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jokeroutsubs · 4 months

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ENG translation: If we believed that we were "kings", that wouldn't be us

An interview with Bojan Cvjetićanin for Slovenian newspaper Delo, originally published on 24.12.2023. Audio version by IG GBoleyn123

Original article is available here for Delo subscribers. Original article written by Lucijan Zalokar for Delo; photos by Jože Suhadolnik; English translation by a member of Joker Out Subs, native proof reading by IG GBoleyn123.

If you repost quotes from the interview, please link back to this post! And if you repost the photos, do not crop out the photographer credit.

With Bojan Cvjetićanin about the international breakthrough of Joker Out, the movie Kaj pa Ester?, about life on the road, football, sociology…

I met up with Bojan Cvjetićanin in Ljubljana's Stegne industrial zone, where the members of the popular pop rock (in their jargon: shagadelic rock'n'roll) group Joker Out created a rehearsal space for themselves two years ago. "Lately we've been on the road a lot, but this is still a great second home. If only you knew about the parties that happened here. There were fifty people dancing downstairs," he proudly looked from a small gallery towards the space that measures approximately thirty square metres. Even though the clock had just struck three in the afternoon, the 24-year-old Ljubljana resident had a long day behind him, which had been entirely dedicated to media obligations.

In journalistic circles, we often hear indignation about how modern day influencers - especially those who had gained their influence on social media - have no books on their shelves. Joker Out are first and foremost musicians, of course, but with 150,000 followers (Bojan's personal profile has 190,000) on Instagram, we can count them among the big Slovenian influencers. And there are plenty of books on their shelves.

I don't want to falsely portray the popular fivesome as enlightened donors to the Slovenian literary market: most of the books resemble those you can buy for little money in second-hand bookshops, or even get for free at library write-offs, but they still deserve praise for both the aesthetic sense and the content.

I also don't want to falsely portray the books as the only notable objects in the rehearsal space. There are also the golden plate for the Eurovision single Carpe Diem, which got over two million streams in Finland, a transfusion bag (Rh-) that Tomi Meglič¹, Cvjetićanin's biggest teenage idol, personally brought to them, and a small shop's worth of props given to them by fans: pillows with hand-embroidered patterns, plushies, bras with Instagram accounts written on them, various sweets, you could even find a vinyl from a Soviet cover band of The Beatles. If things continue like that, they soon won't have any space left for instruments, but those are just sweet worries. Joker Out, who were formed in 2016, are currently conquering Europe in a way that the Slovenian music scene has never seen before.

¹frontman of Siddharta, whose third album was called Rh-

I've heard that you approach your job with the utmost professionalism and that you wake up at five in the morning for media obligations.

That's true, today we started early in the morning in Maribor. The first few hours were the most tiring because we were constantly changing locations and driving around the city. After the third or fourth activity, we relaxed a little because we got to the studio. After that, everyone started coming to us instead of the other way around.

Slovenian cinemas have started playing the movie Kaj pa Ester? in which you play a boy who enrolled in high school just to get close to his ex girlfriend again. Did you have any problems with trying to get into the high school mentality?

We filmed the movie two years ago, when my memories of high school were much more fresh than they are today. But on the other hand, I played a boy who had just finished the ninth grade of primary school, so I had to put myself into the shoes of a primary school kid, which is much harder. We're also pretty different personality-wise. But almost the entire cast was around the same age, so too old. We joked about that a lot during filming.

Still, that's nothing unusual in the movie world.

Of course, there are 35-year-olds starring in High School Musical and no one is complaining.

Could you draw any parallels between a musical stage performance and filming a movie? You have to play a kind of role during a concert too...

I have to admit that it's completely different. On stage, I never feel like I'm performing. Of course I am actually performing, but I'm still in the role of myself, Bojan, whereas in the movie, I'm someone completely different. It might be easier to compare filming a movie with recording music in the studio, but there are big differences there as well. The biggest one is that for a movie, the director has the main and the final say. You have to trust him. When you film a scene, you don't even see what you've filmed for a long time. The movie in which I play one of the main roles will be played in cinemas, and I don't even know what I will look like on the big screen. It's different with music, because us authors listen to the songs a hundred times, a thousand times; we're the ones who make all the final decisions. That's quite a mental leap, but I didn't have too many problems with it, because I knew the previous projects of that team. V dvoje ('In a tandem') is my favourite Slovenian TV series. On the other hand, I needed time to get used to this new method of working. If I asked to see the scene we'd filmed one more time, but the director said it was good, we kept filming without hesitation.

You said that on stage, you are always in the role of yourself. Does the nature of that role change from concert to concert? And what influences it? The audience, the outfit…

The outfit has an influence for sure. More than I initially thought. Lately we've been playing with our stage look a lot and looking for the right combination. I currently find that the outfit suits me very well, it's just the shoes that bother me because they're too rigid. I have to change them. They're huge and massive, which makes me feel like I'm clumsily marching around the stage, whereas during rehearsals I wear sneakers and I'm therefore a lot more in the mood for dancing.

What about the language you sing in? Many people say that they feel as if by switching between different languages, they are also switching between their personalities.

I agree. When you change the language, your voice has a different colour and register, you come up with different jokes than in your mother tongue. If I lead a concert in Slovenian, Serbian, or English, I'm a different dude every time. This is also influenced by my notion that each time, I'm performing for a different group of people who are connected by a certain mentality. In Slovenia, I'm performing as a local for locals, and I feel like there are different "game rules" than for example in Croatia or Serbia. Elsewhere, I feel like I don't even think about this.

How did you get the idea to start creating and singing in English? You already broke through internationally with Slovenian.

Us creating in foreign languages isn't so much a result of wanting to break through internationally and the mentality that only English ensures global success. If we thought that way, we wouldn't have gone to Eurovision with a Slovenian song. We're primarily driven by a desire to learn new things, to push the boundaries... In the studio, it's similar to being on the stage. If you change the language, you're not only a different person on stage, but also inside your head. Your creativity is different. Playing with languages is actually also playing with your own creativity, because you enter a different space, a different mentality. The song Sunny Side of London could not have been made if we hadn't mentally transported ourselves to an English-speaking space. We want many more projects like that, not necessarily in English.

Can you be more specific? What kind of mentality do you associate Sunny Side of London with?

That song is a sort of homage to all the people who have suddenly become part of our story. Sunny Side of London has nothing to do with London as such. I was looking for a name of a well-known place with which to name all our concerts, and I decided on London.

The first time I said the words Are you guys real? – Is this really happening, are you really here and singing our songs? – on the stage, certain English phrases snuck into my mind. What the hell is going on? and so on. We also experienced, for the first time, foreigners coming up to us and talking about their own experiences connected to our music. That was something completely new for us. We listened to all those stories in English, as our fans of course can't speak Slovenian, even though they can sing our Slovenian lyrics. Sunny Side of London therefore emerged as a collection of all the experiences and stories that fans told us after gigs.

You've already touched on fans who sing your lyrics by heart from Finland to Spain. Could you highlight the nation with the best ear for the Slovenian language?

On the latest tour, when we visited Lithuania, Poland, Czechia and Croatia, there were moments when I felt like I was singing in Slovenia. In Prague, I filmed the audience singing Umazane misli without me. As if I were in Križanke, for example. But it's even more fascinating that people sing well in England and Nordic countries too. It's understandable that our Slavic brothers have the best ear for Slovenian, but northerners aren't far off either.

How much of your international success do you attribute to the Eurovision performance?

A huge amount.

If you had to express it in a percentage?

99.9.

Really?

Definitely. It was an incredible catapult. Whenever I ask the audience at our international concerts if anyone was already with us before Eurovision, a few hands shoot up every time, but those are rare exceptions.

How do you explain the fact that you finished in the relatively humble 21st place in Liverpool, but your visibility still grew in leaps and bounds?

We were very, very, very dedicated to the Eurovision project. We put a lot of time and energy into demonstrating to the people who were open to it that we weren't just a three-minute performance, but very much an existing band that has made many songs and that lives on stage. With time, and of course in connection with the Eurovision performance, more and more listeners got to know that. We clearly showed them: we are here, we are real, try it, connect with us.

Because they had so much different content available, this actually happened. I think it was also because they saw that Joker Out really was made out of five completely regular dudes from Slovenia who live a totally normal life, and at the same time we make music and have a great time doing it. That is already a slight deviation from what's been happening recently, when we're being bombarded from all sides by messages that we need to distance ourselves from each other, that we have to hate each other...

That was the sociologist in you talking.

That's true. The atmosphere in society nowadays is such that it emphasises individuality more than building a team. Young people, however, need and want to be part of a community. And we offered them that chance.

Where does your interest in social sciences come from? Your father is a gynecologist, your mother a pediatrician, and you have a degree in sociology.

I had a very good professor in high school. If you wanted to listen to him, he offered a lot of knowledge. Even though sociologists often think about society in an abstract way, the subject always felt tangible to me. I recognised it in very concrete life situations that I was trying to understand. At my final exams, I did a great job with sociology with very little effort – and then made a mistake and enrolled in economics. I wavered between those two options from the start, and in the end, what tipped the scales were the warnings of many people I knew that sociology doesn't have good employment prospects. I gave in to the pressure and very quickly realised I had made the wrong decision. I gave up on economics after the first semester. That was when I seriously threw myself into the band, we made Gola, and then I transferred to sociology and there was happiness all around.

You clearly won't work as a sociologist for a while yet, if ever...

But I am a sociologist.

In your soul?

No, as my profession. Us musicians are sociologists. A lot of sociological terms could easily be transferred into our environment. Locale, for example. In third year, the professor asked me several times: Well, Cvjetićanin, if you have a concert, is that locale or something else? And then I said it was locale and started rambling on. (laughter)

So you are a singing sociologist?

Exactly.

How do you explain the success of Joker Out from a sociological point of view? How do your songs address the zeitgeist?

I write the lyrics exclusively based on stories that really happened. Not necessarily to me, but to people I love. Therefore, I have a strong emotional relationship with the subject matter. My opinion is that there will always be people who will connect with the story if it's real. Because it's easiest for us to connect with real emotions. Our songs are love songs, they talk about finding yourself and personal growth, some are socially critical... I think that I have managed to find the right balance between being direct and being poetic.

I'll word it differently. The Beatles already sang about love and personal growth. And they weren't the first ones by far. Later on, those same themes were covered by hundreds of successful bands and an infinite number of slightly less successful ones.

I think that nowadays, we most often associate societal changes with technological development. Technological advances largely dictate the rhythm of our life. But those advances are mostly just a substitute for something that already existed in the past. The basic emotions have therefore certainly stayed the same. Love, fear, hatred... I think that the use of language is very important here. Even though the emotions don't change, the way we put them into words does. In music, too. I don't sing about a topic the same way my peers would have in the 1970s. Consequentially, our relationship with emotions is changing and evolving as well. As if our entire society is gravitating towards the point of holding the belief that it's better for an individual to feel less and less, and in a more and more censored way.

On the one hand, excessive use of social media and other media causes us to feel like distinct individuals. On the other hand, it connects us to the world and places us into a very wide picture. In every moment, we are only a click away from becoming cosmopolitan and being able to access all the information, events, and people, but at the same time, that's exactly what reminds us that we are a small and actually not very important dot on this planet. The magnitude of everything that's constantly available to us makes us feel small. I think that we mostly listen to, watch, and use those who manage to poke the spot that unnerves people the most in this context. If performers manage to break through the firewall of someone's VPN, then those people will also show their interest in an analogue way. Otherwise, they will only be a swipe away.

And now a question that's more psychological than sociological: do you ever try to get into the heads of the people who time and again show their interest in very analogue ways?

I have an infinite appreciation for their dedication, because for myself, I don't see the chance of a phenomenon exciting me so much that I would be ready to dedicate so much time and love to it.

So you've never been a very hardcore fan?

If, at twelve years old, I had to highlight one musicians that I would've wanted to meet more than anyone in the world, that would definitely have been Tomi Meglič. That hasn't changed to this day. The only difference is that we meet up with Tomi and we're friends. I still feel the highest possible level of respect for him. Every time he calls me, I am extremely proud of myself. But I still cannot imagine going to, say, Berlin tomorrow if Siddharta were playing there and I had a free day. I'd go to Maribor or Zagreb, but absolutely not across all of Europe the way the biggest fans do. Not even at twelve. I could sooner imagine that at that age, a football match rather than a concert would be the thing that excited me beyond all reason.

