#the way the plucking of the strings continues on even after all the other instruments have quieted down

[ranuunculus]

the last notes in I Can Hear the Rain… <- (full of emotion)

[02zhoonie]

i testify this lovin’

18+ MDNI !!

guitarist! park jongseong (jay) x fem! reader smut

(can be read as idol!jay too)

you watch your boyfriend play the electric guitar. he’s hot. antics ensue.

cw: fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, semi (?) public sex (they’re in a soundproof music studio in a company building do with that what you will), slight sub!reader/dom!jay

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble i don’t know how this became longer than that. how dare jongseong drop that tiktok video on us on a random tuesday morning does he know his effect??? shout out to my love @fakeuwus for inspiring me and also fueling my delusional tendencies ?? i feel insane. anyway please do enjoy this !!

NOT PROOFREAD

your boyfriend jongseong was practicing on his new electric guitar for the past hour and though you enjoyed the music he played, you couldn’t help but start to get restless. it was getting stuffy in the small studio he had in his company’s building and it also didn’t help that he looked incredibly attractive like this. he is handsome on a daily basis - something you find yourself having to indoctrinate in him whenever his self doubt comes into play, but there was just something about him being so fixated on playing the guitar that made you so… horny

maybe it was the way a pout was formed on his lips as he usually did when he concentrated hard on doing something. or the way his thighs were spread to accommodate the length and size of the guitar. his outfit choice today was simple but his hair being unstyled and bare face just added to the appeal. and it was definitely the way his skillful fingers plucked and strummed on the strings as the sound filled the room. even the song that he chose to focus on seemed to be suggestive as well. you couldn’t help but to squirm while imagining all the things you wanted to do with him in this very moment. so much so that you didn’t realise that the song had stopped playing on loop and your boyfriend was trying to get your attention.

“baby? are you with me?” jongseong let out a soft chuckle after you finally noticed that he was taking a break. you nod slowly after snapping out of your daydreams, cheeks getting warm as you register what you’d just been doing. hopefully your boyfriend wouldn’t have been able to tell.

“tired?”

“no jjongie, just got distracted for a moment.”

“ah,” a smirk graces his lips. shit. “c’mere then, i wanna teach you something.”

he pats on his lap invitingly, and you can’t help but oblige, getting up from your spot on the sofa to join him where he was sitting, not before taking a quick sneak at his thick thighs. you make yourself comfortable between his legs, leaning back against the warmth of his chest. after pecking the top of your head, jongseong adjusts his guitar and brings your smaller hands to clutch the fret board.

“gonna teach you how to play a chord ‘mkay” he utters from behind you and feeling his hot breath against the nape of your neck. you feel the stickiness start to gather between your thighs as he does something as simple as gently moving your fingers to press down on the strings. it’s quite embarrassing to admit how worked up you’re getting by his actions, his other arm looping around your waist to keep the base of the guitar steady.

“relax, baby,” he laughs at you again, “your fingers are so stiff.”

“there’s a reason why i don’t play instruments, jay.” you roll your eyes though he can’t see, trying to deflect away from the fact that really your awkwardness stems from his presence overwhelming all of your senses at this very moment and you could barely focus on holding your hands still much less relaxing them. jongseong steals a quick kiss against your cheek, muttering a short apology knowing you were getting tired of his teasing, and continues on to properly explain what he was teaching you in detail.

“so this is a g chord,” he says after placing your fingers in an almost triangle like shape across the board. “it’s one of the most basic chords and almost every pop song has at least one in it.”

“can you hold it there for me baby?” your boyfriend asks before removing his hand from your wrist and placing it on your thigh instead, dangerously close to where your panties were slick with your wetness. his hand that was previously around your waist, moves to the bridge of his guitar and strums once. “and it sounds like this.”

“did i hold it right?”

“yes, you did so good for me baby. that’s my girl.” he moves in to place an open-mouthed kiss against your neck and that’s when you know it’s game over. he knows.

“mmm, jjongie!” you squeal as he moves down to suck on that sweet spot between where your neck ends and your shoulder begins. your cunt clenches and you pray to every god out there that your panties are not drenched through to the leather seat cover.

“wanna tell me what you were so distracted by, baby?” slowly manoeuvring the guitar away from the two of you and safely onto the stand, one of his hands crawls up your torso to play with your nipple through the fabric of your t-shirt, drawing circles around them and sending tingles straight down your spine. your voice is strained as you are barely able to force out a response, his lips traveling down to your clavicle as he paws at your shirt collar.

“your lips” you let out a gasp as both his hands now have found their way under your shirt and grab at your boobs.

“mhmm.”

“your thighs” he pulls you ever so close to him, his large hard bulge pressing against the small of your back.

“‘s that all baby? you know, you were staring so hard.”

“your h-hands,” you stutter as he sucks harder on your neck, pulling the flesh between his teeth to leave a pretty purple mark there. he hums in satisfaction at your answer as his fingers trail down to the waistband of your sweatpants but pausing before going any further down. a whine leaves your lips at this.

“what about my hands baby?” he inquires with a curious lilt to his tone, though he already has an inkling of what you would say.

“looked like they would make me feel so good” you admit, biting down hard on your bottom lip. feeling yourself grow impatient as your boyfriend continues to drag out his teasing even more, you pull him by the wrist and all but shove his hand down your pants. “please jjongie, if you don’t touch me now, i feel like i’m going to explode.”

as the wetness that has pooled at your cunt reaches his fingertips, you just know that there’s a smug look on his face as he realises his effect on you. beginning to toy with your clit using his thumb, his index sweeps up and down your folds almost slipping in your entrance.

“all i did was play the guitar but my baby’s already this wet and needy for me.” oh he definitely has that smug look on his face.

without warning his finger plunges into you and the squelching noise echoes as he expertly moves it in and out of you. you mewl loudly after finally finally getting the contact you so desperately craved but cut yourself after remembering where you were.

“it’s okay, make all the noise you want, these walls are soundproof.” jongseong assures you as he realises you were muffling yourself. “i wanna hear you, pretty.”

soon enough he adds another finger into the mix, pushing deeper within your walls, easily finding the spot that makes your back arch and moan his name repeatedly. there was something so confident and assured about the way he was fingering you that sent you to seventh heaven. normally he was good, knowing all your pleasure points and hitting them just right but this was good. as if the ego boost from you had allowed him to push into you deeper and stronger. you feel your high start to approach at an embarrassingly fast pace and he knows it too with the way your pussy starts gripping his fingers like crazy, bending the tips of them to press against the most sensitive parts.

“‘m so close, jjongie.”

“i know baby, can you take one more? wanna stretch you out some more.”

you let out a noise of approval, too blissed out to gather a proper response as he presses his third finger into you, giving your walls a delicious stretch. the feeling of being so full of his fingers makes you cry out and jongseong has his lips against your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed and little pants falling out of his mouth as he tries so intensely to bring you to your high.

“cum on my fingers baby, i wanna see you make a mess on them”

and with that your orgasm washes over you, collapsing against his chest with heavy breaths as he lets you calm down a bit in his arms, before pulling his fingers out and adjusting you so that you are now straddling his lap. his hand is coated in your arousal as he brings them to his lips and licks them clean. there’s also a damp patch on your sweatpants as well as on his loose jeans where you came. holding his jaw in your hands, you join his lips messily with yours, giving him a long wet kiss, not caring that you can taste your juices on his lips and he lets out a (cute) noise of surprise.

“so. they lived up to your expectations then?” he asks with a quiet laugh after you separate, but it was more of a statement than a question at this point. you let out another miffed whine at his words burying your head in his neck and steadily grinding against the bulge in his pants.

“just shut up and fuck me already.” you demand, losing all sense of politeness in your tone as your patience and neediness for his cock overrides everything else.

“what happened to my sweet, shy princess who got horny just from watching me play my electric?” he starts to hook his arms under your thighs and carry you over to the couch. “has she lost all her manners? wants me to just fuck her here in my studio?” he attempts to sound stern but he can’t keep the amusement out of his voice. if he knew this would have had that much of an effect on you, he would have invited you over to watch him play a long time ago.

“sorry jjongie, just fed up of waiting.” you pout as he lays your back gently on the cushions, pulling your sweats and panties off in one motion. undoing the button of his jeans and finally being able to release his cock out from his boxers, the tip red and pulsing, he climbs his way so that he’s hovering over you on the sofa, grabbing one of your legs and wrapping it around his hips.

“it’s okay baby, i’ve always dreamed of taking you on this couch.” he has the biggest shit eating grin on his face as he says this, recalling the lonely late nights in this room that he spent finishing up his work. now having you laid out beneath him, it was almost like he was fulfilling one of his biggest fantasies. he lines up his cock at your entrance, looking back at you for your go ahead. 

“take me then” 

you didn’t have to tell him twice. 

jongseong presses into you, letting out a loud groan as your walls basically swallow his cock whole. it takes a little while for you to adjust to his size though having been fucked by him many times, he’s still the biggest you have ever had and it drives you crazy how full he makes you feel. 

“fucked my fingers into you and you’re still so tight for me?” he grunts when he’s able to push all the way into you, touching that crevice behind your cervix that has you clawing his back. “god, you’re a fucking dream.” 

you tap on his shoulder as a sign for him to start moving and your boyfriend begins pounding you into the sofa cushions with no mercy. incoherent babbles were the only things leaving your mouth. your little ah’s and um’s and calls of his name, only drove him to go deeper with his thrusts. 

he gets down on his elbows to steal your breath away with a kiss, body moving rhythmically to fulfill your needs. there’s not enough words in your vernacular to describe the pleasure that comes from the repeated ramming of his dick into all the right places in your pussy. 

“wan’ more” you finally muster after so long of being breathless, “wan’ you deeper jjongie, please” 

it’s in the way he immediately proceeds to put your legs over his shoulders and practically folds you into half, that you know you don’t have to say much for him to know and do exactly as you want. (and that’s princess treatment from park jongseong for you.) his eyes are half-lidded as he continues his motions and it’s a sight to behold, the beads of sweat running down his temple, glistening against his tanned skin. 

“love it when you give me your body like this” he murmurs between breaths as they grow heavier with his physical exertion. “mine to hold, mine to fuck and mine to fill with my cum”

“mmm, please” you beg at his words, the idea of white cum spilling down your thighs making your eyes roll back in excitement. 

“please, what baby? fill you up?” 

you nod your head so violently, jongseong is starting to get afraid you’d get vertigo from it. with a hand on one of your ankles and the other supporting his weight, he starts plunging in you harder, gritting his teeth as your walls tighten around his cock and the pleasure becomes immeasurable.

“i will baby, i'll fill you up so good i promise. you just gotta be a good girl and come with me, okay” 

“i will jjongie, i’ll be good for you.” 

that’s enough for him to release his load into you, and as the first spurt of warm cum starts to fill you up and his thrusts become more sporadic, you reach your second high of the night, squeezing his cock for every last drop. 

after gently removing your legs from his shoulders, your boyfriend collapses against you, not wanting to pull out just yet, the two of you squashed in that sofa. he plays with strands of your hair, smiling as the two of you catch your breaths. 

“so,” he says after a beat, “you think guitar players are sexy huh?” 

“JONGSEONG!” you yell, the warmth returning to your cheeks as you try and inevitably fail to hide your face away from him. 

“nothing to be shy about baby, i’ll just make a mental note for later.”

[pastel-peach-writes]

Hi I really love your writing!!

I have an Adora x Fem R request in which reader is a very shy and tiny but also an incredibly talented musician (she can play guitar and sing really well) who tends to isolate herself to play alone when she’s stressed out.

She is part of the best friend squad and she has a huge crush on adora but she’s a stuttering mess around her, and adora thinks she’s adorable and teases her to see her reactions.

One day Adora finds the reader playing and singing a love song (that she wrote for Adora) alone and she’s fascinated by seeing her so confident and in her element, so when r finishes Adora compliments her and asked her who the song was dedicated to and reader freaks out but then it all ends with a confession and a kiss.

Sorry if it’s dumb, you can just ignore the request if you want😅😅

I hope you have a great day!!✨

ummm a year late and i havent wrote adora in such a long time so i am more than happy to do this for ya anon!

The Guide To Confidence (You Must Have a Guitar) | Adora x Reader

╰┈➤ PLOT: It was a long day fighting for Etheria. You and Glimmer were at each other's necks and on top of that, Catra nearly pummeled you to the ground while you were distracted. After a much-needed shower, it was time to destress and the only way you could do that was in a corner of your room with your guitar.

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Not Proofread, She/Her Pronouns, No Use of Y/n

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

You let your tired bones and sore body sink into your oversized beanbag chair. The fuzziness of the beanbag brushed against your calloused skin. Who knew accepting Glimmer's invitation to be a part of the best friend squad in grade school would cause you to fight the world with a princess, her best friend, and an ex-Horde officer? You sure didn't.

You grabbed your guitar from the side of the beanbag. This was often the place you resided in to play guitar, so instead of putting it up where it belonged, you laid it beside your chair for an easy pickup.

With one hand wrapped around its neck and the other around the belly, you warmed up by plucking and strumming the six-string instrument.

When you first started playing guitar, you didn't care to warm up. But as your skill advanced and your days were filled with fighting the enemy, you found that warming up was a great way to remind your body of your skill and to unwind faster.

As you pluck, strumemed, and occasionally tuned your intrustment to make sure you had the right sound, an idea popped into your head: Hey, why not flip through my songbook and sing the first one I land on?

It's been awhile since you sang a song from your book. Hell, it's been even longer since you wrote a song, but it would be fun to reflect back onto your memories.

After fifteen minutes of searching for the blue journal, you finally found it, sat back in your beanbag, and flipped through. The song you landed was a newer one. One you wrote maybe a couple of weeks ago.

You plopped the book open and onto the floor before strumming and singing along to the lyrics.

-

Oh, man. Adora whined as she scrubbed a towel on her head. The princess had just come from the showers where she needed not one, but three servants and guards to help get the gunk and goo out of her hair.

When did Catra have the time to curate a sticky slime that hardens just moments after it attacks its victim, Adora didn't know but dang, it's as effective as it is annoying.

Only in her leggings, top, and socks, Adora shuffled her feet down the hall. She continued to scrub and whine. Although her helpers did a superb job of getting the slime out of her hair, Adora felt as if it was still there and buzzing on her scalp.

Oh, no... what if Catra put a tracking device into it?! What if she's tracking me right now and planning her attack?! What if-- oh! What is that sound?

Adora's steps softened as she tiptoed up to your open room door. You were shy when it came to Adora, which first upset her seeing how you interact with Bow and Glimmer, but after careful observation, she figured it was because you had a crush on her.

At least, that was what she thought. She could be wrong, she tends to be egotistical sometimes, but you were always stuttering around her and looking up at her with those doe eyes of yours.

Adora wanted to squeeze you, wrap her arms around you, and twirl you around like her own personal doll. She even referred to you as her doll when talking to other people.

After figuring out, or blinding wishing, about your crush on her, Adora teased you a lot. She called you cute and adorable, got really close to you when she didn't have to be, and smirked down at you a lot all to see your flustered face and to hear your stutters.

Honestly, Adora didn't have to do anything to get you to stutter. You stuttered on your own around her. It kinda boosted her ego, just a little bit.

Because she's rarely heard you not stutter, she was amazed to hear how powerful and bold your voice is when it came to singing.

You're taking ownership of your musical talent with confident strums and notes. You're loud, but not too loud to annoy. Just loud enough to own the stage, as if you were on one.

Adora peeked her head inside of your room to see you engulfed by your beanbag and guitar. Your small fingers moved expertly on the frets of the guitar and the part by the hole. Adora never knew what that part was called. Does that part even have a name? Adora made a note to ask you about it later.

Obviously, the song meant something to you. You were singing with emotion and passion. It was similar to how you fought sometimes. You're strong and precise in your fighting style and you're just as strong and precise here too. It was like you made sure to go above and beyond in certain parts of the song.

Adora didn't know what came over her when you finished the song. All she knew was one second she was peeking her head into your room to be nosey and the next she was standing in the middle of your room clapping and cheering.

"Whoa!" she giggled. She continued to clap despite your efforts to shush her or usher her out of the room. "You're really good at singing and playing the guitar! Who would've known?" she continued to giggle and laugh.

Your heart was in your stomach when she clapped you out of your music trance. Your eyes must've been closed because you didn't even notice her come in. Let's just hope she wasn't listening too closely to the song.

"Th-Thank you! Goodnight now, Adora!" you exclaim, pushing her on her back. Adora wasn't moving at all. Maybe it was her stubbornness or maybe she was just stronger than you thought, but your pushes didn't even make her budge.

She was wearing socks! She should be sliding around the tiled floor like soft butter on a hot roll!

"Oh, wait now," Adora laughed. She turned around to face you and grabbed your hands. "You have to tell me what song that is! It's so beautiful and your guitar playing literally touched my soul. I didn't even know that was possible until right now."

Her childlike wonder about your song made it very hard for you to kick her out of your room. Who could say no to those blue eyes and blonde hair that just goes past her shoulders?

With a sigh, you look to the floor. "I... m-made it," you told her at a barely audible volume.

Adora's eyes bulged out of her head, and her jaw sank to the floor. "You made that?" she exclaimed. "No way! So, like, if you made that song which was obviously a love song, who was that song about?"

Despite having a hunch on who your crush is, Adora was still oblivious to the fact that was song was about her.

Come on, Adora. The song was literally an acrostic, (a name poem), about you!

"Uh," you stammered over your words. Your gaze was no longer on your floor but instead dashing to every nook and cranny of your room. You would look at anything, literally anything, to avoid her gaze right now.

With every movement of your eyes, Adora moved her head to meet your gaze. Maybe your stare would somehow reveal who the song was about. Perfuma? Entrapta? Oh! Maybe it was Glimmer! Or Bow?

