukong' on a dating app, and you seem to get along really well.

➨ You had a lot of things in common; your conversations were so much fun, and you had your boyfriend who had the occasional voice messages and calls but never any Facetime. He says he’s still a bit nervous to show his face, but you were completely fine with that.

➨ You decide to call him so that the both of you can arrange another session where you’d talk nonstop until late at night. The phone buzzed, and he picked up. “Hey, Y/N! How’s it going?” Wukong exclaimed into your ear, and a smile came up your face. “Hey, Wukong, I’ve finished work for the day."

➨ “Are you looking forward to our nightly chat?” You replied gleefully while you heard the smug on his face on the other line. “Couldn’t get enough of me, huh?” You rolled your eyes playfully before responding, “Oh, stop it, you~” However, your ears picked up a large crowd at the shore of the beach and decided to look quickly to satisfy your curiosity. “Hang on, I’ll call you later.” 

➨ You hung up the phone and quickly went through the crowd. Your eyes widened when you saw the baby monkey curled up and breathing heavily. You noticed that the monkey looked afraid, so you pushed out of the crowd and carefully cradled the monkey in your arms.

➨ You carefully rushed back into the vet centre, and from the looks of it, the monkey seemed to suffer from extreme dehydration, so you got a water bottle to offer some fresh water. After restoring some energy to the monkey, you realise that a couple of hours have passed.

➨ The baby monkey seemed to be resting well but still shivered and whined in its sleep. As you feel your eyes droop tiredly, you try to stay awake by scrolling through the notifications you have missed since you last checked.

➨ There were some missed calls from Wukong and messages regarding whether you were okay or not, and you felt your heart melt from how much he cared for you. You gave him a couple of texts, including talking about how you needed to treat a monkey that washed up shore before eventually succumbing into slumber.  

・❥・

➨ Your eyes open and meet with the morning sun glaring down, and as you regain your consciousness, you check on the baby monkey, but they were gone. You started to freak out, but you heard some noise from the front desk before you could search.

➨ You saw the monkey going around the front desk, causing a mess. Again, your stress levels were going through the roof, and you needed to calm down this monkey ASAP.

➨ You carefully approached the monkey, but they ran away every time. Eventually, you managed to catch the monkey, but it began to wrestle with you, and you were so distracted that you didn’t see anyone coming into the vet centre.

➨ You and the baby monkey stopped struggling and stared back at the person walking in and noticing the mess. Suspiciously, they were wearing a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses. Really? In this weather???

➨ Regardless, you were nervous about the disastrous situation you were in, and you felt like you wanted to die right then and there. “Heya, I heard a monkey washed up on the beach; I figured it was mine.” His tone may sound guilty, and his voice may sound timid, but you swear that you’ve heard that voice before.

➨ The baby monkey changed its mood instantly and happily chirped at the stranger before leaping onto their shoulder. It began to nuzzle its furry cheeks against their head affectionately. “Wait! Hold on, don’t move like that – ” The monkey’s tail brushed off their hood and sunglasses to reveal golden hair and. . .monkey ears?

➨ You noted his shining eyes, peach-coloured face markings and simian features. You stared at each other for a few seconds before he chuckled nervously and quickly pulled back his hood and put on his sunglasses. The monkey on his shoulder chirped in confusion while he began to approach the door. “Well, uh, that was weird. Anyways, thank you and see ya.”

➨ You leapt onto your feet and grabbed his arm before questioning him, “Do you. . .go by ‘Sun Wukong’ by any chance?” He froze in place, and you patiently waited for an answer as he slowly turned around with a surprised look. “It’s me. . .Y/N.” You tried to ring him some bells, desperately wishing it was truly your online lover.

➨ Suddenly, his face became enlightened as a soft gasp left his mouth. He tried approaching you but seemed hesitant. “Y/N? Is that really you?” A shine sparkled in his eyes as a smile began to form on his face.

➨ Your heart has yearned for this moment for a long time as you cup his face and let your lips set onto his own. He was caught off guard, but his eyes slowly fluttered shut before coiling his tail around you while you wrapped your arms around his back.

➨ You hold onto Wukong tightly, and he gently caresses your back slowly. Once you broke apart, you took a minute to breathe while smiling happily in each other’s embrace. “I can’t believe that I finally got to meet you.” You spoke; your voice sounded broken as tears swelled up in your eyes, but Wukong wiped them with his thumb. “Don’t cry, darling. I’m glad I get to see you.”