We're probably talking about two groups of celebrities that get worshipped as deities by the masses in Western society: footballers and pop and rock musicians. And this is probably linked to emotions again.

True. The thing that wakes up a person's sense of smell, sight, and all other emotions that overcame them as a child, is what has the best possibility of succeeding.

Now please explain how this is connected to football.

If I go to a concert by Siddharta, Big Foot Mama, Magnifico, I turn into a ten-year-old kid who will explode from happiness. There's no Bojan anymore. He gets lost. It's the same with football. When I watch it, I dream about how I played for Slovan² as a kid and what I wanted more than anything was to score a goal and for everyone in the stands to yell: Yeeeees!

²ND Slovan is a football club from Ljubljana

You don't score goals, but you are in a similar position that Tomi Meglič used to be in.

All the band members come from very loving families that have always provided us with a very good support system and instilled basic values in us that we internalised deeply. That is why everything that's currently happening around us hasn't gone to our heads in a way that would make us think that we're bigger or more important than anyone else. If we started believing that we were "kings" because everyone was clapping for us and singing our songs, that would probably be a very strong feeling, but that simply wouldn't be us. We mostly love to see all the people, because we know how much we mean to them and how much they mean to us. Without them, we wouldn't be able to focus on what's most important to us – our music. On the other hand, I can say with a thousand percent certainty that I would easily and happily do my job if I was performing at venues like Cankarjev dom. So, in front of a calmer audience, without unreal hype.

But what I would like most in the world is to turn into a footballer for ten seconds and score a goal at an important match. You know why? Because that is the biggest adrenaline hit that exists. When we perform on various stages, there's mayhem around us for two hours straight. But in football, when a goal is scored, that happens in a millisecond. You go from nothing into total chaos. Everyone loses their minds. I'd love to experience that. Well, I did – much like everyone who played football in primary school. When I scored a goal for Slovan and a hundred people in the stands clapped for me, I felt like I was on Maracanã. Imagine what it would be like to experience that on the real Maracanã.

It's interesting that you highlighted a loving and stable family background. Many of the biggest pop and rock stars in the world grew up in a diametrally opposite environment. From John Lennon and Janis Joplin to Prince and Rihanna. There are actually so many of them that we can talk about a pattern.

I know, because I love to read their (auto)biographies, and I agree with your assessment that their family circumstances are fundamentally different than ours. That is always my answer to the question when someone wants to know how debauched our tours are. When I tell them that we mostly drink water and tea on the road, they just can't believe it. But it's the truth, because we've realised three things. First, we enjoy what we do immensely, and from the experiences of many musicians, we know that you can almost definitely forget about a long career if you start doing everything that we perceive as the proverbial rock'n'roll lifestyle. A band like that breaks up sooner or later, either because of frayed nerves, or exploding egos, or because of money. Second, we've all had to go to work hungover and we know very well that it's unbearable. I especially can't imagine how we could stay healthy and keep our strength and our voice if we were constantly hungover on the road. In that case, the only short-term solution is drugs, which we fortunately [knocks on wood] don't do. And third: I'm sure that you have a much better time on stage if you're aware that you are on it.

Your international breakthrough doesn't have a precedent among Slovenian musicians. Would you dare to point out where the difference is, why you made it and not for example Siddharta, who had filled Bežigrad stadium and later did not hide their international ambitions?

We have to understand that Siddharta didn't have the chance to perform at a festival like Eurovision. It's hard to understand what it means for 160 million people to watch you. That is a bizzarely huge number. All this happened in the time of social media, and we had set up a pretty good mechanism in that area even before Eurovision, and then also used it, whereas Siddharta established itself as a band in the time of analogue media. I can't even imagine how it would've been possible to break through abroad from Slovenia at that time. Because even we are already – even though some things have opened up for us very nicely and we've been joined by the right people – finding out how much of an investment going international demands. Dreams of megalomanical earnings and a luxurious life brought on by a European tour shatter quickly. Even when you start filling up venues, you stay in a kind of hustle mode. You fight. Unfortunately, the costs in the music business are so high that performing abroad is more or less just for promotion for a long time.

You're probably thinking of logistical costs?

Yes. Some of my colleagues have total misconceptions about our earnings. They think that we're literally swimming in money, while we actually earn what amounts to a normal salary.

In March next year you will have eighteen concerts. You will start in Helsinki and end in Milan. How will you travel?

With a tour bus. We've rented it twice so far: for the UK tour and for the tour around Lithuania, Poland, and Czechia. There are beds on it, so we can sleep while driving from one concert to the next. The tourbus is prohibitively expensive, you pay almost half of your royalties for it, but it's the only way for a musician with such a packed schedule to survive in the long run. Sometimes people ask me why we don't travel with a van instead, but you have to understand that we sometimes have concerts two days in a row and the venues are 800 kilometres apart. If we spent all night in an uncomfortable van, then looked for a hotel in the morning and so on, we might be able to endure it for a week, but definitely not all month.

Do you ever sleep in a hotel?

Only on free days.

Will the March tour be your most exhausting one so far?

It will definitely be one of the more exhausting ones, but I am definitely happy that we will be able to sleep on a tour bus. We haven't been on a month-long tour yet, so it's hard to predict anything, but on the Nordic tour this year we played six concerts in five days, because we had two concerts in one day in Helsinki. We didn't have a tour bus there, we flew instead. That meant that after the concert, we got to the hotel at midnight, then we had to be at the airport at three in the morning, a few hours later we were already at the new location, we napped for two hours on a couch, had a soundcheck – rinse and repeat for five days in a row.

Let's not talk only about the negative sides of tours…

Of course. I love sleeping on the bus! I fall asleep like a baby who's being taken for a walk in a stroller. I can't sleep more than nine or ten hours in my bed at home, on a tour bus I easily get twelve hours. Maybe it's because it's constantly shaking a little. The other guys also sleep very well on the road.

But the most magical thing on tours is when I visit a city for the first time just because we have a gig there. That seems unimaginable to me. To meet new people, wonderful fans, to bond as a band, experience new, funny situations, to bring home a bunch of new inside jokes and incredible gifts that fans have made themselves. [Points towards a hand-embroidered pillow in the part of the studio where they keep the gifts.]

Elite athletes often lament that it's true that they compete all over the world, but they often only see the airport, the hotel, and the sports venue.

It's similar for us. When we travel with a bus, we only see the venue. If we happen to have a free day, we walk around the city, but we definitely don't visit all kinds of tourist attractions as some people might wrongly imagine. When we go to Paris, we definitely won't go to the Louvre, and we will see the Eiffel tower through the bus window if everything goes well.

But you meet a lot of interesting people.

That's true. I find it the most fascinating if we meet fans when we don't expect them at all. In a restaurant, on a plane… When we were flying to Poland, it turned out that one of the flight attendants was a big fan of ours. She told us that she was going to three of our concerts and brought us champagne and a model of a Lot Polish Airlines plane.

I was even more surprised in Helsinki. I went to some kind of dark club that had a techno music party. Suddenly I was approached by three people, two guys and one girl, and they told me that they were our fans and that they couldn't believe that they met me in that club. I also couldn't believe that people recognised me in the middle of Helsinki. What's going on?!

In the summer, you took a step back from Instagram for a while. What brought you to that decision?

Many things. I felt creatively empty. I also, for the first time in my life, experienced the internet – not just Slovenian, but global – being completely oversaturated with me. That started negatively pressuring me and eating me up. I thought about it a lot, and the first time I asked myself whether I'd be less Bojan Cvjetićanin if I didn't have an Instagram profile, I turned it off. Immediately after that, I wrote three songs; I felt as if I had cleaned up some of the mess that had built up recently. I returned to social media some time ago; with much healthier habits than before, I think.

How do you see social media? As a space for playfulness, for promotion, part of the job, part of private life?

I think that at the time when they started killing me, I perceived them too professionally. I had a feeling that Instagram was a platform through which I had to achieve all sorts of things. Lately, I prefer to joke around more.

If you repost quotes from the interview, please link back to this post! And if you repost the photos, do not crop out the photographer credit.

#bojan cvjetićanin #bojan cvjeticanin #joker out #Spotify

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yourstartreatment · 26 days

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of those wild nights

warnings: smut, sex on the phone, mutual masturbation, praises, pet names, alex being dom-ish, established relationship

note: this is a rewritten version of ‘phone sex’

smut under the cut // mdni.

—

you already knew you would’ve missed your boyfriend deeply, aftercoming back from work you would sit on the couch and watch the thousand pictures you've saved on your phone.

after dinner, you went to bed, not feeling like doing anything else, except sleep.

you laid down your shared bed and put your phone in charge, ready to turn off the light on your nightstand.

you phone buzzed though so picked it up, thinking of what could call you at this time. it was midnight, you finished work very late and so you ate later than usual.

seeing your boyfriend’s name on the screen, made you smile and certainly feel better. you were surprised to see a video call, knowing that he wasn’t that good with technology.

you accepted the call and finally you saw his tired but beautiful face.

“hello, honey” he murmured softly, you could notice he was already in his hotel room.

“hi handsome” you chuckled softly, looking at him through the screen, rubbing his eye like a tired kid.

“how was the gig?” you would ask, while finding a comfortable position on the bed.

“it was good — jamie messed up a few times, but it’s been great.” he smiled to you gently, you could feel a sense of warmth and comfort in your body, you always feel like that when you’re with him.

“i miss you.” you admitted softly, analyzing his face, he had few wrinkles, a light touch of beard was popping up, and you didn’t mind at all because he was very sexy.

“i miss you too, love. but it’s just few weeks and i’ll be with you for christmas holidays” he said his deep voice calmed you.

the two of you used to lay down the bed, maybe you sitting on his lap or just between his arms and him reading you a book.

“alright.” you nodded, still looking at him, occasionally screenshotting his face, so that you could have few other photos to add to an album on your phone.

after a moment of silence, he talked, his voice a little deeper, his breath shorter.

“love, would you do something for me please?” he asked, shifting on the bed.

you nodded, curiously.

“what is it, al?” you murmured, with your gentle smile and soft voice.

“i want you to touch yourself for me, yeah? would you do it, pretty girl?” he smiled, a light blush spreader on his cheeks.

you were all flushed, as you nodded for him.

“yes? good girl. always eager to please me.” he chuckled softly, knowing that you would actually do anything for him.

you two always talked about what to do in terms of your sexual life before actually doing it.

in fact, before the tour, the two of you discussed a lot about this in particular and you agreed to have phone sex while he was away.

you position your phone in front of you, stripping out the white babydoll he gifted you for your birthday, smiling shyly.

he groaned as he looked at you to the screen, your nipples pecking out erected, his desire was to touch them, suck them properly and make you cum only by stimulating you.

“fuck, aren’t you so pretty doll?” he let out a soft sigh, taking his length in his hand, wishing it was you touching them with your soft and delicate hands.

in his mind was printed the last time he has seen you, he fucked you so hard that you couldn’t even walk.

but now there you were, with a shy smile on your face, laying down the bed.

“why don’t you start with touching that pretty and puffy clit of yours, uh?” he talked.

he was so good at dirty talking and sometimes you think of how he couldn’t get all flustered by it.

you let out a shaky breath, nodding as your manicured hand traveled down your body, occasionally touching your breast, finally reaching your needy clit.

you started circling your fingers on it, pressing slightly, and finally letting out a soft moan.

“such a good girl.” he praised, “c’mon let me see your pretty cunt.” he asked, so you moved a pillow in front of you and rested on it the phone, spreading more your legs so that he could see.

you ran your finger between your folds feeling actually how wet you were just by hearing his voice.

“so wet, i bet i could push my cock in without any preparation.” he groaned quietly, his hand quicker on his dick.

“alex” you tasted his name on your lips, it let out a little cry, you needed him so deeply.

your fingers shoving in and out your cunt.

“i know, doll, i know” he soothed you, “once i’ll come back, i’ll fuck you so hard that you won’t even remember your name, yeah darling?” he mumbled softly.

his voice was quiet and his breath more intense and deeply, he was near his climax.

your two fingers went quickly in and out, but it wasn’t the same as he was with him.

you continued to moan quietly, biting your lip, holding them back.