"Come on," she whined. She squeezed your hands. Oh, yeah. You're still holding hands, by the way. "Can you tell me? I won't tell a soul. Shera's honor."

You met her gaze with a heavy sigh. You didn't believe that she wouldn't tell a soul; Adora can't keep a secret to save her life but those puppy eyes and pout were very convincing.

Adora could feel it. She could feel that you were about to spill her guts to her and it's all because she's holding your hands and pleading like a kid in a sword shop-- oh, update that phrase. Glimmer told Adora the right phrase was a kid in a candy shop. Not sword. (Thanks, Horde).

"The s-song may or may not be ab-about–" Oh, come on. You're so close! Just one more syllable. "you?"

Adora hummed. She took her hands out of yours and stroked her chin. Her? The song was about her? Meaning you actually do have a crush on her and she wasn't being delusional. Her lesbian crush on you was reciprocated and you liked her so badly that you had to write a song about her.

While her mind was spinning with different ways how to tease you about this, you stood in front of her sweating bullets. Did she not like that you wrote about her? What if your gaydar was wrong and she actually wasn't into girls? One, that would be a total loss for the gays and theys and two, would that mean the best friend squad finally had a straight person in the friend group? Interesting.

Moments of silence later and Adora was still stroking her chin with an unrecognizable look of her face. Sweating out your armpits and soon the back of your shirt, you decided you couldn't take it anymore.

"I-I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable!" you yelped to her. Adora murmured a "huh?" but you were too in your own world to hear it. "If you want me to destroy the song, I will! I-I'll take the book, rip-rip the pages out, and then throw it in-into the dumpster and light it on fire! I swear! I'd do that!"

Your tangent of accidentally offending Adora and destroying your song threw Adora for a loop. Why would she be upset? Why would she want you to destroy the song?

Adora hasn't heard much music in her life, but your song was the best thing she's ever heard. Destroying that would deny the world of art and Adora was one for the arts.

The blonde tried calling your name and speaking to you to snap you out of your tangent, but you were in too deep, nothing would be able to pull you out.

Out of words to say to get you out of it, Adora took matters into her own hands. Literally. She cupped your warm cheeks and pulled you in close to her body.

Your breath hitched and shook as she caught you by surprise. Her breath was warm yet cool, thanks to the minty freshness of her toothpaste and mouthwash. She was a winter mint person. You took note of that.

Just centimeters apart and your eyes staring into each other's, you were surprised you were the first one to speak. "Why'd y-you do that?"

Adora shrugged. Her eyes danced between yours. "I don't know," she whispered. "I just need a way to shut you up." You went to pout, but the sound of Adora's chuckle stopped you from doing so. "No, I don't mean it like that. I mean that I want to tell you something but in order for you to hear what I gotta say, you gotta stop talking first. You think you can do that for me?"

No words came out of your mouth as you hummed and nodded.

Adora smiled endearingly, her eyes slimming and her cheeks puffing up. "I like you too," she whispered. "Have for a while. I like the song and I'm not offended or weirded out or even grossed out by you writing about me. I think it's cute. You put what you want to say into a song. You're in touch with your emotions and music and I think that's beautiful."

Were you dreaming? You had to be. Your biggest crush of all time had your face in her hands and was telling you that she had a crush on you. You! The stuttering girl who could only say what she wanted through song. She liked you. She really liked you.

"If... If you like me... then why didn't you kiss me?"

"Huh?" a soft chuckle escaped past her lips.

"I mean, if you like me, you should've kissed me to get me to stop talking. Not just grab my face."

Adora smirked, tilting her head to the side. "Oh, yeah? Is that how this is supposed to go?" You gave her a little chuckle and nod. "Okay, well, if you must know, I didn't kiss you because I wasn't even sure if you wanted to be kissed by me. You know, consent?"

You grinned. You put your hands on top of hers. "If kissing me is the only way to shut me up, then you have the consent to shut me up anytime."

Adora's smirk only grew. Her blue eyes shined and sparkled in the lighting of your room. The moment she's been dreaming of ever since she laid her eyes on you was finally coming true.

She leaned in and you met her in the middle to have your lips touch. Both lips were soft on each other. While hers tasted like mint, she thought yours tasted like caramel. You were always sneaking into the kitchen to get late-night candies.

A day that was full of fighting and disputes ended with a night full of songs and confessions.

WC: 2,002

[hiraeth-sonder]

High Tides - Zimeng House

Yan! OC x Reader

Overindulging your child is very often the downfall of most parents, but it can be excused when you have reunited with your long lost son, no?

TW: Incest, some guy gets knocked out/killed, nursing, implied dubcon, general toxic behaviour, not really proof-read and maybe (definitely) bad writing

//I had the urge to write this no idea why. Dedicated to a friend of mine who fulfilled my inspiration fix and indirectly aided with the creation of this horrific thing

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The rapid yet skillful plucking of strings echoed throughout the hall, a sudden start that brought attention to the stage in the very middle. Surrounded by dozens of other guests, sitting atop a wooden chair with a pipa in your lap, draped in fine silks and tinkling jewellery, you strum the strings slowly as the melody rises layer by layer. Interspersed were tremolos, hot friction rubbing against the pads of your finger, the bright moon rising from the sea. 

Your eyes scan across the gathering of people tonight, fingers still playing as you pluck and strum. It is the same as every other night, men seeking to spend the night in the embrace of another, courtesans pouring sweet wine into the awaiting mouths, there was little to note on such a mundane night. 

The second section begins, you bring your other hand to the neck of the instrument as it joins your dominant hand in chanting and pulling. Still just as leisurely as the first, the added motions continued to entice your eager audience, wide eyes filled with wonder as they drift to visages beyond your face and skill. You could feel wandering eyes trail along your neck, travelling a line to your fingers, your waist, even to the arch of your feet. You pay them no mind, it is after all, your life’s work to entice and should your music not be up to par, then let it be your frame that does so. 

As young women garbed in silks as vibrant as the fenghuang’s feathers emerge, their feet light and their actions entrancing, you continue your reverie upon silk strings. There is little incentive for you to focus on your art, not when you have all but perfected the very act of performing. In the distance, standing by a pillar and hidden among the crowd was a young man in dark robes. He had a still sheathed sword by his side, garbed in midnight dark robes that cut a severe silhouette. For a moment, your eyes meet, milky jade that seemed not of this mortal realm bearing an intensity. It is by instinct that you avert your gaze, and you find that despite having been the focus of unsavoury attention for far longer than most, you feel uneased by his. 

You continue to strum, dancers whirling in winds of colourful fabric as the melody continues with its rhythmic flicks. Your vision is obscured by thin veils, arcing through the air as they fall with graceful descent. You still feel that man’s gaze on you, and you can only wonder whether you have met before in some clandestine time. There was little other reasoning, the only other could be a desire of service, a desire for temporary companionship.

When the performance eventually comes to its natural end, your sisters, the dancers, aid you with your ascent, one taking the pipa from your hands and another offering you a hand to take. Her hand is much softer when in comparison to yours, though care was essential for the lives you lead, your very niche borne callouses upon the pads of your fingers. A soft smile pulls across your lips as your eyes crinkle, and as the once hungry gazes of guests slide right off your form, focused on younger more nubile women, one slinks away.

You part the beaded curtains that separate the house’s main hall from the inner rooms, and just the clack of beads clicking against each other sound in your ears, you hear a man’s voice from behind you, low and rumbling.

“Ms. Shen.”

The sound is familiar in an odd manner, the way he calls your surname all too intimately despite the cold tone of his voice. You are not sure whether you like it, and when you turn to face him, high and all-mighty cultivator of milky jade eyes, you find that uncertainty still brewing. Your nerves seem to harden and chill, bringing a hand to your exposed collarbones.

Speaking slow and steady, you maintain the contact that he has put upon you, “I must apologise, young sir. I am afraid I shall not be taking on personal entertainment for tonight.”

“I wish not for company, but I must ask for a private room for I have questions not meant for prying ears,” He responds, his face not alluding to any emotion that you may take advantage of. 

The brothel madam has been watching you from the second floor, her pipe in hand with a grimace on her lips. She waits for you to cover your mouth, to reach for the hanging decor of your hairpins. When none of it happens, the older woman closes her eyes and takes a puff from her pipe. Your eyes once shifting between her and the young man in front of you, his gaze ever steady, settles. You can only resign to whatever he wishes, acquiescing and bringing him to the upper floors of the building. 

Tucked away within the labyrinth of rooms that lay within Zimeng House, a pot of warm tea and two cups sit between the two of you. The sounds of pleasure and revelry just barely at the edges of your mind, gentle woody incense wafting through the air as the night wind breezes in. Sitting opposite of you is the young man, grey hair long and bound at the ends, his complexion blemishless and those eyes, placid as a frozen lake, bore into you, as though trying to figure out something within you. His sword, impossibly long and not possibly able to be used by mortal hand, remains unsheathed by his side. This young man was quite obviously a cultivator, a fact that was only all the more by the odd oppressive aura he seemed to emit. 

It takes a moment for him to speak, for any of you to speak yet when he does, there is now a susceptibility to his voice, one that sounded younger, one that belonged more to a child than an adult, “Did you have a son twenty years ago?”

The question, no matter the tinge of pregnability in his words, was sudden. Certainly not the kind of question one asks a high-ranking courtesan, and certainly not the kind of question asked in good faith, not in your field of work, not from a cultivator.

“If I did, that should be no business of yours.”

“And should that son still be alive? Would it then become my business?” He responds just as fast, still holding eye contact. 

It is then that you notice the birthmark upon his hand, a little wing like discoloration below his knuckle. The bow of his lips so familiar to you, the curve of his eyes and the manner in which he holds himself. An image of you, an image of you distorted by the features of another and the dew of immortality. 

You avert your gaze, taking in a breath before looking at him, the breath in your chest still and tight in your lungs. Rising from your seat, he lets you approach him with tentative steps, feet padding against wooden floors before you sit by his side. Pathetically, you could only rasp out, “How is he? If he is alive?”

The young man leans closer, eyes of wonder and recognition. As though just as affected by emotions deemed frivolous by his people, he manages to whisper, “He is doing well.” Then, he backtracks, a notion he appears not quite used to, correcting himself quietly, “And he has missed you quite so.”

For mother and child, it is very often that words are not needed to understand one another. Your arms that once cradled his infant form in a time long ago, wrap around him as he tucks his nose into the crook of your neck, his much broader form encapsulating yours as tears slowly soak through your silks. You cannot blame him, for even tears dew at your lower lashes. 

“Mother, your son has found you.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

When your son had disappeared, you had not the chance to even name him. How could you? For someone like you, someone who could barely even read let alone write, you had always intended to give him some name that would bless him most, perhaps wish for him to become a great scholar or businessman. Yet he has returned to you as Yuanhua, ‘first magnificence’, and what truth he has grown up as.

Your darling son, pride of Fengyi Mountain, saviour of the innocent and bane of the demonic, how magnificent he has become. You could be no less prouder of him, proud that he would rise above the status of a courtesan’s son. He is so much more than you could hope he could have become, and it fills your heart with an emotion you can not fully deem delight. 

You must admit however, you did not think he would become such a clingy child in his adulthood. You suppose that he is only trying to make up for the years lost on the both of you, for his loss of childhood vulnerability and yours to overindulge. It has only been a few months since he has reunited with you, yet many of your sisters have already started looking forward to his visits. They would wait at the windows that face the busy streets and look for the white head of hair towering above the crowd. It has come to the point that they would ask you about him, albeit your relation not known to them, asking whether he treats you well, whether he was looking to retire from the jianghu and get a wife of his own. All those times, you could only laugh and urge them to ask themselves, after all, that son of yours was by no means a person you could control. 

Today, he has come once more, now resting his head upon your lap as his form curls in towards you. Yuanhua is quite definitely one of the larger men you have had the experience of being with, and he is careful to not put his full weight, though he is still that sticky child, holding one of your hands within his much larger, colder ones. 

A small laugh escapes you, he all but rushed to your side the moment you entered the room, and with his recent absence, you can only surmise that he was sent away on a mission that took up far more energy than he would have liked. 

“Hua’er, have they been working you too hard?” You hum, rubbing his knuckles with the pad of your thumb. Reaching for the osmanthus cakes plated on a table, cakes you had been gifted and intended for him to try, you bring up a cut piece for him, “Come, eat some pastries.”

He obliges, obediently opening his mouth to accept your offering. Watching him so happily eat, with an overfond smile on your lips, your other hand reaches to pet his head, an act that has him leaving into your touch, far more than you thought already possible. 

“I only wanted to be with you sooner,” He murmurs.

You sigh, a reigned smile pulled across your painted lips, still allowing him to hold onto you. “Your old mother can be on her own, don’t rush even if you can.”

The thought of him being injured, no matter the fact that he is far more powerful than most, tugs at your heart strings, yanking on them with a ferocity. Though you have lived 20 years grieving your child, knowing that he is alive and that is a tangible, actual person that you now so unfailingly adore, the idea that he may possibly be harmed is torturous. 

“What if you get hurt, hm?”

Yuanhua does not respond, merely tightening his grip on you as another sigh escapes. The melody for tonight’s performance comes to the surface of your mind, and as you hum and pat his back in rhythm, he lets you. Your son lets you move as you please, all too happy to follow along as he fully relaxes on you and flutters his eyes shut. 

It is then that you hear the sliver of conversation from the outside, spoken in hushed voices yet deafeningly audible through paper and wood. For your ears that have grown keen to hear news of your son, it is only natural, yet it is now that you wish you could not.

“Why does that cultivator keep visiting her?” A man’s voice sounds from outside, he sounds familiar, perhaps one of the more frequent guests.

Another responds, another man and another guest. He sounds younger, his voice louder than the first’s, “You know, I heard that those people up in Fengyi Mountain are meant to be celibate.”

You look down to your son, his eyes shut and his posture relaxed. He appears to have not a worry in the world, long lashes kissing the apples of his cheek. High nose, sword straight brows and thin lips, sometimes you think you see the face of another upon his. Your child, who appears so much like you and another, it pains you. 

“Do you think…?”

“That he’s a philanderer? Why not? They all think they’re above us and yet look at them,” One of them scoffs, a supercilious tone to his lilt.  

The other laughs at that, odd mirth tinging his voice as their footsteps sound further and further down the hallways, “And he goes and picks the most expensive one of them all.”

“Hah! At least he has taste.”

Your heart seems to drop all throughout such vulgar conversation. You have been no stranger to slander, have been the victim of it many times in your life, but your son? Your son who had lived 20 years as an ascetic, finally allowed comfort within his mother, who is unfortunately a courtesan. How cruel this world is, to reunite mother and son only to make it so the interactions you may have, be tainted by the very career that has kept you alive long enough to be with him until now. 

You look down to him once more, he is looking at you, milky jade eyes warm with adoration as his fingers interlock yours, tightly. He does not deserve such talk, he does not deserve to be the butt of such a cruel joke. There is nothing you would not give for him, and it is now that you yearn to give him freedom from such mockery. One last night, you shall have him one last night and he will return to Fengyi Mountain as their pride once more

Your son squeezes your hand and turns towards your womb. Yuanhua asks a question so casually it was as if he were a child asking his mother for another story, his voice soft as though any louder and you would crumble to dust, “Would mother still dote on this me if you knew what I have done?”

“You are still my son,” You whisper, bringing your hands up to kiss the back of his hand. Your eyes close, and it takes you a moment to continue, your throat tight and your breath stilled, “There is nothing that you can do that will make me hate you.”

“I will always love you.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The night is young, the smell of spicy oud burns through the air as the music of revelment reverb through the building. People of all backgrounds gather to find entertainment, bliss and temporary companionship. When the sun rises, the remnants of the night’s debauchery shall remain a stain upon the soul, no less visible to the judge of hell than the shameful walk one must make in pursuit of escape. 

Not tonight, for rather than performing musicality or sensuality, you are granted the rare visit of an old friend. 

Dipping your head, hairpins of tinkling gold graze the curves of your cheek as you greet the man before you, “My lord, it is an honour to serve you tonight.”

“Ms. Shen, no need for the formalities,” He waves you off, urging you to come closer, an offer you take. His voice is low and humming, reassuring and assuaging, he smiles at you as crows feet appear at the ends of his eyes, “How long has it been since we’ve known each other?”

When you respond to such with a familiar smile of your own, he takes your hand in his as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. Truly, Lin Zheng is still your most loyal, and kindest guest. 23 years and he has yet to request another, it has come to the point that practically everyone in Zimeng House knows to see him situated in the better rooms and call for you to attend to him. It was hard to believe that this wizened 4th ranking court official before you was the county magistrate who blushed redder than a jujube when he first saw you.  

His eyes ponder upon your visage, and it is a long seeded regard that seeps from them. You follow along his example, allowing your eyes to trail along his high nose and sword straight brows, features that lent him regal apertures that rivalled the imperial bloodline. 

With a solemnity that could have rivalled even the underworld judges, he calls upon you, “Have you always been this beautiful? Even now you rival the ladies of Chunning House.”

“You flatter me, I am but an old maid compared to the young flowers of today,” Laughing, a kind of shyness overtakes you as you avert your gaze. 

Lin Zheng only reaffirms his praise, bringing a hand to your cheek as he gently redirects your gaze to his, “No less lovely, what man would not feel shame for having not experienced your touch?”

Times must have truly changed, for when it was he who sputtered in diffidence, it seems to have become your turn to grow shy at his action. Still, you do not turn away from his affection. The older man reaches for the jug of wine on the low table and pours out a conservative amount into the two cups, offering the first to you. 

As he hands the cup of wine to your waiting hand, the window shutters open with a violent swing. The sound of wood banging against wood and the tip of a sheath tapping against the floorboards further drag the two of you out of the intimate atmosphere contained within the room. Clad in dark robes and with his long silvery hair flowing in the night wind, the man calls for you. 

