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cherrychilli · 2 months

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18+ Eddie Munson x F! reader, best friend! Eddie, friends to lovers, dry humping, nipple play Summary: Eddie turns up at your house one night and in need of help so you show him how far you're willing to go to help out your closest friend. WC:4K

For the most part you were indifferent towards Jeff Parker. Neither of you ran in the same circles and he was usually the type to keep his head down but add a little alcohol to the equation and the guy turns into a regular Jay Gatsby — all over indulgent and the life of the party. You just wish that party wasn't taking place 15 feet away from your bedroom window.

It was all the drunken hollering and the thumping music that kept you up that night, bone-tired after pulling double shifts at work. It was the police sirens blaring an hour later that ripped you out of a dream just as you were finally able to doze off with your head buried beneath your pillow. And it was the tapping on your bedroom window that came ten minutes later that made you spring up and nearly shoot out of your own skin.

"Eddie! what the hell?", you whisper shout into the darkness of your bedroom, recognizing his shaggy haired silhouette crouched behind the glass and backlit by nearby streetlamps.

You figured he must have climbed up the lattice to get up onto your roof as he begins to point urgently at the lock on your window, mouthing at you to let him in.

Kicking off your covers, you quickly make your way over to the window and unlock it for him, pulling it open and stepping aside to allow him to barrel roll into your room and heave a heavy sigh of relief.

Sprawled out on your carpeted bedroom floor, Eddie pants the exertion away and you leave him there to rest, connecting the dots yourself.

"I told you to stop dealing at parties", you deadpan, shaking your head in that world weary way you often slip into when it comes to Eddie but all that seems to do is trigger a grin that makes him look suspiciously chipper.

"Got to make a living don't I?", he replies from the floor, his hair all wild and fanned out in an unruly halo of frizz and curls.

It's far too late at night for you to be bothered enough to get into it with Eddie so you simply roll your eyes at him instead, making sure to shut your window to keep the chilly night air from seeping into your warm, cozy room.

The music that'd been playing next door has finally been silenced, you're pleased to notice but as you look out the window you see that the patrol car responsible for making Eddie and several other partygoers disperse and hightail it out of there remains parked in front of Jeff's house.

"I'll make a move once the fuzz's gone. I'm parked a couple blocks away so it should be fine", Eddie explains casually, able to anticipate your concern but you keep your eyes fixed on the car and its flashing lights for a moment longer, chewing on your bottom lip.

The thing was, in a town where almost everyone had it out for your best friend, you weren't too fond of the idea of him driving home at this time of night with his pockets stuffed with illicit party favours. Hell, Eddie often gets pulled over in the middle of the day by asshole officers hoping to book him on a possession charge. And since the trailer park isn't exactly closeby, the likelihood of him running into another cop and getting pulled over seems way too high for your liking.

The thought of it alone makes your stomach plummet. You just didn't want to see your closest friend getting into any kind of trouble. Especially if you could do something to help prevent it.

Turning away from your window, you eye Eddie intently while he glances up at you from where he's still laid out on his back, his breathing even now that he's managed to catch his breath.

"I think you should stay the night. It'll be safer that way", you tell him plainly.

Though most of your room is draped in darkness, Eddie's lit up in a column of orange light that pours in through your window so it's easy for you to make out the way his eyebrows rise up and disappear behind his bangs, his eyes growing wider too as he props himself up on his elbows to look at you.

"Y' sure?", he asks and you can feel him studying your face closely, looking for any signs of doubt or hesitation.

You know he'll find none though. Sure, this is all very spur of the moment stuff but you have no reservations about having Eddie stay over. Exactly the opposite.

"Yeah. But be quiet, okay? My whole family's asleep", you tell him as he begins to pick himself up off the floor, face beaming as he grins at you and steps closer to where you're standing.

"Ya big softie. All worried about me, huh?", he posits, tipping his head to the side in a way that at any other time, you might have considered cute. Right now however, all he's managed to conjure is annoyance given how little sleep you've had tonight.

So you narrow your eyes at him, the rest of your expression flat as he makes the mistake of bringing his face closer to yours, giving you the opportunity to reach out and pinch his earlobe between your thumb and forefinger, twisting the soft skin until his teasing grin deflates and he throws up his hands in surrender.

"Fuck, uncle, uncle!", he calls out while keeping his voice as low as possible, face pinched in pain and looking all kinds of helpless before you decide to let go with a pleased scoff, a small smirk playing on your lips too.

Eddie rubs a hand over his newly freed ear, his gaze wandering away from your eyes, seemingly sizing you up before he takes a step back, no longer within your reach.

"By the way...", he utters cautiously, his gaze returning to your face when another smile curves his lips.

"Nice get up".

Confused, you take a look at yourself, your face turning warm as you tug down on the hem of your oversized t-shirt, hoping in vain that Eddie hadn't caught a glimpse of the panties you've got on underneath when he was down on the floor.

Though he doesn't confirm it, the look on his face says it all — that overly pleased smirk and that telltale glint lighting up his deep brown eyes. It irks you for just a moment before you surrender with a sigh.

"Eddie, I'm too exhausted for this. Please, can we skip the teasing and just go to sleep?"

A look of vague disappointment flashes over Eddie's face when you're able to quickly brush aside your momentary embarrassment, padding over to your side of the bed, no longer concerned with how much of your bare thighs might be on display before you pull back the covers and get in.

"C'mon, get in already", you urge him to join you as you motion to the vacant space on the left side of your bed, fighting off a yawn in the process because your eyelids are starting to feel heavy again.

It's Eddie who looks a little rattled now as he eyes your bed, his fingers fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket with restless uncertainty before he rids himself of it, setting it on your desk chair before he bends down to begin unlacing his shoes in the dark.

You hear him struggle while he's crouched down, whispers of 'shit', 'fuck' and 'god fucking damnit' said loud enough for you to hear while you giggle at him, feeling a bit more at ease now that you're reminded of the kind of dork Eddie is at his core — sharing a bed should be no problem.

You've already turned over, your back to Eddie and your cheek resting on your pillow by the time you feel him slide in under the covers next to you, mattress dipping under his weight.

"I'll take off before your folks get up, I promise", he says to you and you hum back a sleepy 'okay' in reply, nuzzling into your pillow.

With that out of the way and both of you settled in bed, you thought that would be the end of it until next morning but sleep doesn't come as quickly as you would like.

For the next couple of minutes you can feel him readjusting beside you, tossing and turning and you already know why. In the interest of getting back to sleep you interrupt him. "Eds, just take them off already", you mumble over your shoulder at him, causing him to freeze.

"You want me down to my underwear?", he whispers back at you and though your back's still to him you can feel the incredulous expression he's got on his face as his eyes bore into the back of your head.

"It's fine. I'm in mine too", you tell him with a seemingly unbothered huff though if he'd had his palm pressed to your chest and just above your heart he'd know you're nowhere near as calm as you make yourself out to be.

A moment of silence elapses before he finally answers.

"Mkay"

You feel him move around, catching the sound of his zipper being pulled down before he's shucking his tight jeans off, relief apparent in his tone when he settles back in bed now that he's shed the tight denim.

"Night then", he whispers to you as you do your best to stifle the warmth swirling in your belly.

"Night", you answer, eventually drifting off to sleep at last.

"Shit shit shit shit shit"

It's the first thing you hear when you begin to wake up, blinking several times to clear your blurry vision before you can take a look at your alarm clock.

6.30AM. The sun's just beginning to rise and you grumble under your breath as you turn over to face Eddie, figuring now's the best time for him to make his way home.

"What the hell?"

You squint at the boy who appears several shades paler than usual, his eyes all large, looking like some kind of cornered animal with a pillow shoved over his lap.

"Um, are you okay?", you sit up in bed, your back against the headboard just like Eddie's.

His eyes dart nervously all over the room, seemingly preferring to focus them anywhere else besides on you and that only leaves you feeling even more confused.

"Okay so- the thing is...I can't exactly leave right now", he mumbles sheepishly to you, the corner of his left eye pinching into a slight twitch.

"Why? are you okay?", you ask, yet to catch on as to what seems to be troubling him.

He looks positively torn with his teeth worrying his bottom lip and a light sweat forming at his temple. "Fuck. Okay. Please don't hate me. It's just that— I have no control over it, okay? it just happens sometimes in the mornings, you know? and- and I...oh god you think I'm some kind of perv don't you?"

You can only blink at Eddie as he brings both hands up to cover his eyes, his neck stretched taught as he leans his head back until it thuds softly against your wall, letting out a defeated sigh.

Looking down at the pillow placed over his lap, you're finally able to guess what the problem is, your belly swirling with a familiar flash of warmth again, same as when you listened to him taking his jeans off last night.

"Oh...well, I don't think you're a perv. It's uh, natural? you can't help it", you tell him as calmly as you can manage, wanting him to feel better by lightening the weight of shame and guilt he's currently shouldering.

Hands still on his face, he parts his fingers enough for him to peek at you from between them. "So you're not mad?", he whispers, watching you closely to gauge your reaction.

You shake your head softly, trying your best not to let your eyes drop back to the pillow in his lap like you might be able to see right through it. You want to see right through it. Badly.

"I'm not mad Eds. I promise".

With another deep sigh, he seems to be more at ease now that he knows that he hasn't upset you, letting his arms flop down at his sides.

"I don't know what to do" he whispers and you can hear how torn he is over the whole situation as you catch the helpless little quaver to his tone.

"What do you usually do?, you ask, your thoughts all frazzled and crowding your head way too quickly than you can manage to comprehend them.

Eddie says nothing, turning to face you with a pointed look, quirking an eyebrow up high at you.

"Right.. dumb question. sorry", you admit.

A few beats of silence commence as both of your minds work, passing over bad idea after bad idea before you turn to back to Eddie again.

"I mean, you could just use my—"

"I can't just jerk off in your bathroom with you sitting here", he stops you quickly and firmly though not unkindly, making you realize that no matter what you try to come up with, he's probably already thought of it first.

"Eddie we have to do something about it", you maintain, sparing a glance at your alarm clock as it reminds you that he's only got a limited amount of time left to leave before he risks getting caught by your family or a neighbor seeing him clamber out your window.

You think about it long and hard, one particular thought echoing louder than the rest in your mind. You try to will it away but it only takes up more space in your head until it's all you can think about, taking in a big breath before you decide to share it with Eddie.

"If you want, I could help you", you tell him, nervously picking at your fingers in your lap.

"...What do you mean?", he asks, looking at you suspiciously.

You shrug. "Y' could grind on me".

There's a pause that seems to drag on much longer than you would have liked, both of you staring into each others eyes, unblinking.

"I can't do that — feels like I'd be taking advantage of you or something", he finally breaks the silence, making you feel somewhat wounded that he'd turned your offer down even though you know he's only trying to be a decent friend. You wish he'd give it a rest.

"Would it help if I took over?", you offer next, steeling yourself in the case of him turning you down once more.

"Sweetheart...please don't tell me you're just fucking with me."

"I'm not I promise", you answer firmly.

"I...are you sure? I mean really 100% sure?", he asks again.

You can't help but roll your eyes at him, slipping your legs out from under the covers to straddle Eddie's thighs all while his jaw falls slack at the sight and feeling of you on top of him, your fingers curling around the pillow still resting on his lap.

"I'm sure. Are you?", you ask him before proceeding though if you were to guess, you could read the answer off his face with ease.

"I...yeah", he squeaks, eyes all big and round like he's in awe of the way you've taken the lead.

"Okay then. Let me get rid of this."

You toss the pillow aside to the spot you'd formerly occupied, gulping down the lump in your throat with some difficulty when you set your eyes on the tent in his striped boxers. The way it strains against his underwear, it's easy to guess he's both thick and lengthy under that thin veil of cotton and the more you look at it the more it feels like the room is starting to tilt and spin.

It's the kind of thing you've thought about in secret a fair amount, you and your best friend doing things that you wouldn't ordinarily do with someone who was just your friend. You pull yourself closer to him, laying your hands on his shoulders as you balance your core over his bulge, carefully lowering yourself until you're pressed up right against his clothed cock. Both of you release a shaky breath at the feeling, him, because you feel so warm and soft and you, because he feels so warm and firm.

"Put your hands on my hips", you tell him next, liking the way his cheeks pink up in response as he places them on you gently, sending a wave of goosebumps all along your body.

You start slow, grinding yourself on the ridge of his cock, unable to help the way your pussy flutters as you drag it up near Eddie's tip and back down close to his balls, working your way up to a simple rhythm.

"How's that? is it good?" you ask, making sure to check in with him.

"Shit yeah that's...that's good. Keep going", Eddie starts to firm up his grasp on you, guiding you, encouraging you to pick up the pace, all the while you try to keep secret the way your stomach tightens up with so much heat, your pussy dripping plenty with slick.

"Eddie..."

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about?", you ask him as you notice the the way his brows have begun to knit together, the same way they get when he's concentrating on nailing a solo on stage.

"I don't think I should uh answer that", he answers cautiously, disappointment making your lips push out into a little pout.

"Please. I wanna know", you ask gently, melting his resolve with your pleading eyes

"...M' thinking about your tits", he grits out, looking like he ought to be ashamed about it. You figure you have a way to fix that.

"Do you want to see them? would that um, help?"

Your offer hangs in the air for a few seconds as you finally manage to catch your clit the right way along Eddie's clothed cock, your toes curling while pleasure blooms inside your bones.

You no longer make a strong effort to hide the way that humping his cock is making you feel either, that it's not just him who's getting off here and maybe that's why Eddie manages to convince himself that it's okay to take this next step with you.

"I want to see them — yeah", he manages to croak out, his fingers twitching with so much excitement around your hips. He's thought about it too — the two of you like this. How could he not? when you're the only one who's ever cared. When you look the way you do. When you're soaking through your underwear and his with your nipples already hard as they show through your shirt.

How could he not want you?

With Eddie giving you the green light, you take your hands off of his shoulders and pick up the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off as you toss it behind you, uncaring of where it might land.

"Oh my god."

To you it might have felt like a quick undressing but for Eddie the world slows down to a crawl. He sees it all; the subtle way your breasts bounce and shift with your movements, the way they slope and rest on your chest, rising and falling with every breath and the way your perky nipples react to the cold air in your room, pebbling before his eyes.

"You can touch them if you want", you notice the way he's looking at them, feeling his cock jump under you.

"Christ, you're trying to kill me", he answers all hoarse.

To you, there's no greater compliment, your smile widening into a grin. Carefully, you guide him this time, prying his hands away from your hips and encourage him to cup his hands over your tits instead, moaning when he begins to press into the soft flesh, squeezing and massaging them.

"That feels good", you whisper, hips still working as you drag your drenched clit along his cock. "God, Eddie I've— I've wanted this for so long", you sigh dreamily, the truth spilling out much faster than you can try to swallow it all back down, all because you're so weak for the way those big, wide cinnamon eyes of his are staring back at you.

Your core's all sticky now, panties practically pasted to your skin in that messy way that usually has you eager to peel them off. Though as much as you'd like for the both of you to rid yourselves of all the tacky cotton between you, to be completely bare with each other, you don't want to mess up the rhythm you've fallen into, your clit pulsing and throbbing as you ride Eddie's lap.

"Honey... are you telling me that we could have been doing this from the start?", he asks, slightly anguished. He continues to gently pulling and pinching at your nipples while he keeps his eyes locked on yours, hushed grunts and groans falling from his parted lips.

Your hips are moving faster now, bed squeaking beneath you both, not that you care about your family hearing it — not right now — not when you're so close.

"I— I guess. Yeah", you gasp out when he pinches your right nipple, his left hand falling back down to your hip to guide you.

"You know how many times I've thought of you like this? how many times I've had to picture you on top of me just to get me through the day?, he asks, pulling and pushing you along his length with fervor.

"Why didn't you say anything?", you whine back.

"C'mon. We both kno— know you can do better than—"

Despite almost reaching the peak of your climbing orgasm, you dig your nails into the hand Eddie's got fixed on your hip, forcing your knees into your mattress to bring you both to a halt.

"Don't ever say that. Don't ever say that because it's not true", you place your hands on his cheeks, caressing his face gently. "I only kept my mouth shut incase you didn't feel the same about me...I didn't want to spoil what we already had. I couldn't stand it if you didn't want to be friends anymore..."

"Baby—", it's his turn to cradle your face, thumb making gentle circles on your cheek. "You could never lose me", he tells you, soft but firm and then you feel a pull and you suppose he must feel it too because you're both leaning in, faces closer than they've ever been before, lips grazing each other before you're sharing a kiss with your best friend for the very first time

It's gentle at first, both of your fingers weaving into each others' hair, a soft nip here and there before growing more hungry when Eddie's tongue meets yours. Both of you moan and whimper into each other's mouths, sloppy and messy, your heartbeats turning rapid when you eventually have to break for air, Eddie in need of the same when your lips part with a sticky click and he leans back to rest against the headboard again, panting. Any longer and he'd have cum from the kiss alone.

You catch your breath first, the corner of your mouth picking up into a lopsided smile. "Now are we going to make up for lost time or what?", you challenge him, both of you beaming with bright eyes and brighter smiles.

You pick up where you'd both left off, your hands on Eddie's shoulders and him, one hand on your hip, the other on your right breast, squeezing your soft skin, flicking your nipple because it makes you gasp and he loves hearing the sound of it.

"Please tell me you're close" Eddie grunts, sure to leave marks behind on your hip in the shape of his fingers. You were looking forward to admiring them in the mirror later.

"G-getting there. Wanna go faster— is that okay?", you make sure to ask, his answer coming through when his left hand slips down to find space on your other hip, pulling and pushing you along his length quick enough to make you squirm on his lap as your clit drags on him just right.

"Eddie— feels perfect...I think I'm gonna-"

"Please—" he cuts you off quickly with a ragged huff, his eyes wandering away from the wet, sticky stains that'd developed on both your underwear and his, pausing on the way your breast bounce and jiggle before fixing on your your eyes. "Please cum. I wanna watch you."

Your body begins to move on instinct as it chases your climax, eager to reach it this time than let it slip through your fingers twice. You're closer than before because it feels even better when you begin to lean back, your hands coming to rest on Eddie's thighs behind you. Your chest puffs out while you start to bounce yourself on Eddie's clothed cock, your puffy clit grazing against the stiff underside of his shaft, dragging dragging dragging until your eyes squeeze shut and it happens. The force of it wracks your body, overcome as your whole body quivers, and shakes, your pelvis twitching and jerking — and Eddie watches it all closely and unblinking.

In all his years of settling for quick glances and sly peeks at your body like those times your cleavage showed above your neckline or your bare legs and thighs were displayed whenever the weather called for a pair or shorts or a skirt, Eddie's never seen a more beautiful sight than the one he's taking in now — The way a light sheen glistens on your face, neck and chest, your swollen lips parting, releasing whimper after moan, your hair a little wild and beautiful and your panties drenched and ruined.

Eddie reaches out and brings you close, wrapping his arms around you as your chests meet and you fold into him, burying your face in his neck, whimpering and whining as your clit aches with oversensitivity though not enough to ask him to stop.

He's close by the sound and feel of it, so you grit your teeth and let him buck up against your poor soaked cunt, over and over as you drink in every grunt and groan. You want him to feel good too, unable to resist helping him tip over the edge. You let your tongue slip out from between your lips, licking the salt by his pulse point and letting out a little whisper to unravel him completely.

"Go on, cum for me, Eddie."

A guttural groan rumbles out of his throat just seconds later. it's instantaneous the way pleasure flares white hot at the pit of his stomach, shooting all the way up and raining down on the rest of his body like fireworks.

Though you're yet to feel Eddie inside you, yet to have your walls stretch to accommodate his shape and length so that you don't miss every little jerk, twitch and throb before he spills hot into you, you're still able to feel the effect of Eddie's orgasm. His body shudders and twitches underneath your weight, your pussy feeling warmer and wetter where just under it, Eddie's cum spurts rope after messy rope into his underwear, the cotton becoming saturated with his spend and transferring to your panties.

In the moments following your intense mutual pleasure, the both of you remain entangled in each others arms, sitting in the damp mess you've made of yourselves while you fight to catch your breath. It's Eddie who manages to break the silence first.

"...Do I have to go?, he whispers to you, one warm hand stroking your back gently.

"Do you want to go?, you ask softly against his neck, nuzzling against his skin.

"Not if I can stay and be with you"

You smile hard, chuckling against his skin. "Then stay. I want you to stay too. Y' can hide out in here"

"Yeah? I'm your little secret, huh?", he teases, his lips kissing your temple

"Only for today", you reply.

"Oh?"

You gently unstick yourself from Eddie so you can look him in the eyes, brushing his sweaty bangs away from his bright eyes before you cradle his cheek with one hand.

"Tomorrow I'm telling everyone we know that you're mine"

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

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hyuckmov · 1 year

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haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 1 of 3

wc: 22k (!!!!!!!) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff warnings: loss of virginity, very soft sex (hand-holding during sex), lots of kissing, protected sex, haechan fucks...a lot, fingering, oral (f receiving), very faint corruption kink, JEALOUSY, possessiveness (marking, signing on your body), handjob, car sex, cumplay, spit, exhibitionism (!), slight dumbification, slight degradation, titty-sucking etc, sweet aftercare a/n: i worked a lot on this and i really hope u like it.... i really hope it's hot... i hope u like rockstar haechan...please let me know what u think... (fic playlists) | browse the fic tag :)

he's been staring at you all night.

the bass thrums insistent in your chest, overriding your heartbeat, as you cling onto the barrier between the stage and the crowd. lights flash before your eyes, almost blinding you with how fast they blinked, and you can barely make out the faces of the boys onstage as they play their last song of the night. the air is damp, excitement riding high over the crowd in waves of endless screams that never seem to stop.

and the boy on the far right, fingers moving deftly over the strings of his electric guitar, hasn't taken his eyes off you for the last five minutes.

a sharp smile tugs at his lips, smokey makeup making his gaze ever more piercing as he looks down at you through his overgrown bangs, hairs at the nape of his neck unruly and wild. the lights throw the features of his face into high contrast, the tattoos curling on his neck and hip screaming for attention, as do the glint of jewelry scattered everywhere on his body. you feel smaller and smaller under his gaze, something lewd about the way he runs his tongue over his lips, eyes practically undressing you. he never seemed to stop moving his body as he played, bouncing on his toes or letting his body lean away from the sound, the music fuelling and becoming one with his movements as if he were a dancer.

as the music crashes and swells towards the end of his solo, his eyes slide over to yours with a practiced precision, as if he had memorized your position in the crowd. swaying his hips from side to side, his eyelids droop just slightly into a half-lidded stare, as he ruts his hips playfully against his guitar.

the screams of the other fans are deafening, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of your heartbeat in your own ears.

haechan finally looks away, a small smile on his face as he signals to his bandmates towards the song's ending. you feel almost empty as the weight of his attention lifts off of you, pressing yourself up against the railing on tip-toe to try and catch his eye again before sinking down and feeling like an idiot.

he was just doing fanservice for an audience member, nothing more. you try not to find his actions endearing as he slings his arm around the lead singer, mark, his surprisingly boyish laugh making your heart flutter in your chest as he waves towards his fans one more time.

people are leaving the venue, the sounds of their excitement getting further and further away, but you stand there, reeling, clutching onto the metal barrier, sure that if you took your hands off it you would fall. finally, glancing up at the stage one last time, you're just about to leave to find your friend, the only reason you were even here, when –

"leaving so soon?"

the boy is sitting on the stage right in front of you, leaning forward so you can see his face clearly. up close, he's even prettier than before, delicate almost doll-like legs wrapped under ripped skinny jeans, leading up to thick and toned thighs, his slender waist shadowed under his large leather jacket ridden with buckles and straps. without the bright stage lights, you can see the moles on his skin, tracing a dangerous path under the collar of his shirt.

at your lack of response, he raises his eyebrows. "i asked if you were leaving, princess."

"i have to find my friend," the words come out rushed. "um…jaemin? your band hired him tonight as the photographer."

"i remember," he nods. "so…you're not a fan?"

"no." he nods, silence filling the space between the both of you. you can see him start to formulate a goodbye, his heart-shaped lips parting, but you don't want the conversation to end, you don't want him to stop looking at you. "- but…i really enjoyed your show."

he looks a little surprised, and a genuine smile spreads sweetly across his face. "why?" he challenges.

"what?"

"what did you like about our show?" his eyes glint, and you know he's teasing you.

"the songs were good," you mumble.

"yeah?" he licks his lips, a slight hint of nervousness showing on his face as he clears his throat. "who was your favorite member?"

"huh?"

"your favorite band member," he repeats, tilting his head to the side. "jeno, he's our drummer, mark's the lead singer, jisung plays bass and i…" he waves his hand absentmindedly towards his guitar, on the stand, still onstage behind him. "i'm haechan," he adds.

if you wanted to get to know him, it wouldn't hurt to show a little of exactly how much you liked him, would it? "you were my favorite," you admit. "you…you have really good stage presence," you blurt out.

"stage presence?"

"yeah. when i'm in the crowd…i can't really pay attention to anything else. and you…" you swallow, heat burning up your cheeks, but the way his eyes were looking at you with curiosity making you finish your thought. "you make the audience feel like they want to please you." the unspoken truth, that you, as part of the audience, wanted to please him, hangs in the air.

your embarrassment, at saying something so suggestive and raw, is quickly washed away by the smile tugging at the corner of his lip, a smirk that quickly spreads across his face into a grin. you're so mesmerized by it, that you're taken aback by the way he suddenly shifts, hopping down the stage lightly and standing in front of you.

"princess," he says, softly, placing his hands on the railing next to yours so the sides of your fingers barely brush. "do you want to come to a party?"

you resist the urge to immediately say yes. "what party?"

"there's one after every show. jaemin will have been invited, he can take you." the venue has emptied out, even his bandmates have left the stage. and yet, his voice is pitched low as he leans in, body warmth radiating off of him, and you are so close, you can see the smudged eyeliner on his lower lash line, can make out the grey of his colored contact lenses. "you can find me there."

"but…" you feel lost. "why can't you just take me?"

"if we show up together, it'll seem a little like we're dating, no?" his voice is quiet, but firm.

hurt and confusion blossoms in your chest. was it really that serious? keeping your voice as nonchalant as possible, you ask, "would that be so bad? for…for us to date?”

but you know it's the wrong thing to say.

he exhales slowly, a brief look of pain flitting over his features. he hated doing this, hated reaching the point in conversations where rules and boundaries had to be discussed. nights where he found his girls at the party were the easiest, letting body language and long glances do the talking, as few strings attached as possible.

but today he couldn't stop looking at you, in the front row, couldn't help sliding his eyes over and checking to see if you were watching him, a pleased thrum burning in his chest every time his gaze found yours. it seemed logical, to spend his time with you tonight. but if he'd known you'd felt like this, he never would have waited onstage.

"what's your name, princess?"

"y/n."

"y/n, i'm not making you my girlfriend," he states, bluntly. "i can't, and i don't want to. you can meet me at the party later, but we'll just fuck – nothing else."

his words make you feel small, his tone harsh compared to his previous meandering way of speaking. even then, the thought of letting him walk away, to never see him again, to end this story on this moment, made you feel worse than anything.

at the look on your face, he softens slightly.

"i'm sorry if you thought this was going to be more," he says, quietly. "you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"i do," you correct him. frustrated, he sighs, and you rush to clarify. "i'll meet you at the party. just…nothing else." your end off hesitantly, unwilling to echo his crude words.

"are you sure?" you think you see his gaze darken, the tension suddenly heightening as he places one of his large hands over your own. his guitar-calloused fingertips are rough as they slide against the back of your hand, drawing shapes that burn into your skin like tattoos. you nod, but he shakes his head — slowly, sweetly patient. "i need to hear you say it," he murmurs, and the words go straight to your gut.

"i'm sure." your voice comes out as a whisper, but he doesn't seem to mind. he leans in, and just when you think your lips are going to meet, your mouth parting expectantly, he tilts his head and kisses you softly on your cheek.

"make sure no one sees you, princess," he murmurs, low in your ear, before straightening up. "don't make me wait too long, hm?"

—

"did anyone follow you up here?"

haechan sits with his legs hanging off the edge of the roof, arms slung over one of the lower rungs of the railing. he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes another drink from his bottle of red wine, knowing that you're hanging onto his every word.

"no," you reply, voice barely louder than a whisper. you repeat yourself again, louder, hating the way your voice shakes with hesitance. "no, i don't think so."

he exhales, shrugging off the leather jacket that hangs large over his frame, his shoulderblades moving under his white shirt, veiny arms pushing the bottle to the side as he shifts himself backwards fluidly so he's further away from the ledge, his long legs stretched out.

"well?" and now he turns to look at you, dark eyes framed with makeup searching for yours, his gaze heavy. the piercing on his eyebrow glints in the moonlight, and when he leans his weight back on his hands, his shirt rides up so that you can see just the hint of a tattoo curling low on his hip. "are you ready?"

feet unsteady, you shuffle over to him, standing over him as he watches you through hooded eyes. unsure, you start to sit down next to him, but a hand quickly reaches out to touch your knee, dragging his touch up the back of your thigh, the cold scrape of his rings on your skin feeling rough and claiming all at once. his lips part almost mockingly, commanding you without words to stop.

he flicks his gaze down to his lap, eyes flickering back up to yours. eyebrows raised, as if in a challenge.

slowly, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands hesitantly grasping for his shoulders. his arms come to steady your waist, slipping under your shirt and touching bare skin, feeling the way your body shifts and moves. it's only because your body is pressed up against his, his hands are roaming up and down your thighs, that he notices something which makes him halt his movements, licking his lips.

"you're shaking," he murmurs, now brushing the hair out of your eyes, tucking a strand behind your ear as he studies you, taking in the way you're all tensed up, the uncomfortable way your legs are folded, goosebumps erupting every time his fingertips brushed your skin, muscles trembling.

you swallow. "i've never done this before," you admit.

his eyes widen, now removing his hands from you entirely, letting them fall. "you're a virgin?"

you nod, heart pounding in your chest. he's looking away, his jaw set, his gaze hardened. did he hate that you had no experience? or would he enjoy that? "i can…" the words come out in a jumble, "you can teach me, i want… i want to-"

"no." with surprising gentleness, he motions for you to move off his lap, and you follow his actions mindlessly, docile under his touch.

"do you think i won't be good enough?" you ask, hating the way your voice comes out wounded and achy, hating how weak he made you.

he pauses, tongue poking into the side of his cheek, and you think you can see a flash of something deep in his eyes.

"y/n…i can't be your first time."

"but i want –"

"you need to be with someone who will take care of you." despite his words, his voice is cold, and clear. "i don't do that." he dusts off his jacket, shrugging it back on as he takes another drink from the bottle, eyes closed, unwilling to look at you for another second. "go home, y/n. i'll see you at the next show."

you don't move. you kneel there, next to him, eyes desperately searching for his.

"go home, y/n," he repeats, harshly.

"i want to stay here," you bite back, stubbornly, hurt making your voice brittle.

"then you'll have to watch me fuck someone else." lazily, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for his phone, and you can see him scroll through his messages, faces and names blurring as you barely decipher him type out another message. his fingers moving across the keyboard, as the anonymous responder sends a series of heart emojis, eagerness palpable through the screen. he locks his phone, the click sound startling you out of your daze, and he puts his phone down on his lap, the action somehow mocking.

"so?" he's still not looking at you, staring straight ahead into the night. "do you want to watch?"

and as you make your way down the stairs, shame burning at your neck and tears burning hot down your cheeks, you can swear you feel his eyes follow you all the way down.

—

the feeling of embarrassment curdles in your stomach, and leaves a sour taste in your mouth every time you look in the mirror. it's what leads you to skip the next show, making an excuse to jaemin about 'having other plans'. and then the other, and then the other. and then it's been a week, and your friend has finally managed to drag you to one of their after-parties, pushing you through the door with a little too much enthusiasm. he knows something is bothering you, and he wants nothing more than to help take your mind off of it — but he has no idea that the something is currently leaning against the archway leading off into the living room, nursing a bottle of beer in his hands, and brushing his hands around some girl's waist in a way that made you feel sick.

jaemin introduces you to mark, out on the balcony. mark is sweet, and friendly, a regular boy-next-door who happens to have face gems twinkling next to his eyes and leather pants tight around his thighs. he asks you about college, and work. he talks about the songs he's writing on his guitar. he catches your drink when you almost drop it over the railing, an easy smile on his face when his fingers brush yours passing it back to you, and a shy grin when he reaches out to lace his fingers with yours properly.