“i need you al” you would have sighed, as you felt your climax approaching.

“i— fuck. i need you so much.” you moaned, finally reaching your highest.

as he heard your words, he would have groaned, his fist gooey by his sticky cum.

“such a good girl.” he praised you, looking at the beautiful sight of you, your chest slightly covered in sweat, your nipples still erect because of the excitement and the cold air.

“i love you al” you murmured softly, taking the phone with the clean hand, looking at him with a soft and tired smile.

“love you too, pretty girl” he sighed softly, smiling gently at you.

“now go and clean yourself, and then get a nice sleep, alright?” he demanded with his firm but still gentle voice.

“yes sir” you teased, chuckling, and reaching for the babydoll to wear again.

“love you a lot.” you blew him a kiss. he caught it and smashed it on his lips.

you two said goodnight to each other, and then hung out the call.

few minutes later, you would have been asleep on his side of the bed, hugging his pillow while smelling his scent.

#alex turner #alex turner smut #alex turner blurb #alex turner one shot #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #alex turner x you #alex turner fluff #alex turner fanfiction

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oneforthemunny · 4 months

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omg theres too many words

rockstar eddie, fluff, ceremony (of your choice!)

The camera moved closer and closer into your peripheral, zoning in and rolling as each of the nominees names were called. You'd been here before, a million times, really. Still, your nerves were heightened with every swoop of the camera towards you, every joke any of the announcers would make about you and Eddie, about the bombshell relationship the two of you had just announced.

It was shocking even here, you sitting next to Eddie with the rest of his band, a dazzling engagement ring that you were sure they'd shown a million times to the viewers at home. Proof that this was real.

Corroded Coffin was up for a Grammy. Not their first, but in a higher category that might actually secure them a win. Rock Album of the Year, Rock Song of the Year, and Best Music Video.

When they'd called his name, Eddie had grinned, hand squeezing yours sweetly under the table.

"And the Grammy goes to..." A dramatic opening of the envelope, the camera still glue to your side. Why they were including you in the shot, you weren't sure, but you were sure it was hopeful for a reaction from Eddie.

"...Corroded Coffin!"

Gareth's howl in surprise had your ears ringing, the deafening sound of applause surrounding you. Eddie beamed, hand cradling your jaw, pulling you in for a sloppy smooch right in front of the cameras. Your lipstick smudged around his wide grin as they made their way up the stairs.

You beamed, clapping alongside with the audience, the camera still glued to you. Eddie pointed at you from the stage, cradling the golden trophy with pride. You beamed under his gaze.

Jeff stood, the nominated spokesperson for the awards, the least likely to say something that would get them banned from returning to the award ceremony in the future. He finished, the applause starting again, before Eddie shimmied his way forward.

You paused, you and Gareth sharing a momentary paused, blank stare of anticipation at what he might do. Eddie grinned, leaning down onto the mic.

"I wanna say one thing- don't you dare fuckin' play me off." Eddie pointed threateningly to the orchestra off stage. The room erupted in laughter, some forced, some genuine at the unpredictable rockstar.

"I just wanna say one thing, and I'll make it really quick, but," Eddie turned towards you, pointing in your direction. "This woman right here, I have to thank. I have to thank you for loving me, and lettin' me love you, and for makin' me a better person every single day. I love you so much." He grinned, lopsided and lovingly.

You burned under the praise, fingers pressed to your lips to hide your own smile, watery with emotion. "And of course, thank you for inspiring half these songs." Eddie tossed you a wink that had the crowd roaring in laughter, applauding. "I love you, thank you." He nodded, lifting the Grammy.

Eddie took a pivoting step back, before circling back, leaning over the mic again. "Alright, you can play now." He nodded towards the orchestra, following the others down the stairs off stage.

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redahlia-writes · 2 years

Text

cherry bomb. | steve harrington

Abstract: “I’ve been spending too much time with Robin, probably. I get nervous and I just start talking, and I don’t really think about what I’m saying beforehand.”

You chuckled, shifting closer yet, and brought your other hand to his face as well, cupping his cheeks to make him turn his head slightly in your direction - his eyes moved over your face, from one side to the other, lips and then eyes.

“Do I make you nervous, Harrington?” you asked amused, a grin on your lips as your voice lowered. His breath caught in his throat, the tip of his tongue darting between his lips - you looked down at his mouth then, head slightly tilted, and he was suddenly aware of how close the two of you actually were.

“No,” he breathed out - then, because your smirk grew, he sighed. “A little,” he admitted, voice softer, hand inching up towards your knee.

Words: 8.9K (this wasn’t supposed to be this long, apologies)

Warnings: (f!reader, r has tattoos); minors dni. swearing, mentions of alcohol, usage of light drugs, teasing, flirting, pet names, smut, the smallest hint of praise kink, the smallest hint of sub steve too (blink and you’ll miss it), fingering, dry humping, hickeys, like a lot of hickeys and other lovebites, protected sex (wrap it up people), some fluff unedited

Author’s note: based mostly on the song cherry bomb by the runaways, but also some other bits of the album - if i missed some warnings please do tell me

also on AO3 - masterlist

It was easy to stand out in a town like Hawkins - the smallest hint of being different would immediately bring people to look at the person with sneers of diffidence and a scoff on their lips.

That was particularly true in your case: the girl who’d turned her back on her family, who’d left school just as she was about to finish it, who lived at the edge of the woods in a place that seemed to be held together by duct tape and hope.

The Cherry Bomb of Hawkins, a nickname born when you were still in highschool that had stuck so profoundly some people didn’t even know your actual name anymore - it was just Cherry.

That’s how Steve Harrington knew you - the name that popped in his head when you walked in front of the café he and Robin ended up working at after Family Video sacked them.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Robin commented as she wiped the counter, and the bell at the door chimed as you walked in, lowering your shades a little on your nose.

“I thought she’d left Hawkins,” he murmured, lowering his voice as you reached the counter, glancing up at the scribbled board. “Wasn’t that the whole reason she quit school?” “Dude, quiet,” Robin admonished, then moved at the counter. “Hi, what can I get you?”

“Robin, you work here?” there was a tiredness in your voice, and when you took your sunglasses off, dark circles surrounded your eyes. “What happened to Family Video?” “Ah, we got fired,” she shrugged, leaning in a little bit. Your eyes flickered towards Steve, and he felt his grip on the rag he was holding slip a little bit as you met his gaze with a quick grin. “Long story.”

“You come as a package now?” you asked with a chuckle, and Robin shrugged lightly, giving it no importance. “I need the strongest coffee you can make - and the cheapest,” you said then, leaning with your forearms against the counter.

“Long night?” Robin asked, glancing in Steve’s direction pitifully - he was in charge of making the coffees after that time Robin accidentally burned herself and still carried the scar on the palm of her hand.

“Long shift,” you groaned, following him with your eyes. “I should’ve done like you - a café during the day sounds much nicer than that shitty pub at night,” you said then, tipping your head slightly back.

“You’re still working there?” Steve looked over his shoulder at Robin, the familiarity in her words, the surprise. He was aware they hadn’t been friends for long, but since when was Robin Buckley friends with you? “Hadn’t you applied for other jobs?” she continued, a little worriedly.

“After the mall fiasco everyone started looking for another job,” you shrugged, lifting your gaze towards Steve - he quickly brought his attention back to your coffee, missing the light, amused frown that crossed your face. “Should a spot open here, I’ll let you know,” Robin reassured, a smile in her words.

Steve didn’t see the grateful nod you gave Robin, a tired smile still on your lips, finishing up your coffee - he stepped behind Robin to place it on the counter in front of you, moving the sugar closer before stepping out of the way.

“Thanks,” you pulled the cup towards you with your eyebrows slightly arched, and he nodded only in reply. “Hey, Harrington, cat got your tongue?”

He froze - Steve froze, turning his head to look at you with his eyes widening a little, as if surprised you were even addressing him in the first place. He couldn’t remember one single instance the two of you had spoken, too different in status when in high-school - he just remembered the voices that circulated about you, things he’d heard without caring about it.

“I - no. Sorry, no,” he cleared his throat, and watched you stifle a laugh, eyes glimmering in amusement as he frowned. “You work at a pub, huh? Which one?”

At his side, Robin snorted, moving from the counter as she shook her head - Steve wanted to grab her by the collar of her shirt and keep her there, just so he didn’t have to be alone in that situation. But his hands remained glued to his sides, fidgeting slightly with the rag hanging from his pocket.

“There’s only one pub in Hawkins, you can’t miss it - The Hideout,” you said with a quick smirk, picking up the coffee. “And it stays open only because we’re paid a misery - so if you’re thinking of moving business, always keep a job on the side,” you warned, pointing a finger in his direction.

You were not what he expected - which, really, shouldn’t have surprised him, not with the way the town treated those who didn’t fit in. He glanced in Robin’s direction quickly.

“You got one?” he cleared his throat again, suddenly dry, and you nodded. “What is it?” “You’re a big boy, Harrington,” you hummed from over the rim of the cup, “you can figure it out by yourself, can’t you?”

He was grateful for Robin calling your name - your actual name - or else the next, surely embarrassing, words would’ve sputtered out of him, out of his control, his neck warming up at the slight drawl in your voice and tilt of your head, eyes never leaving him.

“Coffee’s on the house,” Robin called, a glance in Steve’s direction almost as a warning. “But don’t tell anyone or else we’ll surely get fired.”

“Like I have anybody to tell it to,” you grinned, lifting the cup back up to your lips to finish the drink - a dark red halo stained the rim when you placed it back down, tip of the tongue darting out to catch the droplets on your top lip. “Thanks, Robs - Harrington. See you.”

He managed to put his hand up and wave only when the door had already closed behind you, bell chiming in its wake. At the other end of the counter, Robin burst out laughing, one hand on her chest as she leaned back.

“You should see your face - oh, I’d pay to get a picture of it right now,” she exclaimed, clearly enjoying Steve’s lost expression. “She’s gonna crush your heart, Steve,” Robin warned, laughter still clinging to her voice. Then, she held her hand up. “No, not just crush it. She'll rip it out of your chest, throw it on the ground, stomp on it, then get in her car and run it over. Twice.”

“Jesus, Robin,” he found his voice again with a scoff, picking up the cup left behind. “It’s not like that - I was just surprised, is all.” “Yeah, sure,” Robin snorted.

“I didn’t know you had other friends,” he mocked, but Robin’s mood was too good to be impacted by his remark. “Especially not her. When did you two even become friends?” “Around the time you were King of Hawkins,” she announced after a moment of pondering. “Just - forget about it. I’m saying this for your sake.”

Steve didn’t think it was like that. He genuinely thought he’d just been surprised - but had you always looked like that? Had your voice always been so soft, so alluring? Had your laugh always been this contagious?

––––––––––

“This place always looks like a shithole,” Eddie mumbled, eyebrows arched as he looked around the pub. “Why are we here again, Harrington?”

“Steve’s got a crush,” Robin chimed in before he could reply, and grinned in response to his glare. At that, Eddie perched up on his seat, suddenly more interested. “Yeah, yeah - it’s not like that,” she mocked, and shot a knowing glance in Eddie’s direction. “She comes to the café almost every morning - he’s been pining for like a month.”

“Well, you only had to say that,” he clapped his hands lightly, then rubbed them together as he leaned forward, eyes scanning the crowd more attentively. “Who do we need to woo?”

“No one,” Steve warned, pointing a finger first in Robin’s direction, then Eddie’s. “No. We’re here just to see what the place’s like.” “It’s shit, Harrington,” Eddie pointed out, tilting his head a little. “I play with the band here - I could’ve easily told you that.”

“Wait, you do?” Steve frowned, and Eddie scoffed at him, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Yes - and, frankly, I’m a little offended you’d come here for a girl but not to see me play,” he tipped his chin up with a little hmph noise which lasted just a few seconds before his mouth split in a grin, his arms opening as he leaned back in his chair.

Steve barely had the time to turn before you reached the table, almost throwing yourself on Eddie, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he pulled you onto him with a loud cackle, rubbing your back quickly.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t come here unless it was to play, Munson,” your voice was a little hoarse, a little louder than when at the café, and you pulled back from the curve of Eddie’s neck to look at him, hands reaching up to cup his face. “You’re a liar.”

“I’ve been brought here against my will, Cherry,” he said, a little bit theatrical.