“Mother.”

Controlled and yet, the breach of something more, something raw and broken lies beneath his low voice. He remains at the balcony, and it is as though the world has gone quiet for solely his presence. The oppressive energy that had once made you wary of him when you first met trickles out, those eyes of his that which had once been warm, seethes and rages

His voice cracks, just the slightest as he directs the heavy burden of his gaze onto you,“You sent me away, so you could entangle with another?”

“Hua’er,” You managed to breathe out, a slip of vulnerability that you had so painstakingly tried to keep within. 

Li Zheng, who though had no clue who was before him, moved to put himself in front of you, pushing you behind him as he places himself as a physical barrier between the two of you. This man who grew up a scholar and took no interest in the world of martial might, still saw fit to protect you over himself. Yet this one action, this one innocent action only enraged your child. 

“You said you loved me, but you would let others touch you so familiarly?”

This sudden accusation confuses you, and you rightfully respond to such an inquiry with confusion, “What are you talking about? This is my job.”

“I see,” He mutters, and it is then that you see how dilated his pupils have become, thin jade encircling a pitch dark void. Yuanhua approaches the two of you, footfalls slow and practised and cutting through the room like a knife, and that breach of violent emotion finally rips through. That though his very movements were the epitome of discipline, the manner in which he seethes reveals far more than his actions. A laugh of unconstraint leaves his lips, one that echoes in your ears before he finally sneers,“I see.”

“Yuanhua!” You can only pathetically yell out, hoping that he would come to his senses and cease whatever he seemed so hellbent on unleashing. 

In a move far too swift for either of you to anticipate, he brings the pommel of his sword down upon Lin Zheng’s head, a harsh crack reverberating through the room. You could only watch as your dear friend’s form fell limp onto the ground with a thud, your son kicking him away without care, as though he was merely a pebble in his path.

With the moonlight as his halo, he looms above you, broad shouldered and stalwart. You do not recognise the man before you, do not recognise the fervency in his eyes nor the concupiscence within them. His sword is abandoned in favour of covet, and your son, your dear son pushes you to the cold ground. Though gentle with a hand to the back of your head, the rushed action still sends a dull ache through your form. 

“Mother,” He breathes, rosy flush to his jade white complexion as his breath fans against your skin. Nosing along an imaginary line down your neck, lips ghosting over pulse points as he murmurs, “Don’t leave me, not again.”

He tugs down the front of your ruqun in one swift motion, exposing tender skin and bare chest to the night chill. He takes a moment to admire you. Then, without hesitation, he latches onto the soft bud and starts to suck, his tongue swirling around as it rips a weak whine from your lips. Though you push against him in some meagre attempt to put some distance between your two forms, he merely strengthens his efforts as a hand moves to squeeze your hips, the other cupping and kneading the neglected breast. 

Enervated by his fervid actions, it was as though even your voice wished to give up, whether from use or carnality, you were not sure. “Stop it–!” 

He ignores you, and that hand that once gripped the very hips that birthed him, sinks deeper into its origin. Pushing through cavernous desire, Yuanhua rips a particularly loud keen from your throat. It is a sound more beautiful than your skillful playing, more mellifluous to his ears than any other sound, and he smiles. 

Fengyi Mountain may have taken him away from you for a reason illogical, but that is in the past, burned in the embers of the future. When he finally takes you away from this establishment, away from those greedy eyes, then he will truly be reunited with you, mother and son.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

[boba-beom]

for the mini blurb,,,!!

bestfriend!bg x gn!reader ❥ warning(s): beomgyu flirting (cliche hehe), reader receiving a lot of compliments, both have crushes on each other without knowing, a lot of skinship, a little guitar terms here and there, not proofread ❥ genre: fluff, drabble ❥ wc: 927

friday nights were usually for you to get under the sheets of your duvet and ambient lighting from putting on your favourite sitcom on netflix as well as your fairy lights. however, beomgyu had called you to come over to his place since he's been wanting to hang out with you for some time now.

you wouldn't turn down the invite if that meant you could change up your friday night plans, but that also meant you get to hear beomgyu play his guitar for the meantime.

now you're in his room sitting on his bed as you're cuddling his ryan plush toy while he's on the sofa across you playing you a few songs and a riff he came up with on his electric guitar.

you're so fascinated by the way his fingers move along the neck of the guitar, changing the chords to produce such beautiful rhythms, and the other hand skilled with his fingers plucking specific strings.

"hey gyu, how long did you say you've been playing the guitar for?" you tilt your head to the side and he looks across over at you with a gentle smile crawling up his lips.

"I think it was around middle school. my dad taught me the basics and then I continued to teach myself. I played a few times in a band for school, but now I just like to write my own songs." he replied, almost reminiscing the good times.

you let out a long hum in response to his answer, intrigued by the thought that he's still playing the guitar after all these years.

"why'd you ask?" he places his instrument in its stand and pats the space beside him, beckoning you sit closer. and you do.

"no reason," you say, shrugging your shoulders as you sit cross legged.

"want me to teach you the easy chords? I know you don't play instruments but I have a feeling you could catch on pretty quickly." he picks up his guitar to place it onto your lap, gently lifting your hands to position them accordingly.

"I mean, I've always wanted to try but I don't think music is my strong suit."

"anything works if you put your mind to it, yn." he sits back beside you, enveloping one arm around you and placing his fingers over yours and moving them to the first easy chord. his other hand is unknowingly resting on your waist, and you were comfortable with that.

being within such close proximity is part of your norm when it comes to you and beomgyu. you always greet each other with hugs; when you're out and about you sometimes link your arm with his, and he lets you borrow his hoodies, even his favourite ones.

your friendship has been at a comfortable level for the both of you, but your crush on him hasn't hindered. you're okay with staying friends if that means you won't ruin this friendship and won't lose him.

"if you place your fingers like this," he starts, adjusting the placement of your fingers. "you almost create a cascading effect and that's the c chord." he simply explains. his voice was soft by your ear, and you'd be lying if you said that didn't give you goosebumps.

what you don't know is that it's taking everything in him to not lean his chin on your shoulder as he looks over to help you.

"so the next chord is an f. you can add your pinky to this place here," he says as he taps on your pinky and the position it should move to. you strum after you successfully play the chord clearly. "there's another way, it's a bar chord though. do you want to try?"

you nod your head in tiny movements, and beomgyu finally rests his chin on your shoulder as he carefully explains the difficult variation of the chord. his face is so close to yours, both your cheeks are almost pressed against each other.

you're so fixed on listening to his instructions and relaxed in his hold, you naturally end up tilting your head so your temple taps his. the both of you don't move your heads, just taking in this small gesture.

"you managed to play this version of the f chord too, you're a natural." he compliments you.

"I mean, I learnt from the best." you chuckle when he denies it, softly nudging your head as you continue going back and forth with the kudos.

"hmm," he hums, as he looks over at his digital clock at his desk.

"what're you thinking about now?"

"I just realised how late it is. you want to stay over or do you want me to drop you home?" he picks up his guitar, having both your fingers brushing against each other, and he puts it away again.

"I mean, I'm already here, and it is really late. but is that really okay with you?" you look up at him with your head tilted and brows closely knitted together.

"I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't." he had a point. "come on, I know this is extremely late for you on a friday night. and don't worry, I'll put a pillow between us if you want." he sends you a playful wink as he searches for another one of his hoodies for you to borrow, knowing just how much you love wearing them.

"thank you, gyu. I had fun this evening. I'm so lucky to have you." your smile meets the back of his head, not knowing if he heard the last part.

but he did. and if only you could see the soft smile on his lips because of you.

© boba-beom ; all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, alter or translate in any way or platform.

[rubydubydoo122]

Batfam Band AU

Alright, so I've had an idea of making a Batfam band AU for a while and here's what I've got so far

Back when Dick was a part of the circus, his Tati used to play guitar. Obviously not as a part of their act, but during long rides in the circus caravan, Tati would pull out the instrument and start strumming to pass the time, while his Mami would pull him in to dance. Sometimes, when the night was winding down, Tati would pull little Dickie into his lap, holding the guitar while he plucked out a melody. 

So when they had died, Dick had continued to play. It was something that made him feel closer to them. Something that made it feel like his parents were in the room with him. Because everyone knew that the Graysons could fly, but the music? That was something special only Dick could have. That was something only family could share. By the time Dick was 17, he had 3 guitars resting in the corner of his room. Tati’s Acoustic guitar and two electric guitars that Bruce had bought for him– the first one red, the second one black (Bruce had bought Dick an entirely new guitar when all he had to do was buy new strings.)

One weekend while he was home from college, and he and a 12 year old Jason were hanging out in Dick’s room, Jason’s eyes kept drifting towards the corner with the guitars. It had happened on other occasions but it was only then Dick had built up the courage to ask,

“Want me to teach you?” 

He could never forget the way Jason’s face lit up. Dick would let Jason use the red electric guitar, because the neck was smaller and easier to hold, while Dick would use his Tati’s acoustic one. And they made it their tradition. Every weekend they were together at the manor, Dick would teach Jason a new chord, or technique, or a song. 

That summer, Dick had handed the guitar over to Jason, for him to keep.

As time went on, the lessons turned into jam sessions, ones where Dick would be plucking out a fast melody, while Jason strummed along the chords. If it was a popular song, they would both belt the lyrics at the top of their lungs, after all, what Robin doesn’t sing? With both boys in the manor, there was always some sort of music.

Until the music stopped. Because Dick couldn’t find it in himself to pick up Tati’s guitar. Because he blamed himself. Maybe he was lightyears away, but if Dick hadn’t started the legacy of Robin, his little brother would still be singing. Robin ment family. The guitar ment family. Family Dick had failed. 

Except for the fact that Robins sing. That wasn’t an exception for the Third Robin. Tim just wasn’t as flashy about it compared to Dick or Jason. Tim wasn’t a natural performer, or a theater kid. He was just Tim. If no one else was around, Tim would play music and softly sing along. 

The only time Tim was on stage was during school Orchestra performances. Though it hardly counted. Tim was all the way in the back, because he played the bass. Young Tim had thought it would be a chance for his parents to actually see him. Older Tim’s eyes stung when he spotted Dick, Alfred, and Bruce Wayne in the audience. For him.

Stephanie only knew how to play the piano because of her mom. Her mom was a really good pianist before the drugs and a busy schedule took over. During holidays they would sit down and play duets together. An air of magic in the room that would never be found on a normal day. 

Cass had a knack for keeping beat. It was the dancer in her. So picking up the drums for an undercover case was surprisingly easy. And enjoyable. Cass found herself continuing to practice even though she didn’t need to. It was like dance. A way for Cass to express her feelings. A way for Cass to not only be a weapon. 

Somehow, to the shock of no one, Damian could play any instrument. He was just a musical prodigy. 

Somehow, they all end up playing their instruments together (I would love to think that it's Jason singing 'Only the Good Die Young') and Duke takes a secret recording and it goes Viral.

[dragonfirerogue-writes]

A Moment of Respite

Quinn x Reader

You let out a soft sigh. Nothing you did was letting you get sleep. You figured that it was because you were crammed in a hotel room with about eight other people. In New York. For Nationals.

Damn it, you were thinking about it again. Anxiety started to claw up your throat again. You unfold yourself from your position on your makeshift armchair/ottoman bed and let your gaze sweep the room.

There were two beds, a sofa, and the armchair you were currently occupying. The Unholy Trinity occupied one bed. Mercedes, Tina and Kurt were on the other. Rachel shared the pullout sofa bed with Ms. Pillsbury. It was definitely a cramped room and you were starting to feel claustrophobic. As silently as you could, you decided to grab your ukulele and head out of the room towards the lobby. Maybe some mindless playing could chill you out.

Your eyes passed over Quinn as you snuck past. Your relationship was strange to say the least, especially since you had moved to Lima in the beginning of the school year. You missed the whole pregnancy drama of freshman year, but the constant relationship hopping was making your head spin. You just opted to try and be a constant in her life after a run-in with the blonde when she was having a depressive moment. However, there was a constant push and pull with the girl, mostly on her end. You just tried to be there for her despite it all. Why?

You just loved her that much.

It wasn't known when exactly it started. You just slowly started to fall for Quinn. Just constantly being around her made your heart want to reach out. But you knew your own worth. You weren't going to be a pit stop or rebound between relationships. An experiment for her to test out her sexuality. So while you loved her, you held back for her own sake. Or so you tried to convince yourself.

Eventually, you make your way to the hotel lobby, ukulele in hand. As your eyes scan for a place to sit, you happen to see a familiar sight. One Sunshine Corazon, the massive voice who was almost in the New Directions before moving because of Rachel's antics. She was looking anxious as well and you decide to commiserate together.

"This seat taken?" You ask gently, not wanting to scare the poor girl. She only shakes her head, biting at her thumbnail. You took a seat and plucked a few strings.

"You ok? Nervous about the competition?" You just wanted to help her calm down. Sure, she was on the rival side but she deserved to have her nerves assuaged.

"Yeah..." She quietly said. "I usually sing a little to get the energy out, but our coach doesn't want us to strain our voices."

"Well... As long as you don't sing loudly, you should be good, yeah?" Sunshine seemed to mull over your words, glancing over to gauge your sincerity. Eventually, she let out a small smile, only to have it fall with a small sigh.

"I usually sing in Tagalog when I'm nervous. It helps the best."

You think for a moment, letting your fingers graze the strings of your instrument. With a smile, you turn to look at the young girl.

"I dated a Filipina once. Learned to play a song to try and impress her. Let's see if I remember it."

Sounds of the ukulele echo in the near empty lobby. Random notes until a few chords sound out. You let out a soft "aha" and began the opening chords for the song. It was easy enough to repeat a few times until recognition spread on Sunshine's face. With a nod, she hums, harmonizing with the rhythm before softly singing.

The hotel staff smiled as the performance continued, listening in on a sneak peek of how great Sunshine's voice was. The few people scattered around even paused to watch the impromptu show. While most were concentrated on the small Asian girl, one person had their eyes solely on you.

Quinn had followed you, also having had a hard time sleeping. While her haircut lifted some weight off her shoulders, she was still having a rough time. Forefront now was her own feelings for you. From the start, you had seen her at her lowest and still stayed by her side. You both grew close and she fell hard.

But she was terrified.

They lived in a small town and everything was everyone's business. It was hard enough being a girl, but adding in any semblance of queerness would make things almost impossible in her head. And she didn't want to ruin what you two had. It was comfortable and easy whenever you were together. Quinn was always at ease around you. It just made her feel like the other shoe was going to drop soon.

But looking at you now, smiling and playing your ukulele, she couldn't help but fall even deeper. Leaning against a column, Quinn just watched as you sway along and essentially ignore the people around you. You were into the performance, as you always did when you performed and she loved that.

Soon enough, the performance ended and scattered applause filled the lobby. You and Sunshine gave awkward sitting bows before laughing. She thanks you, saying that she feels better and is ready to sleep. Wishing her a good rest and good luck for tomorrow, you watch her go only to catch Quinn's eye. The fond look she was giving you made your heart stutter. With an easy smile, you beckon her over, offering the seat previously occupied by Sunshine.

"Couldn't sleep either? Or did I wake you? Sorry if I did." Quinn shakes her head in response, leaning towards you as she sits.

"No. I just couldn't sleep. Plus, Santana was about to kick me off the bed anyway." You both share a laugh, knowing full well the extent of the Latina's antics. "I was curious as to where you went though, so I followed. That song was really nice. What does it mean?" You plucked a few strings as you mull over the question.

"It's basically about being by a person's side no matter what. Like, even when it's raining or storming, I'll be right next to you." You turn your head to look at Quinn, only to see that your faces were inches apart. Flustered, you turn your head and muttered, "it can be viewed as either platonic or romantic. Ya know, depending on your intent."

"And what was your intent with Sunshine?"

"P-PLATONIC!" you sputtered out, cringing when you realized it was louder than you intended. Quinn let out a soft giggle. "Ahem. D-definitely platonic. Just helping a fellow performer ease some nerves." You pluck some more strings out of embarrassment, eventually playing the opening chords to the song you had previously played.

Quinn listened for a bit, gathering up the courage to ask, "And if you sang it with me? What would your intent be?"

Your head whipped around to gawk at the blonde next to you. She bit her lip anxiously, drawing your attention briefly before opening and closing your mouth like a fish. After regaining some semblance of composure, you turn away with a mumble.

"What was that?" Quinn wrung her hands, heart practically humming in her chest.

Another mumble follows in reply.

"Y/n, you'll have to spe-"

Lips upon hers steals the sentence away. Before she could realize what was happening, you retreat with a burning red face.

"...romantic, is what I said."

Quinn blinked once. Twice. Once more before she came back to reality. Her fingers graze her lips, still feeling the fleeting touch of yours. You want to leave. Your brain was firing on all cylinders, telling your body to leave and go back to Lima. It wasn't until you felt a hand on your cheek that you moved. Quinn turned your face to look at her. Once she was sure that she had your full attention, she leaned in, giving you a solid kiss. While it was chaste, the kiss conveyed all the emotion you both held from the past year.

You keep your foreheads together as the kiss ends, revelling in the moment. Your eyes remain shut, not wanting it to end.

"Please tell me I'm not dreaming."

You feel Quinn's thumb caress your cheek, making you look up at her. Her eyes shining with emotion.

"If we are, I don't want to wake up."

"Then let's dream together."