"i'm really busy, but i'd love to talk to you more," he says, sincerely, as he takes your phone from your hands to key in his number. he texts himself so his contact is at the top of your messages, making you promise to text him when you get back. he looks at you meaningfully, squeezing your hand before dropping it to go back to his party.

there's a moment, where you think to follow.

but then all of it – every touch, every glance, every speck of light you counted reflected in marks' wide eyes, — all of it is wiped clean the moment you hear a familiar low voice.

"trying to get with my friends now, princess?"

when the light illuminates his silhouette, hurt registers before anything else.

hickeys bloom across the side of haechan's neck, trailing down to his chest. only a simple mesh top lies underneath his leather jacket, and you can see the shadows of a few more bruises on his torso when his arm shifts, tugging the jacket open just slightly. his hair is a mess, tugged this way and that by desperate hands, and you think there may be a smear of bright pink lipstick at the corner of his lips. you can smell the reek of flowery perfume, cloyingly sweet, all over his clothes, as he leans back against the railing, eyes turned towards the party happening behind the sliding glass doors.

"i thought you said i was your favorite band member," he murmurs, a mock expression of sadness on his face. "mark's nothing like me."

"why do you care?" you will yourself to sound more confident, letting the hurt dissolve into defiance.

"i don't." the pout has melted off his face, a burning intensity now in the way he stares at you, making you shift uncomfortably. a moment passes, where he studies your face, eyes flicking across your features almost methodically. "so am i?"

"what?"

"am i still your favorite?" his voice is bitter, as if he knows the answer before asking and he doesn't like it.

"are you seriously asking me that?"

"princess –"

he's interrupted by a chime from your phone. the both of you glance down at it at the same time, the text and the sender unmistakeable on your otherwise empty lockscreen.

mark <3 : thanks for talking to me today :) let me know when you get home safe!

there's a pause.

"mark has a girlfriend," haechan blurts out, his voice coarse.

"what?" you look up at him, trying to figure out if this was a joke, but his face is impassive.

"he cheats on her all the time with girls from his parties. it's his thing." haechan's still looking at your screen even though your phone has turned off, resolutely not meeting your eyes.

it takes you a moment to gather yourself, every one of mark‘s actions and words suddenly flashing before you like a flipbook, sweet memories crumpling into dust. "are you lying?" you ask, shakily.

"why would i?" he finishes his beer, veins shifting on the back of his hand as he crushes the empty can, the crunch of metal dissonant against the warm summer night. his next words are just as rough. "whether or not you get with mark means nothing to me. i don't care. i don't even know you."

his words ring true, as he pushes off from the railing, leaving you alone on the balcony without another word. the abrupt end to the conversation has you turning, eyes following him as he steps back into the party, looking away a little too late as you see him gesture someone over with a flick of his fingers, her long hair covering both their faces when their lips meet.

jaemin finds you crying on the balcony, but he can't figure out the reason. you delete mark's contact off your phone the moment you get home, and jaemin promises you he's never taking you to any other show or party with the band ever again.

—

"there should be an empty room somewhere." the man lets go of your hand, at the foot of the stairs. "can you wait for me inside one? i'll find you in a minute."

it's only when you're halfway upstairs, when you realise that you're really about to give yourself to a stranger for your first time.

he has a bright smile, sweet dimples showing each time his lips turn upwards, each time he calls you baby. he's not much older than you, but there's an easy authority in the way he takes your cup from your hands and tells you to stop drinking, getting you glasses of water instead. his body dwarfs yours in size, and when you put your hand on his thigh, you see something shift in his expression that tells you he may not be as gentle as he seems.

and when you tell him he'll be your first time, his throat bobs as he swallows, eyes dragging up and down your body with a newfound hunger.

you've never really cared about who you lost your virginity to, not considering it a big occassion or anything to make a fuss over. your mind flits back to two weeks ago, when some boy had cared way more about it than you did.

"you need to be with someone who will take care of you."

anger flares in your chest at the thought of it, as you climb up the stairs two steps at a time, and it's just when you're just reaching the first landing, when you suddenly coming to a crashing halt because —

the sound of microphone feedback makes you put your hands over your ears, instinctively, the shrill sound piercing the air.

a loud bass suddenly starts up, vibrating under your feet. did they hire a live band? the song that booms from downstairs is familiar, and with a jolt, you realise that you know it a little too well.

that honey-sweet voice, the bitter bite to his words soothed over by the sweetest of tones – drifts up from the speaker, a haunting melody that echoes up the empty staircase, punctuated by a screaming crowd.

as if to further prove it was him, he lets out a laugh at the end of his line, the tone of it dark and sarcastic, the crowd going wild at the sound of it.

was it a studio recording? it must be, because there was no way this band was downstairs, performing live at this random birthday party, there was no chance…

… except now mark is speaking into the microphone, greeting the audience, asking for the birthday girl. unease stirs in your stomach as you trace your steps back down, a dread that fills you up as the makeshift stage comes back into view, where the DJ had been just a moment ago.

to where haechan stood, guitar on its stand, eyes already trained on yours, an expression of white hot anger on his face.

—

"him? really?"

you can still feel his touch on your arm, from how he dragged you into the bedroom.

you're frozen on the steps.

haechan signals to mark, ignoring the questioning looks from the members and protests from the boy as he steps off the platform, making a beeline for the stairs. his brows are furrowed, his teeth gritted as he glares at you.

"you wanna go upstairs that bad?" he murmurs. "lead the fucking way, princess."

he starts towards you, and you take a step back, body colliding with the door. the sound seems to ground him, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, finally turning away to sit on the bed, the space allowing you to relax just slightly.

"i thought," he starts, patiently, swallowing hard. "i thought i told you to find someone to take care of you, for your first time."

the reminder of his words feels like a stab in your chest. "i thought you didn't care," you shoot back.

he ignores you. "did you come here with your friends? where's jaemin?"

what the fuck was wrong with him? "who are you to tell me what to do?"

his lips part, but no words come out. sighing, he rubs his face with his hands, still trying to calm down. "y/n," he starts again, voice pained. "i don't want to see you get hurt."

"how do you know he would've hurt me?"

his eyes meet yours. "did you tell him?" he asks, quietly.

"tell him i was a virgin? yes." anger seeps into your tone, as you glare at him. "he reacted very differently from you."

"y/n that's not a good thing!" he stands up, his voice raised. "are you that desperate to get fucked?"

you step back in alarm, tears forming in your eyes. fear, of the situation you almost put yourself in, of the boy in front of you, makes your throat close up, and you can't help the way your body tenses. the cruelness of his words settles in a little too late, an acidic burn in your chest.

haechan feels the tips of his fingers go numb as you start to cry, guilt flooding his mind in a way he rarely felt. his face crumples, and he does't know what to do when you curl in on yourself, every sound you make feeling like a punch to his ribs.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, reaching for you tentatively. when you don't pull away, his arms circle around you, and he makes sure to leave enough space for you to breathe or break free if you wanted to. "i'm sorry," he repeats again, as you sink into his chest, needing his warmth as much as you hated his presence.

"take it back," you mumble. "take it back right now."

"i take it back," he says, immediately. "i didn't mean any of it. i'm sorry."

"you don't get to reject me," you start, voice shaky, "and control who i choose to be with."

he sucks in a breath, gripping onto you a little tighter. "y/n –"

"it's…it's fucked up," you hiccup, fisting at the fabric of his shirt, crumpling it in your fists in frustration.

"i know," he breathes. "i know."

his hand comes up to stroke your hair, and you hate how it really does manage to comfort you, your breaths steadying as he pats your back clumsily. when you think you've calmed down enough, you place your hands on his chest, and he backs away instinctively, looking down at his feet. never meeting your eyes.

"i'm tired, haechan," you whisper. "i don't want to play whatever game you're playing." he doesn't respond, so you continue. "you don't want to fuck me, but you don't want anyone else to."

"i do." his response is so quiet, you barely catch it.

"you want other people to fuck me?"

"no, i don't." he lifts his head, his expression conflicted. "i…i want to be your first time."

"what?"

when he doesn't respond, you sigh, agitated. "haechan, i already told you i don't want to play your games anymore –"

"not a game," he cuts you off, softly. "i'll take care of you." the gentleness of his voice makes you feel small. it's almost overwhelming, the way he looks into your eyes, without his usual apathy and bitterness.

"i thought you said you don't do that?" it takes you all your willpower to not give in.

"i don't," he breathes. "but with you i will." he's starting to think he has no choice – that there's no one else in the world who's going to take care of you the way he knows you need. he doesn't know when he decided to give in, in between watching you place your hand on that man's thigh, and you standing in front of him now. all he knows is that he either had to do this, or make you disappear from his life entirely.

the words hang in the air. even now, feeling so torn and hurt and tired, your body can't help how much you want him, hyper-attuned to the little details in his appearance: the messy black nail polish scrawled on his nails, smoky eye make-up that makes his gaze all the more intense and devouring. there's a heady smell hanging onto his skin and clothes, rich and indulgent vanilla and musk, filling up your senses with a giddy desire. long legs in a pair of ripped skinny jeans, his thighs stretching out the fabric in a way that almost looked like it hurt.

"okay," you mumble. his lips part, but you answer him before he has a chance to ask. "please take care of me." your voice is small, yet each word seems to catch fire, incinerating the air between you.

his tongue darts out, wetting his lip. "yeah?"

you nod. finally giving in to the pull of your body, you take a step closer, looking up at him through your lashes.

"i'm sorry…about all of it." he murmurs. "thank you for trusting me, still."

you can't think of anything to say, so you nod again. it feels like your heart is in your throat.

he swallows. "do you…you shouldn't…" his eyes dart around the room. "we shouldn't do it here. in…in some strangers bedroom." gently, he touches your arm, looking at you hesitantly. "would you feel comfortable if we did it in your apartment? or i could bring you to my shared apartment with the band…they wouldn't be back yet. but we might have to be quick…"

your head feels like it's spinning.

at your lack of response, he rambles on, eyes focused on yours, trying to discern your thoughts. "w-what do you think? or…if you really want to get comfortable i don't mind booking a hotel, it's a little last minute but-" he bites his lip. "do you want to meet somewhere else or i could take you in my car? i haven't drank much, i swear, but if you don't trust me-"

"stop," you blurt out.

he freezes, the hand grazing your arm dropping to his side, fingers playing with the rips in his jeans.

"i'm sorry," he says, softly.

"no, i mean…stop asking me questions." you exhale. "i trust you," you repeat, softly. every word of it was true — despite everything, you were still the same person sitting on his lap up on the rooftop. "just…take care of me, however you want."

he swallows. "you sound…" exhaling, he shakes his head to clear it. "okay. is your apartment empty?"

"yes," you whisper. "jaemin's away for tonight."

"i'll drive," he murmurs. and now he takes a step closer to you, until he's all you can see, the room melting away. "but before that…can i kiss you first, princess?" you nod, transfixed by him, as he leans in.

haechan kisses soft.

his lips are plush, and soft, taking your bottom lip between his own sweetly. he tilts his head slowly as if he's afraid he'll overwhelm you by moving too fast, his lips parting as he invites you to do the same, his hands going to the back of your head to guide you. a soft sigh escapes the back of his throat when your lips part and he can taste you, and you can taste him — vanilla like how he smells, with the slight bite of alcohol. your hand comes up to touch his round cheeks, surprisingly soft too, and he smiles into this kiss.

he's the one to break apart from you, with a patience that feels rehearsed. he's taking care of you, as he leans in so your noses brush, your breaths mingling.

"haechan…" he hums, encouragingly. "i…you know this isn't…my first kiss, right?"

a pause. "i know," he murmurs.

"so… so you don't have to be gentle." you squirm slightly as his touch grows heavier, eyes darkening at the implications behind your words.

he backs away from you, hands pulling you with him as he sits down on the bed. his eyes flick down to his lap as he lowers his gaze, before dragging them painstakingly up to yours again.

"sit, princess."

this time, when he feels you tremble against him, your knees caging in his hips as you straddle him, all he does is lean in and kiss you — just as sweet as he did the first time.

"i'm gentle with you because i want to be," another kiss, his tongue sliding against your bottom lip. "not because i have to." his fingers guide your chin upwards, baring your neck to him as he leans in and leaves a kiss on a spot under your jaw. and then a longer, more lingering kiss. and now he's making his way down your neck, each press of his lips on your skin longer and rougher than the last, and now you're sure he's sucking marks onto your neck, especially when you feel a slight sting of teeth.

you're shifting against him restlessly, body hardly your own as you fall under his touch. you don't know how long you spend there, in his lap, as he works on your neck, taking breaks to kiss you on the lips, his sighs echoing into the cavern of your mouth as it falls open with need. it's when he sucks lightly on your tongue, almost boyish in the way he backs away with a small smile, when a soft sound escapes your lips.

"yeah?" he murmurs, leaning in again, letting the tip of his tongue brush against yours gently. "you like that?"

you nod.

"you sound so pretty," he breathes, as he slots his lips with yours again, humming against yours as you let out another small whimper.

"haechan-" you mumble, and he draws away, looking at you expectantly. "i think i'm ready."

"really?" his hands on your waist give you a light squeeze. "you want me to take you home now?"

you're still giddy from the heat radiating off his skin, your lips craving his contact again now he's stopped kissing you. you nod, and he smiles, gently guiding you off his lap as he unlocks the door.

he's gentle the whole way down – as he leads you away from the main staircase so you wouldn't be seen, the crowd still distracted by the band. he cradles you carefully against his side all the way out of the back gates and into his car, and when your breath catches as he leans over to buckle your seatbelt for you, he's gentle even as he presses into you for a spur of the moment kiss, tongue licking into your mouth with more fervor.

it's not a song that plays in the car as he drives and you try to remember the way to your apartment, but rather it's a low and sultry beat — bluesy harmonies stretched out over pulses. part of you wonders if he played it on purpose, because imagining his voice set against it already had you melting against the leather seats.

it would all be rather sweet – how gentle he's being, the soft way he smiles at you in the dim lights of your lift lobby, the way he holds your hand and lets you lean against him as you head higher and higher, the space around you feeling like a vacuum of trapped adrenaline and lust.

but there was also no denying the fact that he jolted at the slightest sound, his grip on you tight and slack all at once, the tenderness in his eyes here one second and gone the next. a hurt you could almost taste on your tongue, that you were holding onto something so fragile, and that to him it seemed the worst thing that could happen would be if he were found with you.

—

but all of it changes, when you're alone in your room. the weight of his attention, that you'd felt even as one person amidst a screaming crowd, seems to intensify tenfold as he lets his jacket slide to the floor, eyes on you.

he reads the apprehension in your body, the way you hover near your bed, waiting for him to guide you.

"let me know if it's too much, okay?" he murmurs, as he pulls you in for a hug first, feeling you warm against him as you cling on to his embrace. "you can tell me to stop whenever, and i will." his hands rub circles up your waist, teasing on the silver of skin between your top and your skirt.

you nod, but he shakes his head – a thumb brushing across your cheek.

"use your words," he murmurs. "so i know you mean it."

"okay," you breathe, now guiding him to the bed yourself, curiosity getting the better of you. you had almost forgotten, in the midst of everything, why exactly you went to the party, and the familiar need sparks back to life in you.

haechan sits down against the headboard, pulling you into his lap, the movement feeling even more natural now. he can see that you're nervous and eager at the same time, hands fumbling with the soft material of his shirt, unsure what to do as you shift around on top of him.

"can i kiss you?" in the soft lamp light of the room, the sharp-cut edges of his face seem to blur, large doe-eyes looking up at you kindly. it makes you want to lean in, so you do — slotting your lips with his boldly, kissing him the way you wanted from him. it surprises him, the way you press your lips against him harshly, the gentle graze of your teeth against his plush lip.

he lets out a small laugh, and kisses you back just as fiercely, the atmosphere in the room melting as temperature skyrockets, until it's almost unbearable to be separated from you by layers of fabric.

"may i-" he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, and when your voice chokes out an affirmative, he's quick to yank it over his head, movements rough, exposing beautiful skin, his body warm and solid under your palms as you lean into him.

your cheeks warm, and he notices – a small smile on his face as his hands cup your cheeks, and he gives you a sweet kiss, abruptly different from the others. suddenly, it's almost too tender, the way he looks up at you with endearment in his eyes, kissing you chastely, and you sink into it a little guiltily, enjoying the innocence of it.

when you feel your heart reach its boiling point, your own hands go to the hem of your shirt, and you pull it over your head. you don't mean to slow down your movements, not meaning to tease or entice, but the way his eyes darken looking at your body made you wish you did it on purpose.

"pretty," he praises, head dipping to press a kiss between your collarbones. and another one, lower done, almost reaching your cleavage. the bra you had chosen mindlessly that morning was a thin bralette, and it did little to hide how aroused you were, your nipples poking stiff peaks through the fabric.

but still, he doesn't make any move to remove it, peppering kisses on your bare chest, over the slope of your breasts, almost slobbering at your skin, lips dewy and wet. his arms are firm around you, meeting each one of your movements and steadying you, helping you rock your hips into him as desire surges in your body.

"haechan, –" his name had never sounded so breathless falling from your lips.

"yes, baby?"

the term of endearment makes you feel smaller in his lap, the only thing making you feel better was the way he was just as heated as you, his breaths coming hard and fast. he wanted everything to be perfect, he never wanted to rush you into anything you weren't comfortable with, his hands staying firm on your lower back.

you tug at the bralette covering your chest impatiently, the fabric never feeling more uncomfortable on your skin.

"you want me to take it off?" he asks, head nuzzling into your neck as his fingers wander up your back. you feel it loosen around you, his finger expertly fiddling the clasp open, dragging it down and accidentally brushing against your hard nipples, making you hiss.

"i'll make you feel good," he promises, softly, lowering his head, kissing down the slope of your breasts. he makes eye contact with you, searching your eyes for any form of discomfort.

"be gentle," you murmur, nodding for him to continue. "they feel sensitive."

"of course," he mumbles, before starting to lightly kitten-lick at your nipple, the feeling all at once new and arousing, making you pulse against him in his lap. he circles his tongue around your areola, being as gentle as possible, opting not to flick at your nipples but rather suck one into his mouth, heart-shaped full lips sinful against your chest. the heat between your legs is overwhelming, as he switches to your other side, his hand coming up to knead your breast, warm palms moving over skin and making you giddy.

"please," you whimper, as he laps at you. "please, i need you, please –"

"you have me," he murmurs, one of his hands reaching out for yours blindly, scrabbling against the back of your hand from where it's pressed against his chest, flipping it over and interlocking your fingers. "i'll take care of you. lie down for me?"

he moves you off his lap, guiding you onto your back, propping up pillows you can rest against. the familiar feeling of your bed is only faintly there, your senses filled with the sweet heady smell of haechan, from the perfume and lotion clinging onto his skin, as you watch him remove the numerous rings on his fingers, placing them carefully on your bedside table.

haechan kisses his way down your body, suckling on your skin, leaving longer, lingering bruises on your hips, finally reaching your thighs as he lowers himself down. he guides your hips up with a heavy hand, sliding a cushion carefully under as he situates himself between your legs. you're so sensitive, that the feeling of his long hair against your skin has your thighs sliding together, squeezing around his head accidentally.

"you okay?" he murmurs, as he kisses your thighs again, patiently easing your thighs open.

you suddenly feel shy, knowing he was about to see you so intimately. even when you had agreed to let him take care of you, even as you trusted him completely, you had never imagined seeing him in between your spread legs like this, somewhere you hadn't even explored much yourself. would he be disappointed or disgusted? what if he didn't like what he saw or felt?

"baby…." he rubs a hand carefully on your thigh, tips of his fingers slipping just under the hem of your skirt. "is this okay? do you want to stop?"

"i don't want to stop," you admit, and you find that its true.

haechan looks at you, studying your face. after a moment, he crawls back up your body, brushing the hair out of your eyes before he brushes his lips against yours softly, as if asking for permission. you grant it, lips parting as his warm mouth meets yours, a welcome taste in your mouth that's become familiar. you kiss for a while, his hand finding yours in the mess of sheets and intertwining your fingers, until you feel confident enough to slip your other hand to the zipper of your skirt.

you tug it off your legs, haechan breaking away from the kiss to help you, moving down your body.

"i'll take care of you," he whispers, his hand never letting go of yours. "these are so pretty, baby," he whispers, a finger tracing over the lacy pattern on the front of your panties. you've never been more aware of your own arousal seeping out of you, as he places a kiss low on your hip, and then another just on the waistband of your panties, and suddenly, you want nothing more than for them to come off.

your fingers tug at them impatiently, and he takes hold of your hand, kissing your fingertips lightly. "let me," he murmurs, and you hear something low and raw in his voice, something that maybe wasn't there before. sitting up slightly, he pulls your panties down your legs, assuming his position as quickly as he'd left it once the fabric was out of the way, rearranging your legs so they're spread open for him.

the tension in the room fills your lungs up like smoke. you barely mumble his name, beg him to do something, before you feel a soft touch against your clit, making your hips jolt and you let out a sharp exhale.

"let me hear you," he encourages, gently, as he starts to rub circles into your sensitive nub, dipping down to your entrance and spreading your wetness all over your cunt. your hips keep shifting around, so he pulls his arm around to press down into you, keeping you still for him as he slowly pleasures you.

"t-this feels…" you start, lost in your own head. you've touched yourself before, but the sensitivity seemed to be heightened to an exaggerated amount once it was someone else touching you. he looks up at you, face still wickedly beautiful, the gentlest look in his eyes laced with something like desperation.

"can't believe i got so lucky," he murmurs, suckling a kiss close to your heat, high on the soft skin of your thigh. your legs clamp around his head, and it makes him groan, breath heavy against your cunt. "you're pretty everywhere, baby. can't believe i'm the only one."

the words flood your veins with a dark thrill, the idea of being his, of him taking all your firsts. "hypocrite," you mumble, cutting yourself off with a moan as he applies more pressure to your clit.

"maybe a little," he admits, shyly, as he dips his head back down and flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, his fingers sliding down to your entrance instead.

you cry out at the foreign feeling, the wet muscle of his tongue stroking your clit expertly while his slender finger slips past your entrance. his name, strung along by curses, echoes from your mouth as he teases his finger in and out of your entrance, tongue lying flat and wide as he laps at your clit in a way that made you feel like you were already close.

stiffening his tongue, his flicks your clit with the tip, humming into you just as he curls his finger against your walls in a come-hither motion. he knows when you cum — back arching as you seemed to chase for stimulation above you, your walls sucking tightly around his finger and kneading it eagerly, making him groan as he imagines the feeling of you tight around his cock. he lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, his nose bumping your clit and eliciting another drawn out whimper, tongue teasing your entrance.

when your hands push at his head, he backs away easily, once again making his way up your body to check on you, the warmth of his bare chest against yours making you feel safe.

"good?" he kisses you, tongue moving against yours, inviting you to take a taste. "did you like that, sweetheart?"

you nod, gasping. "haechan…"

"you did perfect for me, baby." his hands run up and down your sides as he kisses down your neck, enjoying the way your body wraps yourself around him, arms pulling his weight down into you.

"i still need you," you murmur. the pleasure from before had only satiated you for a little bit, and the feeling of his hard length poking at your thigh was making your head spin with a whole different level of desire, as you grapple for his belt. "please, i've been good-"

"you're perfect." he comforts you with a kiss.

he guides your hand away from him gently, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants slide onto the bed as you lie back down on your pillows. tugging his underwear down, you swallow as he squeezes his thick length, the pink tip leaking clear liquid. he watches you watch him spread it on his length, pumping himself slowly, drawing out the pleasure as he moans, a sweet tenor sound that rings lewdly in the air. you watch, mesmerized, as he thrusts his hips forward a few times, stroking himself with a slight twist of his wrist before letting go abruptly, letting his cock slap up against his lower stomach.

fishing around in the pocket of his discarded jeans, he takes out a condom wrapper, opening it quickly and rolling it onto his cock. you're sure you're making a mess of the sheets, you can feel your arousal and his saliva on your thighs, can feel another gush of wetness seep out of you as he lowers himself over your body and slides his cock against your folds.

he grinds himself on you, hoping to get you wetter so it may be less painful when he enters you. his fingers find your clit again, this time he rubs it urgently, with just the correct amount of pressure to have you shaking and lifting your hips into him.

"stop me anytime," he reminds you, as he lines himself up to your fluttering entrance. "you have to relax for me, baby." he pitches his voice lower now, and you can't tell if he's comforting you or if he's slowly being pulled under by lust too. he makes soft shushing noises, nipping at your lips with gentle kisses as you whimper, feeling the bulbous tip of his cock slowly stretch you open, his fingers resuming his movements. the head of his cock still feels shallow inside you, when it suddenly brushes against a sensitive spot, and his fingers on your clit glide just right, making you cum, hard. he feels you clamp down tightly around his tip, and he hisses, eyes squeezed shut. his mind wiped clean for just a second as pleasure thrums through his entire body, an aching pain that makes his mouth hang open.

"'m sorry," you whimper, tears prickling to your eyes as you interpret his expression as annoyance. "i'm so sorry, it just felt so good —"

"baby…" he looks at you, his face morphing into panic when he sees the tears in your eyes. "don't apologise, please, you have nothing to be sorry for."

you still look unconvinced, so he reaches for one of your hands, holding it in his and kissing your fingertips. "you are so pretty when you cum," the filthy words sound sacred the way he says them. "and you felt so fucking good around my cock," he murmurs, voice sinking low again.

you begin to relax again, sniffling slightly as you adjust your legs around his waist, feeling him slide a little deeper into you. he coaxes you into taking more of him, kissing you sweetly as he slips in further and further, until finally the both of you are groaning, his body shuddering slightly against yours as he feels your warm gummy walls tight around him.

"so tight," he groans, cursing again under his breath as he circles his hips, drawing a moan from you as your thighs tense. "how are you so tight?," he panted, tone still teasing despite him trying desperately not to buck his hips into you. "has no one ever fucked you before or something?"

you don't have it within you to tease back.

"only you, haechan." the words are reverent, hushed. it strips him of any of his cockiness, his teasing, his boldness — his features softening at the way you look up at him, trying to maintain eye contact even as the ache between your legs drove you insane, not wanting to waste a single moment of this, in case it never happened again.

"haechan…" your nails rake against his back, drawing him out of his daze. "please fuck me."

"fuck," he breathes, as he slowly starts to move in you, obsessed with the way the words sound in your voice. his thick length drags against your walls, heavy inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal seeping into the room. you feel full and stretched out, sated by having him so close to you, it feels like you can feel him deep in your gut the way he's thrusting into you, especially when he hikes your legs higher on his waist, drawing a long moan from you as he manages to stimulate a spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

he changes his pace, now barely pulling himself out of you as he nudges the head of his cock against your sweet spot. licking a long stripe from your neck up to your ear, one hand tangles itself with yours, while the other ghosts over your sensitive nipples.

"i'm cumming," the words come out rushed as you barely hold onto your senses, cumming harshly for the third time, your body thrown into pleasure as your muscles tense. he succumbs to the feeling of your walls kneading his length and squeezing tight around him, eyes going unfocused and hazy as his lips part, a moan drawn out from his lungs without conscious thought. he's aware of the way your muscles tense as he fucks both of you through your highs, relishing in the sting of your fingernails on his back as he slows down his movements. he draws out both your highs by leaning in and sucking on the mark he'd left behind earlier that evening, letting his moan buzz and fizzle on your skin.

you feel dazed and tired, arms never letting go of him, legs unwilling to unwrap from his waist as you cling to him. he rolls you both onto your sides, caressing your body sweetly and stroking your hair, mumbling questions and concerns that you can't register, nodding to everything in a blur. the weight of him feels good, his body warm and solid against your back, and once again that feeling of safety, that feeling of complete trust, washes over you. it makes you feel whole even as he pulls out of you with a wince, discarding the condom in the trash by your bedside.

you cling to him, and he knows you need it — so he doesn't let you go, heavy hands patting your back clumsily, slightly rough and out of rhythm, just like the way your heart beats against your ribcage.

when he feels your arms loosen, relaxing finally after the high of hormones and adrenaline, he slips away quickly to the bathroom, putting on his underwear as he goes. he grabs a towel, turning your tap on to warm water and checking the temperature with his wrist as he washes his hands, his face, cleaning himself up. running the towel under the water and squeezing it dry in the sink. his movements methodical, as he slips out of your room and into the kitchen, looking around for a glass of water.

he immediately races back the moment he hears a sound from your bedroom, shutting the door behind him just as you sit up, your expression clearing once you see him again. pulling his shirt from where it's discarded on the floor, he slides into bed, kissing you on the cheek.

he cleans you up with soft strokes, the warm towel soothing on your skin even though he hadn't really been rough. he makes you drink from the glass of water, watching you drain it carefully. finally, slipping his large shirt over your frame, swallowing at the way it envelopes your body, a feeling stirring in his gut that he ignores.

"y/n? are you with me?" when you don't respond, wide eyes looking up at him, he touches his fingers to your cheek. "baby?"

each brush of his skin against yours felt like trails of fire, lingering warmth even after he pulls away. every look he gave you through his lashes, the slight pout to his lips when he broke away from a kiss, made you feel like you were caught in a riptide, your pulse out of your control. you wanted to crawl into him and make a home in his chest. you never wanted him to look at you again with his shuttered eyes, to have to dream yourself into the skin of someone else as he touched them.

you had to tell him. "haechan…haechan i…" you reach for him, and he pulls you into his embrace, shushing you softly. you try to speak again, lips parting, but he envelopes your lips in a gentle kiss, nipping at your mouth each time you part, swallowing all your sounds with the sweep of his tongue.

"princess…" his voice sounds raw, and coarse. "don't say anything you don't mean."

"but-"

"you don't know me." was it regret in his voice, or your wishful thinking? "you don't know me at all. what you're feeling right now…" he touches a hand to your chest, brushing a kiss on your cheek. "it's because of the sex, alright?"

you shake your head.

your next words come out slurred, your eyelids starting to droop as sleep begins to tug at your mind, threatening to pull you under. "but…why can't i know you?"

he takes a deep breath. "i don't want you to."

"but i don't want this to end."

he holds you tighter against his chest at your words.

"this?" he questions, quietly. he keeps his voice light, but it still pierces your heart like a shard of glass. "there isn't a 'this' princess. this isn't happening again."

"why?"

"i don't want you to get attached." he cradles you even more carefully against him, freckling mellow kisses onto your forehead, the contrast between his words and his actions ringing dissonant in your ears. "besides… why would i spend the night with the same girl twice, hm?"

sleep softens the hurt from the words he's saying. his voice fades slightly, his touch against your skin roaring ever louder in your ears. "you know i won't be here when you wake up, right?" his fingers brush against your forehead lightly, pushing hair away from your eyes.

you knew.

but you still cried in the morning all the same — the golden-orange sunrise beautiful and terribly cruel, just like the boy you were perhaps falling in love with.

—

you spend the weekend alone.

you spend the weekend wondering if haechan thought of you at all, after he left. thinking if what he said was real, and it was just adrenaline and lust, then why did your heart ache at the thought of him? at his face on posters outside the small concert venue, inviting you to a show next week? why did you always turn at the slightest hint of his voice?

you try to forget him. you try to tell yourself he wasn't worth it. but deep down all of it, a part of you still hopes, which is perhaps why you were letting jaemin drag you past the poster of haechan, into the alleyway that led backstage.

"are you sure you need me there?" you pull at jaemin's sleeve, your other hand holding onto his spare camera carefully as he guides you into the venue.

"i do," he insists, pushing through a set of doors leading to the stage. "mark wants extra photos for their social media page and i can't be doing all of that at once."

you can hear the boys talking just around one of the curtains, sprawled out onstage, a cacophany of sounds as they absentmindedly plucked at their instruments. you were going to see haechan again. you can't tell if it makes you want to run towards them, or go back home. that familiar sense of hope, the kind you experienced in the crowd that first night, on the balcony, in the bedroom and in the moonlight, fills you up slowly, sweet and light. maybe, if he just saw you again…

"y/n-" jaemin puts a hand on your arm, stopping you gently before you could rush onto stage.

"yes?" you prompt.

"i know i dragged you here, but if you're feeling uncomfortable," he starts, and you start to slip away, but he only tightens his grip. "let me finish — if you're feeling uncomfortable, or if any of them are hurting you, let me know okay?"

you hadn't told him about haechan, something close to shame seeming to rise up and choke you whenever you tried to bring it up. all jaemin knew was that the last two times you had come into contact with the band it had upset you badly, and as your best friend and roommate he never wanted to see you crying on the balcony again.