Only then did you turn around on his lap, taking in both Steve and Robin - your eyebrows arched upwards, lips parting in surprise. A little smile made its way over your face, and letting go of Eddie’s face you leaned with your elbows on the table.

“This is a nice surprise,” you hummed, looking at Robin first, then letting your gaze linger on Steve, head slightly tilted. “Didn’t expect this to be your scene, Harrington.”

Steve’s gaze fell to Eddie’s arm wrapped around your waist, clearing his throat a little before flicking it back towards your face - at the look on his face, Eddie did his best to not burst out laughing, meeting Robin’s told-you-so gaze from across the table.

“Yeah, I figured -” he shrugged, muttering something that went lost in the cacophony of the place. You chuckled, hand coming down to rest on the table, mere inches from his as you leaned further forward.

“And here I thought I’d done a good job in saying how much of a dump this place is,” you sighed, then pulled quickly back - much to Steve’s dismay. You tapped Eddie’s arm still wrapped around you, and he let go of you immediately. How often had that happened, Steve wondered, then shook the thought away. “Gotta get back to work, if you need anything just yell,” you announced and got up - then turned around and planted a kiss on Eddie’s cheek, leaving a smudged lipstick stain on his skin before strolling away.

Eddie leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at Steve’s expression carefully, doing his best to hold back a laugh. Robin too was looking at him, his gaze trained after you.

“So, you know her too, huh?” Steve hummed, and forced his eyes back towards Eddie - only to find him staring at him already, grinning like a madman. “What?” he wondered, taken aback - only then did Eddie start laughing, long and loud, head thrown back as he struggled to breathe properly.

“Oh, you’re so screwed,” he hiccupped, breath short. “She’s going to eat you alive, you do know that, right?”

“You’re both so dramatic,” Steve huffed, rolling his eyes. “And it’s not like that,” he added quickly. Robin and Eddie looked at each other again, a knowing look in their eyes. “You seem friendly enough, anyway. Both of you, actually.”

“Yes, friendly,” Robin pointed out, her hand landing on Steve’s arm. “She’s a great friend, but you’re too much of a hopeless romantic,” she said it gently, but Steve scoffed again, glancing towards the counter where you were placing drinks in front of a group of clearly already drunk men.

“Robin, I swear -” he sighed, head thrown back in exasperation. “What about you - that was particularly friendly,” he said then, gesturing towards Eddie, who’d just regained his breath.

“Why do you think I’m telling you this?” he said it with a glint in his eyes. “She helped us with our first gig here - had the biggest crush on her,” he admitted, a little bashful. “She ended up stealing half of my clients because, honestly, I would rather buy from her than me, too. We stayed friends, though - help each other out,” he glanced around the pub with a slight grimace. “You need to, in a place like this.”

––––––––––

Always keep a job on the side.

It shouldn’t have surprised Steve - when you gained a certain reputation in Hawkins, you either did everything in your power to destroy it (like he’d done) or you embraced it fully (like it seemed you’d done).

Your house - if it could be called a house the four walls, one door and patchy garden in front of it - was the only thing in sight for miles, behind only forest, before only road. It was similar to Hopper’s cabin, where he’d hidden Eleven for a year.

Had you been trying to hide yourself away?

His knocking was hesitant, and half-way through the second hit he almost considered turning back around and walking away, but by the time he’d brought his hand back the door was already opening, you on the other side wearing pajamas bottoms and a cropped tank top, a baton in hand and your head tilted.

“Harrington,” despite the usual, slightly teasing note that his name held, you sounded surprised, glancing past his shoulder and back at him. “This is unexpected. You lost?” “No, I came to see you,” he admitted, and a quick grin made its way across your face as he lifted the six-pack of beer he had in his hand. “I come bearing gifts,” he added, a little smile on his lips.

“You could’ve started with that,” you said, moving aside and placing the baton down. Steve stepped in, and you lifted your leg in front of him. “Shoes off,” you ordered, taking the beers from his hand. Observing him with your head slightly tilted as he followed your instructions, you let the door close behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Uh, I was wondering if you could help me,” he responded, straightening up and glancing at the baton. “Do you have to use that often?” he couldn’t help but wonder, the edges slightly dented.

“Every now and then,” you shrugged, walking towards the kitchen area - it was small, barely a corner, an empty plate sitting in the sink - and placing the beer in the fridge. “Most people just don’t want to fuck with me - they think I might sacrifice them to some forest deity,” you added with an amused glint in your eye.

Steve was starting to see why you got along with Eddie.

“You live here alone?” he asked with a little frown, taking in the place - it was chaotic, but not messy, with mismatched furniture, a radio playing low music resting by the window, and entirely you. He couldn’t explain why, but there was a little bit of you in every corner of the living room.

“Why, planning on murdering me, Harrington?” you flashed him a grin, stepping towards the corridor that led to a half-closed door. He followed you with his gaze, but remained by the couch, taking in the space furthermore. “Oh, no - I wouldn’t want any forest deity moving against me,” he called a little louder, and heard your laughter followed by a little clattering.

“Does Eddie know you’re buying from his competition?” you called back, and before he could answer you returned to the living room, a shoebox in your hands. “Actually, yes,” he cleared his throat, watching as you settled on the couch, box on your crossed legs. “I’ll have some apologizing to do.”

You looked up at him, eyebrows arched, and Steve froze for a moment.

“Come sit,” you said then, turning towards the free end of the couch. He made his way towards it carefully, sitting by the edge of the cushion and, unable to help yourself, you snorted. “I won’t bite,” you reassured, voice lowered as you leaned towards him. “You’re different from what I expected, Harrington.”

“Thank you?” he frowned a little, unsure, and you grinned again, placing the box in front of him and opening it for him. Buds and pre-rolled joints looked up at him, and he tilted his head a little, taking one up. “Split?” he offered, and you scoffed.

“Trying the product before actually committing to the purchase?” you took the joint from him and shifted forward to grab a lighter from the coffee table in front of you. “No, not really,” he followed your movements, taking a slow breath in. “I just don’t want to go already,” he admitted then, voice lower. You paused, joint held between your lips, and then one corner of your mouth lifted up slightly, a half smirk as you flicked the lighter.

You inhaled, eyes never leaving Steve as your cheeks hollowed slightly, and then moved the box on the table right as you exhaled, leaning in his direction, the smoke curling around your extended arm and hand.

“You only had to say that, Harrington.”

He took the joint from you, fingers brushing for a split second, then watches6 as you sat back, legs kicked up on the couch and legs bent. The cropped top left the tattoo across your ribs exposed, and his eyes lingered there for a moment.

“What did you expect?” he asked, looking up to meet your gaze already on him - it made him feel under some sort of scrutiny, and he shifted a little, attempting to relax back on the couch. “You said I’m different from what you expected - what did you expect?”

“Come on,” you scoffed, legs crossed at the ankle and a slight roll of your eyes. “Steve Harrington, the King of Hawkins,” you said then, an exaggerated, theatrical note in your voice, eyes widening a little in emphasis. “I remember high-school - you could be a real asshole.”

Steve brought the joint to his lips with a half-hazarded scoff, eyes wandering away. He should’ve been used to the bluntness, with Robin, Dustin and Eddie constantly calling him out - yet it somehow sounded different when coming from you.

In the time he’d gotten to know you - the mornings at the café, with your tired eyes and smudged make-up, or the couple of times he’d managed to convince Robin and Eddie to go back to the pub - he’d noticed you never held back. Whether it was with them or a particularly annoying customer at the pub, you had no problem saying things as they were.

And, truthfully, he had been an asshole during high-school.

“I did hear some rumors you had changed,” you continued as he exhaled, tilting your head just slightly. “I just find it hard to listen to and believe in those - had to see it with my own eyes.” “Why’s that?” he asked with a little frown, leaning forward when you gestured at him to hand the joint back, again with the fingers brushing, the delicate jolt running up his arm. You snorted, tipping your head back a little.

“This town certainly has a reputation of not blowing things out of proportion and saying things as they are,” you inhaled, deep and slow, your eyes on him. The cloud of smoke curled up towards the ceiling when you exhaled and returned the joint back to him. “I mean, I’m definitely in a cult, you know? Same as Eddie. We meet on Sundays to sacrifice people at the altar right behind my house,” you announced, a cheeky grin on your face as you rested back.

Steve scoffed lightly, shaking his head.

“Okay, yeah, that’s not - you’re right,” he noticed a faint ring of lipstick around the filter of the joint as he brought it up to his own lips, and his eyes flicked up to your face, to the smudged stain at the corner of your mouth. “How much of the stuff they say is true?” he wondered then, and simultaneously wondered whether it was too much he was asking or not.

You shrugged, hands interlocked over your stomach as he took a drag.

“I decided to leave my parents’ house, and I did try to move out of Hawkins - that’s how I found this place. Oh, and no, I’m not a virgin,” the words made him cough, smoke burning his nostrils and throat as he turned the other way, only hearing your chuckle. “So easy,” you murmured, stretching across the cushion and towards him as you continued listing. “I’m not planning on dying alone, just waiting to not have someone get with me as a challenge. And I did want to finish school - my parents just decided otherwise for me after I left.”

“Oh,” he frowned again, his voice scratchy, trying to make sense of your words. She’s gonna crush your heart. She’s going to eat you alive. “Why stay in Hawkins, then? You clearly hate the place,” he tried then, and you chuckled again - he tilted his head a little, watching you. “Even now, couldn’t you just go?”

“With pub and drugs money? No,” you shook your head, extending your legs across his lap. “I wouldn’t make it very far - I’m not even sure I’d have enough gas to get out of town,” you added, lifting yourself up enough to take the joint back from his hand.

He wasn’t sure whether it was the weed or your being so relaxed at his side, but he felt himself melt back a little, his hand coming to rest on your calf, a sense of ease settling in his bones. His tongue felt looser, too, the knot in his throat he got whenever you were around vanishing altogether.

“Isn’t there anyone you could ask to help? I’m sure -” he paused, watching as you arched an eyebrow through your exhale.

“If I had anyone willing to help, d’you really believe I’d have stayed here?” you pulled yourself up then, sitting with your legs draped over his to hand him the last bit of the joint. His gaze softened, hand lingering for a moment over yours even as the filter started to burn against his skin and you rolled your eyes just a little, leaning to rest your elbows across your thighs, back of one hand resting against his chest and the other supporting your head up. “Don’t worry, Harrington, I don’t need pity. I’d do it again, even if it means remaining stuck here.”

“Still,” he hesitated. Still, couldn’t you have done so much more? Instead, you shook your head.

“Trust me, had you had parents like mine, you would’ve rather lived in a shack - even worse than this one - too,” you reassured, brushing your knuckles across his chest before reaching to get the ashtray for him to stump out the butt.

“Well, I barely know my parents,” he admitted absent-mindedly, gaze turned down to where his hand rested across your leg. “They’re never really home, and if they are it still feels as if they’re not actually there - like they don’t see me, or simply don’t care, or -” he looked up all of a sudden, cutting himself off. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I shouldn’t be complaining - my life’s been so fucking easy so far, it’s ridiculous, I really shouldn’t say -”

“Steve,” the sound of his name on your lips made him snap back to reality all of a sudden, your hand moving from his chest to his neck, then up furthermore to cup his jaw. Your skin was soft and cold, and his eyelids drooped slightly at your touch, hazy gaze turning to your smile. “Relax - it’s not like being wealthy precludes you from having shitty parents.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he scoffed, somewhat amused. “I’ve been spending too much time with Robin, probably. I get nervous and I just start talking, and I don’t really think about what I’m saying beforehand.”

“No,” he breathed out - then, because your smirk grew, he sighed. “A little,” he admitted, voice softer, hand inching up towards your knee.

He’d seen you with Eddie - his arms around you, your hands holding his face, the way he’d play with your hair and you with his rings. He’d seen you with Robin, too - tucking her hair behind her ear, having her sit on your lap, murmuring things in her ear that left her flustered and she refused to repeat. He knew it meant nothing: the touches, the teasing, the looks.

But it was just the two of you, in your house, so close, and he was high on weed and your sharp perfume, and he was sure you could feel his heart doing laps in his chest.

“Maybe I should go,” he murmured, but made no attempt to move from his position. “I’m not letting you drive back right now,” you shook your head, thumbs running across his cheeks as you brought him closer. “You’re high - your pupils are huge.”