[leighsartworks216]

The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter 6

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 7

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I recommend reading it there

Warnings: swearing, struggling with emotions

Word Count: 4872

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Jaskier was quiet. He’d hardly said a word since Geralt blew up on him. His fingers would rub against each other every now and again, as if he wished to pluck the strings on his lute, but he did not reach for his instrument. The whole time you set up camp, laying out bedrolls and blankets, setting up a campfire, and so on, he sat silently on a rock you dragged over. He was completely zoned out - not even offering to help when you grunted from the labor or winced from your injuries. He only came back to his senses when you held a strip of dried meat under his nose. He’d startled slightly at the sudden smokey scent of seasoned meat, but he took it with a brief, weak smile nonetheless. But even then, he just looked at the food with a frown.

“You need to eat something,” you urged, as he’d once done for you. “You won’t have the strength to make it down the mountain if you don’t.”

“I didn’t even have the strength to stand up for myself!” he cried. As quickly as it was there, the energy and frustration was gone, swallowed up by the night. “Sorry.” His nimble fingers picked apart the jerky. You watched attentively as he pulled off a bit and ate it.

Once he began eating, you did, too. Your eyes never left the bard, watching him sulk all too knowingly. You were just the same way growing up. You could so easily imagine yourself in Jaskier’s place, sat across from Stuldweck. He would have been comforting you after a failed test on alchemy or monsters, or telling you exactly how to get back at Oalvir for a prank or for some taunting remark from the others, or encouraging you to keep trying on the obstacle course. “So you learn how to.”

He looked up. “What?”

“You learn how to stand up for yourself, for next time.”

He sighed. His whole body hunched forward, closing himself away from the harsh world he found himself in. “Next time…” He stared back at the fire; you’d carefully avoided staring too deep into its cruel flickering. Within the embers, he could see those long, dreary nights spent out in the wild with Geralt, chasing after some creature or another. He continued to long for those adventures. He craved stories and tales and wild escapades. “Next time, I’ll tell him to shove it up his arse.”

You chuckled. He lightened up a bit at the sound. “That’s a good start.”

The higher up you went, the less wildlife that seemed to be around. Now that you were descending the mountain, the crickets seemed more abundant. Their incessant chirping mingled with owls’ cries as they searched alongside bats for food. The high-pitched clicks and chirps of echolocation didn’t bother Jaskier, but they were easily picked up by your sensitive ears. Occasionally something would swoop down to catch its prey.

You couldn’t revel in the harmony of nature for long - you had put off tending to your injuries for long enough as it was. With a sigh and the rest of your jerky gone, you began undoing the straps of your leather armor as easily as the last thousand times before. Half of the buckles undone, you reached inside the chestpiece to feel your ribs. They were tender, but you couldn’t find any signs of fractures.

You undid the other half and tugged it all off. The armor itself was lighter and more flexible compared to Geralt’s. It also had less tears. The only noticeable damage was the long cut down the back. You sighed just thinking about having to stitch it back together; you were never very good at sewing.

Reaching behind you, you ran a hand slowly along your back until you felt the tear in your black tunic. You’d have to fix that, too. A little further, and your fingers brushed against the open, scarred tissue. It stung, and the blood around it was dry and crusted. But it felt clean enough. Your armor must have protected it from dust and dirt when you rolled along the cave floor.

“Are you alright?”

You’d nearly forgotten Jaskier was there, watching as you doffed your armor. You weren’t uncomfortable getting rid of that barrier, of removing that protection; so much so you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

You hummed, wincing as your fingers brushed a tender spot. “From the fight,” you explained. “One of them cut through my armor. Got me pretty good.”

He floundered for a moment. “Do you want some help? I mean, I could- Well, I know how to wrap a bandage or-”

“I’d appreciate it.”

You met his eye across the fire. His eyes did not shine and gleam at every new thing. Self-doubt clouded them, dulling them to a soft cornflower blue. He cleared his throat and jumped up. “Supplies?”

You nodded over to your bag, laying by your bedroll. He reached inside, shifting vials and jars of monster parts and ground herbs aside to find bandages. They weren’t really bandages, per se, but long strips of cloth torn from clothes or bedding, wrapped up into a ball. You also instructed him to find a small container of salve, which looked greenish-yellow in the light. As he brought over the items, you shifted to sit with your back to him, and pulled your shirt over your head. He sat awkwardly beside you on the rock, trying not to stare at your back, as you studied the tear in your tunic.

“U-Uhm, this one?” he asked about the container, holding it over your shoulder so you could see. You glanced at it briefly and nodded.

“You’ll need to gather some and spread it on the cut.” You listened to the clinking of the jar as it was opened. You almost grinned at the thought of Jaskier scrunching his nose up in disgust. “Don’t worry about hurting me.”

He scoffed and began dabbing the salve onto the long, inflamed slash, all the while mumbling to himself. “‘Don’t worry about hurting me.’ Yeah right.” The talking helped him gather his nerves. “What is this stuff anyway?” He took an experimental sniff of the jar’s contents, and found the smell actually not unpleasant.

“That same mixture from before; when I fought Geralt at your camp,” you reminded him. He’d remembered the small amount you’d spread on your cheek, then. He glanced over your shoulder to see the mini scar that ran along your cheek. It distracted him from the mention of his former adventuring buddy. “Celandine and white myrtle - helps with the pain and the infection, to some extent.”

“Smells nice.”

You chuckled. “I always found them to have a bitter smell,” you admitted.

He smelled it again, pausing for a moment to try and smell the bitterness. It was faint, on the edge of his senses. In his next breath of the cool night air, it was gone. He shook his head and gathered up more, gently guiding it within the cut. He tried not to think about how he could see the muscle-y tissue just right there, at his fingertips.

It was quiet as he continued to work. He kept trying to think of ways to fill the silence - what questions he could ask, or if he should hum or whistle a tune. You enjoyed it. You traced your fingers over the fabric in your hands, listening to the wind as it moved through the scattered foliage. After a little while, he finished coating the cut with salve and wiped the excess from his fingers onto his pants (they were dirty, anyway).

“Alright, so just, uhm.” He unraveled a bit of the bandage cloth and tried to figure out how to start wrapping it around. You held out a hand for one end of the roll, and held it to your chest so you could tie the ends together when it was all done. He would pass it around your back, and you’d wrap it around your front, until almost your entire back was safely wrapped up in the cloth. You tied the ends together and threw your shirt back on - you could fix it later.

“Is that alright?” he asked. He’d never actually helped anyone patch themselves up before. Geralt would barely let him know when he’d been hurt; Jaskier usually had to guess from the Witcher’s body language.

You turned your body to once again face the fire. “It’s not the worst I’ve ever had,” you teased, but you were sincere as you thanked him.

He fiddled with his fingers. “Thank you, too, by the way,” he rushed out, as if he would never be able to say it again if he didn’t say it now. You looked at him with those sharp snake eyes, and he floundered a little more. “For, erm, yelling at Geralt, like that.” The gratitude came from him stiff and stumbled, but it was genuine.

You smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

He grinned, too, and eased into the silence that came after.

-

The sound of Jaskier’s boots skidding on uneven gravel followed you down the mountain. You took the lead, eyes and ears constantly looking out for monsters or wild animals. It was hard to hear anything over the crunching-sliding sounds of his boots - a cougar with soft paw pads could easily walk right next to you and you’d not notice. You looked over your shoulder and watched as the bard slid down a steep incline, holding an arm out to balance himself while clutching the strap of his lute. Some steps he took were accentuated with grumbles and winces, undoubtedly from the sharp points of rocks poking through the thin soles.

“After all this time traveling,” you called back, waiting for him to catch up, “you never thought to get better boots?”

“Ah, well, I thought about it.” He reached even ground and trudged his way to your side. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths from the exertion. “Never had the extra coin to actually get any.”

He turned to the path ahead, shoulders falling with a sigh as he saw the next slope and the one after that. You had managed to get halfway down yesterday, but there was still much farther to go. Before he could start the long descent down the mountain, you placed a hand on his chest and stopped him.

“What?”

You looked around, eyes scanning the rocky terrain. Nervously, he did the same. You could feel his heart against your hand, beating wildly.

“What is it? Did you hear something?”

Shaking your head, you make your way over to a bolder. It fell decades ago, eroded by time to be smooth. You sat down. Jaskier watched, astonished, as you began removing your boots.

“Now, wait- Hang on!” His boots scraped along as he rushed to stand in front of you. His hands waved all over, trying to stop you without actually touching you. “You’re going to need those! Viper, wh- You don’t even know what size I am! Your boots might not fit! Or my boots might not fit you!”

You paused for a moment, stopped in the middle of unlacing your travel-worn footwear. He watched as you slid one foot to be next to his. Then, you continued unlacing. “They’ll fit well enough.”

He scoffed and paced around, unable to grasp that you would want to do anything so… chivalrous for him. Saving his life on a whim was one thing - it was probably just instinct that made you throw yourself over him - but to fully go out of your way to ease his (dare he say) suffering just because you could?

In no time at all, you were left barefoot on rough gravel. Unlike him, you did not wince or even flinch as the sharp points dug into your heels. He could only imagine it was because they were so calloused after who-knows-how-long of adventuring. You pressed your boots to his chest, giving him no choice but to hold onto them and accept the gesture.

“Put them on. We’ll worry about new boots when we get into town.” You stepped away from the boulder, waving a hand for him to sit down. He hesitated, staring at the worn down, well-loved boots. You nudged him. “C’mon, jaskier, my feet are hurting.”

He glanced down, realizing fully that you were actually barefoot on a rocky mountain. He rushed to sit down and take off his boots so you’d have something to walk in. All the while, his mind ran rampant.

Had Geralt ever done anything this nice? Had Geralt ever done anything to help Jaskier? Anything that didn’t involve the bard’s near death, that is. The White Wolf never even let him touch his steed, no matter how long he had been walking or how badly his feet ached. But you! You just took off your boots and gave them to him like it was such a simple thing, no more important than passing the salt at a meal. You didn’t even think twice about it, no matter how many complaints he brought up. Hell, he hadn’t even complained about his feet aching or his boots doing very little to protect him with their thin soles; you just noticed!

Another voice, less astonished but just as bitter toward his past companion spoke up: They are not Geralt.

He handed over his boots, still dazed by your altruism and perhaps slightly embarrassed over the act of trading shoes, and watched as you slipped them on without sitting back down. You kicked the toe onto the ground, measuring how much space you were left with, before giving him a nod.

“Better?”

He stepped a couple times. The boots felt odd on his feet, but he could already tell they were built for traveling. His, well, they were mostly for appearance.

“Good. Let’s keep going.”

-

Your feet were hurting by the time you reached the base of the mountain, but sweet relief was found in Bayard. The speckled horse greeted you both with loud whinnies and dramatic head bobbing. You wasted no time in stroking his neck and head, pressing your forehead to his nose.

Jaskier looked between your horse and the one tied up next to it, a mare with a light grey coat and dark hair. “So, is your horse named after a fish, too?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You snorted. “No, absolutely not.” You walked around the side, running your hand along his coat all the way. “No, his name’s Bayard.”

Jaskier watched with twiddling fingers as you prepared your trusty steed for a ride. “Why Bayard? Isn’t that a bit of a mouth full?” He glanced around at the other hitching posts. Some had horses that no longer had owners. One of them was definitely Roach, but he had a feeling she didn’t really want anything to do with him either. The one hitched up next to yours tried reaching out to nudge his arm. He jumped back, unsure how to really act around such a large, terrifying creature.

You shrugged from underneath Bayard, working on a stubborn buckle. “It was just sort of the first name that came to mind. I think it suits him.” You stood and Bayard nudged his side against you. He was excited to finally stretch his legs. You watched as Jaskier nervously patted the top of the mare’s head. “Can you ride?”

He chuckled, shaking his head and stepping away from Hendrick’s horse as she tried nibbling on his doublet. “No, not at all. Geralt usually rode and I’d just sort of,” he gestured his hand moving along a path, “walk alongside.”

“Well, if you’re going to travel with me, you’ll need to move a bit quicker than that.”

He frowned, almost scoffing as he watched you saddle up the mare with some spare tack laying around. “What, like, run? Cuz these legs aren’t really good for sprints or- or jogging.” You looked around for a moment, searching the ground. You set a log on one end and tested it with your foot. Jaskier watched with a sinking feeling in his gut. “What are you doing?”

“You,” you began, grabbing his arm to drag him to the horse’s side, “are going to learn how to ride.”

“What?!” He flinched away when he accidentally ran into her flank, apologizing on impulse.

You patted his shoulder. “Relax, Jaskier, you’ll do fine. So, what you want to do is hold onto the saddle, right here and here, put your foot in the stirrup like this, and pull yourself up. Okay, good, now swing your leg over the back- careful.” You moved the stump away once he was on, but you kept careful watch. It would be unfortunate if he fell off. Or if the horse bucked him off.

He watched you too, but less in a ‘watching a child so they don’t injure themselves’ way and more of a ‘dear god I’m going to die’ way. His blue eyes practically bulged out of his skull in fright. His hands held onto the horn of the saddle for dear life, afraid to even actually touch the horse. “What do I do now?”

“Name her.” Bayard nudged his nose under your arm as you worked to undo the knot in her lead. You had to shove him away before he panicked Jaskier any more.

“Name her?” he parroted. You could hear his panicked breathlessness. “Like what? Doesn’t somebody own it? Am I stealing a horse right now?”

You chuckled under your breath. It was interesting trying to give the bard a crash course in horses when you worked with them for almost a decade of your life. “No, we aren’t stealing; nobody owns her anymore. And it can be anything.” You handed the lead for him to hold as you untied Bayard’s. “You’re poetic - you’ll think of something.”

“Some-thiing!” Jaskier nearly fell forward in panic as you guided both horses onto the road.

“Calm down.” You slung the lead over the mare’s head. He caught it and held onto it like a lifeline while watching you hoist yourself into Bayard’s saddle like it was nothing. He couldn’t picture himself as at-ease with a horse. “Don’t pull the lead too tight, make sure she has room to move.”

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“Bayard can’t carry two people for very long, and I’m not going to wait up for you if I’m on the tail of a contract. So, it’s either this, or I’ll wait for you to walk 2 hours to Hengfors by yourself.”

He sighed, pouting as he worried the leather in his hands. “Fine! But if I fall off, I’m blaming you. Now how do we move these things?”

-

The entire ride was spent teaching Jaskier how to ride. He was a surprisingly fast learner, but he also almost slid off the saddle several times. He also spent a grand majority of the trip brainstorming names for his new steed. Due to her silvery grey coat, he tried some names like ‘Silver’ and ‘Snowflake’. That trailed off into names like ‘Furt’, ‘Furtie’, and ‘Hove’ after his memories of home. (Oxenfurt and Lettenhove, respectfully.) Deeply dissatisfied by any variation of those names, he did a full 180 and decided randomly naming things he saw or thought about would be the best way to name her.

By the time you reached the town and zoned back into his random mutterings, he decided to call her Adhara, after a star he read about as a child.

The first stop in town was to the first armorsmith you saw. You almost slid off the saddle before Bayard even had a chance to stop, eager to get Jaskier some proper boots and get yours back. It cost a mite more than you expected, but you saw the glint in the smith’s eye when he told you the price; he was no doubt asking for more due to your profession. So while Jaskier muttered about how unreasonable that was and tried insisting on paying for it himself, you just handed over the coin and left without another word to the craftsman.

Jaskier noticed during this time how you were different. It was hard to notice the change in Geralt - the Wolf was always moody and miserable; but from the moment you stepped into Hengfors, your face was unreadable, even stern. Your eyes shifted around constantly, and when Jaskier cracked a joke or offered a witty remark, you did not even grace him with a soft grin or huff of laughter. It was all part of the job, he supposed.

Once he was settled with his brand new boots and yours were safely returned to your feet (his old boots only fetched a few crowns from the craftsman), you led your steeds to the nearest inn and showed Jaskier how to properly tie up Adhara and remove her tack. Watching him try to lift the saddle and hang it on the wall hook, you’d never suspect he ever set a foot out into the real world.

He insisted on buying the room since you bought the boots, but you insisted he only get one room. There was no point in spending more coin than necessary and you were accustomed to sleeping on hard floors. Perhaps Melitele decided to show you some grace, though, as the bed in the room was plenty large enough to fit two people.

You both trudged into the room and dropped (or carefully set down, in the case of Jaskier’s lute) everything you carried to the floor. The floors creaked and groaned, and the walls were thin enough to hear somebody breathing on the other side, but a warm place to lay your head was enough reason to relax.

“Oh ho ho ho! You beauty!” Jaskier’s voice came from the corner of the room. You paused in the middle of removing your leather armor, watching with quiet amusement as he moved around behind a screen divider. If you cocked your head just enough, you could see the large bathtub, steam wafting from the basin already filled to the brim with hot water. “I have not bathed in days,” he bemoaned. He rushed to his bags, tugging off his doublet all the while, and pulled out various bottles of oils. He practically dumped all of their strongly perfumed contents in.

You huffed a laugh at his enthusiasm (He silently praised the gods that you felt comfortable enough in here to do so.) and pulled off your chestplate. It would be best to patch it up now. With Jaskier safely behind the screen, cursing to himself as he undressed, you pulled your own shirt off and dropped it to the bed with the armor. You would have plenty of time to fix your gear as the bard allowed himself the comfort of a long, hot soak.

The water shifted and sloshed as Jaskier lowered himself in, all content hums and satisfied groans. He always expressed his emotions so plainly. You envied him for it. Even as a child, emotions were scolded or punished; crying in dark corners was not uncommon in the Viper Keep. It was hard to shake off those grueling years when humans looked at you with such open disdain. A Witcher seen laughing would surely bring more ridicule than one that stayed silent.

As you dug through your stuff, you allowed yourself to breathe in the strong smells. They were overwhelming at first, especially with senses as sensitive as yours, but they soon became bearable. “Is that sandalwood?” you called across the room.