"what would you do? beat them up?"

"i would leave." his serious tone doesn't change, unaffected by your attempt to lighten the mood.

"but the money –"

"no job is more important than you being okay," he insists. "i don't want to work for them if they hurt you. okay?"

"okay."

even though he looks unconvinced, his grip on your arm loosens and he takes your hand instead, pulling back the curtain with his other.

you can hear him say something to mark about today's shoot, hear him greet the rest of the members. you guess that mark is rising to greet him, hear something like jisung and jeno standing too, but everything fades to white noise when the sight you're looking at clicks in your mind, the one member of the band who's voice you hadn't heard, who hadn't bothered to turn around at jaemin's arrival.

or rather, the one boy who was too pre-occupied to — considering he had his tongue in a pretty girl's mouth.

haechan was facing away from you, away from the rest of his bandmates, you could really only see his broad back under his denim jacket, but the careful tilt of his head as he kissed her was all too familiar, as was the movement of his arms around her waist. and when she shifted in his lap, his hands pulling her hips down unto his, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears, a sharp pain searing at your chest in emotions you couldn't pinpoint.

"fuck, sorry about that –" mark's voice is flustered, and now a tall boy, the bassist, jisung, is stepping in front of you, blocking your view of him.

"sorry," he echoes, and you're momentarily caught off guard by how deep his voice is - husky and quiet. you blink up at him, fog slowly clearing in your mind, and he smiles shyly. "he doesn't usually do that."

"who?"

"um, haechan…" he looks back briefly, and you see haechan helping the girl to her feet, her body crumpled into his like she couldn't bear to be separated from his touch. you feel a wave of second-hand shame again – was that what you had looked like?

and then jisung turns back to you, towering over you again and blocking everything from view. "he usually only does this after the show, but today…"

"it's fine," you say, faintly.

jisung looks at you, carefully. "you're jaemin's friend y/n, right?"

you nod, half your mind still on what could be going on right now. behind jisung, you see mark pull haechan, now alone, towards a corner of the stage, whispering angrily at him. haechan is slouched lazily, picking at his nails with all the look of someone who couldn't care less about what was going on.

"i saw you at our last show," jisung continues. "i was going to…i was going…" he breaks off, a little embarrassed, fumbling with his words. "are you sure you're okay?"

"i'm fine, jisung." you repeat, your voice a little more firm, as you finally look back at him.

he blinks. "you know me?"

jisung still looked worried, but there was something sweet about the way he shrunk a little under your attention, eyes darting all over your face and around his surroundings, blush tinging his cheeks.

this you were comfortable with – something completely different from the way haechan's eyes always tried to drink you in, or the way your vision would go blurry at the edges when he would stand in front of you. talking with jisung was easy, the confidence that haechan drained from you seeping back and settling in.

he had meant it, when he said you shouldn't get attached. you just had to learn it before it brought you more hurt you couldn't justify.

"jisung," you emphasise. "of course i know you. you play bass, right?"

"y-yeah," he stammers, pointing unecessarily at his dark blue bass guitar on its stand. "i don't know, i guess i always thought people didn't really know me even if they knew the band." he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, black hair falling over his eyes. "people usually choose to stand where haechan or mark are."

"you usually stand on the left?"

he nods, bashfully, and a smile tugs at your lips.

"i'll make sure to stand there, later during the show."

"wow, okay." he pauses for a moment, steeling himself. "how about after?"

"what do you mean?"

"would you want to meet…after the show?" he hesitates, voice soft.

your brow furrows slightly. "do you mean the party?"

"we don't have to go," he blurts out. "i don't mean…i don't mean like what haechan usually does after the show."

his name is an unwelcome sting, but the way jisung sneaks glances up at you from where he looks down at his feet makes it a little easier to forget. "then what do you want to do?"

"w-we can get something to eat." he says it like he just suggested robbing a bank.

oh. "like a date?"

mortified, his lips part, and you can tell that he's frantically trying to read your tone, trying to figure out if the idea of it made you uncomfortable, whether you were suggesting because you wanted it. it's so endearing, watching him start his sentences and stop them, the hem of his shirt crumpled and worn out by his nervous fingers.

eventually, he takes a deep breath, and settles for a question. "d-do you mind if it's a date?"

did you?

was there any hope in waiting for haechan, when he had made it so clear that you would never have him again?

jisung is still looking at you like you have all the power in the world to hurt him.

"i don't mind," you say, softly, feeling a hum of satisfaction in your chest at the way it makes his lips part in blissful surprise. a beat. "do you want it to be…?"

"yes," he blurts out. "please," he adds, shyly.

the awkward silence between the two of you feels good, the lightness of it familiar and giddy, like a schoolgirl crush. jisung can't stop smiling, biting his lips slightly as he turns to face mark, who's crossed to the front of the stage to speak to them.

" — jisung, jaemin will start with your photos first. we'll just be shooting the rehearsal process today, so there's no need to-" he breaks off, brow furrowing. "jisung why are you so red?"

"i-it's w-warm in here."

"well you should cool off before jaemin takes your photos." jisung nods, flustered, and he walks offstage with jaemin to prepare. jeno too, strolls away with a wave to mark, leaving him alone at the front of the stage.

with you.

mark glances over at you, his eyes darting over your face, trying to read your expression. you can almost hear haechan's voice from that night, the ghost of the hurt still palpable in your bones. but the moment you take a step back, thinking that you should find jaemin and jisung, mark seems to have made up his mind — his face set, he starts to walk over to you, and you find your own footsteps falter.

"um, y/n, can i speak to you for a second?"

you take a deep breath. "is this about the photos for later?"

"no…not exactly." he clears his throat. there's a pause, as he seems to pick his words. "y/n, did i do something wrong?"

you blink at him. "what do you mean?"

"i mean, i know it was a while ago, but i thought we were getting along fine at the party," it feels like he's rehearsed this to some capacity, or perhaps it was just the confidence of being a lead singer. "but then since then every time i saw you…i feel like you've been avoiding me."

"i haven't been avoiding you." you take a deep breath. "mark, do you have a girlfriend?"

his eyes widen. "are you…are you asking me out?"

"what?" you balk. "no!"

"oh." his face falls. "i mean…i just thought…"

"that's just too bad, markie."

it’s practically deja vu.

haechan stands behind you, his body radiating warmth, and you inhale sharply. surprisingly, he doesn't smell saccharine, the way he always does with the girls he chooses — his skin smells like baby powder and fresh linen. your body is doing that thing again – where you hone in on his presence and the whole world dissolves, and you're hyper attuned to the way his arm hovers near yours, his breath on the back of your neck. anything you were about to say to mark completely lost in your brain.

exasperated, mark runs his hand through his hair. "haechan…don't be difficult."

"i'm not." you feel almost numb when his hand touches your elbow, sliding down to hold your hand tight in his grip. "y/n and i have to talk about something."

"can't it wait?"

"it's urgent," haechan says, sarcastically, giving you a sharp tug towards him. your feet stumble as haechan starts to walk off, and you turn one last time to see mark standing there, looking a little forlorn, suddenly small under the bright lights of the stage.

"sorry, –" you mumble out. mark frowns, starting towards you.

but now haechan really pulls you along, yanking curtains aside and accessing a short flight of stairs. you can feel the intensity of his emotions radiating off him in waves, making it a little hard to breathe as you try to keep up, afraid of what he'll say if your hand slips from his grasp.

he guides you along a corridor and through a doorway, stepping into the warm light of a dressing room, the door slamming shut behind you as haechan pulls you in.

you're almost afraid to look at him, but you do anyway.

he's slightly breathless from the walk down, stooping slightly to lock the door with careful hands. when he straightens and steps towards you, the lights hitting his features, you can see that he's covered up the hickeys on his neck with makeup. something mark made him do, no doubt.

"haechan -"

"park jisung? really?" he sneers, backing you into the dressing table.

"what?"

"don't lie to me," he demands. "i saw you."

"really?" you fold your arms across your chest as he moves in closer, planting both hands on the table on either side of your hips, caging you in. "you looked busy. where did she go, hm? did mark send her away, or did you?"

haechan rolls his eyes. "that's none of your business."

"jisung said you don't usually bring girls to the rehearsal," you continue, watching the way his tongue pokes into his cheek in annoyance. "what happened?"

"you two talked about me?" he demands. "what else did you do? make plans to fuck after the show?"

"i'm not a virgin anymore," you remind him, your voice laced with a warning. "i thought you only cared about my first time."

haechan groans. seeing you talk to jisung out of the corner of his eye, seeing your hands brush and his friend's head duck shyly to the side, gave him a weight on his chest which grew heavier each time he took a breath, each time he had to hear one of jisung's small laughs.

"if you want to have mediocre sex then i couldn't care less," he snaps. "just know that you're going to have to fuck a lot of people before you forget me."

you can see that you're losing him, the familiar closed-off look coming back to his face, anger dissapating into indifference.

"what is there to forget?" you ask, hurt and anger making your voice shake.

haechan is staring at you, his face now so close to yours if you leaned in just slightly your lips would brush.

"you don't mean that," he says, quietly.

and just like that, all the fight drains out of you.

"haechan, jisung just wants to take me out on a date." his features tense, and he bites his lower lip harshly. "would you ever ask me out on a date, haechan?"

he doesn't respond.

"would you?"

"i told you," he breathes. "i don't do that."

"you told me you didn't want to be my first time, and you took it back," you remind him, quietly.

"that's different." you can't help the disappointment that wells up inside you, and you know he can see it from the way his face falls too.

"don't look at me like that, princess." he sinks into your touch easily, warmth once again circling your body.

you don't know if you wished haechan was a liar, or if you wished he wasn't. if he was telling the truth about everything, it would be easier to let go of him, to walk away from someone who could only cause you pain, from someone who played with you over and over again.

but maybe if he was lying it would all make sense – the way he said he didn't want you and yet kept showing up, the jealousy and the conflict in his voice, all of it would have some sort of plausible reason, one that would mean that maybe he cared for you.

"i don't want to do this anymore," you mumble, hands placed on his chest. you only push at him lightly, but he backs off all the way to the opposite wall, your words feeling like salt in his wounds. "i can't do this with you, haechan."

"y/n-"

"you have a show soon," you mumble, turning around to look in the mirror. you comb your hair with your fingers, trying to calm yourself down. behind you, haechan's eyes flash with frustration, his jaw clenched and his eyebrows drawn together as he looks up at your reflection.

"i'm trying to talk to you."

"are you?" it's a genuine question, and it makes him falter, a response half-formed on his lips. when it's clear he won't finish his thought, you close your eyes.

"you need to go," you say again, quietly.

"will you be there?"

you don’t respond, and he repeats himself, urgently.

"will you be there? at the show?"

"i will," you say, hesitantly.

"i'll see you then." his voice is controlled, and steady. somehow it feels like the calm before the storm.

but before you can turn around to try to talk to him, persuade him to calm down, ask him what's wrong, he's already left the room, the sound of his heeled boots echoing down the hall.

—

"is everything okay?"

"why are they taking so long?"

"are they late?"

unease settles in the pit of your stomach as you stand in the crowd, the voices all around you whispering anxiously. it had been 15 minutes since the show was scheduled to start — but the lights on the stage were dim, and the pre-show playlist had just restarted for the second time. you had situated yourself on the left side of the stage, where jisung usually stood, and you bounced on your toes, hoping that everything was alright backstage so jisung could come out and see that you had kept your promise.

and then there's a low rumble, as lights finally flood the venue, the crowd sighing with relief as jeno and mark appear – jeno waving at the crowd, his drumsticks in one hand, while mark smiles reassuringly, walking over to the mic and checking that it's at the correct height. he apologizes lightly for the delay, looking to the side of the stage nervously as he murmurs a quick introduction of the band into the mic.

haechan strides onto stage, electric guitar slung around his neck, as the crowd's screams reach an all-time high. he stops abruptly at the left side of the stage, right in front of where you stood, nodding at the crowd and cocking his head from side to side, as if preparing for a fight. he keeps his face level as his eyes find yours, that same burning intensity you felt in the dressing room unwavering as he held your gaze.

and then jisung appears, footsteps faltering where haechan stood, the grip on his bass going slack.

"haechan." jisung's voice is soft, you can barely hear it from where you stand so close to the stage. you can tell that the crowd behind has no clue what's going on, but some fans are looking at each other confusedly, pointing at the two boys, and the position on mark's left where haechan usually stood, now empty.

"yes?" haechan's not looking at jisung, fingers running phantom chords up and down the fret board.

"w-why are you standing here?" jisung whispered, embarrassment evident in his tone. "aren't you supposed to be on mark's left?"

haechan's eyes briefly flick up to yours. "not today."

distressed, jisung makes a sound. "haechan." guilt fills up your lungs like smoke, making it difficult to breathe, a twist in your chest as jisung looks over at you, lost.

"run along, jisung," haechan murmurs, softly. "don't want to keep the fans waiting."

mark, not wanting to draw attention to them, keeps smiling at the crowd, starting to ask them a few questions. jisung only tries a few more times, haechan resolutely ignoring him, before finally accepting defeat, casting his eyes over to you — his gaze wounded and confused, as he walks off with his bass. he assumes haechan's position, and the crowd cheers encouragingly. the boy manages a smile.

when mark starts to introduce the first song, haechan finally looks up, a faint smile playing on his lips as his eyes lock with yours again. just like the day you met.

and just like the day you met, you felt yourself fall under his spell, yet again.

—

"haechan, i think we —" you gasp out, in between the kisses that haechan is pressing to your lips.

he gives a non-committal hum, his legs framing your body as he holds you close to his chest. his lips are warm and soft, tasting slightly of cherries, as he opens you up little by little, chaste kisses turning into open-mouthed ones, his tongue darting out and gently licking into your mouth in a way that was intoxicating.

you grip onto his arm harshly, trying to ground yourself, and he inhales sharply, breaking away.

"haechan –" you pant. "we should-"

but then he's kissing you again, smothering your words with his lips and his tongue. his hands rub at your lower back, guiding your movements as you shift against him, his hips grinding upwards almost lazily.

"jisung, –" you start, but now he gives a groan, rumbling through his chest almost like a roar. slumped back against the car door, he glares at you, touching the corner of his wet mouth with his thumb.

"you did not just fucking say my bandmates name while you're on me."

"we should apologize to jisung," your words come out in a rush.

"for?" he catches the look on your face, and rolls his eyes. "fine," he mumbles. "i'll talk to him." leaning up towards you, he starts to pepper kisses down your jaw, sucking a little harder on the mark he had left before. "kiss me?" he mumbles, and you have to stop yourself from caving in.

"haechan," you press on, as haechan licks boldly at your collarbone. "haechan –"

"keep saying my name," he murmurs, hands roaming up your shirt, teasing over the clasp of your bra.

"mark, —"

"fuck." breaking away agian, haechan tips his head back, lips stretched out and puffy as he tongued his cheek. "you want me jealous princess? is that it? because it's fucking working –"

"haechan, we keep hurting people." you place both hands on his chest, trying to calm him down.

"what?"

"today we hurt mark too. although, i don't really know why–" you break off, thinking about how he looked as he tried to follow after you and haechan. how jisung's cheeks burned red as he walked across the stage. "haechan, they're your friends."

"you wanna hurt jeno too?" he raises his eyebrows, his own hands now mindlessly scraping against yours. "you can lead him on, and then we can fuck while he watches. although he'll probably like that –"

again, he takes in the way you frown. "fine. sorry. jeez."

"i don't want to hurt people because of us," you say, softly.

"well," he exhales. "they're only hurt because they can't have you, princess." he tucks your hair behind your ear from where its come loose. "there's nothing we can do, hm?"

you shake your head. "you're not being fair," you whisper.

"how so?" his hands slide down. there's something possessive in the drag of his palms, the way he squeezes your waist.

"you don't call me yours…but you also don't let them near me." your voice is small, but it rings loud in the silence of the car all the same. the streets outside were empty and deserted, and you think you can hear your heart beating in the still air as your palms stay pressed on his firm chest. "haechan…i need you to choose."

it's a long time before haechan responds. he's tired from the show and all the adrenaline, you can feel it in his slow breathing, in the way his eyes blink slowly up at you like an afterthought. but his eyes are what give it away – his gaze is sharp and calculative as his eyes roam your body, his touches not quite as drowsy as he appears, fingers tingling against skin.

you wait, your heart in your throat. you wait and you hope.

his full lips part, his eyes meeting yours.

"so…this is our last time together?"

of course that's his choice. the disappointment spreads like cold, an ache deep in your bones. "if that's what you choose." your voice is flimsy. "haechan, —" but nothing leaves your mouth, just a wounded sound. everything rushing up inside you like a waves breaking over the shore, memories flooding your senses.

the hurt on mark's face. haechan's hands on your skin. the blush that burned at jisung's skin as he watched haechan pull you to his car, his figure growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. haechan's lips against your ear as he held you.

"shhh," his arms hold you against his chest, smoothing down your spine as he comforts you as if you were a baby, you clinging on tight to him as if he were going to disappear. "it's okay," he murmurs. "we'll just have to make it count, hm?" gently, he guides your face out of his chest, relieved when he realizes that you're not crying yet, at least. kissing your cheek gently, he brushes his thumb against the apples of your cheeks. "are you alright? do you want me to take you home?"

"s-stop it." you manage to steady your breathing enough to repeat yourself. "stop being gentle with me, haechan. stop leading me on."

"stop getting hurt," he replies, a little teasing, but his tone aches.

"kiss me?"

this time you do, letting him guide your movements, as he pulls you down into his body as if he were trying to pull you all the way through him.

his kisses are slow and sweet, tilting his head almost shyly, the tip of his nose bumping against yours as he leans up into you. his tongue carefully slides over your bottom lip, before he's nudging your lips apart with his own again, tongue gently moving over yours, pulling away with a small smile when you chase after him, tongue stuck out slightly, chasing the warmth of his mouth.

"cute," he mumbles, and you pull your shirt up over your head just so he won't see the way your cheeks burn in the dark.

his movements become a little more urgent as he unclasps your bra, letting it slide to the floor of his car as he surges towards you. his lips begin to suck marks onto your chest, hands now squeezing your soft breasts, mapping your body indulgently. his tongue licks slowly around your right nipple, before giving it a gentle flick with his tongue, your body shifting restlessly against him as it sends a wave of arousal down to your core. he hugs you against him to steady your movements, lapping at your nipples and guiding each roll of your hips down into his.

your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him away from you. before you can tell him to stop teasing, he's kissed you again — placating. sweet like he knew everything you were about to say, before you even said it.

you raise your hips as his hands smooth over the pleats of your skirt, before flipping the soft material upwards. you hadn't worn anything special, not having the courage to, but the way he looked at your simple white panties, thumb running carefully over the pink bow in the middle of the waistband, made you feel warm all over. you hurry to pull them off, just to break the moment, but he catches them right before you tug them off your ankle.

"can i keep these?" his doe-eyes blink up at you. you can see the brown in his irises, almost gold in the light. you nod, and he lets out a laugh, kissing you through his smile as his fingers wander up your thighs.

he starts with slow circles on your clit, stroking the nub gently, feeling the way your hips shift at the feeling. when he speeds up his motions, fingers teasing along your slit and catching at your entrance a few times, your hips begin to pick up a steady rhythm, rocking into his hand.

"do you just want to cum like this?" he asks kindly, placing a bit more pressure on the tips of his fingers. he wants to be inside you badly, his erection almost painful from the lack of contact, but he knew that it might do more for him than it did for you.

this was how he wanted you to be taken care of for your first time, for your second time — this is why he didn't want you to slip away from him into rooms with men who wouldn't know what you needed, wouldn't care what you wanted.

or at least — it's what he tells himself to keep him sane.

"'m close," you mumble, your movements uncoordinated, neediness driving your hips into his hand, pleasure that you didn't quite know how to handle. "feels so empty, haechan, please –"

he slows down his movements, a hand sliding over your waist to rub at your lower back, eliciting a warm sound from you that radiates into his chest. he slides a finger into your tight entrance, feeling the way you tense around him, slowly slipping the finger in and out, curling against your walls carefully. his thumb comes up to press your clit, and you inhale sharply as the pressure in your abdomen builds.

"more…"

"baby, you're doing so well," he praises. freckling careful kisses on your neck to distract you, you feel another finger catch against your entrance, his hand breaking its rhythm to carefully slide in, stretching your hole out even more. with a lewd suck on the base of your neck, he curls both fingers against your walls, a slick finger slipping on your clit, and you feel yourself crash headfirst into your high, thighs clamping around his hand in sensitivity as you moan. he murmurs praises against your ear, kissing your jaw sweetly between each one.

he removes his hand from your core with a wet sound, and you drop down into his lap, feeling weak at the knees even though you weren't standing. he lets out a groan, feeling your wetness and warmth through his jeans, and he can feel his cock twitch under the fabric. but still, he waits until your breathing evens out, using his cleaner hand to stroke at your sides, humming lightly under his breath, the reassuring sound filling the car. his breaths sync with yours as you come down from your high, and together you let out a shaky exhale.

"do you mind?" he asks, quietly, hands going to his belt slowly, trying not to startle you. "we don't have to have sex. i just really need to take care of this now…" you nod, flustered, crawling backwards down his legs, and he leans forward to kiss the crown of your hair. against the soft sounds of your breathing, the sound of him unbuckling his belt, letting it drop into the shadows, and the rustle of fabric as he tugged his jeans and underwear down as much as he could, were endlessly arousing. you felt yourself begin to pulse with need again, your thighs squeezing together when he pulls out his cock, thick and heavy against his palm, the tip blushy and leaking.

he gives himself a tentative stroke, spreading pre-cum over his length before squeezing the base and hissing at the feeling as he tries to stop from cumming too soon. as if in a trance, you reach out towards him, your hand curiously wrapping around his shaft. he groans, low, as you give him a tentative stroke, although the sound is cut off by a high whimper when your fingers rub the head of his cock, silky under your fingertips.

"baby, you don't have to –" he's cut off by another moan as you squeeze his length, applying more pressure as you stroke. "fuck, jus' like that," he mumbles, weakly, as you twist your wrist a little on a downstroke, palm slippery with pre-cum. after a few more strokes, watching haechan's head loll this way and that, twisting with pleasure, you pay more attention to his tip, thumbing just under it, fingers rubbing his slit. haechan's hips are restless, thrusting into your hand, his body shaking and the muscles on his abdomen clenched tight. you give him a few more strokes, and his whines fill up the car, raspy and sinful in a way that made you crave him even more.

mimicking his movements, you slide your hand back down to his base and squeeze. he blinks hazily up at you, lips still parted, panting breathlessly.

"baby…"

"i need you," your voice feels broken, desire pulsing through each syllable. "please haechan," you add, as he swallows harshly, his cock twitching slightly against the warmth of your hand.

pulling you towards him, he kisses you again, fingers wandering down to your heat and stroking your folds. "so wet from touching me, baby?" he teases, smiling against your lips as he slips a finger in, and then another, your walls sucking him in easily. he finds your soft spot immediately, your thighs shaking around his hand as you whine. it's a sound embarrassing to your own ears, but it's like music to haechan's ears, as he lets out a low groan.

"it's too bad it's your last time with me," he murmurs, lightly, as he takes a condom out from the glove compartment, his hands moving swiftly as he tears open the package and rolls it onto his cock. "i would love to record your pretty sounds…" your voice lets out another small whimper, as if proving him right, as he adjusts you on his lap so the head of his cock lines up with your entrance. slowly, you sink down on him, clutching onto his body for support as you feel him fill you up tightly.

"breathe," he coaxes, letting his own head sink back against the seats, the hazy feeling of you wet and warm around him intensifying as you take all of him inside you. he continues on, trying to distract you by peppering gentle kisses all over your cheeks. "would you like to hear your voice in a song, sweetheart? all the girls in the crowd wondering who's pretty voice is on the track, wondering who's making her feel this good…" he hisses, when he feels you pulse around him. "you want that?"

your lips part, stuttering out jumbles of half-sentences, yes-es and nos. "'m just teasing, baby," he coos, as he thrusts his hips upwards experimentally, bouncing you on his lap. you lean into his body, feeling muscle firm under your palms as you raise your hips and grind against him, sensitivity making your thighs shake as the movement stimulates your clit.

responding to your need, his arm loops around your waist while his fingers wander towards your clit, stroking and rubbing it expertly as he continues to thrust up into you, the car jolting with his movements. his strong thighs tense as he moves, barely pulling out before stuffing himself into you again, your walls kneading his length in a way that makes his body feel hot with need, chasing his climax. your soft sounds each time his tip grazes your soft spot are an aphrodisiac, and he feels himself growing impossibly harder inside you, so aroused it almost hurts.

"haechan, i'm cumming," you moan, and his fingers put more pressure on your clit, as you bounce on him, eager for release.

"keep saying my name," he breathes, pulling you close, your bodies moving frantic and unsteady against each other, as you cum, mouthing his name against his skin. he empties himself into the condom soon after, hips still jolting as he helps you ride out the aftershocks of your climax, your breaths echoing loud in the car.

you almost wanted to ask for round 2 — and you were sure he would give it to you, if you had asked. instead you stay silent, feeling emptier than ever as he pulls out, your body draining of his warmth as he cleans you with wipes from his glove compartment, kissing you sweetly whenever your eyes met. the water bottle he procured from the passenger seat of the car making you wonder if this was his plan all along, as you sipped quietly, as he put your address in his phone to take you home.

—

you can feel him slip away from you on the drive back.

a sea of red and green lights move across the planes of his face as you watch him drive, one hand on the wheel and the other touching your hand softly on the centre console. you give his fingers a faint squeeze and he smiles, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a light kiss to your fingertips.

when you reach the next intersection, he pulls his hand from yours and puts it back on the steering wheel.

when he makes his next turn, his shoulders start to tense and the easy, relaxed expression on his face morphs into a stony one.

and when he finally pulls up in front of your apartment building, turning to face you, the glowing streetlights illuminating the outlines of his face do nothing to soften the blow of seeing him like this again — looking at you with half-lidded eyes, almost lazy in his power.

"are you coming to the next show?"

"i want to," you respond, your voice small. "...should i?"

"it doesn't really matter to me." his fingers tap against the wheel, restlessly. "i just hope you know you shouldn't wait around afterwards."

you bite your lip. "i know."

he nods. "so you know this is over?"

"i know."

"good girl." it feels like a punch to the stomach, and you inhale, sharply, hands gripping the handle of the car door. waiting for him to dismiss you, as he always did.

but then he's speaking again, breaking the silence. his voice is softer, a little more hesitant – "do you need me to walk you up?" he's not looking at you, eyes trained on his dashboard. "will you be okay?"

it's cruel, the way your heart stutters in your chest. you take one last look at him, trying to memorize everything — the sharp line of his jaw, his collarbones, the joints of his fingers, the way his pinky finger crooks slightly to the right. the faint smell of vanilla and something darker, mixed with his warmth. you try to memorize it because you're sure this is the last time you'll be so close to him again, both in proximity, and in the way his voice aches with something close to tenderness. in that moment, you know if you told him you needed him, he would turn off the engine and open your car door, holding you safe against his chest and walking you up to your apartment. but what for? for him to shut off on the way up the elevator, and turn into a stranger at your door?

"it's fine," you murmur, and you don't wait for a response before stepping out into the warm night.

—

your ribs press against the barrier, and you wince slightly. the crowd screams loud in your ear, as the boy in front of you looks up from his guitar at the crowd in front of him, dark gaze sliding over faces, tongue poking at his cheek and puffy lips stretched.

his eyes briefly meet yours, and your heart skips a beat.

and then he's looking back down at his guitar again, lips pursed in concentration.

the next time he glances up, the familiar glint is back, eyebrows drawn together. there was something strange about the way he was looking at you, not exactly meeting your eyes. was he looking at your clothes? your hair? or…

"oh my god!"

you shoot a brief glance back, at the girl who's just let out a squeal. she claps her hands over her mouth, eyes shining as she stares adoringly at haechan, unblinking. you don't have to check to know he's staring right back — you know the look on her face a little too well.

the disappointment and jealousy weighing on your chest is entirely unjustified, but you feel it heavy in your bones, anyway.

he had meant every word: it was truly over.

–

"did anyone see you?"

"no," you whimper, as he mouths over the seat of your panties, tongue lapping at your folds through the fabric.

"good girl," he pants, letting out a satisfied groan when he tugs them down your legs, burying his face in between your legs with a lewd moan.

but if it was truly over, why did he find you after the show last week, – slipping by you to tell you to meet him in the upstairs master bedroom, where he fingered you open in front of the mirror?

if it was truly over, why did a stagehand stop you from leaving after the next show you went to, passing you a note that told you to wait at the back entrance of the venue?

"fuck fuck fuck-"

and if it was truly over, why was he currently in between your spread legs, his mouth and chin covered with your juices as you lay on his bed?

"need you now, princess." his fingers brush your clit, and your thighs shake with overstimulation. "are you okay? i can wait-"

"don't wait," you plead, pulling him towards you. he follows, propping himself up on his arms as his face reaches yours, his lips gently nudging your own apart, letting you taste yourself on his tongue when he kisses you. his sticky hands stroke your sides, leaving trails on your skin. "haechan –"

he interrupts you with another kiss. freckling more kisses down your neck, he smiles against the mark he left days ago, fading slightly now. "i missed this," he murmurs, and your heart stings, a collection of memories surfacing in your mind – of his eyes avoiding yours at shows. of him waiting onstage for someone else. of him smiling at you cordially, face blank as if he were greeting you for the first time when he talked to you in front of other fans.

"did you really?"

he doesn't respond, latching his lips to your skin with a hum, hands cupping your breasts in one swift motion, fingers teasing over your nipples and making your body arch into his touch.

"haechan…"

"what do you want, princess?" he wanders lower, licking at your cleavage. your mind threatens to blank when he circles a fingertip around your areola, puffy wet lips closing around a nipple and sucking wetly. "hm?"

"want you to fuck me…" your voice is shaky, but you press on. "like how you were gonna fuck that girl."

his hands still for just a brief second. you can see your words hit him, understanding and lust flickering in his responding laugh. he focuses his eyes back on your face, hands now coming up to brush your lips, caressing your cheek, smoothing over your skin almost lovingly.

this is how he was going to fuck her?

"open up," he murmurs, fingers pressed to your bottom lip. as if stuck in a trance, your lips part.

a wet mess of saliva, still mixed with traces of your arousal, drips down from his tongue into your mouth, connecting your lips with his in a glossy sheen. his lips tug into a smile as he sees your blown-out pupils, arousal completely overriding his every thought.

his fingers trace your jaw. "swallow," he commands, sweetly, and as always you do exactly as he says.

you feel something shift against your upper thigh, your hips rising on instinct to buck against his hard length, still trapped behind his ripped jeans.

his low groan is interrupted by a sharp rattling of the doorknob, followed by a thud against the door. both of you still, eyes focused on the locked door, straining your ears to hear the voices outside.

"are you sure no one saw you?" haechan asks, quietly. "did jisung see you? mark? jeno?"

"i don't think so," you mumble.

that was the arrangement you had come up with a little over a week ago, discussed in heated kisses and bliss-induced haze. you could keep seeing haechan, as long as you never saw the rest of the band again. on nights when he knew he wanted you, you would slip through crowds like a ghost to make your way into warm beds and cold bathrooms, saving him from the jealousy, and saving you from the questions.

of course, there were a few nights where no message would find you, where he wouldn't grab your wrist as you brushed past him in a hallway, his hands distracted with someone else. those nights used to make you cry, your entire being aching for his attention, his indifference just as bruising as his care.

the doorknob rattles again, and there's a knock on the door.

"haechan? are you in there?"

mark's voice.

"they're back early from the party," haechan mumbled. to your shock, he ignores them and tugs off his shirt roughly, revealing delicate tanned skin dotted with moles, looking soft-to-touch.

"haechan," mark's voice is exasperated. "i thought we agreed not to bring girls to our apartment."

haechan rolls his eyes as his hands go to his belt, ridding himself of his pants and underwear. you can see the muscles in his thighs tense as he makes his way up the bed, hands holding your hips.

"you wanted me to fuck you like the other girls?" he murmurs, low so only you can hear. "well. on your knees."

"but mark is –" you break off, seeing the way his eyes narrow, something dangerous flickering in his pupils. "but…but they're outside," you whisper. as if to prove your point, mark bangs on the door again.

and then jisung's voice, low and urgent comes through the door. "who is he even with? the girl he left the show with was alone when i saw her."