“They always get like that when I see you though,” his whispered response as he lowered his forehead towards yours earned a quiet chuckle from you, hands falling to his shoulders. “I have a confession - I didn’t actually come here for the weed.”

“No?” he could hear the amused note in your voice, but didn’t really care, your fingers brushing his neck just above the collar of his shirt as he shook his head.

“I just wanted to see you - without Robin, or Eddie, or anyone at The Hideout, or you just coming back from work,” your hands reached the back of his head, one hand cupping the nape of his neck, the other brushing his hair down a bit as you hummed in response.

And then you were kissing him, pulling him towards you as your lips bruised his and his hand gripped your leg both in surprise and to ground himself. You were there, solid - so soft - under his hand, over him, on him.

When he sighed, lips parting, your tongue brushed into his mouth, and you moved to sit on his lap - never once breaking the kiss but only deepening it, forcing his head back against the backrest of the couch as you shifted a little higher than him. Steve could taste the smoke on your lips and, ironically enough, cherries.

His hands moved from your legs as you straddled his lap, slowly caressing up your hips and waist, gripping a little tighter when you had to break the kiss to breathe, slowly shifting back on his thighs. He then felt your lips drag across his jaw sloppily, down and down towards his neck as he craned his head back a little.

“This wasn’t my intention, by the way,” he breathed out, voice hoarse, forcing back a quiet groan as you kissed his pulse point. “I really just wanted to see you, and be with you, but this -”

“I know, Steve,” you hummed, a little smile in your words. “Relax, it’s okay,” you added, lips brushing the shell of his ear before you tilted your head, resuming the trail of kisses across Steve’s neck. One of his hands left your side, moving to the small of your back as if to push you against him furthermore just as a hiss left his mouth.

“You said you wouldn’t bite,” he gasped, and craned his neck as your teeth sank gently into his skin, offering you more. With a low chuckle, you ran the flat of your tongue across the offended spot, making Steve shift underneath you, eyes fluttering shut.

“I lied,” you admitted, making your way further down, nibbling at his throat as he threw his head back, sighing softly while he caressed your back, reaching underneath your shirt, his warm hand splaying over your spine. He pushed you closer, your hips rocking against him.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, breathless, his fingers stroking your skin tentatively. Slowly, you pulled your head up, angling yourself so you were looking down at him, a little smile on your swollen lips.

“You’re already touching me,” you whispered, and he took his other hand off of your side to reach your face. He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing at the corner of your mouth as if to clean it of the smeared lipstick. There was a tenderness in his touch, such strong contrast with the heaving of his chest, his pupils wide, his lips bruised. “Yes, Steve, you can,” you reassured then, unable to keep yourself from smiling.

He lifted his head then, kissing you right back as both his hands returned to your waist, open-mouthed and needy. He traced the edge of the tattoo across your ribs, delicate and slow, touch shifting until he was cupping your breasts, his warm palms over your naked skin eliciting a gasp out of you.

You shifted above him again, grinding down on him as you slowly rolled your hips to second the movements of his hands, soft sighs falling from your lips. He bucked up his hips, a moan escaping you against his mouth in response.

“Okay?” he let his lips trail along your jaw, word barely slurred out as you nodded, then threw your head back and bit down on your bottom lip, back arching towards his touch as his thumbs swept over your nipples, gaining another moan out of you. “Can I take this off?”

His voice had dropped as he pushed your top up a little, looking up at you almost expectantly and, lip still trapped between your teeth, you nodded again, moving your hands from his shoulders to aid him. Steve moved slowly, his eyes never leaving you, taking in every further inch of exposed skin until you were standing bare-chested in front of him, and his hands were on your sides again.

“Look at you,” a mere whisper uttered as he brushed his lips across your collarbones, up to your throat, nudging your chin up. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he continued, voice muffled against your skin.

You froze for a moment - an instant of tension after you’d buried your hands in his hair, breath catching in your throat at his words. So soft. So genuine. The situation dawned on you so suddenly - Steve’s lips on you, his body underneath you, his touch still delicate. It wasn’t his challenge, being there with you. It was all real.

He felt the moment you stilled, no other noise coming from you but heavy breaths, and he pulled back right away, looking up just as a hesitant smile bent your lips - just barely visible.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, a little worried. “Nothing,” you shook your head and cleared your throat, bringing your gaze down on him as you brushed his hair back - only messing it further. He frowned lightly, and you leaned in. “It’s nothing, Steve, really.”

“We can stop,” he spoke softly, hands remaining still at your sides. “If you changed your mind - I don’t care. We can stop. I can go.”

“No,” you shook your head, cupping his cheeks as you softened against him, the tension leaving you as you looked into his eyes. He meant it. All of it. “No one’s called me beautiful in a while - it’s stupid.”

At that, he frowned, eyes moving across your face, down your neck and chest, your arms and back up to your face. “I don’t believe that,” he muttered, shaking his head as much as your hands allowed. You shrugged, rubbing small circles at the corner of his mouth.

“Hot, desirable, foxy even,” you listed, gaze lingering on his parting lips. “Just that.”

“Well, I say you are beautiful,” he said, tipping his chin up a little. He took your hand from his face, turning his head to rest a delicate kiss on your palm. “Beautiful,” he repeated, voice hoarse, then kissed your wrist. “Lovely,” your forearm. “Cute,” the crook of your elbow. “Pretty,” a breath against your shoulder before beckoning you closer. “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,” each time a kiss across the skin of your neck, and you couldn’t help the quiet snort escaping your lips.

It pulled a smile on his mouth as well before he brought his hand behind your head, cupping the nape of your neck and closing the gap between you, the kiss a little slower, a little softer, his other arm wrapping around your middle to hold you against him.

You felt him shift, keeping you firmly as he switched your positions, laying you down across the couch and settling with one leg between your thighs, free hand braced at your side to not weigh down on you. Still kissing you, he traced your side with the tip of his fingers, almost ticklish as you arched against him, tugging at his shirt until his back was uncovered.

He pulled back long enough to take it off and, in straightening his back, his thigh pressed between your legs, causing a whine to fall from your lips as you hooked your fingers in the belt of his jeans.

“Do that again,” you gasped, rolling your hips just slightly as you attempted to pull him closer. Steve’s hands fell to your hips, gripping them and helping you grind against him, the flimsy material of your pants wrinkling at the friction as you moaned again, lips parting, head thrown back with a string of curses stuck in your throat.

Steve watched you, the flush across your chest, your hands fumbling to undo his belt blindly, the pressure against your core making your stomach flutter. Beautiful didn’t even begin to describe it, the curve of your body as you sought more friction against the rough material of his jeans, your eyelids trembling as you turned your head and looked at him through lowered lashes.

Once his belt came undone, and you popped the button of his pants, he lowered himself against you, still holding your hips in place. Your hands roamed his torso, sides, shoulders as he kissed you again, and kissed you and kissed you, desperately trying to capture every single little noise that escaped your open mouth.

He shifted his leg back, a sound of protest muffled against his mouth, quickly replaced by a shuddering breath as one of his hands left your side, moving past the waistband of your pants and underwear, his fingers just barely brushing your skin.

“Can I?” he drawled over your skin, down and down your jaw, neck, chest, the tip of his tongue tracing the tattoo across your sternum before moving up again, his gaze searching yours as the heel of his hand gently pressed onto your lower belly. “Please,” he added, hot breath fanning over your parted lips.

Plush lips, dilated pupils, short breath, Steve looked down at you expectantly, waiting, the warmth of his hand on you luring you closer - you nodded then, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you arched against his touch, shifting your hips until his fingers brushed the apex of your core.

Agonizingly slow, he dragged his fingers across your already wet folds, slick gathering over his digits. He was kissing your neck then, lips latched onto your pulse point as he moved the tip of his finger back up - you twitched underneath him when he nudged your clit, a whine escaping your lips when he did it again, drawing a small circle over it.

He was attentive to your every response - when he pushed your thighs a little more open with his legs and you arched furthermore against him, chest puffing up and hands finding his arms to hold onto him; when he switched from side to side to small circles over your clit and you spasmed lightly underneath him, panting and keening into his ear; and when he pushed one finger inside of you, and then a second one, and you clenched around him, grinding down against his hand.

“Steve,” was the only coherent thing that came out of your lips along a string of muttered curses, yes, yes, yes and fuck, Steve, God, his fingers pumping in and out of you, thumb rolling against your clit.

He pulled himself up, a low pop muffled next to your ear where a bruise was already forming in the shape of Steve’s lips, and he sat back on his heels, his hair falling ruffled against his forehead as he trained his gaze down on you again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath labored, curling his fingers inside of you. “So beautiful,” he repeated, watching you throw your head back with a gasp, your neck exposed to him, as if showing off the marks he’d left on your skin.

He moved his other hand from your hip where he held you down to your lower stomach, pushing down as he repeated the motion of his fingers inside of you, pressing against your front wall and making you cry out. The pressure was almost overwhelming, your hand gripping his wrist tighter, grinding down against his hand as his name left your lips over and over again, a chant growing, breathless and whiny.

“I’m gonna -” sentence cut off by a gasp, your thighs started trembling against his in a reflexive attempt to close your legs. “So good, feels so good, Steve,” Steve, Steve, repeated through moans before the air left your lungs fully, and you came gushing over his hand, a long, sharp cry as you shook underneath him, clenching around his fingers.

Steve coaxed your orgasm out of you until it became unbearable and you pushed him away by his wrist with a whispered please, eyes fluttering shut and chest heaving.

Slowly, he dragged his fingers up your abdomen, stomach, between the valley of your breasts, your release still coating his fingers - he kissed your skin clean in its wake, the taste of you on his mouth when he kissed you again, gentle. Wearily you chased him, arm wrapped around his shoulders to push him down, hand buried through his hair as you deepened the kiss, licking every last drop of you from his lips.

“You okay?” he murmured through quick pecks along your cheek, your arms still heavy around him, legs limp at his sides.

“Need a moment,” you retorted, turning your head to try and kiss him again, blindly, sloppily. “You’re so fucking good, Harrington,” he chuckled at your muffled words. “Think I might’ve fallen for you a little there.”

“Alright, don’t mock me now,” he said it light-heartedly, through more tiny kisses, pulling back to look at you each time.

“I’m not,” he scoffed, his hand coming up to brush the hair away from sticking on your forehead. Without his arm supporting him, you flipped the two of you over, straddling his lap with still shaking thighs. “I am not,” you repeated a little firmer, pinning his hands at each side of his head. “You’re good to me, Steve,” you said then, lowering your voice as if anyone could be around to listen while you kissed his lips, once. “Always so good to me,” his jaw -

Steve let his eyes flutter shut, shifting a little underneath you, pants straining as his erection pressed against your lower abdomen, the mere contact making him groan and bite down on his cheeks, a choked out baby leaving his mouth in spite of the layer of clothing between the two of you.

“Giving me free coffee when I need it,” you continued, a little smile in your words as you kissed his neck. “Coming to the pub,” the hollow of his throat as his breath picked up. “Staying up late just to see me to my car,” his collarbones. “Always making sure I’m okay,” his heaving chest before looking up, waiting until he returned his gaze on you to continue in a gentle voice, head tilted. “I do like you,” you admitted quietly, watching as Steve’s neck flushed slightly and he wet his lips, his brows knitting a little. You rested your chin on his chest, gently scratching up and down his forearms. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“No,” he shook his head, then sighed. “Maybe a little - it’s Robin being paranoid, and Eddie being an ass, and you -” he shook his head again, eyes closing.

“I - what?” you frowned slightly, letting go of one of his hands to tap his cheek gently with the tip of your finger - when he looked back at you, you cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth where a red halo, a stain of whatever had remained of your lipstick, tinged his skin.

“I didn’t think you’d ever take me seriously,” he admitted then - blurted out, really - and your eyebrows arched in surprise. “I came here tonight just because I wanted to be with you, even just for a few minutes - I never expected any of this. Not with you.”

“Not with me?” you chuckled, pushing yourself up a little to move your face right in front of his, tips of your nose brushing his. The shift against his crotch had him groan lightly, jaw twitching at the friction. “You never even spared me a second glance in high-school, what’s that supposed to mean?” despite your words, your hand still cradled his cheek, reassuring.

“That’s not true,” he moved his head, nudging the tip of your nose. “I did look at you. I saw you.”