“Mhm.” He sighed, spreading out in the water and resting his head on the edge of the tub. He wondered behind closed eyes and private screens what you were moving around the room for, what you were doing. Did Witchers ever rest? “And vanilla.”

With the sewing kit in hand, you gracelessly plopped onto the mattress. It was soft and springy. Your muscles relaxed instantly against the clean fabrics. You readied a thick needle with leather thread and pulled the chestplate into your lap. The cut was clean, which meant it would be easy to fix. And while you’d never been the best at sewing, you were plenty good enough now not to poke your fingers or misalign the edges. “It smells nice.”

He sat up in the tub, water shifting around him as he moved to see what you were doing. His eyes glanced over the bandages around your torso only briefly. “You think so?”

You hummed, nodding as you pulled the thread through. “I don’t get many opportunities to smell something sweet on my travels.”

“Don’t pass by many bakeries, then?”

“No,” you chuckled. “I try to avoid towns whenever possible.”

“How come?” he asked before he could stop himself. Your pointed glance was all the answer he needed. He forgot how unwelcome Witchers were, when the couple he knew were so… Well, he couldn’t say normal, but when you’re around oddities and strangeness all the time, it becomes normal. To him, they were just people. Strange, brave people. “Feel free to use it then, if you’d like,” he offered. The water announced his gestures. “Wash away all that Witchery-ness.”

You pulled taught another thread, leaning in closer to focus on what you were doing. It was a bad habit. Stuldweck always grabbed you by your collar and sat you up straight when he caught you doing it. You sat up a little straighter.

“I wouldn’t wish to waste your expensive oils. Monster guts have a difficult stench to cover,” you dismissed. You tied a knot at the end of your repair, cutting off the excess with a knife. As you worked to thread a smaller needle with cotton thread, you added, “Besides, I think it smells much nicer on you.”

Jaskier stared at you for a minute, trying to think. When he could not cobble together the words, despite how fast his mind raced with a mixed bag of teasing remarks, self-deprecating put-downs, and ways to assure that you surely would also smell nice if you bathed in sandalwood and vanilla, he leaned back into his bath, rested his head against the rim, and stared at the ceiling.

-

You woke up to a dark, empty room. It was disorienting at first; you pulled your knife from under your pillow on reflex. Jaskier and his lute were nowhere to be found, but the smell of sandalwood and vanilla lingered in the air. All his other belongings were still dropped to the floor with your own.

Sharp spikes of pain shot up your spine as you sat up. You carefully prodded at your back, now covered by the patched up shirt. The cut was sensitive, but it would heal well enough. Another scar for the collection, atop an old training injury no less.

The door creaked slowly open on its rusty hinges. Your hand tightened around your blade, prepared to fend off intruders even in your post-nap drowsiness. You sighed when you saw Jaskier poke his head in. He stopped trying to be sneaky once he saw you were awake.

“Ah, good! You’re up.” He sauntered inside with an easy confidence, a slight pep in his step. He dropped his lute onto the bed by your feet and a small pouch full of coins in your lap. “I have just earned enough money for dinner,” he sang proudly.

As you tugged open the bag, he struck a match to light the lamp by the bed. Coins were packed so tightly inside that they didn’t have room to shift or clink together. You raised an eyebrow at the amount. “And drinks.”

He waved his hands about. “Yes, well, I may have stopped by a few of the taverns around town.”

You looked up at him. He cracked under the pressure.

“Or, maybe, all of them.” He sighed, dropping to sit next to you on the bed. He gestured to his shoes. “You spent a lot on these boots! I felt bad!”

You cinched up the purse and tossed it into his lap. “You bought the room,” you reminded him.

“And it definitely didn’t cost as much.” He nudged your arm, jumping up excitedly. “C’mon, Viper! Meat and mead on me!”

Part of you wanted to decline. It wanted to remain completely self-reliant. It wanted to keep some distance between you and the bard, especially when you let your guard down around him so easily. It wanted you to build your walls taller and stronger.

But then he looked at you with those bright, hopeful eyes, and that little part of you fizzled out. You sighed, but you pushed the blankets aside and pulled on your boots. He rambled about his concerts while you pulled your armor back on and holstered your daggers, telling you about drunk patrons who fell over themselves singing along or women who waited until he finished singing to flirt with him. You offered your own input when he took a breath.

You ate and drank more that night than you had in months.

---

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@lastwandastan

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

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[mycurrent-hyperfixation]

Take A Chance On Me - Chapter Eleven (Eddie Munson x Reader Series)

Series Summary: Corroded Coffin is lacking only one thing that could help them win the upcoming Battle of the Bands; original songs. So when a new band comes to town with a lead singer that looks all too familiar and a repertoire of original songs up their sleeves, Dustin concocts a plan that will get you to spill all of your songwriting secrets to Eddie. It’s just a few dates, right?

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Word Count: 7.8K

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader, Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, 10 Things I Hate About You AU

A/N: Did I change one of the songs for this chapter last minute? Yes. Am I satisfied with the songs used? Absolutely not. But I am so sick of listening to hour upon hour of music trying to find the perfect song so here we are. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. These chapters just keep getting longer and longer so I'm really struggling to put out a chapter per week but we're like two-ish chapters away from the end so I refuse to be late now. I kid you not I planned out the last round of the competition to take up half a chapter and it's going on three whole chapters now. All of your comments on the last chapter gave me so much joy. I'm not joking when I say I was beaming whenever I got the notification that one of y'all commented so thank you so much for continuing to support my work! As always, love you all!

The moment in the bathroom replayed in Eddie’s mind nothing short of a thousand times. He thought about the closeness of your breath and the gentle grasp of your finger against his and the soft skin of your palm resting against his cheek. He thought of how breathtaking you had looked even in the dim lighting of the room, your face focused into a look of concentration as you had wiped gently at his forehead. He had revelled in your distraction, taking the chance to drink all of you in until he had become practically drunk at the sight of you standing so close before him.

Eddie thought about that moment as he lingered in the bathroom long after you had gone, one hand cradling his forehead, the other resting on his hip as he continued to try and continued to fail at calming his racing heart. He had paced the room for half an hour before Jeff had come to find him, and even then, when he was back in the confines of the green room, you situated in the opposite corner as you talked with your friends, he had thought about the bathroom still. He thought about the softness of your voice, and even though you had not said all that much, he thought about how there was no tone of hatred masked behind it this time.

You looked up at him for just a moment from across the room, and Eddie could feel the flutter of his heart as your gaze found his. The glance was fleeting, barely there at all, but it was enough to let Eddie hope that maybe you had stopped avoiding him. It would likely kill him if this were to be the last time he saw you, if the two of you were to part ways after this final performance. And so he took that fleeting glance and he hid it somewhere within his heart, unwilling to let it go.

In the end, Eddie only remembered the existence of the competition when he watched as you and your band exited the green room, your instruments slung across your shoulders. You glanced back at Eddie only once during your departure, and as you did so you plucked a finger down each string of your guitar softly. Eddie smiled as the sweet sounds of each note reverberated around the room, and although you did not smile back, the small nod that you offered him before disappearing through the doorway had his heart aflutter nonetheless.

Eddie found himself rising from his seat before he had even made the decision to follow you, earning him a confused expression from each of his bandmates.

“Where are you going?” Gareth asked.

Eddie thought the question wholeheartedly stupid, and yet his features remained neutral as he turned back to Gareth. The two of them had only recently begun talking to each other again, and Eddie did not have the heart to aggravate their friendship any further.

“They’ll be on soon,” was all he responded with.

“Dude, have you seen that crowd? You’ll get swallowed by that thing if you go in there,” Mike said.

“We can just watch them from the wings,” Jeff added.

Eddie knew that they were right. He had peeked out towards the crowd from the side of the stage not long ago, and the sheer volume of people that he had been met with had instilled nerves even within him. He knew that it would be risky to enter the crowd when Corroded Coffin were playing right after you. He knew that he could just watch your set from the safety of the wings instead. And yet he also knew that he would not be able to see you properly if he were to watch you from the side of the stage; he would not see as your nerves washed away and as your lips curved upwards into that same soft smile that always appeared when you played.

So in the end the decision was an easy one to make. Eddie shrugged his shoulders, turned around, and made his way down towards the crowd.

The throng of people that he was met with was so tightly compact that Eddie became instantly repulsed by the sheer amount of people that were touching him at once. It was hot, he was sweaty, and the buzz of conversation was insufferably loud so that it was hard not to consider simply turning around and retreating back the way he had come.

But then you were walking on stage and the thought left him all at once. Because even though there was a considerable amount of people standing between the two of you, even though your gaze never found his as you looked out towards the crowd, you were somehow even more beautiful than you had been when Eddie had first seen you upon a stage back on that rainy night at the Hideout, and Eddie was quite taken aback at how that was even possible.

For just a moment, Eddie wished that it was his guitar that was sitting perched across your shoulders, for something quite animalistic had arisen within him at that sight during your last performance. But in truth you were just as breathtaking as always, and Eddie could feel the beat of his heart quicken as you flashed a smile at the crowd.  

As you turned to set up your amplifier, Eddie found his gaze momentarily distracted by the sight of Dustin Henderson shoving his way towards him. In toe was Steve Harrington who did not try to hide the scowl that covered his features when his eyes met Eddie’s. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you down here!” Dustin yelled over the crowd. 

Eddie did not quite know how to respond. The truth would likely sound too creepy, especially to Steve who was now standing with his arms folded across his puffed-out chest; the truth that he had needed to see the way you closed your eyes and lost yourself in the music, the way your hips began unconsciously swaying to the beat, the way you would forget the crowd, forget everything, and simply have fun. It was intoxicating, seeing you upon a stage; hypnotising even, and Eddie was sure as hell not going to miss what might be the last time he ever got the privilege of watching you perform.

But before Eddie could respond, you were turning back around to face the crowd once more, your lips pressing up against the microphone.

“Hello again!”

Eddie breathed out a sigh of relief when Dustin—his question forgotten—turned his attention towards the stage, trying to ignore the way that Steve was glaring at him.

“Today we’ve got something a little bit different for you.”

The crowd erupted in cheers and Eddie could not quite blame them even though he had to fight the urge to bring his hands up to cover his ears. His curiosity was piqued now, and he found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

“Who here has ever dated an asshole?”

The crowd went wild.

Eddie could not quite stop his face from falling nor his shoulders from dropping. He had allowed himself to hope in that bathroom; to hope that maybe you would not hate him forever, that maybe you would allow him the pleasure of lingering within your presence every so often, that maybe, just maybe, things might get back to how wonderful they had been before. But now he realised that his hopes had been a futile thing; that he had been so abundantly stupid to ever believe that you might come back to him. You were kind. That was all the bathroom had been regardless of how close the two of you had been standing or how many times Eddie had thought your gaze had flickered just slightly downwards towards his lips. You were kind and he was stupid, that was all.  

He could feel Dustin and Steve staring at him now, and their gazes only caused more shame to flood through him as he cast his eyes down to the floor. It was almost painful to look upon you, for he knew just how beautiful you looked upon that stage and it would hurt all the more now that it was made abundantly clear that he could never have you.

Eddie felt like leaving. He felt like making his way back up to the green room and then maybe even going further until he was in the carpark and could hopefully no longer hear the song that was undoubtedly about him and all of his assholery. And yet just like when you had laid yourself out bare before him that night in his trailer, once again he found himself incapable of pulling himself away from you. So he stayed and he pulled his gaze back up towards you, his breath hitching in this throat as usual at the sight of the small smile that was upturning your lips.

“Well, we’ve got a song here all about assholes. But we were thinking: why do we get to have all the fun singing it?”

You waited patiently as the crowd’s thunderous roar finally died down, their interest piqued just as Eddie’s was as he waited for you to continue. Your smile was almost devilish, and Eddie revelled in the sight of it.

“So would you help us sing the last chorus?”

Again, the crowd erupted in a series of screams, and your smile only grew wider.  

You were quick as you commanded the audience, knowing the judges had no patience when it came to tardiness. So you played each line of the chorus only once, pausing after each one so that the crowd could repeat it back to you. They were hesitant at first, their combined efforts no louder than your own singing with the microphone, and Eddie could see the small falter in your smile as the nervousness flooded through you once more. So by the third line of the chorus, Eddie found himself screaming the lyrics back, and smiled as the people around him followed.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road.” The waiver in your voice was faint—barely there at all, really—but Eddie still heard it. He saw the way you turned your gaze to the floor, how the confidence in your posture dropped slightly. You were doubting yourself, he knew, and he wanted nothing more than to jump onto that stage and grasp your hand in his, to rub soothing circles across your palm and smile reassuringly at you, to offer any kind of comfort that he could until that smile reappeared across your lips.

For just the smallest of moments as you pulled your gaze upwards to the crowd once more, Eddie could have sworn that your eyes locked with his. It was unlikely considering how many people were packed into the room and how the blinding lights of the stage shrouded the crowd in shadow. But Eddie still flashed you a smile when he thought your gaze lingered upon him, and whether the small upturning of your lips was in response to him or was simply directed out towards the crowd, Eddie’s heart thundered in his chest nonetheless.

“This one’s called Since You’ve Been Gone.”

The beginning of the song was tamer than Eddie expected; a chord progression of simple notes, a basic drum pattern. And yet even though it was simple, it was undoubtedly catchy, the crowd beginning to nod their heads along to the beat before you had ever begun to sing.

“Here’s the thing, we started out friends

It was cool but it was all pretend

Yeah, yeah

Since you’ve been gone.”

Eddie couldn’t lie; the words stung. And yet he found himself forgetting about the pain, forgetting about most things really, as you came alive. Your eyes might have been directed out towards the crowd but you weren’t looking at them, Eddie knew. You were in your own world now, a world where it was just you and your band, and it somehow made you all the more captivating to watch.

“You’re dedicated, you took the time

Wasn’t long ‘til I called you mine

Yeah, yeah

Since you’ve been gone.”

Eddie’s attempt at strategy for the competition came down to one thing; play it loud and hope for the best. So he found himself quite surprised at the docility of the beginning of the song. And yet his own head was nodding to the beat now, for the song was just as good as everything else that you had written even without the presence of an extreme beat and a turned-up amplifier, and the thought was oddly terrifying.  

“And all you’d ever hear me say

Is how I picture me with you

That’s all you’d ever hear me say.”

You were talented, that much Eddie had known from the very moment he had first seen you upon the stage at the Hideout. And yet now, he still found himself surprised at just how much he was enjoying the song, even if he was the asshole in question. The thought brought a smile to his lips and a slight chuckle to his breath.

The music was building now as it reached the chorus, growing and amplifying until a cacophony of noise burst out into the hall all at once. Eddie came to realise that he had been wholeheartedly wrong; the song was not docile at all.

“But since you’ve been gone

I can breathe for the first time

I’m so moving on, yeah, yeah

Thanks to you

Now I get what I want

Since you’ve been gone.”

The song was you.

There was no other way to describe the fire and the passion and the sheer intensity that was buried within each lyric, lingering behind every note. Eddie thought it almost funny, the dramatic change in pacing, for it reminded him wholly of you; a spark of light on the outside and a firework beneath.

It was completely electrifying; so much so that for just a moment Eddie found it hard to breath. Your eyes were closed as you sung into the microphone, your voice powerful and unyielding in a way he had not heard it before. You held nothing back as you sang, and it made the room all the more exhilarating. The crowd felt it too, some beginning to sing even though you had not instructed them to so that the room became practically ablaze with noise.

“How can I put it? You put me on

I even fell for that stupid love song

Yeah, yeah

Since you’ve been gone.”

Eddie could feel Dustin’s gaze as it returned to him, could feel it burning a hole into the side of his head as his stare lingered there.

“This must be hard for you,” Dustin eventually said.

Eddie thought about the statement.

Because no, it was not particularly hard to listen to the lyrics as the song continued, and Eddie had not been able to quite figure out why. Perhaps it was the way you said each word with the same wide smile that Eddie so adored. Perhaps it was the way you had begun to dance now, often turning back towards your band mates and forgetting the crowd completely. Perhaps it was the way you just seemed to be having so much fun, for Eddie would always revel in the sight of your happiness.

But Eddie lingered on the thought, knowing that the truth lied somewhere else. When it finally hit him, a wide smile erupted onto his features.

“Or if the person that the song is about is there, I like to look at them too. Then it’s kind of just like I’m giving them a little poem I wrote for them,” you had once said to Eddie, and at the time he had thought the sentiment so painfully adorable. The words replayed in his mind now, over and over until the wideness of his smile begun to hurt to his jaw.

“How come I’d never hear you say, “I just wanna be with you”?

Guess you never felt that way.”

Eddie could see Dustin’s features from the corner of his eye slowly beginning to morph into a look of confusion. Eddie did not blame him; his sudden change in demeanour was likely the last expression of emotion that Dustin had expected him to produce. Steve was furrowing his brows now as well, although Eddie could not quite bring himself to care.

Because now Eddie so hoped that you had glanced towards him at the beginning of your set, that you knew his positioning in the crowd and had had no need to look back. You had avoided his gaze during your last performance, had looked anywhere but at him for what had felt like forever. But even then, your gaze had still eventually found its way back to him, and the hatred and the sadness and the sheer emotion that you had poured into every word that you had directed right at him had only broken his heart further.

But today, through all the smiles and through all the lyrics, you had not returned your eyes back to him, and Eddie found himself more elated by that information than he ever thought he would be.

“She hasn’t looked at me,” fell from his lips, Dustin’s confusion only worsening. Steve’s expression changed however, a slight look of surprise overtaking his features as he quirked one eyebrow up. He understood, Eddie knew, and the thought only made Eddie’s hope soar.

“Wha-” Dustin tried.

“She hasn’t looked at me!” Eddie screamed now as he connected his hands with Dustin’s shoulders and shook him excitedly. The action surprised the boy, and yet before he could react Eddie was pulling away just as quickly, eager to return his attention back to you.