➨ “I’m sorry. I’m so happy I got to kiss your face for the first time.” You sniffled before you gave Wukong several kisses all over the face, as his cheeks flushed pink and became putty in your hands. You looked back at the baby monkey who sat on Wukong’s head and watched the whole time.

➨ “So, this baby monkey is yours?” You pointed up, and Wukong quickly recovered and replied with a smile. “Yup!” He then lowers the monkey to meet you, but they seem too scared to approach you. “It’s okay. Y/N’s not gonna hurt ya.” Wukong reassures the baby monkey.

➨ “Yeah, I was only helping you.” It took a little while before the baby monkey walked down Wukong, crawled up to you, and cheerfully chirped once they began to nuzzle against your face. “Aw, I think they like me.” You gently pet Wukong’s baby monkey, and he can’t help but let his tail wag while his heart pounds against his chest.

➨ “So, after work, do you want to go on a date?” You questioned Wukong and noticed how he began to look hesitant to say what he wanted. That’s when you realise he didn’t want to go in public. He began to talk while rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Well, about that –”

➨ “We can go to your place if you want.” You added before he could reply. He looked at you stunned but smiled faintly. “That’d be nice.”

[dreammeiser]

Is it okay to ask what where the inspiration for the characters of Dream along?

Of course! I'm always dying to talk about their creation and inspiration but worry about getting too wordy/annoying about it, so I hardly talk about it unless asked (please ask me about my brainrot heeheehee). I can only fit so much on an Instagram Story or a Tweet, so I'm glad you asked here. I guess this will be the master reference for them. Sorry in advance that this is wordy!!

I made these characters spanning the past 14-15 years, with their story only being worked on about 10+ years ago, give or take. I will mention that they were made with Earl as a starting point while I was working at the cool puppet place; the show I was interning on wasn't scratching the creative itch I had, so it was recommended to me to make the project that I wish I was working on. :oD

The Muppets, Sesame Street, Osamu Tezuka's works, and Moomin were some animated/puppet media off the top of my head that always stuck with me my whole life and have influenced my retro inspired work the most. They all had such sweetness and charm to them, and all felt like a found family :o) My favorite trope. Puppets were also just deeply meaningful to me because they were physical forms of creativity and childlike wonder you could hold and play with! I thought whenever you made one, you put a little bit of your heart and soul into them.

I wanted the Dreamalong Gang to have the charm of Jim Henson's and Tove Jansson's characters, but I wanted them to have the humor and intrigue of Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall, Don't Hug Me I'm Scared, and Welcome to Night Vale. DHMIS and Night Vale actually inspired the story the most because they were both a really nice mix of absurdist humor and horror! Sleep Paralysis Demons were a point of intrigue for me that I thought were perfect for a Dreamscape setting, so I started working on including those.

The Dreamalong Gang has little bits and pieces of friends that I had loved, but I leaned into the group dynamics more for them. They're composed of friends I wished I had growing up!

Visually, I'd think of a fun/dream adjacent theme for the characters to tie them all together thematically. I know people tend to bark at me when they see what I'm inspired by but, I don't like to copy directly from my inspiration sources. They're just there to inspire you, ya know?

Archie's theme was Wishing Stars and Bedtime Stories; Hunson Abadeer from Adventure Time used to be on here, but I moved away from anything that might've made Archie spooky. I forgot to include Peter Pan and his Shadow on here, but they inspired him as well!

When it came to palettes, sometimes I'd have something in mind for them already like with Roy G Biv, Archie, and Mae-- Roy has his kidcore rainbow/SMPTE bars, Archie had some of my favorite blues and creams with a pastel minimal rainbow, Mae's were based off the colors of a golden hour rainstorm I had seen on my travels. Other times I had to play around with what color I hadn't used much of yet. I wonder if you can tell which colors are my least favorite and which ones I like a lot hahaha :'o)

I would also think about stories and songs that went with the characters thematically and use those to shape their character a little further, like looking to The Impossible Dream from the 1972 Man of la Mancha and Moon River for Archie, as well as old Ole Lukoje fairytales. He used to draw inspiration from Hijo de la Luna, but I wanted his story to be more upbeat on surface level with hidden tones of sadness instead of dramatic.