"god, are they all outside the door?" haechan grumbles, focusing his attention back on you when you let out a small sound of distress. "forget about them," he soothes, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. his mouth moves over yours searingly, possessive and all-consuming in the way he pushes his tongue into your mouth. "on your knees," he commands, quietly, against your mouth. "i won't ask again."

a thrill runs down your spine as you flip over, his large hands adjusting you so your back arches, head pressed into the pillows as he holds your hips up. he presses a kiss to your back as he reaches off the bed for a condom, rolling it onto his hard length with a soft groan. you look over your shoulder, see him stroking himself, mouth hanging open.

"hurry," you plead. you can feel slick on your thighs from the way he ate you out earlier, growing wetter from anticipation. "please."

he ignores you. "can you be quiet for me?" he mumbles. outside, you can hear the boys discussing something heatedly, voices low so you can't make out the words. "don't want anyone else to hear you."

"yes," you promise, meekly.

"good girl." he lines himself up to your entrance, reaching around to rub your clit as he runs the tip of his cock against your folds. you let out a shaky breath at the feeling, trying hard not to let it catch your vocal cords.

one hand on your hip and the other stroking your lower back, he pushes in slowly, letting you adjust to his girth. you feel a sting as he stretches your walls, filling you up deeply while burying himself inside you. he murmurs for you to relax, listening to you take shallow breaths, the way your hole flutters around his length making him want to thrust forward, relieve his own ache.

"haechan, are you asleep?"

there's a sharp rap on the door, and haechan curses as it makes you tighten around him, gummy walls gripping him like a vice, as if begging for his cum.

"you liked that, baby?" his voice is low, and mocking. you whimper. "you like the idea of them coming in and seeing you like this? letting me take you like a slut?"

"haechan, we know you're in there." now it's jeno's rough voice, devoid of its usual warmth. "we saw the shoes at the door. we need to talk."

haechan pulls out until only his tip is still inside you, and slams back in aggressively, filling you to the brim. he starts to build a rhythm, thrusting deep and slow inside you, letting you feel the drag of him against your walls as he strokes your clit with his fingers. he was taking his time with you — pausing to lean forward and press kisses to your shoulders, mouthing messily over your skin.

"haechan, please -" you try to keep your voice quiet, but he chooses this time to fuck you a little harder, picking up the pace, and your mouth hangs open as your aborted whimpers turn into drawn out moans.

"hm?" he prompts, faking nonchalance. but you can feel that the pace is affecting him too, his breathing growing heavier as he speeds up a little more.

"harder," you mumble, words feeling thick and slow in your mouth. "faster. fuck,"

a bang on the door. the loud sound makes you jolt, and haechan hisses as you clench down on him harshly again, your thighs inching closer together, creating a tighter fit around his thick cock.

"i wonder why they're not coming in yet." his voice in your ear is low, sultry. the kind he uses on-stage when he's teasing the crowd.

"i-isn't the door l-locked?"

"sure…but it's a really old lock. i know mark could open it if he really wanted to. he's done it before when i'm late for rehearsals, ah fuck-" he's slamming himself into you, barely pulling out before pushing in again, wet sounds filling the room. "fuck, you must really like that. how do you just keep getting tighter and tighter, hm?"

"haech–"

"maybe i'll ask them to come in…" he muses, his tone sickly sweet. "i just know you'll cum hard on my cock when they open the door, right? let them see how filthy you are?"

"don't –", you choke.

"should i tell them not to come in?"

"no," you gasp, and he laughs, darkly.

"no, i should tell them to come in?" he asks between breathless pants, pace unrelenting as the lewd sound of skin against skin fills the room. "you want me to talk to them baby?"

you let out an incoherent mumble, no longer sure of anything.

he coos at that. "dumb already, princess?" his hand wanders up to your chest, blunt nails haphazardly scraping across your nipples. your hips push back onto him instinctively, fucking yourself onto his length, your hips chasing pleasure from the sensitivity as you cum.

"haechan, i'm not leaving until you open the door." another thud, as mark sits down.

"fuck…" haechan's only half listening to mark as he throws his head back, murmuring curses as he feels you clench around him, milking his cock. it takes all the self control he has to place his hands on your waist, stilling your movements as he pulls out of you. he's so hard that it hurts, and he knows his release is close, but he still shifts your body until you're lying on your back, and he can see your tear-streaked face, drool smeared all over your chin.

you mouth his name soundlessly, fresh waves of tears gathering on your waterline as you see him move away from you, and you try to sit up to keep him in your line of sight.

"haechan, –"

"i'm here," he murmurs, one hand immediately finding yours and squeezing, the other grappling for the water bottle on the bedside table. he unscrews the cap with one hand as he moves towards you, helping you prop yourself up against the headboard. "drink."

he holds the bottle up to your lips, but you shake your head. "want you," you whisper, even though your mouth feels warm and sticky, your throat dry from moaning. you can't focus on anything except for the emptiness inside you, your clit throbbing whenever you shift your thighs together slightly. you're focused on his hard length, the slope of his shoulders down to his slender waist. you shake your head again, knocking the bottle against your lips and spilling a little bit of the water onto the sheets.

"don't be a brat." his voice is low, a dangerous sort of patience in his tone. "drink, or i won't give you what you want."

you swallow, his voice washing over you, pulling you under. this time when he raises the bottle to your lips, you hold it with shaky hands, letting water trickle down your throat. his own hand comes up, touching two fingers to your neck gently, making sure you were drinking instead of pretending by feeling for the movement of your throat.

"done?" he watches you lick your parted lips, dewy with water and saliva, and takes the bottle from you, placing it back on the stand. "do you want to keep going?"

you nod, slowly.

"use your words," he commands, quietly.

"please don't stop," you plead, shuffling towards him. it feels like the fog has cleared slightly in your head, the water making the heat haze dissipate. vaguely, you're sure that mark, jisung, and jeno must know what you were doing – must have heard the headboard thumping against the wall, haechan's low groans and your breathless whimpers.

you wonder what mark is thinking now, outside, not leaving and yet not breaking in like haechan said he could. it sends a wave of arousal down to your core, some part of you wanting him to see the way you break for haechan, completely and wholly his. your way of rejecting him without having to see his face – your way of explaining why you ignored him whenever he caught your eyes during shows and after-parties.

haechan reads you easily, observing the way your eyes flicker to the door. he's torn between opening the door himself — letting mark see you on his bed, fucked stupid by him, or stepping outside and telling mark to leave because no one should see or hear you like this but him.

"do you want me to tell mark to leave?"

"n-no," you hesitate. "don't."

he raises his eyebrows. "why?"

"w-want him to know that i'm yours," you mumble, a hand wrapping around his thigh and squeezing.

haechan's eyes darken. “mine?” he echoes, quietly, almost gently.

you're so focused on the shift in his features – the set of his jaw, the way he tenses, that you barely notice he's sliding off the bed and picking you up effortlessly so that you cling to his upper body, legs gripping his waist. his lip curls into a smile, head tilted mockingly as he starts to walk, strong arms holding you up.

your back hits solid wood, and you gasp.

"haechan?" mark's voice is crystal clear on the other side of the door.

haechan adjusts his grip, pushing you against the door as he slides his tip along your dripping cunt, making you squirm in his hold.

"be good, hm?" he whispers, as he pushes into you, eyes squeezing shut and jaw dropping open at the feeling of your walls sucking him back in, pulsing along his length and making his cock throb. when he opens his eyes again, his gaze is unfocused, hazy, and you can see that this situation is heightening his arousal, causing his thrusts to be sloppy and unfocused as he chases his own high. each time he pushes into you, the weight of his hips snapping against yours pushes against the door, and you hear it jolt a little, the lock jiggling.

mark's shouted expletive rings against your ears, mirrored by haechan's own as he captures your lips in a kiss. the feeling is familiar and new at the same time, his tongue sliding languidly over yours, swiping against your bottom lip. at the sight of your parted mouth and wet lips, he moans again, and without hesitating he spits into your waiting mouth, sloppy and messy, causing it to dribble past your lips and down your chin.

the rhythm against the door is unmistakable, and you can hear footsteps as mark runs off. haechan laughs, a pleased hum in his chest that vibrates against your own as he leans into you, and he mouths down your neck, biting at your shoulder and letting his low groan scrape against his throat as a growl. you cum when your stiff nipples brush against his chest, the tiny bit of stimulation just enough to throw you over the edge into your orgasm, your thighs clenching around him as you sob, your core aching.

the feeling of your walls rippling around his length is too much to bear, and he barely lets you ride out your orgasm on him before he's pulling out of you and carrying you back to his bed. haechan tugs off the condom urgently as you lie there, tired and spent, watching as he strokes his length, fast, eyes fluttering open and shut with lust, his hips thrusting forward uncontrollably. his thumb ghosts just under the head of his cock, and then he's cumming all over your stomach and chest, sticky white spurts pooling on your skin.

you watch him out of half-lidded eyes as his breathing slows, collapsing next to you in a heap. the high from the sex hasn't faded yet – the consequences of being heard by all his bandmates hasn't hit you, as you bask in the temporary glow of being his.

a finger traces along the cum on your stomach, haechan transfixed by the sight. curious, your hands grab for the small mirror on his bedside table, and he comes out of his daze, handing it to you wordlessly.

in the moonlight, the marks he's made on your skin blur with the shadows. no part of you looks untouched — your tear-streaked face and kiss-swollen lips, bruises on your hips and the sting of the bite mark on your shoulder. your hands tremble a little as you focus the mirror on where his fingers play with his drying cum on your skin, tracing lines and curves.

"'m yours," you mumble out.

"yeah?" he chokes. "mine?"

dazedly, you point to your neck. "yours."

he groans, just watching you, eyes roving over your body. "you're beautiful," he whispers. you think he means it.

"more." your voice is quiet.

"no more, baby," he murmurs, looking up at you with concern. "it's too much for you."

you shake your head. "these could be from anyone," you point at the marks on your neck. his body tenses, hands stiff on your skin. "i want to be yours."

slowly, your words settle over him. he looks at you with an unreadable expression, the kind you see right before he strikes his first chord, the moment his eyes find yours in the crowd. a dark sort of determination, in the way his holds your gaze.

he reaches over, and opens a drawer. you can hear the sound of things knocking around inside as he roots his hand around, finally emerging with an eyeliner pen. through the mirror, you can see his hands splayed out over the space just under your breasts, pulling the skin over your ribcage taut. his tongue pokes out into the lower corner of his mouth as he places the tip of the pen to your skin.

he loops once. skids the pen downwards. jerks it up harshly, ending off with jagged motions, each brush trailing ink on your skin.

when he's done he leans backwards, raising his eyebrows, asking you wordlessly if this was finally enough. his signature on your body, next to the bruises and marks and last remnants of his cum on your skin.

—

"haechan?"

he doesn't respond, but a part of you expects it already – you've memorized the way he leaves.

"why didn't you fuck that girl tonight?"

he takes his time, taking a long sip from his bottle of wine. from where you lie on the bed, you can just see the broad frame of his back, his side profile as he looks out of the window and at the moon, bright in the sky, the milky glow illuminating his skin. without his makeup, he looked like just a boy – pretty features almost dainty on his face. it's his hands which break the facade, calloused and rough, with veins that make your head spin when you think about them for too long, holding the bottle up to his lips.

"didn't feel like it."

you think about his answer, blinking slowly from the sleepiness. "why did you fuck me?"

he faces forward, away from you. "felt like it."

"why?"

"i'm beginning to question that too," he replies, bluntly.

hurt aches in your bones, as silence rings loud in your ears. "if you don't want me here i can just go," you say, softly, and you're sure your voice sounds as wounded as you feel. "you've cleaned me up. i can leave if you want."

you can see him stiffen, his shoulders tensing up.

"where's jaemin?"

of course. sitting up, you wince at the ache between your legs. "he's probably asleep," you answer, bitterly. "but i can just call a cab –"

his back muscles tense, and then he's shifting from where he sits on the edge of the bed. sliding into the space next to you, he rests back against the headboard, legs stretched out over the sheets. a hand wraps around yours.

"ask me easier questions," he mumbles, turning your palm over so he can lace your fingers together, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

your breath stutters.

"what did you talk about? with the band?"

after cleaning you up and tucking you into bed, haechan had finally stalked out of the bedroom to talk to mark, jisung and jeno. he hadn't said a thing when he returned, holding a bottle of wine, placing it on the bedside table before stepping into the bathroom wordlessly to remove his makeup.

haechan blinks down slowly at your intertwined hands. "they asked me what was going on."

"what?"

"i've been losing focus," he mumbles. "during shows and during rehearsal. and jeno noticed i kept ditching girls at parties, said it wasn't like me to not be fucking around at all."

a beat.

you bite your lip. "you're…you're losing focus?"

but he just shakes his head. "they're wrong."

you can see that the topic is upsetting him, so you rush to ask another question. "do you write any of the songs that the band play?"

he raises his eyebrows. "so you care so much about the band now? does that mean you're a fan?"

he ignores your mumbled excuse, squeezing your hand again to let you know he was teasing. "mark usually writes the songs," he answers. "i don't have much to write about." and then, with a little more force, "ask me questions about me, not the band."

"what does this tattoo mean?" you place the tip of your finger just below his ribcage, where there's a small doodle of a bear paw.

"people say i look like a bear," he mumbles, a little shy. even in the moonlight, his pouty lips and round cheeks are evident, his shoulders broad as he slumps against the headboard.

"i see it," you confirm, and a smile flickers on his face.

"yeah?" he looks over at you, and his free arm loops around your shoulder, squeezing you into his side. his affection buzzes in your veins, as you try to divert his attention with another question.

"and what does this tattoo mean?" your other hand comes up again, now to trace at the sunflower peeking out from the base of his neck, trailing down to his shoulder.

he takes a deep breath. "my sister picked it."

"sister?"

"baby sister," he adds, softly. "she just turned six. this is her favorite flower."

"oh."

"why?" he tilts his head, bumping your own gently. "do i not seem like an older brother?"

"i think…" you hum, contemplating. "not when you're onstage," you decide.

"do you think i'm different? from when i'm onstage?"

"i don't know you enough to judge," you say, truthfully. aside from the sex, and from the brief moments right after when it felt like he was truly there, holding you, the haechan you knew was mostly the one flooded with stage lights, the kind of boy you had to beg to earn his attention.

haechan goes quiet, his hand on yours stilling, and you turn to look at him. tension is filling up the room, slow and thick like a fog, and you can't breathe against the weight of everything — the weight of his gaze, the almost boyish way his eyes flick down to your lips and back up to meet yours.

"do you want to?"

you bite your lip.

maybe two weeks ago your heart would have leapt, maybe you would have begged for the opportunity to have him closer.

but your body has already had time to learn disappointment, to defend yourself against his callousness and his cold, learning the art of slipping in and out of intimacies. every line crossed, every boundary blurred.

"do i want to?" you echo, and you see him falter.

maybe his own words held more weight than he'd anticipated.

"you don't?"

or maybe he was just scared to hear your answer.

"will you let me?" you reflect the question back to him. his fingers twitch against your shoulder where he's still holding you.

there were some nights where it felt as if he was taking his adrenaline out on your body, or where he was making you forget the fear of being caught by overriding your senses with pleasure. there were others when you fell so deep into a headspace, that he would care for you gently, something romantic and tender in the negative space between your bodies.

and ultimately all of these nights ended the same – the same curl of his lip, his face closed-off, his voice too steady and unfeeling.

"how would you let me know you?" it's only when he flinches when you catch the harshness to your tone, your own words leaving a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. "by barely letting things slip every night?"

"y/n…" it's not meant as a warning. your name is spoken softly, with an ache in it that makes goosebumps rise up your arms. "i thought you were fine."

"i am," you insist, feeling defensive. "i'm fine with you pretending you don't know me, or when you disappear on the drive home."

"y/n, –"

"just…don't say things if you don't mean them," you finish, mumbling your words to mute the hurt in them.

there's a long silence.

and then, his voice, so delicate and fragile, like he was afraid his words would bruise the space between him and you.

"we're playing at a bar this friday."

you make a sound of confusion, and he continues on. "it's only for a few fans who won some sort of a lucky draw. they get to talk to us and get autographs."

"i didn't enter," you cut in, but still he continues on, as if he was trying to get the words out before he lost his nerve.

"i'm inviting you now. and….and afterwards i'll leave with you and we can go to my place." he swallows. "my real apartment. not this one i share with the band." he lets out a shaky breath. "i don't… i don't usually bring girls there, if you can't tell."

"but…" the wheels in your head are turning slowly, as you try to catch up with what he's saying. "but if i'm there… and it's such a small crowd…the band is going to see that i'm there.

"they will," he confirms quietly.

"they're going to know you invited me. because i'm not a fan."

his lips twitch. "but you like me, no?"

"i do," you concede, absentmindedly. "but i thought you said…the band…"

"i don't think i really care about that anymore." his thumb dips low, brushing over the space under your ribs where his name is temporarily tattooed against your skin. "i…" he hesitates, before his thumb swipes against your skin again, and he takes a deep breath. "i told them about you. just now."

you feel like you're falling – a sense of vertigo making your head spin.

"what did you say?"

"just that…there was a you," he finished, lamely. "that we see each other more, but it's nothing." his hand squeezes yours, a gentle pulse. "nothing yet, anyway."

"i'll take it," you murmur, holding his hand clasped in both of yours and kissing him lightly on his fingertips. his face crumples, his chest caving in on itself with the weight of the tenderness he feels for you in that moment, and he leans in, tilting his head, eyes fluttering closed.

he kisses you like it's a promise, close-lipped and earnest. it feels almost like the two of you are finally on even ground.

—

"what are you trying to do?"

you jump, as the light in the small kitchenette flicks on. dirty dishes pile up in the sink, mugs scattered over the countertop, and the boy leaning against the fridge focuses his gaze on you. his voice is gentle, a mellow sort of sweetness undercut by the deepness of his voice. not in the way jisung's was deep, but a bass to it that gave it authority, one that the boy seldom had to use.

"what do you mean?"

jeno tilts his head. "y/n, do you know why haechan likes to fuck girls after his shows?"

the sweetness on your tongue from haechan's kiss decays into bitterness.

jeno doesn't seem to care. "he gets high off the feeling of the crowd. it's something he doesn't want to let go of, so he finds someone who adores him and makes them prove it." his eyes bore into yours, unblinking. "he doesn't care who he's with, y/n. he just likes the way they sound, screaming his name."

"but why doesn't-" you choke. it feels almost like you're betraying him. "why doesn't he date?"

jeno raises his eyebrows, and you feel pathetic. it’s a long time before he finally answers.

"all the girls are only after the version of him onstage. it's him they like, and haechan's just extending the performance. would you want to date someone who only liked one side of you?"

"but i don't just like that side of haechan," you protest, weakly. even then, you don't know what other sides you're alluding to — was it his gentleness with you? how he always held you after? the one who let his baby sister pick his tattoos?

"y/n?"

a soft voice sounds out from the corridor leading off into the bedrooms. sleep-ridden syllables mumbling out into the still air, calling your name.

"where are you? is everything okay?"

jeno's looking at you with someone like pity in his eyes, the way your body turns towards his voice like an instinct. "haechan isn't even his real name, did you know that?"

he crosses over to you, and places his mug into the sink behind your back. "try not to get too loud," he murmurs. "we're all tired."

and as haechan pulls you into his warm embrace, palms wandering over your skin, you bite your tongue and keep as quiet as possible.

—

haechan's head snaps up as he sees the door swing open again and more girls wander into the bar. there are excited squeals and shouts as they spot the band, he can hear mark's warm laugh and see jisung's wave out of his peripheral vision. behind him, jeno's methodically checking on his drum kit, and haechan can feel his eyes on the back of his neck, as if he knew.

his eyes scan the crowd again, praying he was wrong. but deep down he knows he would recognise your voice anywhere, be able to spot your features even in total darkness.

and right now, you weren't there at all.

his body goes on autopilot, muscle memory kicking in as he plays the chords, does his solos, nods along to the music. the crowd is frenetic, watching the way his eyebrows are drawn together, tonguing at his cheek, his lips downturned — the anger tense in his body making them whisper to themselves, wondering why this was part of his performance today. he keeps his expression slack as he signs autographs, nodding curtly towards fans as they bid him goodbye timidly, intimidated by his stormy gaze.

he doesn't understand why it makes his insides twist, each time he searches the crowd and darts his eyes back to his guitar. maybe he'd just gotten used to seeing you front row at his shows. maybe that was all this was — and you were a bad habit he should have broken.

it's what he tells himself as he lets his hands brush against the girl's as she holds her poster out to him, smiling a close-lipped smile, eyes dragging up and down his body excitedly. he lets her think it's a part of the performance, as he rails her in the bathroom of the bar, his eyes squeezed shut as she moans his name into the sink, trying to ignore the way her body didn't react at all like yours did, that his hands couldn't find purchase on her skin at all, and her voice made him want to crawl out of his skin.

you were a bad habit he should break — at least that's what he tells himself to keep him sane.

-> part 2 here!

taglist: @neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @simpforarmihn @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @smwhrinthehaze (sorry there were q a few i couldn't tag!)

#haechan smut #haechan angst #haechan au #haechan x reader #nct dream smut #nct dream angst #nct smut #nct angst #haechan scenario #nct 127 smut #nct 127 angst #fic: rockstar haechan #donghyuck smut

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ace-turned-confused · 2 months

Text

spin me around | joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist | read on ao3

summary: you find a vintage record store full of rare finds, the man behind the counter the rarest of them all word count: 2,4k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied & wears a dress, way too much music talk, food & alcohol consumption, pet names, touching in public, dirty talk a/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! i saw record store on your wheel and ran away with it - this is highly self-indulgent with the music references (like woah) but what better place for it than secret springs :) not beta'd, keep slaying

The stair treads creak as you head up to the second floor, blank CDs are fastened to the risers and old warped vinyl hangs from the ceiling. A faint melody floats down the stairwell that you don’t recognise, the instrumentals rising in a crescendo as you climb, the varnished railing worn and knotted.

You’d found this place online on your quest for a bargain, the secondhand vintage vinyl shop is situated on a fashionable street at the top of town with picturesque mountain views. After stalking their social media pages, you decided you’d just come and see it for yourself. Having mentally prepared yourself for parallel parking, it was unusually stress-free for a Saturday morning, the sun just beginning to warm the air.

Reaching the landing and glancing around, the room is essentially wallpapered with band posters, crates and crates of records are alphabetically organised, and a gallery of LPs sits on shelves behind the counter. A few customers are rifling through the various collections, one man perched on a barstool with headphones wired into a cassette player. The space is light and vibrant, it feels like a sacred haven.

What really catches your eye is the man behind the counter — unruly silver-streaked hair, trimmed moustache and greying beard, unreasonably broad shoulders that fill out his faded thin t-shirt.

“Mornin’!” He looks up as you round the bannister and flashes you a winning smile, his brown eyes sparkling in the light filtering through the windows. “Anythin’ in particular you lookin’ for?”

You greet him shyly as you enter the room, “Just came to look around, thanks.”

“No problem.” He turns back to his newspaper and you can’t help but stare, stuck in place as you think you’ve found far more than you could’ve imagined.

The sheer number of records fitted into the quaint shop is amazing, with some dividers spilling over into two or three boxes. Flipping through the S category, you find Sade, Stealers Wheel, Steppenwolf, Stevie Nicks, and countless others — a never-ending supply of artists and albums, some popular and some obscure.

Your eyes go wide at seeing Pretzel Logic, a favourite album by a favourite band. You’ve considered for weeks whether or not to just buy the damn thing online at full price, but you never did. Now you see why, some sort of divine intervention leading you here to snatch it up at a fraction of the cost — or it led you here for that man.

You’ve been peering over to him every time you move to the next crate — crinkles around his eyes, plush lips, deft hands. It’s almost unfair how beautiful he is, hidden away up here from the rest of the world. Admittedly you tried looking if he had a wedding band on, but you scolded yourself before you could complete the task, not wanting to get caught.

Time slips away from you as you switch between scouring through everything and stealing glances at the mystery music man, your fingers cramping from holding onto far more records than you’d planned to take. You scan over the tables and check for anything you may have missed, slinking through the room and placing your selection on the counter. You rummage in your bag to find your wallet.

“Fan of Steely Dan, huh? Gaucho, Pretzel Logic, Countdown to Ecstasy… You’re cleaning me out here, darlin’.” You lift your head at his words, losing yourself at the endearment.

“Yeah, uh… couldn't help myself,” you huff a laugh, feeling heat under your skin as he keeps his attention on you, a half smile on his face. “I did pick out some others, too. For some variation, you know?”

He fans the records out on the table to see each one.

“Yeah, thought you might be a Fleetwood Mac girl, Eagles is a bit of a surprise, but a pleasant one… Steely Dan, though? Wouldn't have pinned a girl like you as a fan of ‘em.”

“A girl like me…?”

“Far too pretty.” He winks at you with a tilt of his head, that half smile now spread fully across his face before he moves to add up the total. Your mind races as you try not to stand and gawk like an idiot.

“I saw online you had Dark Side of the Moon… do you uh, still have it, by any chance?”

“Full of surprises… I’m afraid we sold that one already, noticed it’s a bit of an elusive find ‘round here.” He drums his fingers against the wooden top and looks at you briefly, his eyes warm.

Shuffling papers around, he picks up a notepad, big hands and thick fingers dwarfing the pages. “I can keep an eye out for you, if you’re okay giving me your number? Won’t bother you, just business.”

“Yeah, sure.” His fingers graze across your skin as you take a pen from him and write down your information. Tearing the page off, you slide it across the counter and tease him, “Wouldn’t mind if you bothered me.”

“Well then, maybe I will. I’d love to know what else you got in your carefully curated collection.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you as you pay for the records, and he slips them into a brown paper bag, folding and unfolding the top like he doesn’t want you to leave.

“There’s actually this nice restaurant—” he turns to look behind him, grabbing a small carton and repositioning it on the counter, stalling as he tries to find the words, “—they have uh, live music on Friday nights… if you’d be interested.”

“Sounds fun…” You mull it over, impressed by his boldness but still wary. “Can I let you know?”

“‘Course, no pressure, here,” he writes his own number on a new page and tears it off, holding on as you reach for it and brush your fingers over his hand.

“And you are?”

“Joel Miller.”

Joel Miller. You quite like that.

You’d stared at Joel’s number for days, a constant back and forth on whether or not you should go. On the one hand, you knew nothing about this man except his name and where he worked; on the other, you’ve seen just enough of him to be well intrigued…

You caved and said yes, which brings you to the present day — it’s Friday afternoon and you’re pacing in front of your wardrobe, worried about what to wear. To avoid losing your mind over this, you text Joel for some insight.

You: So, what am I supposed to wear tonight?Joel: Place is smart casual, I guess

Smart casual — arguably the worst fucking dress code description in existence.

You: That doesn’t help meJoel: Just wear a dress or something nice? I’m sure whatever you choose will be perfect

Perfect? Well, that certainly raises the bar. You suspect that Joel isn’t impressed by material things, and isn’t phased by flashy appearances, but you still want to make an effort. He called you pretty once already and you’re hoping he’ll repeat it tonight.

Approaching the restaurant, the brick wall facade is lined with fairy lights, the stars just beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky, and muffled music sounds through the windows and glass doors.

Joel waits out on the pavement like a gift from God himself — black dress pants, a hint of chest peeking out from behind his button-up, a blazer hooked on one finger over his shoulder. You can’t help the way your gaze runs over him, noticing how his tummy just pokes out past the waistband of his pants, and just how well fitting those pants really are. You swallow to steady yourself.

“Hey.”

“Hi…”

You fall into silence as you take each other in — a low heat settles at the base of your spine and you drop your eyes to the floor, holding back a giggle like an enamoured schoolgirl.

“Shall we?” He pulls the door open and gestures for you to lead the way, eyes sparkling and a crooked but warm smile on his face, a guiding hand on the small of your back as you step inside.

Black-framed minimalist posters line the walls, the floors are polished dark wood and exposed brass light fixtures hang at varying heights from the ceiling. You pass a long, elegant bar lining one side of the room as you’re led towards the back of the restaurant — this place oozes sophistication, even the waitstaff are in fancy uniforms. Not smart casual.

Joel pulls a chair out for you as you reach your table, a small reserved card rests against a floating candle and two red roses bloom in a slender vase.

“Do you mind if I take the wall?” you ask timidly, pointing towards the opposite bench.

“Not at all.” His gaze is soft as he shakes his head, eyes trained on you as you both take your seats.

“I just— I like being able to see, it’s uh…”

You smooth your hands over the tablecloth as your voice fades off, resisting the urge to make a game of blowing the candle out. You flit your eyes up to look at Joel, finding he’s already staring at you, candlelight flickering in his eyes. You drop your gaze to the table again, failing dismally at suppressing the grin that spreads across your face.

“You look gorgeous, by the way — if you don’t mind me sayin’. Knew you would, of course, but…”

It seems your outfit choice has paid off — gorgeous?

After hours of flinging clothes off hangers, you’d finally settled on a black, mid-length dress — a sweetheart neckline with white piping, the same white mirrored on the hem, a daring slit up one side of the skirt. There’s nothing casual about it, but seeing Joel dressed up and the finely decorated restaurant has calmed your nerves.

You don’t dare look at him again as the waiter returns and places two menus on the table. The night’s barely begun, and you hope it doesn’t end any time soon.

There hasn’t been a lull in the conversation once during dinner, a sharing dessert now in the centre of the table as Joel swirls what’s left of his whiskey around the glass. He held back all evening, fingers twitching and curling into a loose fist alongside yours on the table until he finally allowed himself to dance them across the back of your hand.

“How’d you get into all this record business?”

“Started workin’ there on weekends as a kid, wanted to earn some pocket money. The old man who owned it was like a mentor, he taught me all about the world. He left it all in my hands when he retired, and I’ve never looked back.”

A fond smile on his face as he retells his memories, you saw the first day you met how happy and comfortable he was in his charming shop, and it seems that charm bleeds over into him, too.

“And you get to meet all kinds of people — loud, friendly, aloof… pretty ones, too.” He gives you the same wink and devilish grin as before, continuing his stories as if you aren’t burning across the table.

Sometime during the night, he’d moved to sit next to you, claiming he ‘wanted to see the band’ — the arm draped on the bench behind you and fingers trailing across your shoulder says otherwise.

He mentioned at the shop that there was live music here on Friday nights — the one thing he didn’t mention? That tonight’s particular band was a jazz quartet — the slow, smooth, romantic kind of jazz, the kind that acts as the perfect backdrop for a night of cheeky flirting, lingering glances and desperate touches.

“Joel, can I ask something?”

“Shoot.”

You roll the edge of the tablecloth between your fingers. “Is this a date?”

“It can be, if you want.” You drop your hands and eye him, unimpressed by his response.

“Alright, I’ll admit, I was hopin’ for a date. I wasn’t really sure how to ask, didn’t wanna come on too strong.”

You’re silent for a beat, considering how to respond. “I mean, you could’ve just asked.”

“Well then, you wanna go on a date?” He tilts his head, eyebrows raised.

“I thought we were already on one.”

He chuckles at your remark, downing the last of his whiskey and momentarily tracing a finger along the rim of the glass. You focus on his movements, imagining his fingers tracing patterns into your skin instead.

As if he can read your mind, he twists himself towards you and plants that same hand just above your knee, fingers curled towards the inside of your leg as he scrapes his nails against you.

“And?” His voice is almost a whisper in your ear, “Has it been a good one?”

He glides his hand up your leg and into the slit of your dress as you nod, higher, higher, higher until his fingers brush against lace. You wonder if he can feel the fabric dampening.

“Y’know the Pink Floyd you asked about? It wasn’t sold, I kept it for myself. I’ll play it for you sometime.”

“You’re gonna talk about music? Right now?”

“What should I talk about instead? The delicate panties you got on? How wet they’re getting?”

Your breath hitches as he shifts his fingers, tucking them just under the edge of your panties and caressing your skin. Glancing around, the band are still playing low and slow, most tables having cleared out by now.

“Would love to see ‘em, if you’ll let me. I’d really love to see what’s underneath though. Pretty girl like you’s bound to have a real pretty pussy, too. Certainly feels like it, Jesus.”

He presses his fingers into you with more force this time and you turn your head to him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide and not from the dim lighting. He glances down to your lips and back up to your eyes again and you close the distance between you. He repositions the arm around your shoulders, hand holding the back of your neck as you lock your legs together and grind yourself against him.

His lips are soft, beard and moustache tickling your skin as he swipes his tongue against the seam of your mouth. You moan into him as you part your lips, letting him lick into you and you can taste his whiskey. He pulls back and you whine, teasing you with just enough to leave you reeling for more.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Take me home, Joel. Please, I need you.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Wanna hear the music you can make.”