“Is he on drugs?” Eddie heard Dustin whisper to Steve.

But Steve’s own lips were upturning now as he said, “No, I don’t think so.”

“But since you’ve been gone

I can breathe for the first time

I’m so moving on, yeah, yeah

Thanks to you,

Now I get, I get what I want.”

The song had somehow begun to build even further, and Eddie could feel the electricity in the room growing along with it. The atmosphere was practically palpable, something heavy lingering in the air.

“You had your chance, you blew it

Out of sight, out of mind

Shut your mouth, I just can’t take it

Again, and again, and again, and again.”

For just a moment Eddie felt his resolve waiver. Perhaps he was being delusion in his belief that the song was not about him. The lyrics would make so much sense after all. But then your smile was only growing wider, your hair falling slightly in front of your face as you nodded your head along to the beat, and Eddie thought that in the end it didn’t really matter. What mattered was the smile upon your face and whether or not he had the ability to make it stay there.

Robin’s guitar took a hold of the room now, your grip on your own guitar falling away as you let it hang limply from the strap around your shoulders. Your hands came up, the audience bristling in anticipation. The crowd held their breath, waiting for your que.

“Your turn!” you called into the microphone.

The crowd came alive.  

“Since you’ve been gone!” they sung, assisted by Meg, Vicki and Robin.

“Since you’ve been gone,” you echoed by yourself.

“I can breathe for the first time

I’m so moving on, yeah, yeah.”

It was deafening being amongst it all, most people screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs. The crowd was not perfect, many forgetting one lyric or another. But the sheer enthusiasm poured into every word made up for it. With the rest of your band singing along the crowd was guided through each line until there was nothing but the sound of your lyrics echoing around the hall. The floors felt as if they were vibrating from the noise, although whatever movement Eddie felt was likely caused by the rowdiness of the crowd as they jumped and bounced along to the beat.

“Thanks to you!” the crowd sang.

“Thanks to you!” you echoed

“Now I get, I get what I want.”

“One more time!” you called, and the crowd obeyed instantly.

People were jumping up and down, some thrashing their arms around in whatever semblance of dancing they were attempting. But the closeness of the crowd was almost a dangerous thing now, and Eddie found himself shuffling closer to Dustin if only to try and protect him from the onslaught of limbs that surrounded them. But through it all Eddie found himself joining the crowd, singing along with just as much fervour.

“I can breathe for the first time

I’m so moving on, yeah, yeah,

Thanks to you

Now I get!

You should know

That I get, I get what I want.”

With each passing lyric you echoed it back, harmonising and adding to the combined efforts of the crowd.

Eddie had fallen in love with your voice from the very first moment he had heard it, and yet still he found himself blown completely away. You were belting the notes now, your voice rising above everything else, your eyes screwed tightly shut as the room fell away. It was just you that he could see now, just you he could hear, and Eddie thought that if he were to spend forever in this suspended limbo where the only thing he could perceive was you, he would be a lucky man.

Your hands flew up once more, the crowd silencing upon your command as the bass and the drums and the guitar fell away.

“Since you’ve been gone.

Since you’ve been gone.

Since you’ve been gone.”

It was just your voice that echoed throughout the room, so melodic as it reverberated upon every wall. And then, as if the falling of your arms released the audience from their silence, the room erupted into a chorus of cheers so deafening that Eddie found himself wincing at the noise. But he was amongst the people cheering, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and whistling as loudly as he could.

The smile that was spread across your lips was intoxicating as Eddie looked upon you. And even though you were panting and you were sweating and your hair was slightly messy, Eddie thought you just as breathtaking as you always were. For just a moment, your gaze found his, and he could not quite help the soaring of his heart when the wideness of your smile did not falter.

But then Eddie’s gaze was leaving yours, quite surprised as the figure of Steve Harrington leaned over towards him.  

“Aren’t you up next?” Steve enquired, the smirk across his features almost devilish.  

“Shit!” Eddie cried and quite unceremoniously scrambled his way backstage.

---

You were quite certain that the feeling of the endorphins running through you as you eventually made your way off stage likely felt similar to the high of drugs. It was intoxicating the way your blood was thrumming through your veins that your heart felt almost as if it might burst out of your chest at any moment.

The only sounds that you and your band seemed capable of producing as the crowd continued to scream long after you had left could only correctly be labelled as a squeal. And yet although the sound was high-pitched and somewhat embarrassing, you could not quite bring yourself to care as you continued to make it all the way down the hall.

But then a figure was scrambling past the four of you and your squealing ceased altogether, because Eddie Munson looked to be running for his life towards the green room and the sight was undoubtedly hilarious. You turned your gaze to where the rest of Corroded Coffin were waiting in the wings, all of them ready to perform and all of them rolling their eyes at the sight of their lead singer running past.

When Eddie slipped slightly upon trying to turn into the green room at a sharp angle, you and your band could not quite stop the barks of laughter that left your lips, all four of you still high from the adrenaline of the set so that your bouts of laughter lasted longer than they probably should have.

“Somebody got a bit distracted,” Robin leaned down and whispered in your ear, and you hoped that the weak punch you applied to her shoulder would be enough to distract her from the blush that arose upon your cheeks.

Eddie emerged from the green room just as quickly as he had entered it, flinging his guitar strap across his shoulders and traversing the final distance to the wings with amazing speed. He was panting, his hair slightly messy as he offered a smile to his bandmates and as their expressions remained neutral in return.

“See? I told you I’d make it,” Eddie said, his voice a clear indication of his attempt at a joke. Jeff and Mike relented in their glares, but Gareth did not, and so Eddie turned away with a sigh, running his hands through his hair.

You weren’t altogether too sure why you lingered in the wings as your band continued on down the hallway, but when Eddie noticed your presence, the smile that erupted across his features had your own lips itching to curl upwards. He turned fully towards you, stepping maybe just slightly closer than what one’s personal space might border.

“You guys were like...insane.” His voice was softer than you had expected it to be, but the sheer enthusiasm that dripped from his words made something warm erupt within your heart.

“That crowd was insane,” you responded.

“They were just responding to you.”

A silence blossomed between you, although its presence wasn’t as awkward as you had expected. It was nice almost, talking with Eddie again and not feeling like punching him. Although there was a part of you that wondered where those feelings had gone. They had been so very prominent for so very long; an anger and a hurt the likes of which you had never seen. And yet now it was their absence that felt strange, as if you had resigned yourself to their permanent residency within you.

But then Eddie was opening his mouth as if he were about to say something, and you found yourself standing at rapt attention, listening intently. But before he could utter whatever it was that was about to fall from his lips, the stage manager was ushering his band on stage. Eddie looked towards where Gareth, Jeff and Mike were standing, offered them a curt nod, and then turned back to give you an apologetic smile.

The silence turned awkward as Eddie continued to linger within your presence, not quite knowing what to say. He looked almost sheepish now, his posture slightly slouched and his eyes not quite meeting yours.

“W-will you watch?” His voice was soft, hesitant almost, as if he had been unsure whether to utter the statement or not. The question surprised you.

“Um,” you began, distracted now as Eddie stared intently at you as if he were hanging upon your every word. “Yeah, okay.”

The sigh of relief that left Eddie’s lips almost had you wanting to smile. The stage manager returned, this time her sentiments more persistent. Eddie nodded to her but lingered within your presence for just a few seconds longer.

“I should…um,” Eddie finally said, pointing to where his bandmates were glaring daggers into his back.

“Yes, of course,” you said.

And then Eddie was turning away from you and the sight was oddly painful.

“Eddie?” you found yourself calling out to him before you could stop yourself.

Eddie whipped around so fast it looked almost as if he were a dog being called by its owner. The look he directed towards you was one of rapt attention, as if he were waiting with bated breath for whatever it was that you were about to say.

You wanted to collect yourself; you wanted to take the time to think through the message that you were about to convey. Although what exactly you wanted to say still eluded you. Because now, words seemed an almost impossible thing with Eddie Munson standing before you. Suddenly it felt almost as if you were back in middle school; a girl standing before her crush willing words into existence if only to abate the awkwardness that had begun to grow.

But there was simply no time to think. The crowd was waiting.

“Never mind. You should go before your band goes on without you.”

“Right…yes,” Eddie said, although there was a slight furrow to his brow now as he looked upon you. But he said nothing, only offering you a small smile before he was turning around and leaving once more.

“Goodluck!” you found yourself calling out.

Eddie turned back around, walking backwards for a few steps, and the smile that he directed towards you was so wide and so genuine and so wholeheartedly Eddie that you felt your heart constrict within your chest.

“Does this mean we’re doing the thing?” you heard Mike say to Eddie as the four of them finally made their departure for the stage.

Eddie smiled back at you one last time before saying somewhat distractedly, “We sure are, Wheeler.”

You only furrowed your brows in confusion, rolled your eyes and then left to find your own band.

---

“Whoever touches me next is losing their hand,” Meg grumbled as the four of you remained by the back wall. The space was so disgustingly compacted with people that you could not quite fathom why on earth Eddie had braved the crowd when he had been scheduled to perform straight after you.

Corroded Coffin had emerged onto the stage before you had made it to the audience, a deafening roar erupting from the crowd signifying their entrance. Eddie’s gaze found yours almost immediately upon your arrival, but whether it was because he expected you to linger in the back or because he had always seemed to possess the ability of drawing you to him, you weren’t quite sure. His eyes shone slightly brighter as his eyes locked onto yours, his lips spreading into a wide smile. You upturned the sides of your lips slightly in response and watched on as Eddie begun to set up his guitar.

“You look happy.” The sound of Robin’s voice so close to your ear startled you, and you turned to find her smirking devilishly at you.

“We played really well,” you tried to say nonchalantly.

“I take it your little talk with Munson went well then?”

You punched Robin lightly in the shoulder and she laughed in response. You were grateful when Eddie brushed his lips up to the microphone and greeted the crowd, if only because it saved you from what would have likely been a wholly uncomfortable conversation with a very prying girl.

“The song we’ve got for you tonight is another love song since I seem to be writing a lot of those lately.”

When you turned to look towards Eddie your breath hitched slightly in your throat. Because Eddie was already staring intently at you, and his gaze was so captivating—the brown of his eyes so tantalising even from so far away—that you found yourself frozen in place. “This one’s called She’s So Mean.”

You tried to stifle the bark of laughter that threatened to escape from the confines of your throat, but the smile that accompanied it was seemingly unstoppable as it spilled forth onto your lips. At the sight of it, Eddie’s own smile morphed into a toothy grin before he turned back to his band, offered them each a curt nod, and awaited Gareth’s count in.

The song seemed to be many things although different was the word that first sprung to mind. Corroded Coffin’s songs were loud; they were fast and powerful and always just a little bit unhinged. And yet lately it was as if they had taken a softer turn, as if they were no longer counting on a deafening beat to captivate a crowd, and the thought was surprisingly mature.

“I kn-kn-know a girl

She gets what she wants all the time

'cause she's fine.

But for an angel, she's a hot, hot mess

Make you so blind

But you don't mind.”

Although the song was not as fast paced nor as loud as you had expected it to be, it was just as good, and you felt both guilt and justification at the annoyance that ran through you because of this. Just like the last time they had performed, Eddie’s voice seemed to be at the forefront of the song. The rasp that it possessed managed to send a shiver down your spine, the imperfection of his voice just as perfect as it always was so that goosebumps began to line your skin.

“She’ll make you take her to the club, but then she leaves with her friends

She likes to stay late at the party cause the fun never ends

And all her clothes are on the floor, and all your records are scratched

She’s like a one-way ticket ‘cause you can’t come back.”

At the mention of the record, another bark of laughter rose within your throat, and this time you could not stop it as it spilled from your mouth. Robin turned to look at you with a slight furrow in her brows, but you paid her no mind as you raised one hand and flipped up your middle finger.

It was clear that the action caught Eddie off guard, for now he was stifling his own laugh as his fingers continued to dance across the strings of his guitar. He turned away for just a moment to compose himself before his lips were connecting with the microphone once more.

“Sayin’ yeah, and you want her

But she’s so mean.”

“You’ll never let her go, why don’t you let her go?” Mike, Gareth and Jeff echoed.

You could feel Robin’s gaze lingering upon you now, and whilst you knew that she would question the wideness of your smile later when you had left the deafening crowd and she could annoy you until her heart was content, it was as if the happiness that your face was exuding couldn’t be stopped.

The song was building now, growing into something more familiar; into something louder and faster and slightly deranged.

“She’s got a wicked sense of humour, can’t believe what she says.”

It was nice listening to a song that had been written about you, even if it was written in a joking manner.

“And all you want is just to hold her, but she don’t go for that.

She has a hard time coming when she can’t hit back.”

It was nice in such a way that you thought you could get used it; going to Eddie’s shows and listening to his latest songs. It was an easy scene to imagine; maybe in a venue a bit bigger than the Hideout, a bigger crowd than he normally gathered. Maybe you’d be in Indianapolis, or maybe somewhere even bigger yet, and you would be standing in the front row whilst Eddie smiled down upon you as he played just as he was doing now. And when the show was done the two of you would leave together, maybe to get food or a milkshake or to simply do nothing at all but lay within each other’s arms on a couch or a bed just as you had done on that night back at his trailer.

It was so very easy to imagine, and that was the scariest part of all.

“Sayin’ yeah, and you want her

But she’s so mean.”

“You’ll never let her go, why don’t you let her go?”

“Yeah, and you want her

But she’s so mean.”

“You’ll never let her go, why don’t you let her go?”

You looked back up towards Eddie upon the stage, his face contorted in concentration, a bead of sweat dripping from his brow, and yet his lips still upturned into a smile. And it was almost as if you could feel it now; the weight of the decision you still had to make lingering on the back of your mind. On the one hand you knew it would be easy to forgive Eddie. He was kind and he was funny and he made you feel things you had not allowed yourself to feel in a very long time. He was boisterous and yet he was gentle and how attractive he looked on a stage—how attractive he looked in general, really—was wholeheartedly unfair.

But on the other hand, Eddie had lied, and he had continued to do so for weeks on end. His very first interactions with you had been a lie; a concoction of a half-thought out, stupid plan that had been developed by a fifteen-year-old. And yet they had felt real. The way he had spoken with you, the way he had made you laugh, the way he had touched you had all felt so very real that it was so easy to believe everything that Eddie had said in the video store. It was so very easy to consider putting your heart on the line again.

“Yeah, and you want her

Yeah, you want her

Yeah, I know how you want her, but she’s so mean.”

“You’ll never let her go, why don’t you let her go?”

The smile that he flashed you as the last notes of the song reverberated around the room had your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Fuck,” you groaned under breath, perfectly well aware of just how screwed you were. Because Eddie was smiling at his bandmates now, reaching out to ruffle Mike’s hair annoyingly and the sight made something warm erupt within your heart. So you turned to leave along with your bandmates, hoping that by getting away from the sight of Eddie Munson on a stage you might be able to tame your racing heart. But just as quickly as Eddie’s focus had left the crowd, he was returning to the microphone once more.

“Before we go,” Eddie called, and you could not quite stop the furrow in your brows as you turned back to look at him. Eddie’s gaze found yours once more, a devilish smile spreading across his lips. “We actually have one more song for you tonight.”

The crowd seemed as if it did not quite know what to think. Some cheered enthusiastically, others more half-hearted, and some remained silent altogether.

“Two songs?!” Meg exclaimed. “They aren’t allowed two songs!”

“We didn’t get two songs!” Vicki followed.

“For the other band competing tonight, don’t worry,” Eddie continued. “This one isn’t going towards our score.” And then the boy who had already successfully made your heart continue to race and your breathing begin to quicken from the heat in his stare had the audacity to wink at you. “But I bet you’re gonna wish it did.”

Now the crowd seemed to be waiting with bated breath, everyone just as confused as each other at this unexpected turn of events.

“If you remember our song from last week, you’ll remember that I dedicated it to a girl. Although it was plastered all over the article written about the comp so I’m sure all of you are up to date with my love life.”

The crowd laughed and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’ll probably also remember how I said I fucked things up with this girl. I’m still working on getting her back. I hurt her, and there’s nothing I can do about that now but continue to apologise. But you see, I also embarrassed her as well, so I thought I could at least get even with her for that part. And what better way to do that than in front of a crowd full of strangers?”

Eddie was staring so intently at you now that it was almost easy to forget the room full of people that surrounded you. For just a moment it was simply you and Eddie, and the thought had your heart thundering in your chest.

“The first time I ever saw her play, she was singing an ABBA song, so I thought I’d bring it full circle.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, your eyes going wide as you shared a look of disbelief with Robin.

“This one’s Take a Chance on Me by ABBA.”

The beginning of the song was so very familiar.

“What is happening?” fell from your lips, mouth opened wide in shock.

“This is the best day of my life,” Robin breathed.

“If you change your mind

I’m the first in line.

Honey, I’m still free

Take a chance on me.”

You buried your head in your hands, unwilling to believe the sight that was unravelling before you. Eddie Munson singing ABBA on a stage was a preposterous thing. But Eddie Munson singing ABBA on a stage in front of people was the most outlandish, inconceivable, unbelievable thing that could be happening. So you rubbed at your eyes before you looked back up, quite sure that the world would return to normal and you would find Eddie and his band exiting the stage.

But their performance continued, somehow having grown even more unimaginable as Gareth, Mike and Jeff joined in, singing, “Take a chance, take a chance, t-take a chance-chance,” over and over again. Some of the crowd were laughing now, others dancing and singing along to the familiar song.

“If you’re all alone

When the pretty birds have flown

Honey, I’m still free

Take a chance on me.

Gonna do my very best

And it ain’t no lie

If you put me to the test

If you let me try.”