I don't want this to get tooooo long, so I'm going to put a pin in it there. If people want to know more in depth inspiration sources for specific characters feel free to ask! I like being open about my inspiration sources and my process since so many other artists gatekeep stuff. I hope this was a nice read!! :o)

[pianokantzart]

Hi Piano! I love your posts and your comics! I loved the idea of ​​making a Luigi's mansion film, I even posted some ideas, do you have ideas for a Luigi mansion film?

Thank you! I have touched upon the idea a bit, with @keakruiser adding some thoughts of their own. But I do have more...

Mario and Luigi start off the movie having money issues despite the booming business. Maybe they accidentally caused some sort of serious damage that they need to pay for? Maybe there's a family emergency? Or maybe they've been too generous with free plumbing repairs to the point that the bills are catching up with them. Either way, I want all the gold and cash that Luigi vacuums up to have some sort of serious significance.

Luigi tries to talk to his father and uncles about the plumbing business at Sunday dinner, but they all speak over him in favor of talking to Mario. Mario tries to nudge the conversation in Luigi's direction, but Luigi eventually gives up and goes to the kitchen to help his mother with dishes. There he has a little heart to heart with his mom, similar to this scrapped scene from the SMB Movie concept art, but with Luigi instead of Mario:

Please please please make The Dark Moon an element! Establish that it isn't just Mario's life on the line, but an entire world at risk of being swarmed by angry ghosts under King Boo's control.

And of course we need to have Polterpup! Let's say that "animals are the among the few spirits who don't need to be soothed by the dark moon," but unfortunately that matters very little to Luigi, who has an established fear of dogs. So we go into why! Maybe he got attacked by a dog as a young child and needed Mario to save him? This would feed into both Luigi's sense of helplessness, and guilt about being so frightened while his brother is so brave and selfless.

As Luigi gets more victories under his belt, and as Polterpup follows him around and helps out, they start to form a bond. Eventually we get a Puss In Boots 2 esque scene where Luigi has an anxiety attack after loosing radio contact with E. Gadd, before Polterpup floats over and helps calm him down enough to keep moving.

Have Luigi's semi-canon mechanical prowess come into play! At some point, midway through a particularly grueling fight, the poltergust gets damaged. Between running for his life, hiding in various locations, and knocking things over to buy himself time, Luigi steadily fixes the damage enough to pull through the fight.

Luigi and Elvin Gadd bond over being two (vaguely autistic-coded) weirdos. Luigi is surprised that Elvin Gadd doesn't mind trusting him with his equipment, that he doesn't get annoyed with his fear, and doesn't mind walking him through every tiny step. Meanwhile Elvin Gadd is like "Patient with you??? I love walking you through things step by step! You're one of the few people who'll actually listen to my ramblings! And yeah, you're clearly scared, but you've stayed! That's way more than most."

I imagine the people trapped in paintings are able to speak and move around, but King Boo can set their painting to a sort of "stagnant mode" if the captive gets too rowdy or mouthy. Mario's picture is mostly kept in stagnant mode for obvious reasons.

King Boo's confidence visibly wavers the further along Luigi gets. King Boo goes from "Why should I be worried? E. Gadd's a decrepit fool and his new 'apprentice' is a sniveling coward!" to "Okay so Luigi can use the poltergust... he's no match for my forces!" to "What is wrong with all of you!? Why can't you catch a simple plumber!?" to "I'm going to tear this man's soul apart with my teeth!"

Bowser was heavy metal, so I want King Boo to be operatic with a Gothic/Baroque ballroom aesthetic. Of course we've got to have orchestral version of the Luigi's Mansion theme, but I also want a cinematic revamp of the SMBW "Night At Boo's Opera" song.

You know how Luigi broke down laughing and sobbing when he finally saved Mario in the original Luigi's Mansion? That. I want that, with an extra dose of Mario hugging Luigi and reassuring him that he's alright.

[impala-dreamer]

Slipping Away

A Short Story

~ In his heart he’s lived a hundred lives, been through hell and back, loved a million souls. The heart is strong but the mind is weak, and in the end, only memory remains as his lives begin to fade.~

Jensen Ackles

954 Words

Bittersweet Angst

Thank you to everyone who read/shared/commented on my stories for @jacklesversebingo and specifically to @deanwinchesterswitch who organized such a fun, inspiring event. This is my final piece for the bingo, using the prompt "All But One Dies”. I hope you enjoy this swan song...