“Ever thought of trying your luck with me before?” you grinned, the teasing note in your voice making him glance away for a moment.

“God, no,” he sighed, moving his hand slowly until it reached your waist just as you straddled his lap again, rocking slowly against him. “Thought you’d bite my head off.”

“I told you, I don’t bite,” you murmured, tilting your head to brush your lips on his. He kissed you once, twice, hand resting on the small of your back.

“I think I have a mark that says otherwise,” he scoffed in between kisses, pushing you a little closer as you chuckled against his mouth. You let go of his other hand too, which immediately fell to the back of your head as you reached between your bodies, at last undoing the zipper of his jeans before tugging them down - he lifted his hips to help, while simultaneously, moving the hand from your back to the hem of your own pants. “Do you have a -”

“Reach behind you,” hastily, you pulled back and hovered his legs as you helped him out fully, belt jingling as you let the jeans fall to the ground. Eyebrows arched, Steve did as he was told, tilting his head back until he located a small box on the side table and you nodded, kicking off your pants.

“Seriously?” he laughed, watching you smirk and straddle his lap, the ghost of his previous touch still on your thighs. He grabbed a silvery packet and held it up between the two of you, placing the box back down. “In the living room?” he teased, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“I don’t just let anybody in my bedroom, Harrington,” you shrugged, and removed your underwear as well. Steve let his gaze wander across your body - the tattoos, the forming bruises on your hips, the marks he’d left with his mouth. He bucked his hips up involuntarily, forcing his eyes back towards your face as you leaned in and took the condom from his hand. “A girl’s gotta be prepared,” you said then, voice a mere, raspy whisper.

After you removed the last piece of clothing between the two of you, Steve fell back against the couch as you wrapped your hand around his erection, a hiss escaping his lips when you brushed your thumb over the tip, smearing his precum around it and then down his length.

“Jesus - fuck,” he cussed, fucking his hips up into your hand. Seeing and feeling you fall apart on his hand had been enough to almost send him over the edge, leaving him sensitive - one touch and his vision was hazy already.

Baby, sweetheart, baby, falling from his lips at the sound of the wrapping tearing. He moaned when you rolled the condom down his cock, one hand raking through his hair and the other gripping the couch underneath him to keep himself from writhing under your touch.

He was so far gone already.

Steve managed to look up only when he felt your hand wrapped around his base and you shifted up his body again, blurry vision clearing enough to notice the flush of your cheeks and heaving chest, your stomach fluttering as you looked down on him, too, then met his eye - lips parted, panting and sighing as he grabbed your hips, his warm hands already so familiar on your body.

You held his gaze as you slowly, achingly slow, sunk down on him, free hand falling to his chest to hold yourself up, thighs burning as the ache of him stretching you turned into a blinding pleasure.

“Easy,” you warned breathlessly as he pushed you down slightly, a choked back groan at your stillness leaving his lips. You steadied yourself with both hands on his chest now. “Oh my - fuck,” a mewl as you threw your head back, eyes fluttering shut as you bottomed out.

Steve kneaded your sides gently, then ran his hands down your thighs, muscles trembling slightly in the wake of his touch. He didn’t move just yet, heavy breathing underneath your hands as he watched your throat bob, stomach fluttering.

And then you started to move - a slow rocking of your hips, up and down his length. Steve set the pace, his hands guiding you by your hips, soft praises falling from his mouth. Feel so good, so good, keep going, just like that, twitching inside of you each time you let out a moan.

When he shifted, sitting up, you found yourself stilling, both arms wrapped around his shoulders as you clenched around him, gaining another groan from him as he squeezed your hips.

“Alright, baby?” his voice was low, lips trailing lazily across your shoulder, up towards your neck, one of his arms sliding around your waist to keep you down against him while his other hand came to rest behind him.

Burying one hand in his hair you nodded, cheek against cheek as he nibbled the juncture between your ear and jaw, a hum barely passing through your sealed lips that quickly turned into a gasp as he pushed his hips up into you.

Steve moved his head back then, looking up at you as you held onto his shoulder, fingers digging into his flesh as he guided your movements above him, steady, rocking hips that made his eyelids grow heavy - yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“So pretty,” he whispered through his shortening breaths and moans, reaching up to tuck a wild strand of hair behind your ear, then cup your cheek - he fucked up into you again, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the room, the house, your head as you forced yourself to keep your eyes open. “So fucking pretty.”

He felt you falter, hips twitching uncontrolled as your thighs shook at his sides, just as you blindly searched for his mouth, tugging onto his hair a little harsher until you managed to kiss him, deep and breathless, your lips bruising - and again and again.

“I’m gonna come, Steve,” whispered against his skin, voice cracking with a cry and Steve, Steve repeated over and over like a chant.

You pulled his hair, just once, to break away from him and gasp a oh God as you threw your head back, your whole body trembling around his - it tipped him over the edge, too, a groan he suppressed against the skin of your chest, twitching deep inside of you as he came and oh God the soft noises, the praises falling from his lips directly onto your skin were almost enough to make your head spin.

You stayed like that: him still deep inside of you, his head resting on your chest, your heart hammering under his ear as you brushed your hand through his hair and placed your cheek on top of his head, both his arms wrapped loosely around you as you tried to regain your breaths.

“I take back what I said before,” your mouth felt pasty, voice muffled as your cheek remained slightly squashed on top of Steve’s head. “I definitely fell for you a little bit, now.”

Steve laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest and across your skin - the slight shake of his body made you hiss, and he left a quick peck against the hollow of your throat before moving his hands to your sides.

Ever so slowly helped you off of him with a quiet apology. The movement made the both of you groan, and you toppled at his side with a long exhale, back pressed against the backrest of the couch. You vaguely registered him getting up, moving towards the kitchen, and coming back after what seemed to be the blink of an eye - or maybe you’d simply dozed off.

“You okay?” he sat down next to you again, the couch definitely too small for you to be staying side by side, a glass of water in his hand. A grin made its way over your lips tiredly, and you lifted your head as he brought it closer to your face.

“See? Always so good to me,” you murmured once he moved back, his thumb running over your lips to collect the droplets of water. “I’m fine, just tired,” you reassured as he put the glass down blindly, his eyes never leaving you even as he lied down. You shifted half on top of him, enough so there was space for the both of you, chin resting on his chest where you left a quick peck. “Are you?”

“Are you kidding?” he scoffed, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you closer, carefully locked against his side. “Never been better,” he kissed the top of your head, your forehead, fingers tracing lazy, mindless lines across the skin of your back.

You melted into him, his soothing touch, his now-so-familiar scent, the steadying rhythm of his heart. It slowly lulled you into a half-sleep state, Steve’s body relaxing as well.

“Steve?” you mumbled against his chest, and his hand stilled, head turning just barely as he hummed in response. “Don’t fall asleep on the couch, you’ll get a backache,” you warned, yet nestled closer to his side.

The couch was old - you’d experienced the pains a night on it brought one too many times.

“It’s okay, I’ll just be five minutes,” he reassured, resuming tracing patterns over your skin with the tip of his fingers. “Then I’ll be on my way, let you get some rest.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harrington,” you scoffed, at last looking up towards him. His eyes were closed, his lips parted - still plump, still rosy, so kissable with his hair falling messily against his forehead. “Stay the night - let’s go to bed.”

He opened his eyes - his long lashes trembling against his cheeks before he did so, a light frown knitting his brow before he turned to look down towards you. He licked his lips, letting his hand move up the nape of your neck, guiding your head back.

“I thought you said no one’s allowed in your room,” he said, only half-teasingly.

“I said not just anyone,” you corrected, shifting up until you could brush your lips against his - just a mere brush, not chasing him, not letting him chase you. “You’re not just anyone.”

“You’re just trying to charge me extra,” he whispered in mock offense, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought off a smile. “First weed, then spending the night -” “The sex, too,” you pointed out with a grin of your own.

“Of course,” he nodded, gravely, and you chuckled, leaning in to kiss him once, gently, deep. Your hand came up to his face, cupping his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek before you pulled back and met his eyes.

“Stay,” you repeated, and then, lower, sweeter - “Please?”

“Just as long as you won’t sacrifice me to some forest deity,” he nodded, pulling you almost fully on top of him. And with a smile, you kissed him again. “No promises, Harrington.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harringotn x oc #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #redahlia #cherry bomb

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dlstmxkakwldrlarchive · 4 months

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Genius Korea's Best K-Pop Songs of 2023 — ONEW&KEY Mentions

source

12. ONEW — O (Circle)

Just like its title, “O (Circle)” begins and ends in the same place: with a rippling, repeating instrumental. The lyrics explore natural cycles of life: the seasons, and the happiness and sorrows of existence. The song expresses how constant change is both a great sadness and a great joy; certain lyrics are repeated, reinforcing the theme of constancy within change. ONEW's singing ranges from ethereal to soaring, easily conveying the song’s nuances. From a gentle start, the song grows to an emotional ending with a full chorus of voices. “O (Circle)” is a poetic, almost mystical, reflection on what separates and connects.

19. KEY — GOOD & GREAT

An anthem for those facing the daily grind of being in the workforce, “Good & Great” expresses that urge to break out from the monotonous day-to-day hours. While still wanting to do the best at what had taken hard work to get to, KEY sings about thinking of a momentary escape from reality to keep it all together before returning to the hustle and bustle (or lack of). Though tackling what can be seen as an overall boring topic, the song’s overall vibe is hard to not at least bop your head to.

#240101 #shinee #onew #lee jinki #jinki #kim kibum #kibum #key #articles #eng #genius korea #hard era #circle album praise

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celestoria · 9 months

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Tags: Praise, Dacryphillia, Fingering, Alcohol

A/n: there seems to be a problem so i can’t tag you. So sorry about that. Also I love the Doppio pfp HAHA. He’s also one of my favorites next to Mysta Rias and Ver Vermillion.

Do not interact if you are 17 or below (17+)

Rumors are a hit or miss. With your rising fame, you were no stranger to that common knowledge and the eyes of the media. Currently, recent speculations say that you’ve been secretly dating another famous idol, Dan Heng. It wasn't far-fetched from reality, but sadly they’ve got it all wrong.

Scandalous as it seems, you were simply just fuck buddies.

Now and then you’d visit the other’s condo and spend the night, only to sneakily leave the next morning, trying not to stir up the paparazzi. However, from what it seems, you weren’t that successful with it. You didn’t mind it. As long as you don’t fan the flame by answering their questions and trying to be more careful next time, you’re sure all of it will subside once the next entertainment industry gossip emerges. As for now, all you could do is savor your secret rendezvous with Dan Heng.

After a little celebration over some wine and desserts for your album, Dan Heng was suddenly on top of you, tipsy and his clothes disheveled. Hickies colored your collarbone and a tight grip held onto your thigh before his hands slithered to your clothed cunt, soaking from anticipation.

“You’ve been doing so great,” he panted and went closer to your ear. “It’s a shame I haven’t given you a gift, hm?”

His hand hooked onto your laed panties to pull it down and he sank a single finger deep in you as his thumb circled on your clit, leaving you to moan out his name. He rhythmically pressed on your g-spot, making your back arch and your head press down on the soft pillow cushions. Dan Heng always loved it when he knew he was making you feel good, but he wonders how far “good” takes you before you scream over and over again.

He dipped another finger inside you, your walls slightly expanding before tightly clasping around him once more.

Your pussy was already so wet from his hands alone. Slick thickly coating him and squelching sounds mixed in with the provocative mewls that you can never seem to contain when he’s touching you like this.

You came one orgasm after the other, your legs starting to feel a little weak and a pool of your mess starting to form on your leather couch. It’s as if he brought heaven to you and he has no intentions of stopping until he is satisfied with spoiling you after your big success.

“Dan Heng,” you cried. “I’m not sure if I could take it anymore,” you replied, tears flooding the side of your eyes.

The man hushed. “Don’t doubt yourself. I know you could handle more,” he replied as a third digit started to lightly probe your entrance.

Long, painted nails dug down on him until his skin almost bled out when Dan Heng’s drunken thoughts won which convinced him to make all three fingers frantically toy within you. You were lucky with how long Dan Heng prepped you for this, but it was your first time taking such a large amount at once. You never even considered doing such during lonely nights when you wished he was right by your side.