Eddie sung the last verse with so much conviction and with his eyes unwavering from yours that you felt almost like turning away. But you kept your gaze steady with his, fighting off the urge to upturn your lips. There was the cheekiness that was seemingly always lingering behind Eddie’s eyes, somehow almost ablaze now. There was his usual spark of life, and the sight of it returned after having seen it disappear for so long almost had you sighing in relief. But there was the hope as well, and where once it had been a small and feeble thing when you had glimpsed it in the dim light of the bathroom, now it seemed to almost consume the entirety of Eddie’s gaze.

“We can go dancing

We can go walking

As long as we’re together

Listen to some music

Maybe just talking

Get to know you better.”

Maybe it was the way that Eddie seemed to be having so much fun, his voice turning sultry and smooth for the verse as he smiled widely. Maybe it was the way he didn’t seem to care that he was singing an ABBA song in front of a crowd full of people, even though you had been quite certain up until that point that Eddie would sooner dance through the main strip of Hawkins naked before he ever did this. Or maybe it was the looks of pure mortification that consumed Mike, Gareth and Jeff as they played. Either way, the beginnings of a laugh started to bubble up in your throat, leaking onto your face first in the form of a smile that kept growing wider.

“Cause you know I’ve got

So much that I wanna do

When I dream I’m alone with you, it’s magic.”

Eddie accompanied the line with a wiggle of his brows, and although you wanted to roll your eyes and laugh it off, you felt a heat begin to grow somewhere low within you. He had practically growled the line, singing in an octave lower than the original so that his voice was deep and rough. A warmth spread across your cheeks, erupting onto your skin so quickly that you hoped Eddie couldn’t see it in the darkness of the space. But a smirk appeared across his lips anyway, and it had you wanting to turn away from him altogether in an attempt to compose yourself.

You tried your best to swallow the laugh that was so very close to escaping now, not wanting to give Eddie the satisfaction of achieving what he had wanted to with the song. So when Robin begun to laugh from beside you, her attempts at stifling it long since discarded with, you could not stop yourself from joining in with her, Meg and Vicki following suit on Robin’s other side. Eddie’s smile only grew wider as he looked upon you now.

“Let me tell you now

My love is strong enough

To last when things are rough, it’s magic.

You say that I waste my time

But I can’t get you off my mind, no, I can’t let go

‘Cause I love you so.”

There they were again; those three words that had haunted you since the video store. It had been easy to forget them, to push them to the back of your mind and tell yourself that you would deal with their existence later. But now, as Eddie repeated them, directing them so clearly at you as your gaze remained captivated within his, they weren’t so easy to ignore.

He had said them; he had spoken them into existence that day at the video store when you had hidden from him and when Eddie had found you anyway. And now he was saying them again without hesitation this time, with a smile upon his face, in front of a crowd full of people, and it only made the words all the more terrifying.

But then there was Robin beside you, who had now decided to join in with the song, screaming the lyrics at the top of her lungs, and the sight was so unexpected and somehow even more bizarre that you found yourself laughing once more. And then the four of you were singing together, Robin grabbing your hand to spin you around her in whatever semblance of dancing you could do within the limited space.

Occasionally, when you glanced back up to Eddie upon the stage you would always find him watching you, a soft smile on his lips as his fingers danced fluidly across each string. And maybe if you allowed yourself to smile back once or twice, the hope only growing behind his eyes, you could not quite bring yourself to regret it.

---

Songs Used:

- Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson

- She's So Mean by Matchbox Twenty

- Take A Chance On Me by ABBA

---

Main Taglist:

@alicetweven​ @juggernort @theh3aven​ @manamitoyota​ @mimiluvsualot​ @cherrypieyourface​ @kaqua​ @c0untryclub​ @goldencherriess​ @emotionaldreamer​ @givemethesleep​ @milkiane​ @miscreantsnopossoms​ @legendaryfestsoul-blog​

Series Taglist

@grungegrrrl​ @thirddeadlysin​ @boomitsallie1​ @renaroo123​ @wordsthatwaterflowersinyoursoul​ @annnnn91​ @bakugouswh0r3​ @aivilovio​ @wannabewiedzma​ @edsforehead​

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday 💛

Happy valentines day to everyone, not much to report on this week other than my only WIP this week - besides working on tweaking little details in the next chapter for The Perfect Storm, as well as the cross stitching progress I posted about earlier in the week - being smut. Even then, I think I've already posted a line of this WIP a few days back, just without any of the context.

That's about it. It's honestly just something that I've been working on to treat myself after a shitty start of the year, and of course, it's my beloved Balgruuf and Elyse... I'm aiming to get it done for my birthday next month. 😅 It's based a good four, five years after The Perfect Storm, and these two have been married for a while by this point.

Tagged by @thequeenofthewinter this week and @bostoniangirl21 last week!!

Needless to say, this is smut - don't feel obliged to read if you don't want to, and don't read if you're a minor.

------

“Are you certain?”

Elyse could feel her heart racing as Balgruuf’s finger rested against her lips. Forget any battles against dragons or her enemies over the years, this was most certainly her hardest battle – keeping quiet as he fucked her at such a slow, near torturous pace, all whilst he toyed with her in a way which made her want to cry out loud in ecstasy. In these brief few moments, she could only curse her dear husband for knowing her in the same way that a bard would their instrument, in that he knew exactly what strings to pluck or notes to play.

The sound of grumbling echoed off the walls. “Yes, Proventus. Elyse was training in here until he came along and asked to train with her too. His sword is right there, so they can’t be far.”

Balgruuf faltered for a moment, though it was not enough to dissuade him from continuing.

“What if they catch us?” she eventually let out in a breathy whisper, though she received little more than a smile back at first.

“They won’t. Not if you stay quiet, dearest.”

Her lips curled into a pout, at first through his response, but then through the empty feeling as he pulled out of her. “Balgruuf, why do you choose now to be such an ass- Fuck!” She had to bite her lips as he plunged back in, her entire body writhing as he now moved his hands to her hips, her back arching. Tears were pricking at the corner of her eyes, not because of the cruel yet sweet torment that he was putting her through, but rather through the agonising pleasure that was coiling up inside her as her beloved filled her up again and again and again.

“Hm. They don’t appear to be here though. Perhaps they retired to their quarters? The Lady Dragonborn does tend to steal away the Jarl at the most inopportune of times...” Proventus sighed. “Thank you anyway. I am certain that I will find him eventually.”

The sound of the porch doors opening filled the room, as did two sets of footsteps.

“She hates being called that, you know.”

“Well, as the wife of a Jarl and technically still a Thane, I will address her with the due-“

The doors slammed shut, and barely a moment had passed before her jaw slackened and the moan which she had been holding in was let out. As much as she wanted to chastise him for doing that to her – to them both – she simply couldn’t find the words and instead pulled his face towards hers and claimed his lips.

[imherongraystairstrash]

Hiii love your fics please would you write again gabrily teasing each other? I love th way you portray them

Thank you so muchh I'm so glad you enjoy them! I love writing them!

Context: this is part of a fic I've been writing since Chain of Iron came out (it's after the Leviathan attack), but it's so long, I never got around to finishing nor publishing it. But I'm glad it's finally going to be read by someone other then myself!

...

“What was it like to live in Wales?” Kit asked. 

His head was resting on Cecily's shoulder as they waited outside of the infirmary. His soft, delicate curls tickled her neck.

“It was lonely.” Cecily said. “I didn’t have anybody to keep me company. All I did was play the harp.” She kissed to top of his head. “I’m much happier here, with my family.”

“I like it when you play the harp.” Kit said after a while.

“I know, my darling. I’ll play it for you, if you like.”

Kit shook his head. “It’s okay.”

But the more Cecily thought about it, the more she wanted to. “You know what? It’ll be good for us. It will take our minds off of it.”

She ruffled Kit’s hair and stood up. She shifted Alexander so that he rested on her other hip and offered her hand for Christopher to take. 

…

Cecily sat down behind the harp in the music room of the institute and sighed, looking at her boys who were sitting on the floor to her left. Alexander was practically asleep in Kit’s crossed legs, but her older son looked up at her with eyes that looked like amethysts in the witchlight lamps.

She quickly plucked some strings from a couple of octaves to check if they were in tune.  The Institute music room wasn’t too humid or dry, to avoid damaging the instruments, therefore many of the instruments didn’t usually get out of tune. Not only that, but Harps rarely got out of tune to begin with, so it came to no surprise that the strings sounded as they should. Good riddance, too, since tuning a harp was a living nightmare. 

Cecily ran her nails softly through the strings so that they made a soft sound.

“What should I play?” She asked Kit.

“The twisty one.” He said, humming a little part of it.

Cecily smiled, knowing exactly which song he meant, and began plucking the first measures of Debussy’s Deux Arabesques.

Kit nodded and closed his eyes. 

She continued letting herself concentrate on the task of playing, on thinking about not the notes that she was playing, but on what notes were to come. She concentrated on bringing her foot down on the paddle and leaning forward to reach the lower octaves. 

Though she’d been playing this song since she was a girl, she couldn’t play the entire 10 minutes of the song without sheet music to guide her, so she skipped a couple of sections that were foggy in her memory. What was good about having played the harp so long was that she was familiar with how to transition, so that one who was unfamiliar with the song wouldn’t guess that she was altering it. She reached the part of the song (towards the ending) that she remembered vividly. Because of how delicate it was, she used to play it as a lullaby when little Christopher couldn’t sleep, while Gabriel paced around the room with him in his arms, hummed softly alongside the harp. Cecily’s mind began conjuring those memories, remembering them with a sudden clarity; the way Gabriel’s hair was muzzled from sleep, how she could barely keep her eyes open and her fingers moving. But most of all, she remembered how when Christopher had finally gone to sleep, they’d kiss the top of his head, put him to sleep and tumble into their own bed, exhausted. Even then, when they had been so tired they couldn’t even speak, Gabriel kissed the wedding rune on her forearm, and then her forehead, like he did every night.

She didn’t weep at this memory. She smiled at it, because it could never bring her anything but joy. As shadowhunters, there was always a possibility you would lose those close to you. Cecily and Gabriel have come to terms with the fact that they might not grow old together like they want to. Cecily is content with the fact that she was able to have a family with him, to raise at least two wonderful children together and have a third, though unexpected, beautiful son as well. 

…

It was later in the night and Kit had gone to James and Cordelia’s new house with Thomas. Cecily was thankful of that, because there was no point in him staying here waiting for Gabriel to wake up. It was better to be distracted, because distractions meant you didn’t worry. 

Cecily didn’t want to worry, but she also didn’t want to be distracted, which was quite a predicament she was in. 

She sighed and rested her head on Gabriel’s shoulder. She could see Alex from where he was sleeping at the foot of Gabriel’s infirmary bed. She smiled because she could see a little bit of her father in him: something about the shape of his lips. She looked up to the ceiling. Sometimes she didn’t like to be reminded of her parents, because it made her too sad. Though, she reminded herself, that mouth shape did not belong to her father now: it was purely Alex’s, because her father’s body didn’t exist anymore. Not after it had been burned, it’s ashes scattered across the mountains of Wales, just like he would have wanted. Cecily could smile at that. 

Other than his smile, she liked to think that Alex looked like his father, though everyone tells Cecily that he takes after her. Their darling Kit is the who resembles Gabriel the most, though she would have loved for one of them to inherit his lovely green eyes. Of course, they’ll never know until Alex reaches a certain age; Matthew Fairchild had light blue eyes until the age of five, where they darkened considerably, so one never truly knows. 

“It would be a shame to let your eyes go to waste, Gabriel.” Cecily sighed, looking up at him. “I didn’t have any idea my blue eyes would dominate with such an unwavering hand. If Alex ends up with blue eyes as well, perhaps we should have an—Oh my darling, your hair is in complete disarray. You must look presentable, at least.” 

Cecily stood, brushing his hair with her fingers, with the intension of tidying it up.

…

Gabriel regained consciousness, the last thing he expected was to be having his hair brushed. He opened his eyes about half an inch and saw his wife, oblivious to the fact that he was awake, fussing with his hair. She had her bottom lip drawn in between her teeth, his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. 

“Why am I not surprised?” Gabriel mumbled.

Cecily gasped, and drew back in surprised, her hand poised for attack. As soon as she realized it was Gabriel who had spoken, she rushed back to his side, reaching to grab the hand closest to her. 

“Oh, Gabriel darling, how do you feel.” Concern filled her eyes.

Gabriel brushed her knuckles with his thumb, “Relax Cecy, I’m quiet alright.”

She nodded, reaching up to cup his face on her hands and kissed his forehead.

He smiled at her before becoming rigid. “Is everybody else alright? Anna, Kit, Thomas–”

“Yes, yes there were no casualties in the battle.” Cecily said, taking his hand in both of her own once more. With shaking hands, she lifted his own to her lips, kissing his scarred fingers with more tenderness than Gabriel though possible. 

He tried to pull her in towards him, but winced at the movement, finding that he was limited by his extensive injuries. 

Cecily noticed this. “You snapped six ribs and bruised a couple more.” she informed him, “Your arms are miraculously unharmed, save large bruising and minor fracturing, though your left arm was dislocated, as was your collarbone. You’ll have to wear a cast for a week.”

Gabriel pressed his lips together.

“Well, if you don’t like it, how 

Gabriel was slowly blinking, his body easing back into calm. 

“Well, if you don’t like it, perhaps you’ll think twice next time before throwing yourself head-first at demons.”

“I think I’ll consider it.” He said.

Cecily rolled her eyes, though she leaned in closer to Gabriel. He leaned forward as well, kissing her softly. He couldn’t help but smile.

“You idiot,” she said suddenly, pulling away. “Don’t you dare smile. You scared me half to death.” 

He nudged her cheek with his nose. “You’ve done the same to me. On several occasions, mind you.”

“It’s different.” Cecily said, crossing her arms.

“How so?” Gabriel challenged.

“You expect it from me.”

Gabriel pressed his lips together. “That’s highly unfair.”

“Well, life is unfair, so I suppose you’ll have to take that up with the Angel.” Cecily said, begrudgingly taking his hand again. 

Gabriel shook his head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m incredible.”

Gabriel didn’t deny it, because it was true, but he also didn’t admit it because he didn’t want to inflate Cecily’s ego; she was still a Herondale at heart, after all. 

“Alex shouldn’t have to be here.” Gabriel said, looking at their youngest child.

Cecily lay her head on his shoulder softly, even though it was the uninjured one. “He insisted on staying. Couldn’t be persuaded into going to sleep. He wanted to be here when you woke up.”

Gabriel could feel what she said deep in his heart. Before he had children, he couldn’t imagine the love a parent holds towards their child. It was like having a piece of you and a piece of the person you loved most mix into a single person, that was more perfect than you could imagine. perhaps the best part of it was raising them. Seeing how each day they grew a little bit more, the way they look to you for help or run to you when they’re scared. Perhaps the most beautiful thing is that Gabriel’s children loved him back. 

He’d loved his father with everything he had, and Benedict had only left him disappointed. Gabriel was proud that Alex loved him enough that he wanted to stay by his side while he was injured. That he’d given all his love and that it was finally reciprocated by his wife and children. It made the wait worth it. 

Cecily nudged him lightly with her shoulder, “We should probably wake him up.” 

Gabriel shook his head. “Let him sleep. He’ll wake up soon enough.”

“Alright, but if he gets angry that nobody woke him, the blame will be solely placed on your shoulders.” Cecily got up and filled a glass of water. “Also, you must drink something before you become dehydrated.”

She brought the glass close to his lips and Gabriel pulled away. “You don’t need to do that. I can hold the glass myself.”

Cecily lifted an eyebrow. 

Gabriel sighed. “Fine, but don’t make me chug the entire glass like you did last time. I almost drowned.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; I’m not going to drown you.”

She brought the glass to his lips and tilted the glass upwards. The water was cold and Gabriel could only drink a few mouthfuls before it began to hurt. Of course, when he tried to pull away, Cecily tried to get him to drink more. Gabriel turned his face away, forcing her to lower the glass. 

“Oh, Gabriel, that’s not nearly enough.” She said, frowning at how much water was left in the glass.

“The water is freezing! I can’t exactly drink it all in one go.” Gabriel said. “Also, that is the last time I’m letting you do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because every time I let you, I might as well be signing my death warrant!”

Cecily huffed. “I would never kill you. I need you for the bed.”

Gabriel smirked at her. 

“Not like that Gabriel Lightwood! Lord, you’re such a boy. I meant because you body heat warms up the bed.”

“Fair enough. But also a little bit of the other thing.”

Cecily rolled her eyes. “I’m not answering that.”

“And why is that?”

“Because there is a child sleeping a meter away from us, and if he just so happens to overhear this conversation, I would rather not explain it to him.”

Gabriel laughed, and then immediately winced at the flash pain. “Those bloody tentacles.”

Cecily looked at him sympathetically. “It might take a couple of days before you’re released from the infirmary.”

“Oh no, your bed warmer.” Gabriel said, with a grin.

“Those were the first thoughts that came to my mind, actually.” She said, kissing his cheek. “But I supposed I would have had to—”

“PAPA!” Alex said, sitting up.

Gabriel grinned at him and opened his arm to him, “Alexandros,” he said, “Defender of men.”

Alex laughed and threw himself at his father hugging him tightly. 

Gabriel bit his lip in pain, but loved Alexander too much to ask him to hug him softer. Gabriel rested his cheek on the top of his son’s head and saw Cecily looking at both of them, her eyes smiling along with her lips. Gabriel smiled back at her and brushed a stray strand of hair that was getting in her eyes with the hand that wasn’t hugging Alex. 

Alex looked up at him, his eyes filled with excitement. “Papa! I saw you fight the demon! You chopped off a lot of tentacles. Almost one hundred! Until you got caught.” 