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #secretsprings

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pomefioredove · 3 months

Note

okay after reading all the goth hc, I gotta ask. how do you think the guys would react (any of them but preferred Floyd and Idia ) to playing them goth music/show them a trad goth outfit/makeup look (suprise them maybe? For example: I hc Leona to just have the least slay music taste to mankind (beastmankind?) so you play him- idk let’s say Lebanon Hanover, and he’s like “wtf is this herbivore?” But then he kinda gets into it. no pressure to write for it btw!

-✨♥️✨

ANON I was literally thinking about making a post like this a few days before this ask... you have my heart. I'm doing a full post

summary: nrc boys and goth type of post: headcanons characters: nrc students additional info: platonic or romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, half-headcanons half-x reader author's note: I'm assuming that goth as a subculture and a music scene already exists in this world. this post is also mostly about the music scene

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Riddle is essentially a baby bat

he's like, two bad life choices away from going full victorian goth at any given moment

he flat out refuses to listen to anything "vulgar" but secretly adores the dark, poetic side to goth

he's also morbidly obsessed with death, being a sad victorian boy and the child of two doctors. it works

as much as I hate to say it, Ace starts out as the kind of guy to say he wants a "goth gf" on multiple occasions

he proudly announces it to everyone at an unbirthday party once and Riddle almost kills him for being annoying for interrupting

thinks the music is too sad

...but he mellows out eventually (your influence)

both Deuce and Trey are not particularly interested

(Deuce leaned into punk music as a preteen but has since "given it up" because it's too unruly for an aspiring honors student, in his opinion)

Cater inexplicably already knows a lot about goth

won't talk about it unless you bring it up first but if you play him something semi-popular

he'll be like "oh yeah I know that one"

he has a few songs on his playlist he listens to when he's alone

is a goth magnet himself. pulls many hot goths. no one knows how

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jack is also not really into it. not his thing

however I can see him secretly being into emo

make of that what you will

and Ruggie will never pass you the aux again. he calls it "halloween music"

Leona acts thoroughly uninterested for a long time

like, he'll listen to the music you give him, but doesn't really say whether he likes it or not

says he doesn't care about the scene (thinks it's too pretentious)

and pretends to be annoyed when you give him more song recs

but he gets into it. he starts listening on his own

he has a definite preference for gothic rock

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jade is already goth (to me at least)

and very eager to talk about his favorite bands

loves giving recommendations

apparently the coral sea has its own goth subgenres and bands, which sound... much different from land ones

Floyd will listen (has listened, thanks to his brother) but he doesn't particularly care

he much prefers the aesthetic, it reminds him of home

...being that he's from the deep sea, where it's dark and cold

the flowy, dark, elegant looks are just enchanting to him. he can't keep his eyes off it

Azul couldn't be bothered

he's willing to learn, but isn't a huge fan of the general... strangeness

(he doesn't really understand why anyone would want to be perceived as strange in the first place)

and the music is so unmelodic to him

"that was just a man moaning and a gate creaking for seven minutes" and then he bans you from his office

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim literally listens to goth already

I don't know how to explain it but I know he does

it's so funny because he never ever dresses goth or acts stereotypically goth but every once in a while he'll be like "who wants to hear my new favorite song? :D" and it's like, alien sex fiend. and no one can say anything about it

Jamil is an appreciator

depending on what you show him, he could really get into the lyricism and general mood

...if only because he finds goth dancing absolutely mesmerizing

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook is goth

he only dresses the part sometimes, but he's always been very passionate about the poetic elements of the music

...really into french coldwave

in terms of fashion he leans romantic goth

it just makes sense to me. he could find beauty in absolutely anything, and the dark and macabre are no exception

will talk your ear off about his favorite bands if you give him the chance

Vil is really more into the style than the music

he's dabbled in a little bit of everything; trad goth, romantic goth, medieval goth. he pulls all of it off

honestly, if anything, the gothic style compliments his features and tastes more than anything

he has such a respect for the subculture and the dedication that goes into the visual elements

Epel doesn't get it. sorry ��

he will listen to the music you recommend because he cares about you, but he just doesn't like it

he's in the same boat as Azul. "was that a slide whistle?"

absolutely baffled, but he likes you and it's a small price to pay for your happiness

(and he thinks the fashion is too androgynous for his tastes)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I feel like Idia also used to think he wanted a goth until he saw the e-girl vs goth discourse, freaked out, then spent two weeks reading about different subcultures

...still wants a goth partner

but now he actually knows what that means

will listen to any music you give him out of respect (fear) and won't say anything about whatever weird taxidermy-related hobby you have

he's surrounded by death all the time anyway who cares

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you could get Silver to listen to the cure's entire discography and he'd come out of it really enjoying just like heaven and nothing else

it's just... not for him

(plus the slower songs put him to sleep)

Malleus somehow hasn't even heard of goth as a genre when you approach him

he is. a little disappointed it's not music about the architecture style

but he still warms up to it, especially as someone who enjoys finding the beauty in the dark and misunderstood

you can fix him. you can goth him.

Sebek joins only after everyone in Diasomnia gets in on it with you (he doesn't like being left out)

he loves it because silver doesn't and malleus does

peepaw Lilia is an old goth

he was around when the music scene started, and he also remembers the literature movement it was named after, and the popular architecture style that was named after, and...

...you get it

still, he's always pleased to learn about new bands and subgenres and styles and the like

could and will talk about it for hours and hours with you

he dresses the part, too

we love him

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nectardaddy · 2 months

Text

mirage | suna rintarou

seven | rolodex ★

masterlist

I haven't added music to this series; however, Soda by Nothing But Thieves helped me write this. I'd definitely take a listen!

ignore timestamps

cw/notes: messy x100 bass boosted in 4k, flawed characters, self destructive behavior, real/raw emotions, anxiety/panic attack, allusion to being overstimulated, very brief mention of throwing up (used as a metaphor, not detailed), repetitive statements done on purpose

She death gripped the metal counter with a small sigh, knuckles starting to grow sore from the tension she held onto. The cold metal sending a shock wave through her palms, a sudden iciness to it that she hoped would force her back to reality - it didn't.

Breathe.

As if telling herself that would make it any easier.

Her day started off normally, despite the pain the bashed her skull from drinking the night before. A familiarity to her routine that kept her stress relatively low - if something were to go amiss it ruined her day. A rolodex of mundane tasks and work obligations, but if she did them in a set order her stress was little to none. A schedule she stuck to meticulously, one wrong move and her day would be torn asunder.

Suna Rintarou threw a wrench in that complex order; took the rolodex in his hands and made a jumbled mess of it.

'I just want you to be happy.' Haunted her subconscious the moment she read it, the moment she finally went to sleep, and the moment she opened her eyes that morning. Lingered in the back of her mind throughout the day until it couldn't be ignored anymore; prowling around in her head like a cat - until it finally pounced.

Breathe.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but the thought of the green eyed man still rattled her to her very core. Feline and wild, at one point making her weak at the knees; now she only felt the need to vomit at the thought. To pull the nearest trash can towards her and heave; because why on earth did she still want him? Why did she still crave the attention of a man who's words were brash and unruly? Why did she still need the man who's kind sentiments never truly fizzled out?

Why did she still love the man whom she created to be the devil?

Distracting herself with every petty, trivial argument they had to negate the feelings of hopeless love. Purposefully unable to recall of times where he was doting, selfless - loving. It was better to remember him as a monster, if he ever was one in the first place, than think of him fondly.

Suna Rintarou ruined that image of himself for her. Shattered it into a million pieces and she watched in horror as it fell at her feet. 'I just want you to be happy' was the smoking gun that shot down any fleeting memory of a bickering past.

She reopened her eyes and seized the counter harder, an imprint of the table's edge embedding itself in her palm as she held it vehemently. With a tight jaw, she let her eyes slide to her phone resting on the table next to her. Staring back at her as a singular thought wracked her brain - call him.

Her world got a bit smaller when the thought hit her. Caving in on itself as the notion alone gave her tunnel vision.

Call him.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, sucking in a breath as all she could find herself to do was stare at the black screen in contemplation.

Call him.

A quick decision, one given without thought, that caused her body to move on its own. Picking up the phone and scrolling through her contacts with conviction, but without a thread of reflection. Yet the phone rang a bit too long, the fan next to her was a bit too loud, and the lights above her in the cramped back room were a bit too bright.

So she hung up the moment he answered and threw her phone back onto the table. She listened to it buzz relentlessly for the next few minutes with eyes screwed shut and knee bouncing until it finally fell silent again.

Breathe.

I am an unreliable narrator, obviously, and yes it was done on purpose do not come for me.

Iwa can pretty much guess what's going on, next chapter bout to go crazy with this

pay attention to the lock screen picture ;) (do not read me about that lock screen either I tried my best on canva)

if you don't know what a rolodex is, thanks for making me feel old, but (and this is the google definition) it's a "rotating card file device used to store a contact list"

she will not be telling the group chat what she's doing tonight

she will lie if they ask just like she lied to akaashi

yn I see you and I love you dearly

taglist (open , send an ASK)

@mollyrolls @causenessus @zumicho @seroh @eggyrocks

@nbcvs @rory-cakes @localgaytrainwreck @kodzu-ken @hermaeusmorax

@sunafc @lvtilzs @kr1nqu @iiwaijime @gsyche

@le000xxgrd @iheartpinky @strxwberri-s @wolffmaiden @yogurtkags

@superboywife @cherrypieyourface @soulfullystarry @bedeater @a-little-pebbl

@miliondollagirl @toges-cough-syrup @renardiererin @theycallmenanamisgirl @honeekyuu

@softpia @mfcherry @keeboismine @phoenix-eclipses

#haiykuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu!! smau #hq x reader #hq smau #suna rintarou #rintarou suna #suna rintarou x reader #suna smau #series: mirage

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ellethespaceunicorn · 1 year

Text

Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Title: Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Fandom: Enola Holmes series

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.

Warnings: age gap(reader is about 20 in this, Sherlock is mid-30s), slight voyeurism, masturbation (male), handjob, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it up y’all), creampie

A/N: I’ve been throwing around this idea about Sherlock for quite some time. I hope you enjoy it. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

You’ve been friends with Enola for a short time, only since the beginning of the year. She’s led you on a few fun adventures, but more often than not, she’s led you on wild goose chases. She has helped you come out of your shell and you are grateful for that. On days that you weren’t exploring the countryside or causing a ruckus in the city, you would lounge around her large house.

Spending time with her in her large house had its benefits. One of which was 6’1 with a head of unruly curls. The famous Sherlock Holmes was your best friend’s big brother. He lived in the city but came to visit Enola every week.

You always made sure to be available on those days. If only for the chance to say hello to Sherlock. You wanted more but, truth be told, he made you a bit nervous.

You tried your best to keep calm when he would arrive, but Enola noticed your demeanor change every time. She teased you endlessly about your little crush and you would always bring up Tewkesbury. That would usually shut her up.

In truth, she did not care that you liked her brother, she just didn’t want you to waste your time. The man was not exactly sociable unless he found value in the opinions of others. One opinion he respected was that of his sister. You could sit and watch them talk for hours. She would get him to laugh with her jokes, and he would bring her to annoyance with his riddles.

You would interject a thought here and there and when Sherlock would give his attention to you, you froze. Something about the look in his eyes, it was more than attention. It was intense as if the two of you were the only ones in the world let alone the room.

More than once, Enola had cleared her throat loudly to get you and Sherlock’s attention back on her. But sometimes, she would just listen to you ramble on while Sherlock seemed enthralled in your thoughts. You mused about music and how interesting you thought his cases were. The more you spoke with him, the more comfortable you felt around him.

Sherlock would show up now and then with little trinkets from his cases. At first, it was just things for Enola, but soon he would start bringing you little gifts as well. He started small with a single flower or a tasty treat from his favorite bakery. But soon, his gifts grew oddly specific. He bought you a brooch you had mentioned seeing at a store in the city. He would learn pieces of music from a composer you talked about and play it for you, much to the chagrin of Enola who wasn’t a fan of the violin.

It was when he didn’t visit for two weeks that you started to realize you were developing feelings for the older detective. You’d come to enjoy his presence and not because of his gifts. You just enjoyed seeing his face light up when he saw you. You relished the power you felt when the normally unflappable and distant man would sit enthralled when you gave voice to your thoughts.

So, why did it stop so suddenly? Had you done something to offend him?

You wracked your brain and Enola’s brain for that matter. She gave you his address so you could go and talk to him and she could finally be free of your fretting.

You arrive at 221 Baker Street, your hands trembling as you knock on the main door. A sweet woman opens the door and introduces herself as Ms. Hudson. When you ask to speak to Sherlock, she sends you up the steps to 221B.

As you’re about to knock, a man opens the door and almost collides with you.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. May I help you, Miss?”

“Ehm, I’m here to see Mr. Holmes…but I can come back if that’s–” You are cut off when he speaks again.

“You wouldn’t happen to be friends with Enola, would you?” You nod, giving your name, “Of course, Sherlock mentioned you. I’m Dr. John Watson, and I have to be going but you are more than welcome to come in. Sherlock is just in his room down the hall.” He points around the corner from the door and walks past you before waving goodbye.

So, that’s how you end up in Sherlock’s apartment. It is eerily quiet and you think he might be asleep. That is until you hear soft moans coming from down the hall. Your first thought is it must have been the floorboards creaking under your feet.

What you hear next is the unmistakable sound of your name followed by a whimper. It sounded like Sherlock was calling to you, but how would he know you were here already? You walk down the hallway quietly and see that his bedroom door is slightly ajar.

Peeking in, you are blessed with a sight! Sherlock is laid out on his bed with his shirt and waistcoat open, his hairy chest on full display as it rises and falls quickly. His beautiful face constricted in pain one second, solemn and peaceful in the next. His curls are a sweaty mess on his forehead. One hand is fisting the sheets at his side and the other hand is wrapped around his thick veiny dick. You’re mesmerized watching him stroke himself until you hear him moan your name again.

In a moment of bravery, you step into the room. Your bosom heaves in your bodice as you breathe shallowly, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

His hand stops its ministrations and he looks to you as you walk towards him. He’s frozen on the spot and can only watch you as you climb atop the bed and lay next to him. You replace his hand with yours and continue to pump his dick. Your hand barely fits around him and you enjoy the feel of his soft uncut length in your hand.

His hands come up to caress your face and pull you down for a kiss. When his tongue begs for entry, you allow it in. Heatedly, you mold your mouth to his, letting your moans and whimpers be consumed by him. Breaking the kiss, he looks into your eyes and you can tell he is close.

You remove your hand from him and stand up from the bed. It is only when you remove your undergarments does Sherlock understand why you stopped. Climbing back on the bed, you settle yourself with your cunt dripping onto him.

“I want you to be certain that you–” You cut him off as you slink down, his velvety smoothness sliding inside your wet heat. You take a moment to get used to the sheer size of him. He stretches you almost painfully. Leaning down, you whisper into his ear.

“Do I seem certain, Mr. Holmes?”

Instead of an answer, Sherlock groans and twitches inside you. His hands travel under your skirt and rest on your hips. You take that as a sign and sit up. With your hands on his chest, you begin to ride him slowly, agonizingly to the point where his hands start to guide you to a quicker pace.

Using you like a ragdoll, he flips you so he is atop you while you are on your back. He slams into you repeatedly and you are no longer in control. He savors the sounds coming from you as he fucks into you. He urges you on as he kisses and licks and nips at your neck, careful not to leave any marks.

Pulling out, he moves you to your hands and knees before inserting himself again. The angle allows him to go deeper and you thank the Gods for it. As he holds onto you, he hammers into you. The filthy utterances that come from his mouth only serve to solidify the notion that he missed you too.

“I knew you would feel like Heaven, my sweet angel…”

“This pretty pussy belongs to me now…”

“You would look so perfect with my cum dripping out of you…”

“I could fuck you all day and night and still never get enough of you…”

“Be my good angel and come all over my cock,” He reaches down and rubs your clit between two fingers as he plows into you. You never stood a chance, your walls quivering around him within moments, ��That’s my good girl. So good…for me. Fuck, so close!”

“Sherlock, please! Need you to fill me with all you have to give!” You surprise yourself and your lover with those words.

Sherlock’s answering grunts as he makes mincemeat of your pussy are music to your ears. His punishing thrusts falter and he pulls you flush to him. He’s deep enough to kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick. You feel him swell inside you and it’s enough to make you climax again, milking him through his release.

And the noises he makes when he comes are more intricate than the 24 Caprices. You’re sure that Sherlock would disagree but you don’t even care. You revel in the melody of his moans and surrender to its hold on you.

Sherlock’s hands roam over your back, your hips, your ass, and your thighs. As if he can’t get enough of you. He doesn’t pull out until you wiggle your hips, a sign that your legs are tired. Extricating himself from your sensitive folds allows his spend to escape. He catches what slips free and pushes it all back in before helping you lay down on your front.

He lays down next to you, pulling you close to him with one arm while the other rests behind his head. He looks so peaceful as he closes his eyes and hums. The feminine urge for pillow talk is high, but so is the need to just bask in this moment.

You’re in the arms of the man you care for, who also adores you. You rest your cheek on his shoulder and tangle your fingers in his chest hair. You breathe in his smell, his pheromones are surely on high alert from your activity. When he rests his head against yours, you feel at peace.

You do plan on talking to Sherlock later about everything. But, for now, you can take pleasure in the simplicity of the harmonization of your heartbeats.

A/N: The title of this fic is taken from The Neighborhood’s Sweater Weather. There is an amazing violin version of this song by Joel Sunny. And anything violin makes me think of Sherlock.

A/N: Also, I know Ms. Hudson wasn't featured in Enola Holmes, but I love her as a character and I wanted to use her.

**Tag List**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67

@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

#sherlock holmes henry cavill #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #enola holmes fanfiction #enola holmes #enola holmes 2 #henry!holmes x reader #henry!holmes #henry!sherlock #henry cavill sherlock holmes #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #henry cavill fan fiction #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction

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celebtf · 30 days

Text

THE MEET & GREET EXPERIENCE: WALLOWS

Jackson, Chris, and Gavin had been inseparable since they were kids. Their friendship was built on a shared love for music, and at the center of that passion was the band Wallows. The three friends had spent countless hours listening to their albums, watching their interviews, and dreaming about what it would be like to meet them. Each of them had their favorite member: Jackson admired Dylan Minnette for his brooding charisma and intense performances, Chris was captivated by Braeden Lemasters’ effortless cool and stage presence, and Gavin idolized Cole Preston for his quirky energy and offbeat humor.

When they won VIP tickets to a meet-and-greet at Wallows' latest concert, it felt like the universe was finally aligning in their favor. The thought of seeing their idols up close, let alone meeting them, was almost too much to handle. The days leading up to the concert were filled with excited chatter and planning. They debated what to say, what to wear, and how to make the most of their once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

The night of the concert, the atmosphere was electric. The stadium was packed with thousands of fans, all buzzing with excitement. But for Jackson, Chris, and Gavin, the real thrill was knowing they had backstage passes that would take them beyond the barriers separating the fans from the stars. After an explosive performance that left the audience screaming for more, the boys were finally led backstage. Their hearts pounded with a mix of nervousness and anticipation as they were ushered into a private room where Wallows was waiting.

The moment they entered the room, it felt surreal. Wallows stood before them, just as they’d always imagined—Dylan with his intense gaze, Braeden with his relaxed confidence, and Cole with his playful smirk. The band members greeted them warmly, shaking their hands and thanking them for their support. It was everything they had hoped for and more.

As Jackson shook Dylan's hand, he felt a strange tingling sensation in his palm. At first, he thought it was just nerves, but then it spread up his arm and through his entire body. Chris and Gavin, too, felt an odd energy coursing through them as they interacted with Braeden and Cole. Each of the boys carried a secret item tied to their favorite band member. Jackson had a guitar pick he’d bought at a Wallows show years ago that he always kept in his pocket. Chris wore a bracelet that supposedly matched one Braeden had worn during their early tours. Gavin carried a lucky coin that had once been owned by Cole, a prized possession he had won in an online auction.

As each boy touched their respective idol, the energy from these items seemed to merge with the strange sensation they were feeling. The room started to spin, and the boys’ vision blurred. They looked at each other, their faces contorted with confusion and fear as they began to change.

Jackson was the first to notice something was happening. His face started to tingle, almost like pins and needles, and when he looked in the mirror across the room, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. His eyes, once a deep brown, were lightening to the piercing blue of Dylan's. His nose, previously a bit crooked from a childhood accident, was straightening, and his cheekbones were rising, giving his face a chiseled look that mirrored Dylan’s. His dark, unruly hair began to lighten and shorten, transforming into Dylan's signature tousled look. Jackson watched in awe and a bit of terror as his body followed suit, his shoulders broadening and his frame becoming leaner, mirroring the physique he had admired in countless music videos.

Chris was next. He felt a warmth spreading across his skin, and when he looked down at his hands, he saw that they were changing—his fingers elongating and becoming more delicate, the nails neatly trimmed and clean, just like Braeden’s. His face was transforming too, his jawline sharpening and his chin becoming more prominent. His hair, which had always been a bit wild and hard to manage, was smoothing out, turning into the sleek, dark waves that Braeden was known for. His posture adjusted as well, becoming more relaxed and confident, almost as if he were naturally assuming Braeden's laid-back demeanor. Chris could feel his muscles adjusting, not becoming overly bulky but lean and toned, the kind of body that fit perfectly under a leather jacket on stage.

Gavin was the last to experience the change. His heart raced as he felt his body start to morph. His usually round face began to narrow, his eyes taking on the mischievous twinkle that was so distinctly Cole. His hair, which he had always kept short and neat, began to grow out, curling into the messy, yet somehow perfectly styled waves that Cole rocked effortlessly. Gavin’s body also started to slim down, his limbs lengthening and his torso becoming more defined, the transformation giving him the wiry, agile build that was ideal for a drummer. He felt an unfamiliar energy in his hands, a rhythm that seemed to pulse through his veins, almost as if he had always known how to keep the beat.

As the transformation completed, the boys stared at each other in disbelief. They were no longer themselves—they had become Wallows. Every detail, down to the smallest mannerism and expression, was identical. But as they marveled at their new appearances, the real Wallows—now trapped in the bodies of three ordinary teenagers—were panicking. They tried to speak out, but their voices were shaky, their protests confused and disoriented.

Before anyone could fully grasp what had happened, a security guard entered the room, alarmed by the commotion. He took one look at the scene—the disheveled, panicked boys who looked like nothing more than overexcited fans, and the calm, collected figures of the now-transformed Wallows—and made a quick judgment. “Hey, what’s going on here? You boys need to leave,” he barked, grabbing the real Wallows by the arms and hauling them towards the door.

The real Wallows, trapped in the bodies of Jackson, Chris, and Gavin, tried to resist, shouting out their true identities, but their cries fell on deaf ears. The guard, convinced they were troublemakers, escorted them out of the venue, leaving the newly transformed Wallows alone in the dressing room. For a moment, the room was silent as Jackson, Chris, and Gavin processed what had just happened.

Then, slowly, a smile spread across Jackson’s face, followed by Chris and Gavin. They had always fantasized about being in the band, but never in their wildest dreams did they think it could actually happen. “We’re… we’re really them,” Jackson said, his voice now Dylan’s deep, smooth tone. “We’re Wallows.”

Chris, now Braeden glanced at the instruments lying around the room, feeling an overwhelming urge to pick up the guitar. “This is insane,” he murmured, strumming a few chords effortlessly. “It’s like I’ve always known how to do this.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the boys made the decision to embrace their new identities. The thrill of fame, the rush of performing, and the adoration of millions were theirs for the taking. They stepped into their roles with surprising ease, as if they had been born for this moment. The concert that night was a roaring success, and the fans didn’t suspect a thing. To them, Wallows was as great as ever, maybe even better.

As the days turned into weeks, Jackson, Chris, and Gavin fully steped into their new lives. They reveled in the freedom and power that came with being rockstars, enjoying every moment of their new reality. They quickly adapted to the demands of fame, learning to navigate the spotlight with the same ease and confidence as their predecessors.

Jackson, now Dylan, found himself thriving in his new persona. He enjoyed the attention, the way people hung on his every word, and the influence he now wielded. He loved the way his new body felt—strong, lean, and capable of commanding a stage. He began to adopt Dylan’s signature brooding intensity, a look that made fans swoon and critics take notice.

Chris, as Braeden, embraced his role with a laid-back confidence that felt surprisingly natural. He loved the thrill of performing, the roar of the crowd, and the way his guitar felt like an extension of himself. He quickly picked up Braeden’s mannerisms, the easy smile, the casual swagger, and found that he could slip into the role without even thinking about it. It was as if he had always been Braeden, and the world was none the wiser.

Gavin, now Cole, dove headfirst into the band’s creative process. He discovered a natural rhythm and skill on the drums that amazed even himself. He relished in the playful energy that came with being Cole, enjoying the way fans reacted to his quirky sense of humor and spontaneous antics. He felt more alive than ever, as if he had finally found the perfect outlet for his boundless energy and creativity.

The new Wallows began writing new songs, drawing on their own experiences while seamlessly blending with the band’s established sound. Their music soared to new heights, and their popularity skyrocketed.

The fans and the industry embraced the new Wallows with open arms, unaware of the transformation that had taken place. Jackson, Chris, and Gavin had become not just replacements, but the embodiment of everything the band was—and more. They were living their dream, and nothing could hold them back.

The Old Wallows' Struggle while the new Wallows basked in their newfound glory, the original band members, now trapped in the bodies of three ordinary teenagers, struggled to adapt to their new lives. The shock of the transformation had left them disoriented and desperate.

Dylan, Braeden, and Cole, now in the bodies of Jackson, Chris, and Gavin, tried to explain their situation to anyone who would listen, but their please were dismissed as delusions or desperate attempts at getting attention. The real Wallows were forced to confront the harsh reality of their situation. Stripped of their fame, talent, and identities, they had to navigate the mundane lives of the three boys. School, part-time jobs, and the daily grind were a far cry from the excitement and luxury they had once known. They quickly realized that the world had moved on without them, and their former lives were now in the hands of the very fans who had once idolized them. Frustration and bitterness began to set in as they watched from the sidelines, powerless to change their fate. They tried to reach out to their old contacts, to prove who they really were, but their efforts were met with skepticism and ridicule. The world had accepted the new Wallows without question, and there was no way to convince anyone otherwise...

More content and stories like this over on my Patreon, together with Exclusive content.

#celebrity tf #body swap #celebtf #transformation #gay #male body suit #malebody swap #male shapeshift #body switch #character transformation #wallows #dylan minnette #braeden lemasters #cole

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waywardsou2 · 1 month

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Logan Howlett X Coverartist!MaleReader

Summary: Logan didn't even know why he went to this stupid concert. It was so damn loud and his senses were overwhelmed. Not to mention the only available place was in the mosh pit with all the sweaty chaotic bodies swarming around him. It sucked.

Word count: 1k+

Tags: concert, implied past trauma, strangers bonding, no dialogue, implied M! reader

Logan didn't even know why he went to this stupid concert. It was so damn loud and his senses were overwhelmed. Not to mention the only available place was in the mosh pit with all the sweaty chaotic bodies swarming around him. It sucked. But all he wanted was a distraction.

He pushed himself to the front of the crowd up against the fence that kept a gap between the stage and the crowd. He hoped maybe up here he could find some respite but everywhere he turned there were just more bodies. At least the music was loud enough to drown out everything else. Every other voice and memory in his head.

Maybe that's why he came here. To drown the voices, push their head under the water of sound and hold them there until they suffocate.

It was something. The music was pumping a song he didn't quite recognise but the best filled his ears so it was better than nothing.

He watched you and your band on the stage. This song was more tame than ones you had in your arsenal so you weren't jumping around like usual. More bopping back and forth to the beat as the notes rang clearly from your mouth.

You and your band were a cover band specifically but you were notorious for coving songs like you were the original band. You finished the last note of Adele's 'Fire to the Rain' before the music died down. The crow cheered for your performance and you held up the hand with a microphone in it. They cheered louder as you smiled, your chest heaving with the effort of pulling full breaths of oxygen back into your lungs.

Your curls were gathering in large ringlets and sticking to your face as sweat had begun to cover your skin. It felt gross but it meant you were having a good time so you didn't mind. Your tank top stuck to your chest as well outlining the faint muscles you had underneath.

Your black loose jeans swayed around your ankles as you walked. You knew the next song that was coming on. This crowd was going to go nuts.

As your keyboard player began with the opening notes of 'Ride' by Twenty One pilots. The crowd began going wild. Even louder than before, if that was even possible.

But all Logan could do was watch as you took several deep breaths in. Re-warming up your lungs and abdomen for this next song.

This one he knew.

It was one he listened to often. Having been born in the 1800 he had heard a lot of music over the decades. But this was one he liked the most. Unlike his usual collection of 70s rock, jazz and mix and match 40s swing music, he loved it none the less.

He watched as you stared out over the crowd as you begun to sing. Your voice low but powerful. Full of life and emotion as you let each word roll off your tonge.

Your eyes scanned the crowd as they always did. Watching the faces of fans come together to form a symphony of joy and excitement. The feeling would never get old. As your eyes fell to the front of the stage you saw a man. Couldn't have been older than 30 with wicked mutton chops, a crisp leather jacket and brown eyes that were such a beautiful shade you were sure someone had carved then out of an oak tree. His hair was most intriguing if all. With the edges curled up into little waves. They almost looked like cat ears from up here.

He wasn't really your type. But you couldnt help but look at him and marvel at his looks. His body was tense but he gave the illusion of calm with his nonchalant demeanor. His arms resting on the metal fence that keep any unruly fans from you and your band members. As the song went on your eyes couldn't help but fall back to the man over and over.

His gaze was hard. But not cold. And every time you looked he was looking at you.

What were you thinking of course he was. You were performing on stage in front of a crowd, everyone was staring at you. As usual that thought gave you the shivers.

Slowly the tension in the song built up. The guitar and drums fell away with only the keyboard and synth left. Your vocals ringing clear and true like a church bell. As the song reached its peak you yelled out the long note. Singing with all of your heart. This song had always meant so much to you. Not that you knew exactly why. You bent over and closed your eyes as your voice strsined but didn't break to hit and hold the note.

Logan listened intently as the background music faded and your vocals rang out for the peak of the song. It was his favourite part. The one that helped him feel the most. Helped him to remember that he was human, mostly. With a heart that still beat like anyone else. It didn't matter that his bones were msde of Anamantium or that he had retractable claws not dissimilar to a Wolverines.

He watched as your eyes closed as you inhaled one last time ready for the long note. Something in him told him to breathe deeply. And before he knew it he was matching your tone and singing out the note a long with you. All other sound faded away except your harmonising voice. Your mezo alto with his bass. It's was beautiful the way your voices wrapped around eachother like a double helix of musical symphony.

For a moment the crowd completely disappeared. The floor emptied, no moshers in sight. Only concrete floor. No happy fans yelling from the bleachers. No strobe lights and fancy displays. Just you, Logan and your voices.

But as the notes fell away all of that came rushing back with a crash. The noise flooding back like a broken damn. People kicking his legs as they jumped and pressing up against him as they clumsily flailed around. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from you as you opened yours.

As you closed your eyes the last thing you saw was the man still standing by the fence. His own face beginning to scrunch with the effort of sounding out a note this long. He was singing with you. The two of you were singing. His voice mixed with yours. Despite the roar of the crowd you could hear it. His voice ringing loud and true along side yours. It was the only thing you could hear. Just the two of you. In perfect harmony.

The emotion of music had the power to pull the two of you together. It was strange and magical.

You finished the song and knew your gig was up for tonight. You hoped before the night was truly through, you would get to speak to the leather clad man from the mosh pit

Let me know if you want a part two!

I also take requests if anyone is interested

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wonderlanddreamer · 3 months

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Busy Being Shelbys.

[1919] Garrison Lane, Birmingham.

In the shadow of giants, six year old Lydia Shelby proves that courage comes in all sizes.

[Part of The Lydia Saga]

The cobbled streets of Small Heath were alive with the sounds of a bustling day, a cacophony that painted a vivid picture of daily life in this vibrant part of Birmingham. Market vendors bellowed their wares from behind wooden stalls, their voices competing with one another in a bid to attract customers. Freshly baked bread, ripe fruits, and an array of colourful fabrics were just some of the treasures on display. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh produce, roasted meats, and the occasional whiff of coal smoke from a distant factory.