JacklesBingo Masterlist ~ Full Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

There’s an old man sitting at the end of the bar. His hair has long ago gone gray but a strand of dark walnut still peaks through now and then. The memory of reddish-brown plays over his jaw, but it’s all gone white. His skin has grown pale over the years, his tan freckles fading with it. He used to be covered in speckles like stars across the universe, but now, only a few remain. His tall frame is bent with a slight forward hunch- the consequence of years of stunts that should have been left for younger, more qualified men. His shoulders are still broad, but now bony, and his arms are weaker yet just as warm. 

His eyes are still the color of the forest, but behind them, not much else remains. 

Long, thin fingers trace the rim of a whiskey glass before gripping it tight and lifting the last sip to his lips. Once so plump and rosy pink, they’re impossibly cracked and pale. 

The whiskey soothes the ache in his bones and he sighs. 

Time has been cruel, but the life he can remember was good. 

Once upon a time, he’d traveled the world, meeting a million smiling faces and dodging hands all reaching out for him. He’d captivated every stage he’d set foot on, microphones twirling in his hand and carrying his laugh through countless auditoriums. He told hundreds of stories, some more than once, some exaggerated, all met with applause. 

How many times had he smiled for the camera or accepted hugs from strangers? How many pen strokes were wasted on his name? It was impossible to tell. He was barely able to remember those events now, let alone count the numbers. He knew he’d made them smile, he knew he’d left some impression. 

Memories were fleeting and sometimes painful. It was getting harder to sort through the flashes of history and make sense of anything. Some days it felt like he’d lived a dozen lifetimes. 

He remembered running through dark, damp tunnels with no more than a headlamp to light his way. He could smell the coal; feel the heft of the pickax in his hands. His breath was thick and heavy as he stalked his way down into the depths of Hell. 

He remembered pining for the girl- a beauty with long dark hair and bright eyes. He could almost smell her sweet perfume and hear her sassy remarks as he tried his best to woo her affection. He tasted oil and vinegar on his fingertips; felt the bacon grease pop from the griddle and sting his arms. 

There were times when he recalled the feeling of wind on his face as he leaped from rooftop to rooftop beneath a full moon. Clad in heavy kevlar, he moved through the shadows of the city, listening for screams or cackles of evil. 

Sometimes, memory inferred that he was the evil one. Striding with purpose through a warzone or locking his long fingers around some delicate throat. Power surged through his veins surely as the drugs he took, and it felt as if he were immune to the rules of life and the laws of man. He could do anything he wanted, be anything, kill anything. He was the epitome of strength, the emblem of America, the most powerful man alive. 

Those lives were disappearing faster these days. When he struggled to remember, he drank. When he cried for lives he’d taken or loves he’d lost, he slept. 

The football fields and shell necklaces, the cowls and capes, the flashes and stages- they were all lost in the fog of his mind. A myriad of lives lived and stolen by age until only one remained. 

He smiles when the bartender works her way back to him. 

Kate is short and curvy, with dyed pink hair that matches her neon tank top. There are silver studs in her ears and a hoop in her nose, and her shoulder is inked with scrollwork wrapped around an image he could never decipher. 

“Can I getcha another drink?” she asks, thickly painted lashes fluttering kindly at him. 

Jensen nods and pushes his glass forward. His voice is shaky as he speaks, but he soon finds a familiar rhythm.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I ganked an entire vamp nest by myself? Took out a dozen blood-suckers before Sammy even knew I was gone.” He laughs and reaches for the refreshed drink. “It was something. I was somethin’. Best hunter there ever was. Well, Sam had his moments, but I was good. Real good…”

The bartender smiles. She’s heard the stories before but doesn’t mind repeats. The old actor is sweet and tips her well, so she never minds watching out for him until his daughter comes to collect him. 

“If you play your cards right, Sweetheart, I may take you for a spin in my car.” He winks over the tumbler at her, green eyes slick with a flirtatious gaze. “Sexiest damn car you’ll ever see. My Baby. One of a kind. You know, I rebuilt her a whole bunch of times…” His voice trails off as he tries desperately to count the occasions, but time is twisted and pale. His brow creases with worry as another memory slips away. There is only one life left and it’s vanishing more every day. Tears well in his eyes and he clears his throat. “Anyway… I uh…” 

Kate gently takes his hand and leans close, catching his gaze. “Hey. It’s OK, Mr. Ackles. You’re OK.” 

The old man sighs and worry leaves him. He smiles and squeezes her hand. 

“Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I killed Hitler?”