Gabriel laughed and ruffled his hair. “Soon you’ll be defeating demons. But unlike me, you’ll be extra careful not to get caught, right?”

Alex nodded with wide eyes. “I’ll slay all of the demons.”

Cecily laughed, “Yes, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You still have a lot of growing up to do.” 

Alex frowned, though Gabriel and Cecily both smiled. However unplanned he may have been, Alex came at the perfect time for Gabriel and Cecily; the thought of Anna and Christopher being all grown up already would have made them a little lonely. For course, they had each other’s company, but Alex brought a semblance of youth back to them. He brought out an energy in them they didn’t know still existed, deep down inside of them.

“Can I sleep here with Papa tonight?” Alex asked Cecily.

Cecily frowned. “Your going to abandon me? I have to sleep by myself?”

Alex looked at her innocently. “You can sleep with Kit.”

Cecily’s jaw dropped, pretending to be hurt by his comment.

“Or Anna.” Alex added.

Gabriel laughed out loud. Cecily shook her head. “Of course you can sleep here.”

She didn’t mention that she’d have to move him once he fell asleep, since the infirmary bed wasn’t exactly large enough for anymore than one person to sleep in comfortably. 

Alex smiled widely and Gabriel nudged him with his elbow. “At least try to hide your glee from your poor mother.” He said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it. He looked at her as he did it, with a look that made Cecily blush like she was a little girl again. 

Gabriel grinned at that, clearly pleased with himself, causing Cecily to stick her tongue out at him. 

Sorry for the bad ending, it took me ten minutes of writing and rewriting before I decided to leave it at this.

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[rhpsdys]

below the cut is raine's 1940s las vegas verse from b.accano campaign that i forgot to post. it's also been added to their carrd.

Born in Bushwick, Brooklyn to one human parent and one elven one, Raine was raised with a foot in two worlds. They had an early passion for music, and it became evident around age five that they had been granted magic a few years earlier in 1920 — while plucking out notes on the piano at a friend's house, they inadvertently cast a prestidigitation cantrip, and the resulting magical effect drew attention to their powerful abilities at such a young age. They enrolled in music classes, where their prodigious skills became evident, learning not only the piano, but the flute, the guitar, and finally the violin at a rapid pace.

At age eight, they were accepted into the pre-college program at Juilliard, where they studied primarily violin along with the rest of the classic string ensemble instruments. They furthered their studies with private lessons in the woodwinds, and continued to teach themself guitar. Over the next ten years, Raine practiced, improved, and mastered over half a dozen different instruments. Raine then completed their Bachelor of Music degree in Violin and Graduate Diploma in Historical Performance, completing all studies by age 23. They auditioned for the New York Philharmonic, and at 24 were hired playing Second Violin. By 28 they were promoted to First Violin.

Even within this exceptional ensemble, comprised of the country's most accomplished musicians, Raine rose through the ranks swiftly; they were talented and hardworking, but while they remained passionate about the music itself, the uptight and formal nature of such a prestigious formal organization was constricting and tempered their love of playing.

Turning back the clock a bit...

Halfway through high school, Raine's family moved to Manhattan — their mother Kali got a raise at work that allowed them to move closer, making Raine's commute to and from Juilliard easier. At their new school, they met Eda — class clown, lacrosse star, and directionless but gifted kid. The two became fast friends, and Raine fell for her HARD. They started going out shortly after graduation, and Eda's wild and carefree spirit was the escapism Raine needed to continue finding the passion in their music as they made their way through school. They were in love with her, even planned on marrying her one day. Sometimes, more frequently than they'd care to admit, Raine considered dropping out of school, to just go off and be a street performer, or play in dimly lit bars, or even just sitting on the floor of the tiny apartment they shared, making music for and with Eda — their love, their muse, their biggest cheerleader, and their best friend.

But Eda was not without her own demons, and Raine found themself in the position of needing to provide for both of them. Over time, life in New York became too difficult to maintain, as the war came and went, and as magic usage — especially by those who came from other planes — was strictly regulated. In 1946, Raine made the difficult decision to resign from the Philharmonic, and the pair moved from NYC to Las Vegas in hopes of finding more financial success, while working a lower-stress job (lol) that would give them the flexibility needed to continue taking care of Eda, whose situation was worsening. Raine begins playing more jazz than classical — something they thrive at due to its loose and improvisational nature. They gig around at various bars and clubs, and they love it — but concern for Eda is always on the forefront of their mind, and tensions between the two have only seem to grow since their move.

also apparently eda accidentally helped make the liquor of immortality (alba just informed me of this like 2 seconds ago god bless)

[guqinstrings]

-ˋˏ🌥 ┈┈ @ghcstchild inquired ; ❝ i think you're probably the only one who understands me. ❞

   THE THING IS, Lan Wangji doesn’t think anyone understands Wei Wuxian–and that includes him. Even now, when he thinks back to everything that happened, to the years spent chasing after the other as Wei Wuxian donned the sobriquet Yiling Laozu, he still doesn’t know entirely what happened. No, perhaps that wasn’t the way that he should word it, Lan Wangji could retell the entire story and how it happened, what it was more the mental aspect and what Wei Wuxian was hoping to accomplish that he didn’t understand. However, it was more than that too. 

   When he received his whipping for protecting the other, his brother had asked him why he defended Wei Wuxian. His answer at that point is still the same one that he would have for Lan Xichen when he was pressed again. Although he doesn’t know if what Wei Wuxian did was right or wrong, he was and still would be willing to bear the consequences of it with him. To this day, he still doesn’t have that answer. Was what he chose to do, the person he decided to become, right or wrong? Did it make Wei Wuxian good or evil? 

   Would he have eventually lost control? 

   No one has those answers, just as no one can understand Wei Wuxian’s head, the things he thinks and the way he chooses to act. What Lan Wangji believes he understands and what he chooses to have faith in, is the other’s character. The state of his heart. The path he believes Wei Wuxian wants to walk. That single plank bridge into the dark. 

   The Jingshi is a bit warm today, the scent of sandalwood drifting through it as he carefully plucks at Wangji’s strings. Clarity which he had been playing had started to divert into the sound of Wangxian, the composed piece carefully written for the man seated across from him now filling the room with its notes as if echoing his wandering thoughts. His gaze briefly flicks up toward the other, glancing at the man seated across from him before his bright eyes fall back down toward the spiritual instrument on the table. 

   “I believe in you.” Is the quiet response the other gets, his voice gentle as it speaks. There’s a pause after, as his fingers continue to move along the strings and then just as equally soft he speaks again. “That is not the same thing as understanding you.” Was that not the sort of response that Wei Wuxian was thinking or rather hoping he would get? Perhaps. But Lan Wangji would never lie, and to some extent he wonders if that was better. 

   At this point in his life, in either of the lives that he has lived, the list of people that would actually be willing to believe in Wei Wuxian is very limited. Perhaps just Lan Wangji, Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning at this point. There are those who believe in the Yiling Laozu, who chase the path of demonic cultivation, but that was far more different than believing in Wei Wuxian. In the person that was right in front of him. In the man that had chosen that path because he felt he had no other choice or way to protect the people that mattered to him. 

   All of that aside though, until the end of his days, Lan Wangji would believe in Wei Wuxian. 

[a-random-guy-on-the-street]

Keep your head up, kid.

Before I listened to a lot of hip-hop and rap, I only knew Mac Miller as another one of those frat boy rappers that dated Ariana Grande once. I absolutely have no idea what I was missing. I got into his music years after his unfortunate passing.

I missed it by a couple days, but this year is this album’s 5 year anniversary. This is an album I had quite the emotional connection with. I listened to it while in a dark phase of my life and this album is one of the things that kept my head up.

Here’s a review.

The first thing that’s very much apparent in this is how organic the instrumentals are. From the opening track, you already know this album isn’t like any other rap albums. 

Come Back To Earth opens the album in a sweet way with clean guitar chords and strings. The album has a rich instrumental while keeping it lowkey. Some beats from the album, like Perfecto, Small Worlds, and Hurt Feelings, has a laid back feeling. While some songs can get you dancing like Ladders and What’s The Use, certain instrumentals are kept really simple so you can hear the song’s message clearly. Those kind of songs are Wings, Conversation Pt.1, and 2009.

Lyrically, the album has a level of vulnerability I have never seen anywhere when I first heard it. While staying vulnerable, Mac kept a hopeful tone throughout the album. Which hits even harder when you’re listening after his untimely death. He also kept a lot of his attitude and humour in. The lyrics feels like an older friend, that has more experience of the world, telling you stories and saying “Well, at least I made it here. I think that’s all that matters”. It adds an intimate feeling which will be later expanded on his posthumous album, Circles. 

Here are a few of my personal stand out tracks that highlights some apparent elements of the album:

What’s The Use

This track is incredibly groovy, with a sick bassline courtesy of Thundercat himself. The first track that caught my ear when I watched Mac’s performance in NPR’s Tiny Desk. It shed’s a light on Mac’s personality that he conveyed through his music. It’s vulnerable while still has swagger and playfulness. This track also highlights the collaborators on the album. While they’re not written in the title, it gives a better picture of how this album is supposed to be viewed. This is Mac putting his heart on his sleeve with the help of his friends to convey his feelings sonically.

Conversation Pt. 1

The track that speaks to me. This track highlights one of my favourite quirk of this album, that is how Mac communicates with the listener. While talking about his ups and downs, he also calls out the listeners for actions. Because of his attitude and delivery, he’ll often sound like a friend. For me, lines like “Hey kid, you can use a little bit of your imagination. It can do you right and prove a life you busy wasting” gives me a little wake up call to do my own stuff and to get creative.

So It Goes

A track that hit me exceptionally hard, lyrically and sonically. The plucked strings and little synth lines feels airy and blissful. It highlights Mac’s musical instincts at work. As the song continues, Mac talks about where he was at the time. He drops some hard hitting lines like “You can have the world in the palm of your hand, you still might drop it”, while still being playful with lines like “Cause her pussy getting wetter when the weather dry”. You can’t help but chuckle at his humour even in the context of a song like this. At the last hook, the song lifts higher with a crescendo of synths as the album comes to a close.

It’s an incredible album with an attitude and vibe that you won’t find anywhere else. Filled with great musical awareness and messages that kept a lot of people afloat on their toughest times, including me.

10/10

R.I.P Mac. Thanks for keeping my head up.

[krispyweiss]

Hot Tuna Duo at Jorma Kaukonen’s Fur Peace Ranch, Pomeroy, Ohio, April 22, 2023

To the people facing the stage, it was music. But to the men on stage, it was the continuation of a conversation that’s been running 60 years now.

The Hot Tuna Duo - guitarist Jorma Kaukonen and bassist Jack Casady - continued the thread April 22 during an intimate matinee at Kaukonen’s Fur Peace Ranch, which brought 200 fans from Chicago, Long Island, Pittsburgh and other locales to Southeast Ohio, or “the land of all weather,” as Casady put it after a frosty morning gave way to a balmy afternoon and sunshine overtook rain showers.

Seated and informal despite their dark sports jackets, the duo delivered 21 songs across two sets that ran 60 and 80 minutes, respectively. The genuine affection between the two men was evident not only in the shared smiles, eye contact and between-song inside jokes they shared, but in the way Cassidy’s rhythm instrument turned lead and Kaukonen’s leads switched to rhythm as the pair discussed their six-decade partnership with chords, riffs, harmonics, fingerpicking, plucking and well-chosen empty spaces.

Kaukonen called the tunes from a master list of Tuna standbys and Casady immediately joined in for selections including “Death Don’t Have No Mercy,” “Barbeque King,” “San Francisco Bay Blues,” “Trouble in Mind,” “Good Shepherd” and “Let Us Get Together Right Down Here” among others that placed the spirituality of the Rev. Gary Davis inside the ribald 12 bars of Jefferson Airplane, Hot Tuna and Kaukonen’s own deep songbooks.

At 79 and 82, respectively, bassist Casady and guitarist Kaukonen retain supple dexterity made even more evident in this unplugged setting. The pair spoke their own wordless language as Kaukonen growled and murmured the stories and music flowed from the Fur Peace speakers like a sparkling stream. It washed over the attentive audience in a secular baptism that was welcomed with spontaneous bursts of appreciative applause from previously dead-silent music lovers.

These were the moments Casady’s eyes popped open and a huge grin crossed his face, while lines deepened around Kaukonen’s closed lids and his white beard and mustache shifted slightly over a wide smile. A delightful thing to witness.

The traditional “I Know You Rider” - extended with four- and six-string showcases - ended the show proper. The friends stood, referred to each other with words and phrases such as luminous, my oldest pal, my best friend and my favorite songwriter.

Without leaving the stage and with the early-evening sun shining in the Fur Peace Station’s uncovered windows, Casady and Kaukonen retook their seats and conjured the instrumental“Water Song.” And the conversation resumed as Hot Tuna presumably discussed what had come before and thanked the crowd on a glistening, cascading flow of sound.

And then it was over. They stood again. They smiled. And the sun sparkled off Kaukonen’s gold tooth like a wink from the music gods.

Grade card: Hot Tuna Duo at Jorma Kaukonen’s Fur Peace Ranch - 4/22/23 - A-

See more photos on Sound Bites’ Facebook page

4/23/23

[koishua]

𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: lee jooyeon x reader. 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: fluff, domestic!au, established relationship!au. 𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗵: 0.934k words.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: some kissing ew they're so cute ;-;

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: in which it's eleven pm and jooyeon just wants a little attention from his precious.

𝗮/𝗻: im gonna sob ;-; anon ty for requesting this i am now lying on the ground in a puddle of tears. intended to make it shorter and softer.... it downspiraled 💀 but xjjcjc sulky jooyeon makes me go gahhh

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: @kdyism @beombon @yourlocalhotgf @jensrose @yyxy27 @woo-minhee02 @sunfics @neo-shitty (click here to be added to my taglist!)

reblogs/feedbacks are very appreciated! ty for reading, hope you enjoy!

it’s that time of night again when it’s just you, jooyeon, and the sound of his guitar strums filling up the cozy room— you’re running a hand through the dark strands of his soft hair, humming a little tune to the song he plays on his instrument as he rests his head on your lap.

you softly whisper his name, a question in mind that you had thought about asking him one day. he continues to pluck the strings, staring up at you, “yes, love?”

the warm glow of the night lamp casts small shadows on his face, moving when he smiles at you. leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss on his bare forehead, you ask him, “how are you so pretty?”

with the butterflies spreading in his stomach, he giggles and closes his eyes at the feeling of your lips tenderly brushing against his skin. what he did to deserve someone as loving as you, he would never know. with you by his side, the sun seemed to shine brighter than before— the moon more brilliant, the amount of stars tripling in the night sky the moment you had first told him you loved him.

“i’m not pretty,” he pushes himself up with his elbows, opting to lay his head on your shoulder, leaning back against the propped up pillow you have adjusted for him. “right, and i’m iu.” you drone, unimpressed by his deflection. taking his larger hand in yours, you play with his fingers absentmindedly, chuckling as he presses light kisses all over your jaw by tilting his head.

“i adore you.”

you take a glance at the boy who had wrapped an arm around your waist, swinging a leg over your own to envelope you in a messy bear hug. jooyeon kisses you on the edge of your lips once when you snake your hands through and wrap your own arms around his torso, giving you another peck on the other edge of your lips when you chuckle at his shenanigans.

you angle your head just a little to the side and press a kiss right on the tip of his nose, fooling him and watching as his momentary excitement of getting to receive another kiss from you on his lips fall into a small pout. you try hard not to outright laugh at his disappointment, “i adore you even more, jooyeon.”

“that’s very cruel of you.” he frowns, tucking your hair behind your ear to get a clearer view of your amused face. both of his hands cup under your jaw to hold it gently in place, glancing back and forth between your tempting lips and the affectionate look in your eyes reserved just for him whenever you are alone together.

“go ahead.” you whisper, giving him all of the words he wanted to hear before he leaned in to close the small gap between your lips. he kisses you softly at first, light as a feather and careful. the pad of his thumb brushes down the curve of your cheek, smiling when he hears your sigh of content. without ever moving apart from you, he moves his legs to sit straighter while straddling your thighs.

jooyeon grabs the back of your neck to bring your body even closer to him to feel every bit of the moment, relishing in the way you respond to him. “the laundry’s outside,” you mumble through the kiss when you hear the soft patters of rain on your window a few minutes later, “we should pull them in, it’s raining.”

“oh, come on.” he whines as you shift underneath him after you give him a final peck, urging him to move aside so that you could hurry and save your clothes that you’d hung up together earlier that day. he grumbles under his breath, following your footsteps sulkily, "what do i need to do to get some attention around here?"

"i heard that!"

he huffs, "i feel inferior to fabric right now, for your information."

you drape the damp sheets over his arms one by one while he stands still, "you can have me for the rest of the night only if you just pipe down and help me get my clothes to safety, you big baby."

"all night?" he raises a brow, questioning your honesty. with the amount of times you had fallen asleep on him while he was in the middle of reenacting a very intense scene of the last movie he had watched, it was understandable how he'd developed some mild trust issues.

a comically petty reaction, but alas.

"yes," you dump the basket filled with shirts on top of the things that had already been hung over his arms, "all night. now, move along." you usher him back, closing the small balcony door behind you.

you feel an ominous presence creeping up behind your back while folding your clothes, whispering in your ear, "you better not forget about your words then."

a yelp from you and a grunt from him later, you're lying on the bed, begging him to ease his tickle attack, "okay, stop! i promise this time, i'll give you all of the affection you want!"

and with that, jooyeon halts his advances, watching with a love filled gaze as you come down your high of laughter, the sound giving him incomparable joy. he envelopes you in a warm embrace, letting you calm down to his heartbeat.

he strokes your hair, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, "i love you, i was just kidding about it. you can sleep anytime you want to."