Children darted through the maze of adults, their laughter ringing out like the sweetest music. They played games of tag and hide-and-seek, their joy unburdened by the worries of the adult world. The rhythmic clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages added a steady beat to the day's soundtrack, while the faint clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation drifted from the open door of the Garrison Pub, where patrons sought respite and camaraderie.

Among the children was Lydia Shelby, a striking figure with her bright blue eyes and unruly dark hair that framed her face in wild, untamed waves. She was a miniature replica of her older brothers, though her features still retained the softness of childhood that had long since been etched away by the harsh realities of life for her siblings.

Lydia was lost in her game of hopscotch, her delicate leather shoes tapping out a rhythmic pattern against the uneven cobblestones. Each leap and skip seemed to lift her further into a world of her own making, where the only things that mattered were the chalk-drawn squares and the simple joy of play. Her giggles rang out like tiny bells, echoing down the narrow street and adding a layer of innocence to the otherwise gritty surroundings.

The market's vibrant noise began to fade as an unspoken tension gripped the air. Conversations stilled, and the clatter of commerce dulled to a murmur. Heads turned and eyes widened as a sleek black car, polished to a mirror shine, rolled to a stop in front of the Garrison Pub. The vehicle, an imposing presence amidst the horse-drawn carts and pedestrian traffic, seemed to absorb the light, casting an eerie shadow over the cobblestones.

A hush fell over the street, the silence broken only by the creak of the car door as it opened. Billy Kimber emerged first, his sharp suit impeccably tailored, accentuating his lean, muscular frame. His eyes, cold and calculating, swept across the scene with the precision of a hawk. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew he commanded respect, his very presence a silent threat.

Behind him, his men followed, each one a mirror of their leader’s predatory demeanor. They fanned out, creating a semi-circle that seemed to cordon off the area, their eyes scanning for any sign of the Shelbys. Kimber's face was a mask of determination, his jaw set as he prepared to confront his rivals. The air seemed to thicken with each step they took, the tension rising like a gathering storm.

Lydia, oblivious to the shift in the atmosphere, continued her game. Her small figure, clad in a simple dress, darted from square to square, her laughter a stark contrast to the growing unease that enveloped the street. She was a picture of pure, untainted joy, her world still untouched by the darker elements that lurked in the shadows of Small Heath.

Kimber’s gaze landed on Lydia, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Lydia looked up from her hopscotch grid as the long, dark shadows of Kimber and his men fell over her game, casting a chill despite the warm day. Her bright blue eyes blinked up at the unfamiliar faces, her expression more curious than afraid. Her unruly hair bounced as she straightened up.

Billy Kimber, sensing the girl's defiance, allowed a slow, amused smirk to spread across his face. He crouched down slightly, bringing his sharp, predatory eyes level with Lydia's. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "A little girl all alone."

Lydia’s eyes narrowed slightly, her stance shifting as she planted her small hands firmly on her hips, a stance that was unmistakably Shelby. Despite her tender age, there was a steely resolve in her gaze, a flicker of the same fire that burned in her older brothers. She tilted her chin up defiantly. "I'm not alone," she said firmly, her voice steady and clear. "My brothers are inside."

Her unwavering gaze unsettled some of Kimber's men, their eyes darting between the girl and their leader. But Billy Kimber was not so easily intimidated, especially not by a child. He crouched down to her level, his eyes narrowing to scrutinize her more closely. "Do you know who I am, little girl?" he asked, his voice a low growl that usually elicited immediate submission.

Lydia nodded without hesitation. "You're Billy Kimber," she stated simply, her tone devoid of the fear that usually accompanied his name. "You run the races."

Kimber's smirk widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "That's right. And do you know why I'm here?"

Lydia shrugged, a gesture so casual it bordered on insolent, her small shoulders lifting and falling as if to say that his presence was of little consequence to her. "You're probably looking for my brothers. But they're busy."

One of Kimber's men chuckled, but it was a nervous, hesitant sound, the laughter of someone unsure whether to be amused or alarmed. Kimber's smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of irritation. He was accustomed to fear and respect, not this calm defiance from a mere child. "Busy with what?" he asked, his patience thinning, his tone sharper now.

Lydia’s eyes met his unflinchingly, her voice carrying an edge of pride. "Busy being Shelbys," she replied, as if that explained everything. And in a way, it did.

Kimber's eyes darkened, his amusement giving way to a simmering menace. He extended a hand, intending to ruffle Lydia's hair in a gesture meant to assert his dominance rather than convey any genuine affection. His fingers, adorned with rings that gleamed ominously in the daylight, reached towards her.

But before he could make contact, Lydia took a deliberate step back, her eyes locked onto his with a mixture of defiance and warning. The movement was subtle, yet it spoke volumes. Her small frame seemed to grow taller, her presence more commanding, as if channeling the collective strength of her family.

"You shouldn't touch me," she said softly, her voice steady and clear. The softness of her tone contrasted sharply with the steel in her words. "My brothers wouldn't like it."

Kimber's hand hung in the air for a moment, frozen by the quiet authority in her voice. He slowly retracted it, his fingers curling into a fist at his side.

At that moment, the door of the Garrison swung open with a force that made the hinges groan in protest. Out stepped Thomas Shelby, flanked by Arthur and John, their presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the vicinity. The three brothers moved with a lethal grace, their expressions murderous, their postures taut with barely contained fury. The atmosphere grew dense with a palpable tension, forewarning of the storm that was about to break.

"Kimber," Tommy began, his voice slicing through the air like a blade of cold steel. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Each word was enunciated with an icy precision that sent shivers down the spine of anyone within earshot.

Billy Kimber straightened up, attempting to reclaim his swagger now that he was facing adults. His sneer was a thin veneer over the unease that gnawed at him. "Just having a chat with your little sister, Tommy," he said, his voice carrying a faux lightness that did nothing to mask the underlying threat.

Tommy's gaze turned to ice, his eyes narrowing with a deadly calm. He took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them. The intensity of his stare was enough to make even the bravest of men falter. "Keep away from her, get back in your fucking cars, and leave," Tommy said, his tone a low, menacing growl that left no room for misinterpretation.

Kimber laughed, but it was a hollow sound. He knew better than to push his luck with the Shelbys. "I'll see you soon, pikey," he said, but there was no real conviction in his words. With a sharp gesture, he signaled his men to follow him back to the car.

As the car sped away, its engine roaring and tires screeching, a cloud of dust hung in the air, slowly settling back onto the cobblestone street. The square, which had been a tense battleground moments ago, began to return to its usual hustle and bustle, though an undercurrent of unease still lingered.

Lydia stood frozen for a moment, watching the black car disappear around a corner. The adrenaline that had surged through her tiny frame started to ebb, leaving her legs shaky and her heart pounding in her chest. Her earlier bravado was giving way to a wave of relief.

She turned and ran to her brothers, her small feet making soft, rapid taps against the cobblestones. Tommy, Arthur, and John watched her approach, their expressions softening in unison. Tommy crouched down just as Lydia reached him, and with a gentle but firm grip, he lifted her into his arms. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against his chest.

"Good girl, Lydia," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the tension that still clung to the air. "You did us proud,"

Lydia's lips curved into a small, proud smile as she wrapped her arms around Tommy's neck, seeking the comfort and security that only her brothers could provide. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "I know," she said confidently, her voice a mix of lingering fear and newfound courage. "I was brave, just like you."

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting an amber glow over Small Heath as Tommy took one last vigilant sweep of the streets for any lingering danger. Satisfied, he turned and carried Lydia towards the Garrison, Arthur and John close behind. As they stepped inside, the familiar scent of whiskey and smoke enveloped them. Lydia, nestled in Tommy's arms, exchanged a glance with John, who walked just behind them. She smiled, a mix of relief and affection, and John responded with a warm grin, ruffling her hair gently. Inside the Garrison, with the comforting hum of conversations and clinking glasses around them, the weight of the day's tension began to lift, leaving them with a fleeting sense of tranquility.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders oc #lydia shelby #billy kimber #john shelby #arthur shelby #peaky blinders fic #shelby oc #peaky blinders fanfic

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ingravinoveritas · 5 months

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Just saw a post as well as a thread on Twitter about an incident that occurred at the stage door of Nye tonight and I am so sad and sickened to hear about this "fan's" behavior, both toward Michael and toward other fans. I've done many stage doors in the past (the most recent was going to see Ink on Broadway just before the pandemic) and seen a lot of entitled/unruly behavior from fans, but this woman and her mother barging into the bar, demanding a meet and greet, and then coming out and being horrific to other fans really takes the cake.

Michael works his ass off for endless hours to put on an amazing show every day/night. He gives 110% to every line, every step, every note in that musical number. Nye is a physically demanding play/role, and to get a show of that caliber from someone who is a master of his craft is more than anyone could ask for. Stage door--as lovely as it is, as fun as it can be--is not something he is required to do, especially when he's already feeling exhausted or under the weather. One thing the last several months have made clear is that Michael loves meeting fans--taking pictures, giving hugs, signing stuff, and just connecting with people. But the fact that this is not even the first time we've heard about fans going into the bar to bug him should be more than enough to give us all pause.

No one is entitled to Michael's time or attention. This particularly reminds me of an incident on Twitter a few years ago where one fan and their friends would not stop tagging Michael and demanding that he say something they wanted him to say. He'd been so incredibly giving and generous of his time with fans up until that point...and yet the second he drew a boundary, that fan and some others turned on him. Amazingly, that alone didn't put him off of engaging with the fandom entirely, but I have been in enough fandoms in my life to know that it is exactly behavior like this that will ruin things for everyone.

It also seems that Michael did come out following this incident tonight but had to leave, and he actually apologized to the nice fans who were still waiting (while apparently looking visibly upset himself). I know he apologized once before as well after a different fan went into the bar to get him, but we're beyond absurdity at this point. That Michael feels compelled to apologize for something that was not even his fault and especially after what that fan did absolutely breaks my heart, and is something that just should not be happening.

The run of Nye at the NT is nearly over, and I hope this won't put him off of doing stage door in the future (either for the remainder of this run or when it transfers to Cardiff), but I honestly would not blame him one bit if it did. What a loss it would be, though, both for the fans and for Michael...

#michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #nye the play #national theatre #why do people do this #also if anyone wonders why I'm almost hoping David doesn't do a stage door for Macbeth #this is why #i can't even with this nonsense #for this woman to then try and ruin it for other fans is especially disgusting #but i saw behavior like this in my old fandom #and it is a truly ugly thing #and Michael does not deserve this one bit #fandom woes #thoughts #discourse

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c-e-d-dreamer · 2 months

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Wreck My Plans, That's My Man: Prequel

A/N: Sometimes, family is... (checks notes)... being in a band with your brothers? That counts, right? @cassianappreciationweek Listen, I just wanted an excuse to bring back Drummer Cassian! Time to find out how Cassian and Nesta met and how Cassian got that first date 😉 If you've read the first part, there are some fun easter eggs in here like Cassian writing the song and a callback to “I can’t wait for you to be mean to me for the rest of our lives.”

Part One // Read on AO3

“I think the end of the queue is this way.”

“I can’t believe there’s already so many people here.”

Nesta allows herself to be led down the sidewalk by her linked arm with Elain, the middle Archeron following the path carved by Feyre forging ahead. As they walk, Nesta can’t help but eye the crowds around them. Elain is right, there are more people than Nesta expected, almost all of them dressed up in some way. Some have face paint scrawled across their cheeks, some have handmade signs clasped in their hands. And Nesta even spies a trio of girls dressed as cows, some sort of band inside joke that she’s clearly not privy to.

Although, she’s not really privy to anything when it comes to the band.

She still can’t believe she allowed Feyre to talk her into attending this concert in the first place. Sure, she’s always had a deep love of music, ever since she was a little girl. Something about the way a lilting melody can carve and embed itself within her very bones, about the way a harmony can flood and warm her veins, about the way a simple string of notes can somehow sing to her very soul, plucking at strings within her until only peace remains.

But she has no knowledge of what type of music she can expect to hear tonight.

And when the choices are curling up beneath a pile of blankets with a glass of wine and her latest Sellyn Drake novel or standing all night while dealing with screaming girls and songs she doesn’t even know? Well, Feyre and Elain are lucky that Nesta loves them.

“What time do the doors open?” Elain asks, drawing Nesta out of her thoughts.

“They should have already opened,” Feyre explains, trying to peer around the bodies in front of them. “Either way, we don’t have to worry. Our tickets are for one of those fancy boxes.”

“Really?”

“We could get one of those fancy boxes but not a special entrance that doesn’t require standing in line?” Nesta asks dryly.

“Alright, grumpy,” Feyre teases with a roll of her eyes. “I’m sure it’ll move quickly.”

At least, Feyre’s assumption is correct. They continue to shuffle forward and forward until the line of doors is in full view, workers making quick work of checking bags and scanning tickets. Wristbands are secured around all three sisters’ wrists, and then they’re stepping inside the venue. Upbeat music from a playlist blares through the sound system, fans excitedly rushing forward toward the general admission crowd gathering along the floor in front of the stage.

“Come on. I want to get a t-shirt,” Feyre declares, wrapping a hand around each of her sisters’ wrists and dragging them toward the large table to the right.

While she and Elain wait for Feyre to make her purchase, Nesta eyes a pair of girls also waiting to buy merch. One of the girls has a sign, looping red letters declaring, Won’t you be my Van-Daddy? The request has Nesta snorting softly to herself. She still remembers when Lucien Vanserra first hit his growth spurt, when he was all middle school gangly limbs in their kitchen while he and Feyre worked on a school project. And that nerdy boy with unruly red hair is meant to be “daddy?”

“Got it,” Feyre announces, stepping back over to them and holding her shirt up for them to see.

“Isn’t it a bit weird to have a shirt with your childhood friend’s face on it?” Nesta asks, tilting her head as she takes in the design of the front of the shirt.

“More like hilarious,” Feyre argues, folding the shirt and tossing it over her arm. “When we get up to our seats, you have to take a picture of me in it, so I can send it to Lucien.”

They make another pit stop at one of the venue bars, each ordering a drink, and then finally, they make it to their seats. Nesta has to admit, the view is pretty amazing. She steps right up to the low wall meant to act as a railing for their box, peering down at the throngs of bodies excitedly awaiting the start of the show along the floor. Her eyes trail up and to the stage, skating over the setup for the opening act. It’s simple, just a drum set and two microphone stands set in front of it, but despite the good view of the stage, Nesta can’t quite make out the white script on the front of the drums.

“Who’s the opener?” Nesta asks, turning toward where Feyre is posing with her new shirt thrown over her dress while Elain takes her photo.

“Um…” Feyre hums, taking her phone back from Elain and typing away at the screen. “Some band called the Bat Boys.”

Nesta snorts softly. “What a stupid name for a band.”

As though the Mother herself is laughing at Nesta, the lights dim as soon as she’s made the comment, an echo of cheers ringing out all around them. Three men step out and onto the stage, each of them with dark hair and dressed in all black. They take up their spots, the guitarist speaking into the microphone and to the crowd, but Nesta finds her gaze instantly drawn to the drummer.

He’s certainly larger than his bandmates, all wide shoulders and chest. The black tank he’s wearing stretches against his size and his skin, the swell of muscle of his arms and the ink swirling along the golden brown skin on full display, and those very arms and muscles flex with every swing of his arms against the drum kit as he plays the opening song of the band’s set. His hair hangs loose around his face and down to his shoulders, dark curly strands practically swaying along with the beat of the music he’s creating. And even from her vantage point, Nesta can tell he’s got a wide, cocksure smirk plastered across his face, even as he leans forward to sing into his own microphone.

“For a band with a stupid name,” Feyre leans over to shout in Nesta’s ear over the music. “They’re pretty good.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at the almost smug tone of her youngest sister, but she can’t quite disagree. She finds herself tapping her foot and nodding along with each song that the Bat Boys play, humming appreciatively when they slow it down to a more stripped back song.

But when the song ends, the drummer jumps to his feet, peeling off his tank and tossing it into the crowd, showing off every hard line of muscle and every line of tattoo ink. A clamor of screams rings out from the crowd in response, making the drummer’s grin widen as he makes a big show of flexing.

“One two three four!” he shouts, banging his drum sticks together and jumping into the next song of their set, another upbeat one.

Nesta shakes her head. “What a fucking show off…”

~ * * * ~

Nesta’s ears are still ringing, an ache pressing against the balls of her feet, as she follows her sisters down the steps and out of the venue. The cool, night air is a welcome reprieve after the heat inside, and Nesta takes a deep breath, allowing it to prickle across the skin of her cheeks. She can still feel the music humming through her veins, still hear the last song the Band of Exiles played winding around her mind, her soul.

“Should we split an Uber?” Nesta turns to ask her sisters.

“Actually, Lucien sent me the bar they’ve gone to for post gig drinks,” Feyre offers with a sly smile. “He said we’re welcome to join.”

“Really?” Elain asks, the clear excitement coloring her tone leaving both sisters blinking in surprise for a moment, but Elain doesn’t say anything more. She merely turns away as though the night will hide the blush flooding her cheeks.

“Then you two go,” Nesta says. “I’d rather just go home.”

“Oh, come on, Nesta,” Feyre pouts, looping her arm through Nesta’s as if that will physically keep her from leaving. “It’s just one drink. It’s not going to kill you.”

Feyre continues to pout at Nesta, making a big show of blinking her eyes as if she’s seven years old again and that look will make Nesta give her an extra cookie for dessert. Still, it has Nesta sighing with a fond roll of her eyes.

“Fine. One drink and then I’m going home.”

“That’s the spirit! And just think of the money you’ll save on an Uber by waiting out these crowds.”

Nesta rolls her eyes again, but it doesn’t deter either of her sisters. Feyre doesn’t even bother dropping Nesta’s arm, using their linked arms to tug Nesta along the sidewalk in what she assumes is the direction of the bar. At least, it’s not a far walk. A small consolation, Nesta supposes.

The bar itself isn’t one that Nesta has ever been to before, but she can admit it’s quite nice. Pendant lights hang above the dark wood of the bartop, painting the whole space in golden light that bounces off the colorful bottles lining the shelves behind the bar. With the moody green wallpaper and the dark tiled floors, it’s as though the space has stepped directly out of an elegant speakeasy.

Unsurprisingly, there’s already a large crowd enjoying the drinks and ambience and their respective Friday nights, but Feyre leads the way up a set of stairs and to what appears to be some sort of private event space. Nesta glances around at the smaller secondary bar along the left side of the wall, the people gathered around it and the various high top tables lining the railing to the right.

“Feyre Archeron.”

Nesta turns just in time to find Lucien Vanserra now standing in front of her sisters. He’s certainly had another growth spurt since Nesta last saw him all those years ago, Lucien now standing a head above them all. He seems to have grown into his red hair too, the strands hanging around his face and framing the high cheekbones and strong jawline of his features.

“Lucien Vanserra.”

Feyre and Lucien continue to stare at one another for a moment, but then, Feyre is letting out an excited squeal, all but leaping into Lucien’s arms. He hugs her back tightly, lifting her off her feet in the process and laughing into the golden brown strands of her hair.

“Did you get shorter?” Lucien asks, setting Feyre back down on her feet.

“Fuck you,” Feyre gasps out on a laugh, punching him in the arm. “It’s not my fault you went and became a giant after going away to fancy private school. You know, I still remember when I had to defend you on the playground as kids.”

Lucien laughs easily, shaking his head. “We remember those days very differently clearly.”

Nesta clears her throat loudly, finally drawing back Feyre’s attention. “Sorry. You remember my two older sisters, Nesta and Elain.”

“Of course, I…” Lucien begins, his voice trailing off when he meets Elain’s brown eyes. “Elain.”

Elain smiles sweetly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I really liked you and your band’s songs.”

“You did?” Lucien asks, his voice practically breathless.

“Especially that one song about losing a love, but still dancing with the ghost of them in the kitchen.”

Lucien’s smile is slow, russet eyes bright and only on Elain. “I wrote that one myself actually.”

“It just really spoke to me,” Elain tells him, stepping forward as though tugged by some invisible golden thread. “Right to my heart.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Please.”

They don’t even say anything else, don’t even bother looking back before Elain and Lucien vanish toward the bar. It takes everything within Nesta not to snort in amusement at the whole thing, at the way they’re both so clearly staring at one another with stars in their eyes. At least, one Archeron is ending their night happy.

“Is she serious?” Feyre asks, affronted. “Lucien is my friend.”

“Can I go home now?” Nesta asks in response instead.

“Only if you’re going home with me.”

The deep timbre prickles along the back of Nesta’s neck, and when she whirls around, she comes face to face with the drummer of the Bat Boys. He has that same cocksure smile that he wore up on stage, and he seemingly found a fresh black shirt to pull on, the fabric clinging just as tightly as the tank did.

Nesta had known he was large when she saw him on stage, but face to face, she realizes she still may have underestimated. This close, she realizes that his eyes are hazel, a burning maze of greens and flickering gold, that there’s a scar through his eyebrow of the right one. This close, she realizes he smells of pine and leather and that sweet scent that twists on the breeze right before it snows.

This close, she realizes he is unfairly attractive, and she just might hate him for it.

“Did you really think that line was going to work?” Nesta asks dryly.

“Can you blame me for trying? A woman as beautiful as you, I had to shoot my shot.”

Nesta raises an eyebrow, settling the drummer with a look cold enough to send any man scampering back to his table. “Compliments will get you nowhere.”

In a surprising twist, rather than cut his losses, the drummer throws his head back and laughs, the sound deep and warm. It seems to come straight from within his chest, seems to curl around Nesta’s limbs. When he meets Nesta’s gaze again, there’s a fire blazing in his eyes, a challenge, and his smirk has morphed into one of pure amusement. The reaction sparks the embers in Nesta’s own chest, but she’s quick to douse them, quick to keep her face perfectly cool and neutral.

“So it’s a no for pickup lines. A no for compliments,” the drummer notes, daring to lean in closer into Nesta’s space until she gets a lungful of pine and a crackling fire. “How about bribery then, sweetheart? Can I buy you a drink? Your choice.”

“And what if I order the most expensive drink I can get? Top shelf.”

The drummer hums as though he’s actually considering it. “Alright. But you have to chat with me until you finish the drink.”

“Deal.”

The drummer holds his hand out expectantly, and Nesta has to blink a few times at just how large his hand is. But she refuses to be fazed. Raising her chin, she slides her hand into his. His calluses slide against her palm, fingers curling around almost her entire hand and threatening to send a shiver skittering up her spine. His touch is surprisingly warm, his entire body and presence seeming to resonate heat.

Before the handshake can last too long, Nesta yanks her hand away again. She turns on her heel and strides toward the bar, heavy footfalls behind her and the gaze burning into her back informing her that the drummer is following. She leans against the dark wood of the bar top, quickly grabbing the bartender’s attention with a simple raise of her hand.

“Can I get a shot of your best, most expensive vodka? On his tab,” Nesta requests, gesturing with her head to where the drummer now leans against the bar beside her.

The drummer laughs again, an easy chuckle. “Now that’s just cheating.”

Nesta turns toward him properly, finally giving in to the smirk she’d been biting back. “Guess you better talk fast.”

“How about we start with names? I’m Cassian, and you are…?”

The bartender returns at that exact moment, setting the small shot glass full of clear liquid down in front of Nesta. She swipes it up and tosses it back. The vodka is smooth, but it still burns on the way down, mixing and coaxing the burn of satisfaction low in her gut. Slamming the now empty shot glass back on the bar top, Nesta spins around toward the door.

“Time’s up. Better luck next time.”

She keeps her chin raised high, keeps that smirk firmly in place. She revels in the prickle across her skin at that gaze she can still feel pinned to her, and if she sways her hips a bit more than she normally would, well, no one but her has to know.

~ * * * ~

When Nesta checks her phone while enjoying her morning coffee, she’s surprised to find a new follower and a new DM request on her Instagram. She clicks on the account and almost rolls her eyes at the hazel eyed, curly haired man smirking back at her in the profile photo. He’s certainly dedicated, she’ll have to give him that. She knows that she should ignore him, maybe even block him, but curiosity has her clicking back over to the DM.

@BatBoyCass Hello, Nes 😏

@LadyNesta Stalking me on Instagram? Really?

Nesta’s surprise only grows when almost instantly the three small dots appear at the bottom of the screen, indicating that Cassian is typing. Was he waiting by his phone for her response? Didn’t he have band practice or something? According to Elain, the tour was moving on to a new city today, much to her younger sister’s apparent disappointment.

@BatBoyCass Actually, your sister gave me your handle. She refused to give me your number and decided this was safer. Quite protective. Rhys was into it But that’s not important. How’s your morning going, Nes?

@LadyNesta It’s Nesta. Not Nes

@BatBoyCass Guess you should’ve stuck around last night. Could have told me that yourself. It’s too late now. Nes 😜

@LadyNesta Is this your next tactic? Bribery didn’t work so now you just plan to annoy me?

@BatBoyCass Actually, my next tactic is this

Nesta frowns down at her phone screen, at the message, but then a moment later, a photo comes through in the chat. It’s a mirror selfie, but Nesta can’t tell where it was taken from the background. Although, it’s hard to focus on anything other than the large body taking up the frame. Cassian is shirtless, black fabric draped over his shoulder presumably the remnants of his shirt.

Nesta can do nothing but stare at the hard cut of his jaw where his head is tilted to look at the phone in his hand. At each swirl and loop of black ink across the golden brown skin of his chest and arms. At every hard line of muscle that makes up his stomach. At the waistband of what looks like gray sweatpants hanging low enough that his v lines are on full display.

The whole sight is enough for Nesta’s mouth to go dry, for heat to creep up her neck and spill across her cheeks. Before she even realizes, her bottom lip has found home between her teeth, eyes tracing over the photo again and again. What would it feel like, getting her hands on that body, feeling each hard line and curve beneath her fingers? What would it feel like to have his hands on her? She still remembers just how large they were compared to her own.

“Fuck,” Nesta whispers to herself, mentally chastising herself and shaking her head of any of those sorts of thoughts. Instead, her fingers tap across the screen of her phone.

@LadyNesta What’s next? A dick pic?

@BatBoyCass That goes against Instagram’s guidelines. You’ll have to give me your actual number for that Or I’d be more than happy to give you a show in person😏

@LadyNesta You’re not even in Velaris anymore

@BatBoyCass Did you look up our tour, Nes? I’m touched 🥹

Nesta scoffs and rolls her eyes, setting her phone face down on the table. She goes back to finishing her coffee, but she barely lasts a minute before she’s swiping her phone back up. She refuses to let him have the last word, refuses to let him continue to believe she would ever look up his tour dates.

@LadyNesta You wish. My sister mentioned it

@BatBoyCass Don’t worry. There’s only a few weeks left of the tour. Then, I’ll be back in Velaris. Maybe we can get dinner then?

@LadyNesta Pass

@BatBoyCass How about another bargain? You have to send me a message every day, just one. Unless my irresistible charm has you wanting to send more 😉 But one message, that’s the deal. Maybe a fun fact about yourself? One every day until I’m back in Velaris. And then if you still don’t want to get dinner with me, then I’ll leave you alone

@LadyNesta Fine. Here’s my first “fun fact” about me. I’m incredibly stubborn and I hate not winning. So hope you’re prepared for the crushing disappointment of rejection

With a satisfied hum, Nesta sets her phone down for good. The man clearly needs to learn how to phrase his bargains better. One message a day. Easy. It will be the easiest thing Nesta has ever done. And in a few weeks time, this stupid drummer with his stupid chiseled body and his stupid easy smile and warm laugh and pretty hazel eyes will be out of her life for good.

But when Nesta finally dares to check her phone later that night, she finds a new message from Cassian waiting for her. He’s shared an Instagram Reel with her, and when Nesta clicks it, Jake Johnson’s voice blares from her speakers, ‘Stop being so mean to me or I swear to God I’m going to fall in love with you,’ and there, in the quiet and dark in her bedroom, where no one else can see her, Nesta laughs.

~ * * * ~

Nesta wakes to another photo in her Instagram DMs, but this time, Cassian is nowhere to be seen in it. Instead, the photo is of a beach. The waves crashing against the sandy shore look almost silver, the silhouettes of birds flying just above. The horizon is a line of purple that gives way to pinks and yellows before fading into the deep blue of night still clinging to the top of the frame.

Sunrise. It’s the beach right before the sun rises, Nesta realizes. She finds herself wondering what he was doing awake so early, almost going so far as to type out that very question and ask before she catches herself. She holds down the backspace, focusing on Cassian’s message below the photo instead.

@BatBoyCass Good morning, Nes! We’re in sunny Adriata today. I bet you’d look gorgeous in a bikini 😍 Definitely wish you were here. I could rub sunscreen on your shoulders. You could rub sunscreen onto mine. Sounds like a dream…

@LadyNesta Sounds more like a nightmare

Nesta continues with the rest of her morning, getting ready and heading to one of her favorite brunch spots in town to meet with Emerie and Gwyn. It isn’t until she’s settled at the table, thanking the waitress who sets down three waters while she waits, that Nesta finally looks at her phone again.

@BatBoyCass Not a fan of the beach, sweetheart?

@LadyNesta Oh, I love the beach, but I much prefer a cold drink and a good book on the beach rather than obnoxious drummers

@BatBoyCass You like to read? What kind of books do you like?

Instinctively, Nesta starts to type out a response, always more than happy to talk about her love of books, about her current read, but then she remembers their bargain. And she’s already shared her ‘fun fact’ about herself for the day, already met her quota, and she still refuses to lose. She quickly deletes the message she had typed out, but Cassian must be watching for her reply, must have seen the three dots to show that she was typing appear and then disappear.

@BatBoyCass That’s alright. We can save that question for tomorrow. I’ve always preferred historical fiction. I actually just finished reading Hatfield 1677 while on tour and really enjoyed it I think if the band didn’t work out, I’d end up a history teacher. I’d be good at being a history teacher. Maybe in another life

@LadyNesta Another life? I didn’t take you as the type of person to believe in that sort of thing.

@BatBoyCass I hope I meet you in every life

“Who has you smiling and blushing at your phone?”

Nesta snaps her head up to find Emerie now standing at their table, her brown eyes alight with amusement and a small smirk tugging up her lips. She scowls fondly at her friend, setting her phone face down on the table and willing the heat prickling her cheeks to dissipate.

“No one.”

~ * * * ~

@LadyNesta Do you ever get nervous up on stage?

Loathe as she is to admit it, over the last couple of weeks, Nesta has come to enjoy her messages with Cassian. There’s something easy about it, about their back and forth. Something about the way her teasing and jabs only leave him laughing, the way he gives back as good as he gets. Something about the way he genuinely cares about what she has to say, about her ‘fun facts.’ Something about how he doesn’t balk when she dares to share a deeper piece of herself.

It’s surprisingly comfortable, as though she’s known Cassian much longer than she actually has. As though she’s known him her whole life, as though her very soul somehow recognizes him. As though there’s music entwining them like golden threads.

@BatBoyCass Actually, I love it. It’s exhilarating being up there. I can feel the music all the way down to my bones. And to hear a crowd sing back a song you wrote? There’s nothing like it

@LadyNesta You write songs?

@BatBoyCass That’s right, Nes. I’m more than just a pretty face 😎 I even started writing a new song just yesterday

@LadyNesta Let me guess. You’re going to play it for me?

@BatBoyCass Not until it’s finished. I still need that last bit of inspiration Hoping to find it tomorrow 👀

@LadyNesta What’s tomorrow?

Nesta stares at the screen of her phone, waiting. She watches the three dots appear and then disappear. They appear and then they disappear again. It has Nesta tilting her head curiously, eyebrows dipping in confusion. She knows that she hasn’t known Cassian particularly long, but this certainly doesn’t seem like him. He’s usually so quick to respond to her messages, so quick to turn on the teasing and the charm without a second thought. What could it mean that he’s typing and retyping his answer? Is he… nervous?

@BatBoyCass Tonight’s the last show of our tour. In Scythia. I’ll be back in Velaris by tomorrow afternoon

Nesta’s heart skips a beat in her chest. This is it, the moment of truth, the end of their bargain. She could tell him that she’s still not interested, and that will be the end of their interactions. She’ll never receive another message from Cassian. She could tell him that his charm and his kind heart and good looks has had no effect on her.

But she’d be lying to him just as much as herself.

Only a few weeks, and already Nesta can’t imagine a day without talking to Cassian. Just the very idea has ice bleeding between her ribs and threatening to crystalize in her chest. She wants to see that fire blaze in his hazel eyes and push back to meet it until he’s smirking in amusement. She wants to hear his crazy stories from tour and his teasing innuendos. She wants him to make her laugh. And if she’s really being honest with herself, she wants to see and feel that body and those hands outside of a mere photo.