“Ah, it’s too much,” you cried, your hips moving backward. The little droplets of tears turned into streams that rushed down your mascara-stained cheeks.

“You’re so pretty when you cry, you know that,” he mumbled, picking up his pace.

Soon after, your voice hitched and your eyes rolled back. You came so much tonight, your lower half was so numb despite the apparent quivering. Dan Heng’s fingers slowly left you, making you feel like an empty hold has been carved out of you yet you were relieved that it was all over.

The man remained laying on top of you, clearly licking his fingers. The flavors of your slick mix in with the aftertaste of wine that can’t seem to leave his mouth. He was already a little tipsy when he started out pleasuring you but he ended up being so intoxicated by your love. His other hand brushed through your hair. “Good girl,” he muttered.

You’ve received many gifts after your massive success, but this one might be the one that would leave you with the most lasting impression yet.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail dan heng #dan heng #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng smut #≡;- ꒰ ° 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫! ꒱

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meanbossart · 3 months

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Well, I did it, I made an extremely annoying durge playlist for DU drow.

Because I can't help being pretentious, It turned out being a linear concept album. Some songs are about specific relationships and events, some are just mood setters. It's also split like this:

Childhood: Tracks 1-3

Teens: Track 4

Active Bhaalspawn, pre-Absolute: Tracks 5-10

The Chosen's Plan, and his downfall: Tracks 11-15

Game campaign: Tracks 16-31

It's a longass playlist and I reasonably don't expect anyone to sit through the whole thing, so here's a helpful little guide that lists the more stand-out tracks and what they're about, as well as whichever ones are specific to a character:

3. Teenage lightning - Coil: A little urge, and first contact with Sceleritas. 4. Bring the sun/Toussaint L’Ouverture - Swans: Several years between escaping the Underdark, trekking the surface's cities and wilderness, and seeking out greatness.

5. Fire Temple - Bobby Krlic: Finding where you belong. 7. Circles in red dirt - Jarboe: Orin. 9. Rocking back inside my heart - Julee Cruise: Orin, reprise.

12. Fan Letter - Michael Gira: Enver Gortash. 13. Pleasurer - JK Flesh: His sister's betrayal. 19. Cannibal's Hymn - Nick Cave: Astarion. 24. My True Body - Angels of Light: Bhaal. 26. Praise your name - Angels of light: Astarion, reprise. 29. All Directions - Son Lux: Friendship, and doing the right thing. 30. Ugly and Vengeful - Anna von Hausswolff: Finale. 31. Song for a Warrior - Swans: DU drow.

THAT'S ALL FOLKS, ENJOY. OR DON'T. WHATEVER YOU WANNA DO.

#fst #du drow #music #Spotify

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marvelobsessed134 · 4 months

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Delicate flower blurb- Pamela Fingering you over the washing machine

Delicate flower masterlist

Pairings: Lily!Pamela Anderson x Innocent!Reader x Seb!Tommy Lee

Warnings: smut obvi, fingering, light degradation, mommy kink, praise, short cause it’s a blurb

You were bent over the washing machine with Pamela’s fingers deep in your drenched cunt. Tommy was out for today doing promotions for the new album or whatever it was. You can’t even think straight right now with the way she’s fucking you.

“Take it, slut. God I love when daddy isn’t home so I can have you all to myself.” She growled in your ear she pumped at rapid pace.

All you could do was cry out in response. Her thump was rubbing circles on your clit sending you over the edge.

“Please mommy. Let me cum!” You cried pathetically .

“Okay, baby. You can cum.” The blonde said, biting your ear lobe. You clenched around her fingers and squirted your release all over them.

She took her fingers out and licked them clean, moaning at the taste. “Good girl.” Pam said, smacking your ass lightly causing you to jolt. She laughed before saying, “Make sure you get those clothes hung up sweetheart.” And walked out of the laundry room.

You pulled up your panties back under the short maid skirt and started to do laundry like nothing happened.

#motley crue #motley crue x reader #tommy lee #nikki sixx #vince neil #fanfic #mick mars #smut #tommy x pamela x reader #Sebastian Stan x reader #Sebastian Stan smut #lily james #lily James x reader #pamela anderson x reader #pamala anderson #pam and tommy #tommy lee sebastian stan #Tommy lee x reader #Tommy lee smut

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wreckedandpolemic · 4 months

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she's got a boyfriend anyway - matty healy

part iii - if we're gonna do anything...

(mdni) hahahahaha... heyyy... been a while huh?

warnings: 18+, drug use, unprotected sex, cheating

Being home is suffocating you. You love your hometown, really, you do, but you’ve gotten so used to reaching out and grasping a starless London night that the stickers on your ceiling feel mocking. Like you’ve stepped back into the body of the girl whose room this used to be, and her skin is two sizes too small. Every time your mother reprimands you for being out late, or swearing, or smoking, you remind yourself that you’re five minutes closer to being back in London, hundreds of miles away and outside your family’s sphere of control.

Being with Matty is different, though. He tugs you out of that too-tight skin, leaves you loose-limbed and free. You tell him as much, laying back against his wrinkled, black sheets, a joint burning down between his fingers and smoke hanging in the air. His answering smile is gorgeous, big and bright and a little dopey from the weed. A slow song you can’t pin down crackles from his vintage record player. “Shotgun?” he offers, and you grin, straddling him as he fills his lungs with smoke. Your lips hover over his, your hair falling in a curtain around your faces, shrouding you in fitting secret. He blows the smoke into your waiting mouth and you inhale greedily, certain a faint taste of him lingers in your lungs. You lift your head to exhale, blowing rings just to show off.

He stubs the joint out on his bedframe and flings the roach into the corner of his room, planting both his hands firmly on your hips. You’re crossing that line again; your feet have swept across it so many times since you came home that it’s faded from an all-encompassing warning bell to a faint, familiar tick. You press a kiss to his lips, savouring his responding giggle, your high wrapping the pair of you in a blanket that muffles the outside world. His arms snake around your back, tracing soothing circles over your skin. You relax into his chest, the warmth of his skin soaking into yours. Time drips over you like honey and you don’t know how long you lay like that, relaxed in his embrace.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs absently, petting your hair.

You kiss his chest softly, praise spinning in your slow-moving mind like a coin set on its edge. “Flatterer,” you reply, his gaze kindling a spark in your chest. The album ends, the last notes hanging in the air for a moment before fading away. The silence is tender, pleasant. Matty shifts, freeing his arm from under you and you whine, clinging feebly onto him as he rolls off the bed.

You watch him pick his way across his messy room to where his guitar leans against his bookshelf, smiling softly when he picks it up. He sits cross-legged, back against the wall, cradling the guitar lovingly in his lap. He strums idly, chords humming sweetly in the warm air and washing comfortably over you. “Mind if I play you something, love?”

“Please,” you reply, sitting up so you can see him properly. He teases a few more notes from the strings, then sings along in a low, quiet voice. You’re a little too stoned to process the individual words, but you know intrinsically that he’s singing to you, for you, about you. A solid lump of emotion rises in your throat, your cotton-mouth too dry to swallow it back down.

The song ends after some indeterminate amount of time, its linear passage having escaped you long ago. “D’you like it?” he asks, and you nod. It’s just about the loveliest thing you’ve ever heard; the romance of this tortured artist so dichotomous from what you’re used to. “Good,” he says shortly. “‘Cause otherwise that would’ve been well embarrassing.” Turning to start another record, he takes a deep breath and exhales shakily, unfamiliarly and uncharacteristically nervous. “This isn’t, um… We’re having fun, right?”

You tilt your head at him, hazy brain preventing you from reading his tone. “Yeah. ‘Course we are.” You turn a sleazy, charming grin on him, one you realise you learned from him. “Why?”

He smiles at you, a sweet, lovely thing, a far cry from the filthy, teasing smirks you’re used to. “I just…” He shakes his head as you fascinate yourself twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “Never mind. You’re so stoned.” He huffs a fond laugh and props the guitar back up against the bookshelf.

A dazed laugh bubbles up out of your throat. “Yep,” You pop the ‘p’ loudly, smacking your lips so the noise repeats over and over. “Fuck, your shit is so strong. I feel like my bones are glue. Does that make sense?”

He crawls back up the bed next to you, slipping a hand under your shirt to stroke fond circles into your skin. “No,” he laughs. “But you’re cute,” he adds.

“So are you,” you say, poking the tip of his nose and dissolving into a fit of giggles at the way his face scrunches in response. He kisses you lazily, tongue sweeping your mouth in slow, languid strokes; he kisses you just to kiss you, running his fingers through your hair and smiling against your mouth.

Time passes, your head clears, the platter spins and the sun sinks lower in the sky. It’s dusk by the time you peel yourself out of Matty’s bed and shrug your jacket back on. You’re regretful, gathering your things slowly, casting doleful looks at the warmth of his bed as you inch toward the door. “Just stay, love,” Matty tells you, grinning at the relief on your face.

You don’t bother double-checking, just dropping your bag and jacket and falling back into bed with him. “Thank you, darling,” you grin, pressing your lips against his just to feel them warm on your skin. “You and me, alone together in bed all night… whatever will we get up to?” you tease, hands wandering over his chest playfully.

“I have a few ideas,” he smirks, hand roaming down to your ass and squeezing. You tug his shirt off his body, kissing your way down his bare chest. His hand catches yours as you go to unbutton his jeans and you look up at him curiously before pressing a palm against his clothed dick. “C’mon, love. We’ve got all night. Right now, I wanna make you feel so good you forget his fucking name.”

Your thighs clench at his words; the possessiveness in his tone grips you. “Fuck, Matty,” you whine, sudden heat flooding your body and pooling at your core. “Off, off, now,” you whine, yanking off his jeans and boxers in one motion and wrapping your hand around his hardening cock. It’s almost a reversal of last time; in Matty’s room, now, his skin bare while you’re clothed. Slowly, you pump his cock again, relishing the way his hips twitch under your touch.

You kick off your own jeans and crawl back up the bed, leaning towards Matty as he roams his hands down to the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head. Deft fingers work at the clasp of your bra and pinch your nipple as you slip the fabric off your body. “So fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, gazing intently at your bare tits.

Sitting up, Matty climbs on top of you, kissing you hard and tracing a finger over the outside of your panties. A shiver runs through you and you grind against his hand, the fabric of your underwear scraping deliciously over your clit. You slide down the pillows so the pair of you are horizontal, looking up and losing yourself for a second in Matty’s big, brown eyes, liquid pools of fathomless desire. He tugs your panties down your legs, rubbing slow circles into your clit and swallowing your responding moan with a kiss. “Shit, Matty, come on,” you whine, rolling your hips against him.

“We have all night, love. Don't you wanna take it slow?” he murmurs, speeding up his motions at your clit. Liquid pleasure drips down your spine, blooming hot in your veins. A whine falls from your lips as he slips a finger into you, your cunt clenching desperately around him as he sets a torturously slow rhythm.

You groan. He’s so devoted to dragging everything out, insisting on toying with every encounter; you’re aching for it already. “No,” you retort. “Shut up and fuck me.” Weak bursts of heat rattle through you, insufficient, ramping up your desire as you kiss Matty desperately.

“So impatient,” he tuts, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and dropping his head to kiss your neck. “How do you want it?” he murmurs against your skin. Your stomach clenches at his words, unused to the care he takes with you, his lips reverent on your skin, awaiting your cue.

“Fast,” you gasp, a breathy moan falling from your lips as he slides another finger into you, the stretch between your thighs burning deliciously. “Hard,” you add, reaching down and wrapping a hand around his cock. “Come on, Matty, wanna come on your cock so bad,” His dick twitches in your palm and his jaw goes slack, desire burning in his gaze.

Matty pulls his fingers out of you, drawing them into his mouth and sucking your arousal off his skin. “Open up, love,” he instructs, spitting in your mouth when you drop your jaw for him. You swallow obediently, the taste of you sliding down your throat deliciously. Climbing off you, he lines his cock up with your entrance, teasing. “You ready?”

Nodding wildly, you clench your cunt and roll your hips, chasing the pleasure he holds just out of your reach. “Fuck me, please,” you whine, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging harshly, relishing the soft whimper he lets out. Finally, Matty enters you, the stretch divine in your cunt. He gasps as you clench around him, coaxing him deeper. “Harder,” you beg, digging your nails into his back and matching his thrusts with your hips to force him deeper into you.