@LadyNesta 7pm. Don’t be late

~ * * * ~

The knock on her front door sounds through the apartment just as Nesta is finishing up the last touch ups to her makeup. She glances toward the clock, the red digital numbers declaring the time to be 6:58. Punctual. One last look over herself in the mirror, and Nesta steps out of her bedroom.

When she pulls open the front door, Cassian is standing on the other side. His hair is scraped back away from his face, piled into a bun at the back of his head, and a comfortably worn leather jacket hangs on his frame. His hazel eyes in person spark that same way Nesta remembers, a slow smirk tugging up his lips as he leans casually against the door frame.

“Hello, Nes.” His eyes sweep over her, his jaw slackening. “Mother save me. You look amazing.”

“I thought we already established that compliments will get you nowhere.”

“Can you blame me when you look this beautiful?”

Nesta has to swallow down a blush at his words, at the sincerity burning in his gaze. She rolls her eyes and shoves lightly at Cassian’s chest, enough to get him to move back so she can step out of her apartment.

“Are we going to dinner or not?”

“Of course,” Cassian confirms, holding his hand out until Nesta threads her fingers through his own larger ones. “I got us a reservation at Carmichael’s.”

Nesta’s steps stutter for a moment and she peers up at Cassian in surprise. “Carmichael’s? Don’t you need to make reservations weeks in advance there?”

“Oh, you do. I made the reservation as soon as we agreed on our bargain.”

Nesta comes fully to a stop at that. She blinks a few times, trying to wrap her mind around this new information, and she can’t help it. She laughs. Cassian’s eyes light up at the sound, the gold flecks within the hazel practically glinting beneath the lights of the hallway. His smirk morphs into a wide, genuine smile, and the sight is enough to leave Nesta feeling breathless.

“Feeling confident, were you?” Nesta teases, trying and failing to fight back her own grin.

“I’m confident about plenty of things, sweetheart,” Cassian tells her, stepping closer into her space. He uses his free hand to twist one of the strands of Nesta’s hair framing her face, the tips of his fingers skimming along her temple.

“Is that so? And what else are you confident about?”

“That I’m going to marry you one day.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies @freakingata

#CassianWeek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic

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gardensgatekeeper · 10 months

Text

Bedhead

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 846

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, fingering, swearing, penetrative sex, dirty talk. Really just all the things.

Tbh forgot I wrote this and now I'm having terrible Jake thoughts. Enjoy ;)

When you got the call that you had been booked as the official hairstylist for Greta Van Fleet on their upcoming tour, you thought you were dreaming, ready to wake up and resume life as normal at any moment. You had been a fan of their music for a couple of years and were a little nervous to meet them the first time, but all of them were so kind and welcoming. Fast forward a few weeks and you’re truly having the time of your life. Though you would say you’ve grown close with all of the guys from the time they’ve spent in your chair, you and Jake ended up becoming the closest, as his wild and unruly hair has earned him much more time in your care. Though your relationship has been mostly platonic, you couldn’t ignore his occasional wandering glances or the way his hand sometimes brushed a little too close to your hips when you spin the chair to set him free.

Or tonight, when you accidentally tripped on the hair dryer cord and fell right over in his lap. “Fuck I’m sorry.” You rushed, trying to quickly get out of his personal space. He let out a silent grunt and only then did you realize where your hands were. Your face had to be red as a tomato as you stared at him in total embarrassment. “Shit Jake I-“ You began. “S’okay sweetheart, just give me a minute will ya?” He softly requested, closing his eyes. You nodded, though realizing he couldn’t see your response with eyes closed. Since he was pretty much done, you decided to clean up your station a bit to save yourself a few minutes after the show. As you were wrapping the cord around a flat iron, you felt two hands grab your hips, a gasp leaving your lips. There, behind you, Jake stood, staring at your reflection in the mirror you stood in front of. “Darling, I thought I would be able to handle this little situation, but that’s proving to be a challenge when I know you’re right here looking like a sight for sore eyes.” His hot breath whispered against your neck. “Jake.” was all you could manage to get out. “Tell me to stop at any time and I will. You’re in complete control, but right now I want nothing more than to bend you over this counter and take you completely.” He slowly traced his hand from your neck, ghosting over your nipple, before resting at the top of the waistband of your leggings. Instead of words, all you could do in response was let out a heavy sigh “And I think you want that too, huh?” “Fuck Jake. Yeah, yeah I want it. Please don’t stop.” You were ashamed at how quickly you gave yourself up to his mercy. Not wasting any time, especially since call time was in 15 minutes, his hands made their way to your core that was already slick with desire. “All of this, just for me?” Though your eyes were closed, you could sense the smirk in his tone, but you didn’t care. You grabbed his hand and pushed him closer, needing some sort of relief. “Just be patient, I'll get you there doll.” You whimpered as his fingers went to work, curling in you, finding the one spot that made your knees buckle. He chuckled at the effect he had on you, continuing for a few more minutes until you felt the warm feeling building in your core. You latched onto his arm, “Jake I’m gonna-“ But just as you thought you were about to find release, he removed his fingers, making you gasp from the empty feeling. He moved at lightning speed to remove your leggings and bend you over the counter before you felt his hard cock teasing your entrance. “Please jake, stop teasi-“ You couldn’t even finish your sentence as he rammed into you with no warning, a yelp coming from your lips. “Gonna need you to keep quiet so nobody hears, think you can do that for me?” He leaned down, whispering in your ear. “Yeah, yeah” You breathed out in between his unforgiving thrusts. Soon enough, you were beginning to see white spots again as your release was approaching. “Are you almost there? I can feel you clenching around my cock. Feels so heavenly." His words went straight to your core and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from screaming out for the whole venue to hear. He spilled into you soon after as the two of you paused to collect yourselves. “God that was-“ you breathed out. “Yeah” He chuckled, slowly pulling out and re-adjusting himself. As you did the same, you let out a frustrated sigh as his hair was a complete tangled mess yet again. He chuckled at your demeanor, “Does that mean I have to get back in the chair again?” He grinned. “Jake, you’re gonna be the death of me.” You said with your hands on your hips. “Touché darling.”

#greta #greta van fic #gvf #gvf imagine #jake kiszka #jake kiszka gvf #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka x you #jake kiszka x reader #jacob thomas kiszka #jakekiszka #gretavanfleet #jake gvf #gvf jake #greta van fleet #gardensgatekeeper

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ellephlox · 1 year

Text

Anchor

Summary: Matt helps you when you're overstimulated at a party.

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader on the autism spectrum

Warnings: Description of panic attack, overstimulation, brief and very indirect reference to sexual assault, profanity.

A/N: I apologize in advance if this doesn't fit with your experience of autism! I just used my own tendencies as inspiration to write this. Thank you so much for the request, anon!

Foggy warned you that his family could be... intense. Not just rambunctious, or extraverted, but more like a crowd of drunken mega-fans when their favorite team won the Super Bowl.

"So I get it if you don't want to come," he said, speaking through a mouthful of poutine. "No pressure at all. It's just a summer barbecue. But the only food there will be lasagna, just so you know."

"Why lasagna?" You sat across from him and Karen at a small, quiet diner after work, with Matt to your left. Sometimes you went to Josie's, purely because it was Matt and Foggy's favorite bar, but on busy days you'd go to this smaller eatery instead. Matt never made a big deal of it, and never said specifically to Karen and Foggy why he always suggested the quieter restaurant on the days when Josie's was brimming with patrons and music, but you knew why, and you'd told him a thousand times how grateful you were.

"Why lasagna?" Foggy repeated. "Uh, because July 29th is none other than the very important holiday, National Lasagna Day?"

"I have a feeling your definition of 'very important' differs ever so slightly from mine," you said. "Sorry. Haven't heard of it. So, you celebrate this because...?"

"Because my dad thought it would be funny and then it kinda stuck. So now it's an official Nelson Family Tradition."

"He's dragged me to some really weird traditions over the years," Matt said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You liked the feeling of being in a cubby of his arms, and you subconsciously leaned in closer to him. There weren't many people you could lean into comfortably, but Matt was one of them. "Careful. Once you go to one, he invites you to all of them. I'm still recovering from the Hammock Olympics."

"What's—"

"Don't ask," Foggy cut in. "It's a long story. But think about it, okay? We'd love to have you."

You weren't keen on going to a lasagna party — or any party, for that matter — but you agreed. Foggy had been your friend for a long time, and you felt that you owned it to him; besides, as much as he claimed his family was rowdy, they couldn't be that unruly.

But nothing could have prepared you for the swarm of Nelsons that spilled out of the house and onto the lawn. They were everywhere: Dancing to music that pumped from a speaker with far too much bass that made you wince. Shooting hoops in the short driveway and bodily ramming into one another, sweat visible under their arms. Hovering over the drinks, pouring from the array of alcohol that was stacked on a folding table.

"How many family members does Foggy even have?" you asked, under your breath, as you slowed slightly. Matt was leisurely tapping his cane next to you, his hand loosely around your arm.

"Based on memory? A few dozen. But..." Matt's brow crinkled. "There's definitely more than five dozen heartbeats here right now."

"More than sixty? How are there so many Nelsons? How are they all even able to attend? Don't some of them have other obligations to go to?"

"If it gets really packed in there, and you want to leave, we can go anytime."

"It's okay. I'll be fine."

"Really, sweetheart." Matt tugged at your arm slightly. "Just showing up is a huge deal for Foggy. We can leave at anytime, and no one will judge us."

You smiled at him. "You're the coolest guy ever, you know that?"

Walking up the Nelsons' driveway, you hoped that you and Matt would just melt into the crowd, but instead Foggy caught a glimpse of you and waved wildly. Wonderful. You put a wide smile on your face, though, and waved back stiffly. Awkwardly. Maybe no more waving for me.

To distract yourself from the heat already rising in your face, you began to narrate to Matt. "Foggy's up ahead of us. Drinks are all on the left. Lemonade, I think, apple cider, vodka, wine. And... what looks like a cheese board? There's also a lot of chalk all over the driveway. Hop scotch, body outlines, and genitalia, I think."

"Hopefully the last isn't courtesy of Foggy."

"I don't think so. Foggy is—"

"Behind you, and delighted that you came," Foggy said, coming up from behind and hugging you. You stiffened, unprepared for the embrace, but he bounced back quickly, his face flushed with the heat of the day. "Happy National Lasagna Day! I'd recommend getting in there before the Twisted Teas are gone."

In the corner of your eye, you could see someone reaching over to turn up the volume on the music. The bass thumped out of the speakers with even more force, and simultaneously a baby started wailing only ten feet away from you. You tensed slightly, resisting the urge to simply turn around and walk away from this party. For Foggy. For Foggy, I'll stay here and enjoy myself as much as I can.

Matt must have sensed it, because his hand crept to yours and squeezed. "Drinks nearby?"

"Yeah, about five feet to your left," Foggy said. "I'll read you the options. Hey, Y/N — my mom wants to meet you." At your bewildered look, Foggy raised his hands. "I don't know why. I'm just the messenger. She's inside, in the kitchen right now, and all she said was she wants to talk to you once you get here."

"She wants to talk to me?" The prospect was alarming. So was the idea of leaving Matt's side in a swarm of people like this. But you had no choice, because Mrs. Nelson suddenly waved from the front door, as though she'd sensed your arrival, beckoning you inside.

"She's waving me in," you said, panicking slightly. "Foggy, are you sure she meant me?"

"Positive. Sorry. She's going to pry, but don't feel obligated to tell her your darkest secrets. I think she likes the idea of having a girl to chat with about Matt and me."

Dear God. Please let this not last long. You reluctantly parted from Matt, and made your way into the brightly lit, maximist-style interior of the Nelson home. Knick-knacks and assorted tchotchkes surrounded you as though you were in an antique shop.

"Y/N!" Mrs. Nelson appeared again, her face round like Foggy's. You started to extend a hand, but she went right in for a hug — so that's where Foggy gets it from — and squeezed you. Limply you stood there, awkwardly reaching to hug back with one arm.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Nelson," you said. "Can I help with anything in the kitchen?"

"Don't be silly, that's not why I asked you in here. I want you to give me intel."

"Intel?"

"On Matthew! You're dating him, aren't you?"

"Oh — I—"

"We've known Matthew since he was a first year in law school," she went on, picking up a knife and chopping at a carrot with dextrous agility. "That boy doesn't ever settle down. But now he's met you, and I want details!"

"Um..." You averted your gaze. She hardly blinked at all, and it was unnerving. Instead you focused on the dripping faucet, and then the picture frames to your left. Foggy in college, Foggy with his siblings, a family portrait outside of Acadia National Park. You finally compromised and settled your gaze to the corner of her left eye. Close enough. "Well, we met about a year ago. Matt's always just understood me, and I guess we got along well with conversation, so here we are."

"You thinking of getting married?"

I barely know this woman, and she wants to know about my relationship. Your stomach was clenching at what you'd say, and it didn't help knowing that Matt was certainly listening to every word of the conversation. "I don't — I mean, I'm not really... I can't say. Not because I don't know, but because that's between me and Matt, mostly." Shit. Was that too harsh? You assumed it wasn't, because Mrs. Nelson went right on smiling.

The door slammed as someone else came in. You whirled around, hoping desperately it was Matt, but it was some unnamed relative who had the distinct Nelson features and a cigarette in his hand. He lit it, breathing in deeply, and exhaling smoke into the air.

"You know I don't like you smoking inside, Ben," Mrs. Nelson said, shooing at him.

"Sorry." Ben didn't stop smoking. You winced as the smell of cigarette smoke wafted up to you, and glanced at the closed window. That air Ben was exhaling — it was now in your lungs, and you could feel it tickling your throat. The more you thought about the fact that you were inhaling his air, the more restless you felt. The smoke curled through the air, and breezed against you as he sucked on the cigarette again. Surely it was now going to cling to your clothes for the rest of the day. You'd be able to smell it, you knew. And Matt would be able to smell it too, which would make it a hundred times worse because now you felt bad—

"Y/N?"

Your head snapped back to Mrs. Nelson. "Sorry?"

"I wondered if you'd like to hold the baby. She's fourteen weeks old today. I can ask Susan to bring her in for you."

That's the very last thing I want to do, actually.

You struggled for an answer, and finally landed on an excuse. "That's very kind of you to offer. But I think I've got to go back out," you said, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder and plastering a gracious look on your face. "I want to find Matt and... introduce him to someone."

Please don't ask who.

Fortunately, Mrs. Nelson didn't question you at all. "Oh, of course! I won't keep you."

Yes, please don't.

You hurried out of the kitchen, not realizing you were holding in a breath until you were in the mercifully clean, smoke-free air outside. The downside was that in the time you had been indoors, the sun had emerged from behind the clouds, and metamorphosed the already humid day into a blistering sauna.

You found Matt standing in the direct sunlight with some of Foggy's brothers. There was no shade to be found, and you mourned your decision to not put on sunscreen today as you joined his side and resisted the urge to hoist the back of your cardigan over your head like a parasol. The sweltering sunshine was so intense that you felt as though you could feel your skin burning second by second.

They all laughed — at what, you weren't sure — but it rang in your ears, nearly making you screw up your face. How was Matt handling this? Surely it was bothering him more than it bothered you. Yet he had a placid expression on his face, holding his cane loosely with one hand and sipping on a beer with the other.

"Last call for the cheese board," Foggy said suddenly. "And Mom says it'll be another two hours until supper, so grab some Swiss and Muenster now or forever hold your hunger."

Your stomach felt as though it were curdling. Two hours? It was already an hour past when you usually had lunch. Two more hours was frankly terrifying. And the only thing standing between you and the two-hours-out-lasagna was... cheese.

"Want to make our way over there, then?" you asked Matt, as casually as you could. There was no sense in letting him know you were stressed. He was having a good time, that much you could tell, and the last thing you wanted was for your discomfort to bring down his day.

Matt went with you to the table, and only when you were out of earshot of Foggy and his brothers did he speak. "Hey. You doing okay?"

"I've been better. I've been worse." There was no sense in trying to lie to him. "Let's just grab some cheese. I didn't realize lunch would be so late, or I would've had something at home."

But just before you reached the table, a girl of about eight or nine years ran in front of you, and dug both hands — both hands, two hands with chalk and dirty visibly staining them — into the platter of cheese, scooping out a handful for herself.

"Ella!" her mother snapped, a few feet away. "You've had enough. No more cheese."

The girl obeyed, tossing all the cheese slices back into the platter and running away cheerfully. You stood stock still, frozen in your spot.

Matt cocked his head slightly. "Still hungry for cheese?"

"Why?" you managed. "Why, why, why? Who just touches all the food then dumps it back in?" The cheese was too tainted now. Wistfully you looked at it, then at your watch. One hour, fifty-six minutes left. And that was if Mrs. Nelson served the lasagnas on time.

"I think that the Nelson household is your new nemesis," Matt said, pulling you in towards him. "Anything I can do?"

"No," you said, fighting to keep yourself optimistic. For Matt, for Foggy. "Thank you, though."

"We can imagine we're in a version of the Hunger Games. Except instead of bloodthirsty teens, we're surrounded by small talk and cigarette smoke."

"You knew?"

"Smelled it right away." Matt took your arm again as you made your way back to the circle of Nelson brothers. "And figured you were having the time of your life in there."

"Ha."

"If it makes you feel any better, all their stomachs have rumbled in the past half an hour," Matt said softly, nodding his head in the direction of Foggy's brothers. "You're not the only one who's disappointed that lunch is two hours out. And..." He shifted so that his right ear was facing Foggy. "It sounds like Foggy really, really needs to pee right now."

You let out a laugh. "Information I didn't need to have."

Matt only smiled as you both rejoined the circle.

You thought you'd make it until lunch. It was only two hours, you kept telling yourself, it wasn't long. Not much longer in the sun. Not much longer you'd have to stand there while Ben lit another cigarette nearby and the wind carried the smoke right into your face. Not much longer that the Nelsons would keep getting drunker and drunker and their laughs more raucous. And, certainly, it wouldn't be much longer that the music was blaring, pumping through your ears to rattle your very bones.

And then everyone grouped together, for one large family conversation, and you found yourself being jostled into the middle of a massive, warm crowd of Nelsons, shoulder-to-shoulder with people you'd never met before. The panic you had kept at bay so far began to swell like a tsunami under the surface of tranquil waters, thudding in your heart and moving up to your face. Too warm. The sun beat down, not a cloud in sight. All of the little kids were next to you now, singing and jumping up and down, and—

One of them sneezed, and with horror you felt droplets of mucus land on your right arm.

"I have to go," you gasped to Matt, slipping backwards out of the crowd and making a beeline for the house. Bathroom. You needed a bathroom.

But the final straw was the bathroom itself. Another speaker sat in the windowsill, projecting music loudly to the backyard, and it smelled like someone took a shit in there, making you gag and turn around—

Straight into Matt.

"Matt," you whispered. "I can't. I can't do this."

"Sweetheart—"

"It's too much. I've tried, but I can't, they're sneezing and laughing and dancing and I just can't do it anymore. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for?"

"Because I'm ruining your day!" You crossed into the hallway and sat on the bottom of the stairs, rubbing your hands over your face and hair, again and again, as though to get the sound off. Only then did you realize with horror that you hadn't yet washed your arm, so you leapt up to run to the sink. Matt followed you, nimbly stepping over the clutter that was strewn on the floor. "If you didn't have me at your side, being a leech, you'd still be out there, laughing with them and sipping a beer. And — and you've got the hearing of a fucking bat, but you're able to tolerate everything, while I just throw a tantrum like a two year old." You were near tears, the truth of your own statement ringing into the kitchen. Because it was ridiculous, wasn't it? Matt's hearing was incomprehensibly better than yours, and so was his sensitivity to the sun and the cigarette smoke, and yet it didn't seem to touch him at all.

He reached out, and you thought he was going to shut off the faucet, but instead he ran his hand under the water, took the soap, and began to rub at your arm slowly, up and down. You stood still, your own hands dripping, and allowed him to remove whatever snot might still be on your skin. Finally he lowered his fingers, and took a clean washcloth from the cupboard under the sink. Starting with the top of your arm he dried off every last bit of water, working his way downward.

"Last night, out in the suit, I came across a frat party," he said, finally drying off your hands and setting the cloth on the edge of the sink. "Over seventy people were there. And there were roofies being handed out, like hors d'oeuvres, so that the guys could take advantage of whoever they wanted. I went in, shut it down. Went into the bedrooms and stopped a couple of them in the act. But the whole time, they had this heavy metal music blasting, and the house was filled with the smell of weed. It was dusty in there, too. Every breath I drew in, I could taste it, and feel the grit of it."

You remained silent and let him do the talking. His voice was low, pleasant; a welcome distraction from the voices and radio outside.

"It set me off," he continued. "And even afterwards, I could still hear it ringing in my ears, and could still feel the layer of dust on my skin. You know what helped me to snap out of it?" He raised his hand and gently cupped your face. "You."

You vaguely remembered Matt crawling into bed with you the previous night, and pulling you in close, but as far as you remembered, you hadn't even said a word. "Me? But how—?"

"You're my anchor." Matt's hand dropped. "You. When everything is too loud, I listen to your steady inhales and exhales. Your heartbeat. When the scents are too much, all I have to do is breathe in your shampoo and detergent. Your skin, your hair, your body... it's the only thing that I want to always be with. You're always my anchor. And I know you're strong enough to do all this on your own, but if you ever need me to be, I'll be your anchor, too. Just say the word, and we can leave this party. We can stay in all weekend and do nothing but order in takeout and watch movies. We can drive twenty hours north and stay in a remote cottage for a week. And if you need a break from me, I'll take off until you're ready. I'll always be your anchor, always, if you want me to be."

You closed your eyes, your heartbeat slowing; it was as though someone had dialed down the music outside. Matt seemed to notice the relaxing of your posture, because he tilted his head against yours, and breathed, "That's my girl."

"Thank you," you whispered, wrapping your arms tentatively around him. "And I never want a break from you. Never you." At your motion, his own arms embraced you tightly, as though he'd been waiting for the indication that you wanted to hug.

"And something else," Matt said, after you pulled apart. Without looking he reached behind him towards the fruit basket and plucked out two bananas. "I'll pay Mrs. Nelson back for these."

You broke out in a smile and took one of the bananas. "Keep guard so no one walks in on us chowing down alone in here like two bizarre monkeys?"

He leaned against the counter next to you as you peeled the banana. "Always."

#daredevil #matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #reader insert #mcu #reader #x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x autistic!reader #fluff #autistic!reader #autism #neurodivergent #neurodivergent!reader #overstimulation

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isa-beenme · 1 year

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Solo Dad Rhys!!!! Fluff piece!!!

AHAHAJAJAJSKSKAKAIAIA I LOVE RHYSAND SO MUCH

I'm sorry for giving a villain arc to Feyre but HEY history needs to happen okay?

Nyxie baby cutie boo making his first appearance in my blog, welcome babyyyy

My mind just went FUOOOOOON once I imagined the story, I SWEAR I was riding my bike when I thought of this and had to stop middle way to my house just to think it better

Yes I changed the lyrics of Wait For It to fit the history, and yes I invented a whole bunch of shit about velaris WHO CARES

KEEP SENDING REQUESTS I LOVE DOING THIS

Wait For It

In the breathtaking realm of the Night Court, the stars gleamed like diamonds in the obsidian sky, casting their ethereal glow upon the majestic city of Velaris below. Amidst the grandeur of the court, Nyx, a cherubic young boy of ten, with unruly dark curls and captivating violet eyes, eagerly awaited his Wednesday night escapade.

Nyx's parents were once deeply in love, but Feyre, burdened by a restless heart, had returned to her once fiancee, Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court, after giving birth. In the aftermath of her choices, she had bitterly slandered Rhysand and his family, a web of lies that entangled them in trouble. Despite the turmoil, Rhysand only devoted himself to raising Nyx, juggling the responsibilities of both a powerful High Lord and a dedicated father.

But Nyx had a little secret, a sanctuary that filled his heart with joy amidst the chaos. Every Wednesday night, he would give his father an innocent lie, claiming to attend "extra classes" while secretly venturing to the grand theater of Velaris in the bursting heart of music and arts of the Rainbow.

The first time it happened was pure coincidence. The grand theater of Velaris hummed with the anticipation of the evening's performance. Nyx had just learned how to winnow and having his father's mischievous spirit, he went after the wave of emotion that spread everywhere he went, sneaking into an empty booth Nyx sat in awe, waiting to witness the lady everyone affectionately called "Starlight" take the stage once more. He wore a dashing little suit, feeling every inch a proper gentleman as he eagerly anticipated the show.

As the curtains rose, Nyx's eyes widened in wonderment as "Miss Starlight" appeared, bathed in the spotlight's embrace. Her voice, like a thousand twinkling stars, filled the theater, capturing hearts with its enchanting melody. She actually portrayed a character named Starlight, who reunited the story of Velaris and told it in a song, bringing the city to life and giving it a soul she shared with on stage.

When the final notes of the performance echoed through the theater, the audience erupted in thunderous applause. Nyx, who had been clapping with glee, could hardly contain his excitement as he jumped up from his seat. He knew that he had to speak to her, to let her know how much he adored her singing. With determination in his heart, Nyx slipped away from the public side, weaving through the crowd until he reached the backstage area. His little heart pounded with nervous excitement, but he couldn't let fear hold him back, he knew this was his chance to talk to the performer.

Peeking around the corner, he spotted her, still dressed in her celestial attire, chatting with some of the crew. Nyx took a deep breath, mustering all the bravery a seven-year-old could have, and stepped forward, clutching a small bouquet of flowers he had summoned from his auntie Elain's garden.

- Um, excuse me, miss Starlight? - He called out softly, a touch of shyness evident in his voice. The lady turned, and a radiant smile graced her features as she noticed the adorable little boy approaching her.

- Why, hello there - She said warmly, going down on her knees to meet his eyes. Her sparkling dress made a pool of diamonds shine around her, making her look even more like an angel - And who are you, young man?

- I'm a big fan - He whispered in shyness, hands sweating as he offered her the bouquet and she took it.

- Is my big fan's name Nyx, I suppose? - She asked as if it was a secret, Nyx's eyes widened in surprise.

- You know my name? - She chuckled gently and offered him a hand, one he gladly took in.

- Of course, I remember you. You've been coming here with your father to see the renewal, haven't you? - Nyx's cheeks flushed with delight, feeling like he was known and seen by someone special.

- Yes! I love music, and I loved, even more, your singing, Miss Starlight. It's like true magic! - She laughed, even then she sounded like she was made of music.

- Well, thank you, Nyx. That's such a lovely compliment - She replied, touched by his sincerity. Nyx pointed to her bouquet, a bit shy when she held it close to her heart.

- These are for you. They're from the Night Court's garden - He proudly said and she smiled even more.

- Thank you, sweetheart - She said, looking at the flowers with gratitude - They're beautiful, just like you - His heart swelled with joy at the praise, and a wide grin spread across his face.

- Can I, um, watch all your performances, Miss Starlight? - Her eyes sparkled with warmth and affection.

- Oh, absolutely! I would be delighted to have my biggest fan in the audience at every show - Nyx beamed, feeling like the luckiest boy in all of Prythian.

- Yay! Thank you! - He ran to hug her, taking care to not step in her dress or ruin her hair which had sparkles that shined like the stars he loved to see. As their conversation continued, Nyx's initial shyness faded away, replaced by a blossoming friendship. The lady shared stories of her love for music and the theater, and Nyx listened with rapt attention, hanging on to her every word.

From that day forward, Nyx became a regular presence at her performances. He would sit in the front row or in the same booth when he didn't feel like gaining attention from the citizens, his eyes alight with wonder, as "Miss Starlight" sang and danced with grace and passion. And each time the curtains fell, she would come to greet him, and they would share heartwarming conversations that left Nyx feeling like he had found a kindred spirit.

Their bond grew stronger with each passing performance, and Nyx's admiration for "Miss Starlight" only deepened as the years passed. Their friendship was a radiant star in the young boy's life, casting a luminous glow on his days in the Night Court. And every time he watched her on that mesmerizing stage, he couldn't help but feel that he was in the presence of true magic. There, he would be enchanted over and over again by a sweet and lovely lady, her voice as mellifluous as the Night Court's nocturnal symphony.

It took years for Nyx to finally come up with a good and durable excuse for his lack of presence every Wednesday night, sometimes even missing dinner with his family when his favorite singer invited him to dine with the rest of the cast that presented the show. Unknown to Nyx, in one of his hidden escapes, his father was making his way across the city. Under the veil of night, the streets of Velaris were bathed in a silvery glow. High Lord Rhysand, cloaked in shadows, followed the path toward one of his favorite restaurants.

While he passed through some of the streets he met Nyx's teacher walking next to the River. Curious as to why she was there he trailed her discreetly, observing her every move with a mixture of concern and curiosity. As the lady entered a quaint restaurant, Rhysand waited a moment before stepping inside. He chose a discreet corner, keeping his features hidden from curious gazes. The restaurant hummed with soft conversation and the clinking of glasses, creating a cozy ambiance.

After what felt like an eternity, the lady emerged from the restroom, looking elegant and serene. Rhysand steadied himself, deciding it was time to confront her.

- Excuse me, miss - As she walked past his table, he spoke in a low, steady voice. She turned, her eyes meeting Rhysand's, and for a moment, he saw a glimmer of recognition. However, she quickly masked it with a polite smile.

- Yes, can I help you, my Lord? - Her face was calm, too calm for someone that was supposed to be with somebody else's son and not at a restaurant having a date.

- I believe you've been teaching my son, Nyx, for the past few years - Rhysand began, maintaining an air of formality.

- Oh, Nyx - She replied, her eyes brightening with fondness - Such a charming and talented young boy. He's been attending my classes for a while now, yes.

- I must apologize for any misunderstanding, but I can't seem to understand why you are here if he was supposed to be in class right now - The lady's expression faltered, and she seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

- I... I don't have formal classes with him on Wednesdays, per se. Nyx has been coming every Saturday afternoon for his lessons - Rhysand became desperate for a second, and his heart clenched with worry for his son's safety.

- So he's been lying to me - He said, his voice tinged with disappointment. The lady's eyes softened with understanding.

- I'm sorry if I inadvertently became part of his secret. I never knew he was hiding the truth from you - His ears pricked at her words, curious as to why she didn't seem any sort of nervous

- What do you mean by "hiding the truth from me"? Do you know where he is? - She seemed confused for a second, before a smile plastered on her face.

- Everyone in the streets of the Rainbow knows where the little prince goes on Wednesdays, we all assumed you and your family knew too. It's not uncommon to find him walking down the city with the actors that play in the theater - His eyes softened at hearing his son was safe and his citizens were somehow taking care of him - I'm sorry for not noticing your lack of knowledge on his where being.

- You have nothing to apologize for - Rhysand replied, his tone gentler now - I appreciate your honesty. I was just worried for his safety once I saw you here.

- He's safe with the crew, they are lovely people to be around, I actually befriended some of them, there's nothing to fear - the lady assured him, her sincerity evident - He's such a joy around them, and he's genuinely passionate about music and theater. You need to listen to him talk about his "Miss Starlight" and detail every new performance of hers - Rhysand couldn't help but feel a hint of gratitude toward the lady for cherishing his son's company. A smile graced the lady's lips, and a sparkle danced in her eyes - He's a remarkable young boy, and it's been so sweet to hear him talk about this lady, you should probably meet her and thank this female for making him so happy. He's always so enthusiastic.

- I'm planning to talk to him about this - Rhysand said, his voice tinged with gratitude, though - But I would like to be informed of any action by him, apparently there are a lot of things I don't know about. Thank you once again - As she nodded with a small smile Rhysand quickly winnowed to the Town House, calling an urgent meeting with his family.

The Night Court's Inner Circle gathered in a quiet corner of the luxurious house, their faces reflecting concern and curiosity. Rhysand sat at the head of the table, his heart heavy with worry for his young son, Nyx. He had discovered Nyx's secret escapades to watch "Miss Starlight," the lady whose performances had captured his son's heart, and now he needed advice on how to handle the situation. Mor leaned forward, her brows furrowed with worry.

- So, he's been going to watch performances instead of attending classes, is that what you just said? - She asked, concern lacing her voice.

- Yes, and he's been lying about it for a while now, years probably. I didn't find out until this night when I found his teacher in a restaurant, and I'm not sure how to address it without making him feel ashamed - Rhysand nodded, his voice tinged with regret.

- He's a curious child, Rhysand. He probably felt the need to hide it because he thought you'd disapprove - Amren, always the pragmatic one, spoke up.

- I can understand why he'd be drawn to her performances. She's a true star on that stage - Cassian chimed in, his face thoughtful.

- And she's been wonderful with Nyx - Azriel added quietly - I've seen her interact with him after her shows, and the way he lights up in her presence is undeniable.

- Wait, wait, wait, both knew he was going to her performances and none of you thought about telling me? - His brother's expression fell at their mistake, slowly looking at each other before looking at their High Lord again.

- Maybe? I mean, we saw him on the front row once and when we made sure he was safe we left him there - Cassian explained first, exchanging looks with the shadowsinger.

- We were waiting for him to tell you - Azriel closed the conversation, looking at the ground in shame.

- Hold on, the actress we are talking about is the one who played Edwina in "Whimsical Serenade"? - As Cassian and Azriel eagerly agreed, their faces lighting up, Morrigan laughs hard, finally understanding the whole situation - Of course! It all makes sense now! Even I lied to you once to go watch her performance with Elain. I didn't notice Nyx there, though.

- Isn't she the one who plays Rhysand in "A High Lord's Duel"? - Amren jumps in the conversation, and Nestha's eyes widened at the mention - Holy shit, she is amazing. It actually scared me how well she incorporates Rhysand in the scenes with Tamlin.

- If so she is the one who plays Eliza in "A Heartfelt Symphony" - All of them agreed to her statement, starting a discussion about her talent and performances.

- Let me get this straight, all of you watched her at least once? - As the Inner Circle discussed Nyx's infatuation with "Miss Starlight", as well as their experiences with her, unbeknownst to them, the young boy himself stood at the doorway, eavesdropping on the conversation with a mix of fear and guilt. He knew he had let his father down, and he dreaded facing the consequences of his actions.

Before Nyx could retreat, Mor's keen senses detected his presence. She glanced towards the door and smiled warmly at him.

- Nyx, come on in. We were just discussing your little adventures - His little heart pounded in his chest, but he knew he couldn't hide anymore. Nyx took a deep breath and stepped into the room, his violet eyes meeting his father's concerned gaze.

- Nyx - Rhysand began gently - We know about your visits to watch the shows at the theater. Why didn't you tell me the truth?

- I didn't want you to be angry with me, Papa. I love her singing, and I didn't think you'd let me go if you knew - Nyx's shoulders slumped, his voice small.

- Nyx, I'm not angry with you. I just want to know the truth. You don't have to hide anything from me - Rhysand softened, understanding his son's fear.

- Plus, we all know about her. You're not the only one who's watched her perform, little one - Mor grinned, her eyes twinkling mischievously. Nyx's eyes widened in surprise, and he looked around at the Inner Circle, finding nods of agreement from each of them. The knowledge that everyone knew and still supported him brought a smile to his face.

- You guys have seen her too? - Nyx asked in awe.

- Of course! We had to make sure you weren't getting into any trouble, boo - Cassian chuckled.

- Papa, please come with me to the next show. She's amazing, and I think you'll like her too - Nyx turned back to his father, his eyes earnest.

- Yes, Daddy, Miss Starlight is the best in the whole wide world - Nestha chuckled before earning a warning glare from the High Lord.

- All right, Nyx. I'll go with you, and we can enjoy her performance together - Rhysand's heart swelled with love for his son and his genuine enthusiasm.

Nyx beamed, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He knew he could trust his father, and having him there by his side meant the world to him. And so, with the support of the Inner Circle and his loving father, Nyx felt a newfound sense of confidence. He had learned that honesty and trust were the building blocks of their family, and he was eager to share the magic of "Miss Starlight" with the one person he loved most in the world – his Papa, the High Lord of the Night Court.

As fate would have it, one week later they arrived at the theater, Rhysand's heart pounding in his chest with a nervousness he hadn't felt for years. He let Nyx guide them to one of the booths that held an upper vision of the scenario, his son kept gazing at the stage with an enchantment that seemed to hold a spell over him. The performance began, and a whole bunch of songs were being presented that night. The musical was called "The Whole World of the Night Court", each actor portraying a different city of his territory, telling its story in the form of a song.

The lights turned off again, and Nyx started to shake completely in his chair with excitement. As the grand theater's velvet curtains parted, a hushed anticipation swept through the audience. A spotlight illuminated the stage, and there she stood, "Miss Starlight," bathed in a celestial aura, ready to weave her magic once more. Rhysand sat straighter in his seat, his heart fluttering with both curiosity and the enchantment that surrounded the mysterious lady, a sudden uneasiness taking his body.

As for Nyx, his wide violet eyes were shimmering with excitement, his small hands gripping the edge of the plush seat. He was eager to share this moment with his Papa, to introduce him to the magic that had captured his young heart. Her, interpreting once again her character Starlight, began to tell Velaris stories to the public as if it was her own, eyes shimmering at each word. Suddenly the orchestra began to play a mesmerizing melody, and the lady took a deep breath, her voice tinged with emotion as she began to sing. The soulful notes of the piano accompanied her melodic voice, setting the stage for the tale she was about to tell.

- Theodosia writes me a letter every day; I'm keeping the bed warm while her father is away, He's on the human side in Prythian; He's trying to keep the colonies in line; But he can keep all of Prythian; Theodosia, she's mine - She sang, making a clear reference to the firstly High Lord that idealized Velaris as a gift to his wife, Theodosia. This fact made Rhysand even more aware of the spectacle.

- Love doesn't discriminate; Between the sinners and the saints; It takes, and it takes, and it takes; And we keep loving anyway; We laugh, and we cry, and we break, and we make our mistakes; And if there's a reason I'm by her side; When so many have tried; Then I'm willing to wait for it; I'm willing to wait for it.

With a glance at Nyx, who was completely enthralled by the performance, Rhysand knew that this lady had the power to touch hearts and ignite imaginations.

- My grandfather was a fire and brimstone preacher; But there are things that the homilies and hymns won't teach ya; My mother was a genius; My father commanded respect; When they died, they left no instructions; Just a legacy to protect - At that she clearly meant the legacy every High Lord had to carry to protect the city, himself being one of the many that had to sacrifice a lot to keep the secret - Death doesn't discriminate; Between the sinners and the saints; It takes, and it takes, and it takes; And we keep living anyway; We rise, and we fall, and we break, and we make our mistakes; And if there's a reason I'm still alive; When everyone who loves me has died; I'm willing to wait for it; I'm willing to wait for it.

As the chorus echoed through the theater, Rhysand felt a connection to the song's message. He understood the yearning for something that might be just out of reach, and it resonated deep within his soul.

- Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it, wait - The quiet intensity in her expression held the audience captive while the back vocals reached their peak, and Rhysand found himself captivated as well, unable to look away.

Her voice rose, reaching heights that seemed to touch the very stars, and as the orchestra swelled around her, Rhysand could feel the passion in every word she sang.

- I am the one thing in life I can control; I am inimitable, I am an original; I'm not falling behind or running late; I'm not standing still, I am lying in wait - He understood it as a way of saying how every city thrived and Velaris kept being a hidden city towards the other courts - Nightmare's face is an endless uphill climb; He has something to prove; He has nothing to lose; Nightmare's pace is relentless, he wastes no time; What is it like in his shoes?

Nightmare was one of the characters previously introduced in the show, representing the Hewn City and their politics of participating in every decision, especially by being the formal representation and the known image of the Night Court.

- Nightmare doesn't hesitate; He exhibits no restraint; He takes, and he takes, and he takes; And he keeps winning anyway; He changes the game; He plays and he raises the stakes; And if there's a reason he seems to thrive when so few survive; Then, goddammit, I'm willing to wait for it; I'm willing to wait for it - Her voice went to a soft breeze, tickling Rhysand's soul as she rose her voice again for the final chorus - Life doesn't discriminate; Between the sinners and the saints; It takes, and it takes, and it takes; We rise, and we fall; And if there's a reason I'm still alive; When so many have died; Then I'm willing to - Her eyes met his in the middle of the public, a sense of understanding passing through them, an unspoken love for their court and the child both of them unknowingly raised together. She was still looking him deep in his eyes as she smiled and repeated the final phrase - Wait for it.

The final verse carried an air of determination, of embracing the journey and whatever it may bring. As the last notes reverberated through the theater, the audience erupted in applause, their hearts touched by the lady's stirring performance. Rhysand glanced at Nyx, whose eyes shone with a mixture of awe and admiration.

- That was amazing, Papa! Did you like it? - Nyx asked, his voice brimming with excitement.

- Yes, my star, I loved it. And I'm glad you brought me here to experience it with you - Rhysand smiled, his heart full of love for his young son and the lady who had brought so much joy into their lives.

Amid the ending performance with a song that reunited all of the cast together, the lady glanced up and met Rhysand's intense stare once again, singing some of the parts to him, in that fleeting moment the music seemed to draw them closer, and when she smiled bright and big and bowed to him in the end, his heart skipped a beat.

The final notes of the fun goodbye to the cast proportionate filled the air as the audience erupted into thunderous applause again. Nyx's heart swelled with pride, knowing that his Papa, the High Lord of the Night Court, had enjoyed the mesmerizing magic of "Miss Starlight's" song, just as he had. He couldn't wait to introduce them properly. As the crew took their final bow and the curtain fell, Nyx tugged on his father's hand, his excitement evident in his wide, sparkling eyes.

- Papa, come on! Let's go meet her! - He exclaimed, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. Rhysand chuckled at his son's exuberance, happy to see him so thrilled.

- All right, lead the way, little star - He said, following Nyx as they made their way backstage.

Behind the curtain, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement as the crew congratulated the lady on her outstanding performance. Nyx's eyes searched for her, and when he finally spotted her amidst the commotion, he pulled his father towards her.

- Miss Starlight! - Nyx called out, his voice filled with adoration. The lady turned, her eyes lighting up when she saw Nyx approaching with Rhysand in tow. She smiled warmly, her gaze moving from Nyx to Rhysand.

- Hello there, both of you - She greeted them, her voice as sweet as a lullaby. Nyx beamed, proud to have his father by his side.

- This is my Papa, the High Lord Rhysand. Papa, this is Lady Starlight, High Lady of the musical theater - he said, introducing them with a touch of pride.

- It's a pleasure to meet you, My Lord - The lady said, offering a graceful curtsy - Nyx has spoken very highly of you. I couldn't wait to finally meet the father of my biggest fan - Rhysand couldn't help but feel a hint of curiosity as he looked at the lady before him.

- Likewise - He replied with a genuine smile - Your performance was extraordinary. I've never heard such a captivating voice. And please, call me Rhysand, or Rhys - Her cheeks flushed with a blush of delight, and she bowed her head slightly

- Thank you, Rhysand. I'm honored that you enjoyed it - Before Nyx could contain his excitement, he interjected.

- Papa, you should ask her out on a date! - He shouted to his father, jumping up and down in place as he looked at both of the people he loved the most in the world (not that he would ever admit it next to the rest of his family). Rhysand blinked, surprised by Nyx's candid suggestion. He exchanged a glance with the lady, and a soft smile played on her lips.

- Is that so? - He asked, humor dancing in his eyes. Nyx nodded enthusiastically.

- Yes! She's really nice, and I know you'll like her. And I really want to call her mommy. And I'll change my name to Nyxie Starlight, and we'll be a family - Rhysand couldn't help but chuckle at his son's matchmaking efforts. Nyx, in his characteristic innocence, suggested they should marry soon so that Rhysand could be Mister Starlight, Nyx's mind forever intertwining her character's name with her true identity.

- Well, if it's alright with you, Miss Starlight, I'd love to take you out for a date - The lady's smile grew, her eyes shining with amusement.

- I'd be delighted, Rhys - The blush that covered her cheeks made Rhysand's heart flutter in a way he hadn't felt, even when he was with Feyre.

Nyx reveled in having both his beloved daddy and his adored Starlight in his life, and Rhysand found solace and bliss in a love he thought he would never experience again.

As they exchanged information and chose a day and place, Nyx couldn't contain his excitement, thrilled that his plan had worked. He knew that this lady had brought so much joy into his life, and he wanted nothing more than to see his Papa happy as well.

As they bid their farewells and left the theater, Rhysand felt a sense of warmth in his heart, grateful for the magical night he had shared with his son and the enchanting lady they now knew as "Miss Mommy Starlight." And as they looked up at the starlit sky above the Night Court, Rhysand knew that the adventure they had embarked upon was just beginning, an adventure filled with love, music, and the serendipitous magic of young hearts.

They embraced the magic of their fate, as their lives intertwined like a dance, creating a tale of love that would be whispered through the ages in the immortal lands of Prythian as the most magically musical love story that ever ran through history. Or the most disgustingly cute, as Nyx would proclaim, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

#rhysand x reader #spotify #acotar #rhys x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand #nyx archeron #nyx acotar

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whereforarthur · 2 months

Text

Fate is in The Stars

A/N: First Request? Chris MD x Plus Size Reader

Pairing: Chris MD x Plus Size Reader Summary: Chance encounter at an Arthur Hill concert leads to more than what the reader expected. Word Count: 4.6k Rating: PG-13 Category: Fluff with some impure thoughts

*****

The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.

-Oscar Wilde

"I can't believe we're actually here!" Y/n squealed into the night, her excitement barely contained by the buzzing crowd around them.

"I know, right?" her friend Rachel shouted back, her voice lost in the sea of chatter and anticipation. They had been waiting for this moment for months, ever since the Arthur Hill concert tickets went on sale. Y/n had scored two VIP passes after hours of refreshing her browser, and Rachel had promised to be her plus one.

The lights dimmed, and the murmur of the crowd grew to a deafening roar. Y/n felt her heart race as the stage lit up, revealing Arthur Hill and his band, their silhouettes stark against the brightness. The music started, a deep bass that seemed to resonate in her very bones, and Rachel grabbed her hand, pulling her closer to the barricade. They were so close, Y/n could feel the heat from the lights and the vibration of the music in her chest.

And then, it began. The opening notes of "Bride and the Gloom" filled the stadium, and Y/n's eyes grew wide. This was it, the moment she had been waiting for. Her favorite song, live. She had listened to it on repeat for weeks, memorizing every lyric, every beat, every breath Arthur took in the recording. Now, she was experiencing it in real life, and it was nothing short of magical. Rachel squeezed her hand, her eyes shining with excitement as the band hit the chorus, and the crowd around them sang along. Y/n's voice was lost in the sea of sound, but she didn't care.

We'll raise a glass to the past, it's the bride and the gloom

There's nothing I couldn't do

It's just the bride and the gloom

You know that ring doesn't suit

It’s just the bride and the...

But amidst the throng of adoring fans, there was one set of eyes that kept finding hers. Chris MD, a popular YouTuber and a close friend of Arthur Hill, was standing off to the side of the stage, watching the performance with an intensity that seemed almost too focused for someone who had probably seen this show dozens of times. He was always mocked about his height, but taller than her, with a mop of unruly curls and a boyish smile that had won millions of hearts online. His eyes, a piercing blue, remained locked on Y/n as she danced, her body moving in time with the music, her hair a wild mess around her face. Rachel noticed the lingering gaze and nudged her. "Look," she shouted, pointing discreetly.

Y/n's cheeks flushed as she met Chris's gaze, a mix of excitement and embarrassment flooding her. She had always enjoyed his videos, his sense of humor and the way he could make even the most mundane moments seem interesting. But here he was, watching her, and she had no idea why. She tried to play it cool, focusing back on the stage, but her heart was racing in a way that the music couldn't explain away. Rachel looked at her with a knowing smile, mouthing, "Oh my God!" and fanning herself dramatically.

Chris's eyes never left her, and Y/n felt a strange thrill at being the center of his attention. She danced with more abandon, letting the music take over. Every time she glanced his way, his smile grew a little wider, his eyes a little brighter. It was like he was seeing something in her that she hadn't even known was there. The concert was already a night to remember, but this... this was something else entirely.

As the music grew more intense, so did the way Chris studied her. He couldn't keep his eyes off her figure, especially her thighs, which seemed to have a rhythm of their own as they moved to the beat. She had always been self-conscious about her size, but under his gaze, she felt a confidence she hadn't known before. The lyrics of the songs seemed to resonate with her in a new way, and she felt like Arthur Hill was singing directly to her. Or maybe it was just the energy of the crowd and the way the lights painted her in a glow.

Chris's eyes lingered on the way her thighs curved and flexed as she danced, a hypnotic sight that drew him in even more. Y/n had never felt so alive, so seen. Rachel gave her a look that was equal parts shock and envy, whispering in her ear, "You're killing it, girl!" But Y/n barely heard her over the pounding bass and the rush of blood in her ears. She was lost in the music, in the moment, in the undeniable connection she felt with Chris had suddenly made her the star of this show.

The second song of the night began, a slower, more intimate piece that had the entire stadium swaying in unison. Y/n's movements matched the tempo, her thighs moving in a gentle, seductive rhythm that seemed to speak directly to Chris. He leaned against the barricade, his eyes never leaving her, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. It was as if the music had cast a spell over them, and she was the only one who knew the secret. Rachel leaned closer, her eyes wide with excitement. "Do you see that?" she shouted, nodding towards Chris. "He's totally into you!"

Y/n felt a thrill run down her spine. She had always admired Chris for his positive body image advocacy online, for the way he never shied away from sharing his own insecurities. Now, she realized, he was looking at her the same way he looked at every person he met in his videos—like she was important, like she mattered. With a newfound boldness, she decided to lean into it, her hips moving in a way that made Rachel gasp.

The chorus hit, and Arthur's voice soared through the speakers. The lights painted the crowd in a kaleidoscope of colors, and Y/n felt like she was floating. Rachel was still shouting in her ear, but she couldn't hear the words over the music and the pounding of her heart. All she knew was that Chris's gaze was like a warm embrace, holding her tighter than any fan's adoration ever had.

Chris's inner thoughts were a whirlwind of disbelief and fascination. He had seen thousands of fans at concerts before, but something about her was different. Her passion, her confidence, the way she moved—it was mesmerizing. He had always been drawn to plus-size women, their curves a celebration of life and beauty that he felt was often overlooked. But it was more than just her body that captivated him. It was her spirit, the way she threw herself into the music without a care for what anyone else thought. He had never seen someone so utterly free.

The setlist moved on, but Chris's gaze remained steadfastly on Y/n. He was torn between watching the performance and watching her. The way her face lit up with every beat, the way she sang along to every word, the way she was fully present in the moment—it was like nothing he had ever experienced. He found himself tapping his foot along with her, his own passion for the music reignited by her infectious energy.

George, nudged him playfully. "You're supposed to be watching the show, not ogling the fans," he teased, his voice carrying over the music.

Chris dragged his eyes away from Y/n for a moment, a sheepish grin crossing his face. "I know, but look at her, George," he said, pointing her out. "She's incredible."

George followed his gaze, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Yeah, she's got something," he admitted. "You should go say hi after the show."

Chris nodded, his heart racing at the thought. He had never been one to shy away from talking to fans, but this was different. This was more than just a casual meet-and-greet. This was… something he couldn't quite put his finger on. But he knew he had to find out.

*****

The concert ended in a flurry of applause and cheers, the final notes of "You're Not a God" echoing through the stadium. Y/n's heart sank a little as the lights came up and reality set back in. Rachel looked at her with a mischievous smile. "We get to go backstage now," she said, nudging her gently. "You can't just leave without saying hello to your new fan club president."

They made their way through the crowd, their VIP passes flashing like beacons in the dim light. Backstage was a whirlwind of activity, with roadies rushing to pack up equipment and band members signing autographs for eager fans. Rachel grabbed her arm and steered her through the chaos, her excitement palpable. "Come on, let's find Arthur!" she exclaimed.

But it was Chris that Y/n's eyes searched for, her heart racing at the thought of seeing him again. And there he was, standing near the stage entrance, surrounded by his friends. Rachel rolled her eyes playfully. "Looks like someone's more interested in the friend, than the artist himself," she teased.

Their eyes met once more, and Y/n felt her cheeks heat up. Rachel pushed her gently. "Go on," she whispered. "I'll grab us some water."

Chris's heart skipped a beat as he watched her approach, her eyes shy but determined. He felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves, his mind racing with thoughts. What was it about her that had made him unable to look away? Was it her confidence, her beauty, or the way she owned the space around her? He knew he had to talk to her, to find out what made her light shine so brightly in a sea of faces.

He straightened up, his hand reaching out to push his hair back from his face, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he had. His mind was racing with what to say, how to start a conversation without seeming like a creep. He had talked to countless fans before, but this was different. He didn't just want a selfie or a story for his next video; he wanted to know her, to understand the person behind the mesmerizing dance moves.

As she drew closer, the cacophony of the backstage area seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. She was even more stunning up close, her eyes sparkling with the same excitement he had seen from afar. He felt like he was seeing her for the first time, even though he had watched her dance for almost the entire concert. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts.

"Hey," he finally managed to say, his voice a little hoarse. Y/n blushed and offered a tentative smile, her eyes searching his. She had never expected to be the object of his attention, especially not in the midst of the chaos that was a backstage meet-and-greet. "I'm Chris," he said, extending his hand. "Chris MD."

Her hand was small in his, but it was warm and firm. "I know," she replied, her voice a little shaky. "I'm Y/n."

Chris's eyes flickered down to her thighs again, tracing the curves that had captured his attention from the moment he first saw her. They were like sculpted waves, rolling and crashing with every step she took, a testament to the strength and grace that lay beneath. He felt a jolt of something he hadn't expected—desire, perhaps?—and quickly schooled his features into a friendly smile. "Your dance moves are incredible," he said, hoping his voice didn't betray the tumult of his thoughts.

Y/n blushed even deeper, her cheeks a rosy hue that contrasted with her dark hair. "Thank you," she murmured, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I've always loved to dance."

Chris felt a pang of regret for making her feel self-conscious. He hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable. "You should," he said gently, lifting her chin so she met his gaze again. "You have a beautiful energy."

Y/n's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of mockery or insincerity, but all she found was genuine admiration. She took a deep breath, letting his compliment wash over her. "Thank you," she said, her voice stronger this time. "Your videos are amazing too. You make me laugh, even on my worst days."

Chris's smile grew wider, his nerves dissipating as they talked. "That's what I aim for," he said, pleased that she enjoyed his content. They talked about their favorite Arthur Hill songs, their shared love for the band's raw emotion and poetic lyrics. Rachel hovered nearby, sipping her water and watching the exchange with a knowing smile. Y/n felt a strange sense of comfort with Chris, as if she had known him for years rather than just moments.

As the backstage area began to clear, George poked his head out from the dressing room. "Chris, mate, we've got to get going," he called over the din. "Arthur's waiting."

Chris nodded, reluctant to tear his gaze away from Y/n. "I'll be there in a sec," he shouted back, not taking his eyes off her. "I just need to, uh, say goodbye to a fan."

Y/n's heart dropped at the word "fan." It was a stark reminder of the divide between them—the one who was watched and the one who watched. She felt her cheeks heat up, the sudden weight of his celebrity status making her self-conscious. Was she just another face in the crowd to him? Just another person to entertain and forget?

But Chris's gaze was unwavering, his smile never dimming. "I'd love to get to know you better," he said, leaning in slightly. "Maybe grab a coffee or something?"

Y/n's eyes widened, the question hanging in the air like a confetti of hope. She nodded, unable to believe her luck. "Yeah," she managed to say, her voice barely a whisper. "That would be amazing."

They exchanged numbers, the digits feeling like a secret handshake that admitted her into an exclusive club. Rachel shot her a thumbs up from across the room, her grin splitting her face as she mouthed, "Told you!"

The days that followed were a blur of excitement and nerves. Y/n replayed their conversation in her head on repeat, dissecting every word, every smile, every look. She had never been on a date with someone like Chris—someone who saw her as more than just a fan, more than just a body. Rachel was a flurry of questions and advice, her enthusiasm only fueling Y/n's butterflies.

Chris, on the other hand, couldn't get Y/n's thighs out of his mind. It wasn't just their beauty that captivated him; it was the power they held, the way they moved with such confidence and grace. He found himself pausing during his workouts to imagine her dancing, the way her body flowed with the music. He knew he had to see her again, to find out if the connection he felt was as strong offstage as it was in the spotlight.

*****

The days dragged on, filled with anticipation for their coffee date. Chris's schedule was hectic, but he made sure to clear his calendar for her. He wanted to show her that she was more than just a pretty face in the crowd; she was someone he truly cared about getting to know.

Finally, the day arrived. Y/n had spent hours picking out the perfect outfit—something that made her feel confident, but not like she was trying too hard. Rachel had insisted on helping, and together they settled on a cute dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Y/n checked herself in the mirror one last time before leaving, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

They agreed to meet at a quaint little café downtown, a place that was usually quiet enough to have a good conversation without being disturbed by fans coming up to him asking for pictures. Rachel had given her a pep talk on the way there, reminding her to just be herself. "You're already amazing," she had said. "Don't let nerves get in the way."

Chris was already there when Y/n arrived, sitting at a small table by the window. He looked up as she approached, a genuine smile lighting up his face. She felt her heart stutter at the sight of him, looking even more handsome than he did at the concert. He stood up, pulling out a chair for her, and she couldn't help but feel like a celebrity herself.

The conversation flowed easily as they sat down, the warmth of his gaze making her feel seen in a way she hadn't in a long time. They talked about their favorite concerts, shared stories of their past, and even touched on their hopes and fears. Y/n found herself opening up to him in a way she rarely did with others, her nerves slowly dissipating with each shared laugh.

Chris listened intently, his eyes never leaving hers. He had never felt this drawn to someone he had just met. Her passion for life, her honesty, and the way she talked about her love for music made him feel alive in a way that his career had never managed to do.

He took a sip of his tea, his eyes flicking down to her thighs, which were barely covered by the hem of her dress. He couldn't help but drink in the sight of them, the way they had at the concert. They were like a piece of art, a sculpture that had been crafted by the gods themselves. He felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch them, to feel the warmth and strength that emanated from her.

Y/n caught his gaze and felt a thrill run through her. She had never felt so desired, so appreciated for just being herself. She had always felt like she had to hide her body, to make it smaller, to make it fit in. But with Chris, she felt like she could be herself, and he would only love her more for it.

"So, what do you do when you're not at concerts?" she asked, eager to learn more about the man behind the camera.

Chris leaned back in his chair, his gaze still lingering on her thighs before returning to her face. "I make videos, mostly about my life, my friends, and our adventures. But I also talk about important stuff, like body positivity and mental health."

Y/n's eyes lit up. "Oh, I've seen some of those! They're so inspiring."

Chris chuckled, his cheeks reddening slightly. "Thanks," he said, running a hand through his hair. "But it wasn't always easy. You know, being a short guy in a world that worships height can be tough." He took a deep breath, his eyes dropping to his plate. "And the ear pinning… well, that was just another thing that set me apart."

Y/n nodded, her heart going out to him. "I've had my share of teasing too," she said softly. "For being plus size."

Chris's eyes met hers, filled with understanding. "It's not fun, is it?" he said. "But you know what? I've learned to embrace it. My height, my ears—it's all part of who I am. And if people can't handle that, then they're not worth my time."

Y/n felt a surge of admiration for him. It was easy to talk about body positivity from behind a screen, but to live it so openly was something else entirely. "You're right," she said firmly. "I've been trying to do the same. It's not always easy, but when you find someone who appreciates you for who you are…" She trailed off, her cheeks heating up.

Chris leaned in, his eyes earnest. "You're absolutely beautiful, Y/n. Your confidence on the dance floor was… captivating."

Y/n felt her cheeks flush at the compliment. She had never been one to take them easily, especially from someone as famous as Chris. "Thank you," she murmured, playing with the edge of her napkin.

*****

Chris reached out, his hand brushing against her thigh. It was a small, almost unnoticeable gesture, but it sent a jolt of electricity through her body. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were tracing the lines of a map he had studied for years but never dared to touch. She looked up at him, surprised, but he just smiled, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/n felt her breath catch in her throat as his hand lingered there, the warmth of his skin seeping through the fabric of her dress. It was a simple touch, but it spoke volumes. It said, "I see you. I want you." It was a declaration of attraction that was as subtle as it was powerful. Rachel's words echoed in her mind: "You're killing it, girl." Maybe, just maybe, Rachel had been right.

Chris's thumb traced the curve of her thigh, the pad of his finger grazing the soft skin. The sensation sent shivers up her spine, and she had to resist the urge to lean into his touch. His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of discomfort, but all he found was a mix of surprise and arousal. He gave her a questioning look, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, giving him the green light to continue.

The café around them faded away as they sat there, the only sound the clinking of cups and the low murmur of other conversations. The tension between them grew with each passing moment, a palpable force that seemed to thicken the air. Y/n felt like she was in a dream, her heart racing and her breath shallow. She had never felt so desired, so alive.

Chris's hand moved higher, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip. The fabric of her dress was thin, offering little resistance to his touch. She could feel his breath on her neck, warm and sweet like the scent of fresh tea. He leaned in closer, his lips a whisper away from her ear. "Your confidence is intoxicating," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in her very soul.

Y/n felt a thrill run through her as his words washed over her. She had never been the type to attract guys like Chris, not in her wildest dreams. But here he was, touching her, talking to her like she was someone special. She swallowed hard, her heart racing. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own pulse.

Chris leaned in even closer, his breath hot against her neck. "Can I tell you a secret?" he asked, his voice low and conspiratorial.

Y/n nodded, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Of course," she breathed.

Chris leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur that seemed to resonate through her very bones. "I haven't been able to get you out of my head since the concert," he confessed, his eyes lingering on her thighs. "The way you danced, the confidence you had—it was like nothing I've ever seen before."

Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of excitement and nerves. She had always been self-conscious about her size, but with Chris, she felt like she could be herself. "Really?" she asked, her voice a little breathless.

Chris nodded, his eyes dark with desire. "Everytime I close my eyes, I see you," he said, his voice a low rumble. "The way you moved to the music, the way your thighs looked in the lights… it was like watching poetry in motion."

Y/n's breath hitched at his words, her heart racing. She had never felt so desired, so appreciated for her body. Rachel's voice echoed in her mind, urging her to live in the moment. She leaned in slightly, her eyes never leaving his. "You can tell me more," she whispered, her voice thick with anticipation.

Chris took a deep breath, his hand still resting gently on her thigh. He could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric of her dress, and he knew he had to be careful. He didn't want to scare her off, but the attraction was too strong to ignore. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n's eyes widened, and she felt a jolt of excitement run through her. She had never been asked so directly, so sincerely. She searched his eyes for any hint of doubt, but all she found was a raw, unfiltered want. She nodded, her voice a soft murmur. "Yes."

Chris leaned in, closing the gap between them. His eyes never left hers as their lips met, a gentle pressure that grew more insistent with each passing second. It was a kiss that spoke of desire and admiration, of the connection that had sparked between them in the chaos of the concert. Y/n's eyes fluttered closed, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, her body responding to the touch she had craved.

The kiss deepened, their tongues dancing together in a silent symphony of passion. Y/n felt her body come alive under his touch, her curves pressing against him as he pulled her closer. The café around them faded into the background, the only reality the warmth of his embrace and the sweet taste of his lips. Rachel's words of encouragement from earlier in the night seemed like a distant echo, but they had been right. This was the start of something she had never dared to dream of.

Chris's hand slid further up her thigh, his grip firm but gentle. He could feel her tremble with each touch, her breath hitching as his fingers traced patterns on her skin. He broke the kiss, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. But all he saw was a reflection of his own desire, a spark that had been lit and was now threatening to consume them both.

"I want you," he murmured, his voice hoarse with need. Y/n's heart raced in response, her body aching for more of his touch. She nodded, unable to find the words to express the intensity of the emotions swirling within her.

Chris took her hand, leading her out of the café into the cool night air. The city lights twinkled around them, a stark contrast to the heat building between their bodies. They walked in silence, the anticipation of what was to come thick and heavy. Y/n could feel the eyes of passersby on them, but she didn't care. All that mattered was the man beside her, the one who had seen her in a way no one else had.

The date had been nothing short of magical, a whirlwind of laughter and connection that had left her feeling like she was floating. As they approached her apartment, she knew that this night was only the beginning of something beautiful. Rachel's words from earlier played on repeat in her mind, and she realized that her friend had been right all along.

Chris stopped at her door, his hand still clutching hers tightly. "I had an amazing time," he said, his eyes searching hers. "I don't want this to end."

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest, her heart racing. "Me neither," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "This was just the beginning."

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