“Whatever you want, love,” he grins. “Gotta give it to you just the way you want it before your little boyfriend gets his pathetic hands on you again,” he promises, the flash of guilt at the reminder of your sin indetectable against the waves of sweet bliss rolling over you. He sets a brutal pace, fucking into you wildly. Your pulse thrums in your cunt, cries falling from your lips as he thrusts impossibly deep into you.

“Shh, not so loud, sweetheart,” Matty murmurs against your lips, sliding two fingers into your mouth to muffle your moans. Your head spins, drunk on him, liquid heat coiling in your veins and melting you in his hands. Euphoria pools in your belly, blood pumping faster and faster, your hips meeting slick and sweet. “That feel good?” You nod fervently, incoherent whines falling from your lips.

You writhe under him. “Matty,” you whine. “Matty, please, fuck–” you gasp, voice breaking on the last syllable as he strikes oh-so-perfectly inside you. “Oh, God,” you cry, digging your nails into his shoulders hard enough to puncture skin. His hand comes down to tease at your clit, callused fingers deliciously rough against your swollen nerves. “Matty, please, please, please,” you whine, hips jolting involuntarily to chase the sweet, sharp bursts of pleasure that ricochet through you.

“Are you close, love?” he asks, his pace stuttering as his control slips.

“Yeah, fuck,” you murmur between soft moans. Matty redoubles his efforts, pressure mounting between your legs, coiling tighter and tighter as you cling to him, lips meeting in a messy imitation of a kiss. He strikes your clit just right, and you scream, heat racing through your blood and sparks exploding behind your eyelids. Euphoria burns you from the inside out, your cunt clenching around him desperately. A pained whine escapes you as he pulls out of you, spilling across your stomach with a groan. Your chest heaves as you gasp for breath, coasting on your high. Matty collapses next to you, breathing hard, and grins over at you wickedly.

Matching his grin, you drag a finger through the mess on your belly and suck it off, swirling your tongue around your finger exaggeratedly. Matty snatches your hand away and kisses you deeply. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

“Yes,” you giggle against his mouth. “Is it working?” He nods almost imperceptibly, something intense shining in his eyes that you don’t quite want to understand. You cast your gaze anywhere else, and he clears his throat sheepishly. “I’m, uh, gonna go get cleaned up,” you say, wincing at the cliche as you pad into his bathroom.

Whatever lingering awkwardness you might’ve feared has dissipated by the time you return, cocking your head quizzically at his pose; propped up against the headboard, arms behind his head. “About that blowjob… What?” he complains as you burst into laughter. “No, I’m sorry,” he says, laughing. “I heard it as soon as I said it.” You climb back into bed next to him, resting your head on his bare shoulder.

Kissing at his neck, you taste the light sheen of sweat on his skin. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you tease, climbing over him and settling between his legs. “And that I’m generous.”

The sound of your phone clattering to the floor startles you awake. Blinking blearily, you comb a hand through your sleep-tangled hair. Twelve missed calls from your mum, three from your dad and… oh shit, seventeen from your boyfriend. “Matty,” you hiss, slapping his leg frantically from your position on the floor. “Matty!”

“Huh, what?” he murmurs groggily, stirring to peer down at you from the bed.

“I forgot Michael was coming up from London this morning!” you gasp, frantically hunting for your clothes, the enormity of the last few days suddenly in shocking clarity. Your phone buzzes at your feet as you wrestle with your bra, fingers shaking too much to close the clasps. The caller ID flashes his name, and you draw a trembling breath.

“Want some help?” Matty teases, and despite yourself, you do. You nod despairingly, his warm hands at your back a comfort even now. “It’ll be okay, love,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. His touch warms you through, your body melting instinctively against his. God. You are well and truly fucked.

#when taylor swift said Its been a long time coming she was talking about this fic #i gen cannot tell whether this is rubbish or not Pls dont tell me if it is im trying to get back in the swing Ok #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #writing #smut

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foliosriot · 6 months

Text

Love’s The Death Of Peace Of Mind — Pt. 3

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

warnings: angst and more angst

tags: @thisbicc @lma1986 @mrscevans @catj422 @thebadchic @blackveilomens @likeavilliansposts @veronicaphoenix @circle-with-me @lilhobgobbler @loeytuan98

masterlist. tdopom masterlist.

Today is the day.

Today is the day Noah comes over so you two can talk and work through what happened to your friendship, and your relationship overall.

You’ve been pacing around your apartment for the past few hours, music playing loudly from the TV in the living room. Purposefully taking a break from Bad Omens you have Sleep Token on repeat instead. But the change didn’t help much. You ended up skipping Give anyways.

Now you’re just anxiously fiddling with the bottom hem of your sweater as the entirety of Sleep Token’s discography comes to an end. The sudden lack of music makes you pause your pacing.

Then, because your brain has been torturing you all day — and this wouldn’t be anything short of it — you hurriedly turn on THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND. The opening track has you immediately calming down, and there’s a part of you that fucking despises that.

But you’re still pacing as you listen to the album, your lips moving as you wordlessly sing along. Your fingers are constantly playing with your sweater’s hem, and you may have just realized it’s one of Noah’s that he must have left here on accident. You have half a brain to make your way to your room to change before there’s knocking at the front door.

It scares you, nearly has you jumping out of your skin. And as much as you want to pretend like you aren’t home, or crawl to bed and roll yourself into a cocoon of blankets, you know you can’t avoid this any longer.

You don’t think to pause your music or turn it off entirely until you’re already opening the front door to reveal Noah standing before you. He gives you a soft smile, though you can tell he’s nervous and probably riddled with anxiety just like you are. But you quietly greet him and step aside to allow him entry.

It’s jarring to see him in person like this. Last time you saw him face to face was the last time you’d been … together. The two of you had been here, at your apartment, and you suddenly have difficulty shoving away that memory.

A hand at your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you pleasantly lightheaded. Your fingernails leaving thin red lines down freckled shoulders and a tattooed back. Hickeys and roaming, greedy hands turning into gentle kisses and softly uttered praises. Neither of you acknowledging the blatant shift in your movements, but you continue giving and taking equally anyways.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you nearly run into Noah, who had stopped once he entered the living room. You take a step or two backwards to see him staring at the TV screen still alive with Bad Omens. With his music. With the songs he wrote about you.

The sad smile that appears on Noah’s face is fleeting at best. But it’s gone in a flash when he eventually looks away. You take that as your chance to run to the remote and turn off the TV, relieving both of you of the obvious torment you had been experiencing.

In the quiet of your small living room you hesitantly sit down on one end of the couch, to which Noah copies your actions. He sits on the other end, and it sparks even more buried memories of yours. You’re almost certain Noah is remembering those as well.

“You like the album, then?”

Noah’s voice startles you. You jerk slightly but you quickly recover to meet his eyes. He’s already looking at you, and shit — if this doesn’t feel like déjà vu.

“Uh, y-yeah, I really like it,” you stammer. “But I already Motionless In White’s new album is gonna be even better.”

You aren’t sure why you say it. But the slight teasing in your voice is definitely there, no matter how weird it may have felt rolling off your tongue. And the way Noah is looking at you has you thinking he knows you’re messing with him, if the slight quirk of his lips is anything to go off of.

You both stay silent after that. Your chest is tightening the longer the quiet drags. And you can feel Noah’s gaze on you, his eyes taking in the sight of you for the first time in a long time. Or maybe it’s because you’re wearing his old sweater.

“What happened to us?”

Noah’s gentle voice jerks you out of your head. You slowly look to him expecting to see him watching you still. But he had averted his eyes, and he was now staring at the picture frames nailed to the wall above the small shelf that has all of your DVDs, CDs, vinyls, and tapes. It almost feels like a tidal wave when you realize there are photos of the two of you on display.

“Do you want the full truth or the half-truth?” you ask him as your fingers migrate back to that stupid bottom hem.

“Full truth.”

He’s still taking in the wall of memories, not looking away for even a moment. Your throat bobs as you prepare yourself to talk.

“Noah, I need you to know that you are my best friend in the entire world,” you begin quietly. “Even if we haven’t talked for awhile. You are one of my favorite people on this planet, and I don’t know what I would do without you. What happened between us is on me, and I really need you to understand that.”

“If this is just an elaborate way to say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, save it,” Noah says, his tone cold. “I gathered that when you stopped talking to me.”

Okay. You’ll admit: that hurt.

But it’s true, and you need to let him know why.

“No, it’s not that.” Your eyes are beginning to burn with gathering tears. “Ever since we met I’ve struggled to understand what I feel for you. I thought we were just friends, but, over the years, there were things you would say or do that made me think otherwise. So I guess I kinda played in to it. Then that night at your place, and the times after that, I … It made me think there was actually something between us. But after the last night together I freaked out and distanced myself from you because I was scared you didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t keep denying my feelings for you, so I distanced myself so neither of us would get hurt.”

You sniffle before continuing. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about this since that first night. And then the album dropped and I lost control over what I have been feeling for years. I never wanted to push you away like that. I was being selfish and and I was so fucking scared, and I never bothered to think about if you would be hurt in the process.” You bite your bottom lip as a few tears crawl down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, Noah. I’m so fucking sorry for what I did. I never wanted this.”

Noah is quiet. He’s still facing away from you, and you’re beginning to think this was a bad idea. But he shifts slightly, his head moving slowly in your direction. Then he stops, and you think you see a tear or two staining his cheek.

Your skin is starting to itch profusely as you anxiously wait for Noah to say anything. You’re growing uncomfortable and you wish time would just freeze.

But then Noah speaks, his voice awfully quiet.

“I thought there was something too,” he starts. And it is blatantly clear that he had begun to cry as well. “Honestly, I would have been totally fine with the first night being a one-time thing. And then it happened again and again, and I thought that must have meant something. But when you ignored me after the last time I thought you had just used me and didn’t want to see me again. Like, you somehow knew how I feel and couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge it.

“Now knowing how it tore you up as well almost makes the pain a little more bearable,” Noah continues with a halfhearted laugh. “I guess I just don’t understand why it happened the way it did. We could’ve talked and worked through it, like we always fucking have. So why was this the thing that drove us apart? I mean, we definitely have feelings for each other. We both thought there was something for years, and it’s been confirmed. So, I guess the question still stands…”

Noah’s words have your heart lodging itself into your throat. More tears have fallen from your eyes, each one streaking down your face and slipping from your chin as you keep your eyes on Noah.

“I don’t know why that was what drove us apart, Noah,” you admit in a broken voice. “But I want to fix it. I really want to fix this rift we’ve made. ‘Cause I— I-I miss you.”

You watch Noah finally turn his head so he’s looking straight you. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and there are a few apparent tear stains on his face. But he looks hopeful and content with your response.

“I miss you, too,” he murmurs. “And I wanna fix whatever happened, regardless of the outcome.”

Noah gives you a soft smile that you return without a second thought. You sit staring at each other for a minute before you have to force yourself to finally glance away. Taking a deep breath you pull the ends of your sleeves over your hands and fingers, then wipe at your eyes.

The worn fabric of your Noah’s sweater rubs against your skin and leaves red in its wake. You catch Noah looking at you for a moment before he obviously processes what you’re wearing.

“Is that my sweater?” he queries quietly.

“Oh, yeah. I think you had left it here on accident once,” you begin rambling. “God, I didn’t even realize I was wearing it until you got here. I can give it back to you—“

“No. Keep it. It looks much better on you.”

Noah’s words have your face heating up. You go silent as he gives you another one of his small yet softest smiles. Your mouth hangs open for a few seconds, then you’re snapping your teeth together as your heart continues racing relentlessly.

His own face is reddening with blush, but you don’t comment on it. Instead, you reach back for the TV remote and wordlessly turn on Howl’s Moving Castle. The movie has been a shared comfort for both you and Noah, and you know he would love to watch it with you after so long.

You struggle to hide your grin as you get comfortable against the couch. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Noah has been stunned into silence at the movie selection. But you ignore him as much as you can as you listen to him kick off his shoes and settle into his own spot on the couch, the beginning of the beloved movie illuminating the screen.

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

a/n: ok i’m planning on AT LEAST one more part, so let me know if you wanna be tagged when it’s out!!

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #alex! ❪ 𖤐 ❫#alex’s writing! ❪ 𖤐 ❫

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