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mssorceressupreme · 4 months ago

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Wanna Be Yours | F.W

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Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: helping a younger student resulted in you and the first-year walking into a prank not meant for you, and as you do so, you catch Fred's attention. the next day he tries to apologise with another prank and it backfires, but this only resulted in him falling even harder for you, he just knew wanted to be yours.

Warnings/tags: hufflepuff!reader (well it suits anyone really :D), love at first sight, he fell first and HARD, fred needs you so bad, pranks gone wrong, teasing, fluffy and cute, fred's a simp a/n: inspired by "Wanna be Yours by Arctic Monkeys"

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The courtyard was alive with the soft hum of spring—branches swaying in the breeze, birds chirping from the castle walls, and a few students milling about on the cobblestones. Fred crouched behind a large stone pillar, his mischievous grin matching the one plastered across his twin’s face.

Huddled in a corner, the four of them—Fred, George, Lee and Oliver, were planning a revenge prank on Marcus Flint and Draco Malfoy for their obnoxious antics during the Quidditch match earlier.

“Are you sure about this?” Oliver Wood asked, trying to sound stern but failing as he bit back a chuckle.

Malfoy had spent most of the game taunting Harry, and Flint’s borderline dirty play had cost Gryffindor two near-goals. That didn’t sit well with Fred and George, so what better way to get back at them than with a prank.

“Hundred percent.” Fred said, smirking as he held up a pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. “Alright, we rig this near the tree. As soon as they walk by, poof! Total chaos. Then, George, you release the Dungbombs—”

“Already got ‘em primed,” George said, patting his pocket with a devilish grin.

“Don't forget the slime and feathers!” Lee added, holding up a jar of fluorescent green goop in one hand, and a bag of feathers in the other.

Oliver, who had reluctantly joined but couldn’t resist some payback, frowned. “Let’s make sure they’re the only ones who get caught in this mess though, yeah?”

“Relax Wood,” Fred said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a foolproof plan. Nothing can go wrong.”

“Trust us,” George said, “We’ve calculated everything.”

“Right,” Lee affirmed, “It's simple charm, a bit of instant darkness powder, and—bam! Feathers, slime, and a nice little puff of stink powder for good measure.”

George cackled, clapping his twin on the back. “Beautiful. They’ll be too busy cleaning slime and plucking feathers off their robes to bother us for weeks.”

“That's what they deserve for acting like twits during the match.” Lee chimed in. "S'pose they do deserve it." Oliver chuckled, his reluctance turning into enthusiasm.

The trap was simple but effective: a hidden tripwire enchanted to release darkness powder, then a rain of slime and feathers from above, followed by the dungbombs. All they had to do now was wait for their targets. "Now, they're supposed to walk pass here any moment..." Fred told the others, as the four of them watched eagerly.

Fred’s eyes glinted as he nodded toward the enchanted tripwire stretched across the cobblestones, ready to unleash chaos on Flint and Malfoy the moment they stepped on it.

Everything was perfect. Until it wasn't.

From behind a stone archway, you appeared with a small Ravenclaw first-year in tow.

It wasn’t Malfoy or Flint who walked into the courtyard first.

It was you.

You were laughing softly, your eyes crinkling with warmth as you guided a nervous-looking first-year Ravenclaw girl who clutched her books tightly to their chest. The poor kid had taken a wrong turn, and you volunteered to show her the way to the library.

In your arms, you helped carry some of her load, making it easier for the first-year.

“Don’t worry,” you were saying, your voice kind and steady. “The library isn’t far. Just through the next hall and up the staircase."

Fred’s eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. He didn’t hear anything else. It was like the world had narrowed to just you—the way your hair caught the sunlight, the easy grace in your step, and the way your smile seemed to light up the entire courtyard.

How had he not noticed you before?

“Is Fred broken?” George whispered to Lee.

“Looks like it. Never seen him go this quiet before,” Lee replied, smirking.

Oliver elbowed Fred, snapping him out of his trance. “Mate, you’re staring.”

“Shut up,” Fred muttered, his eyes never leaving you.

"Who is she?..." He continued, holding true to Oliver's statement.

“Who?” Lee asked, following his gaze. He snorted when he saw you. “Her? Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Fred.”

Fred didn’t respond. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you but he was quickly snapped out of his trance as you approached the tree.

Oh shit. "Not the tree, don't walk past the tree..." He muttered to himself, hoping you would somehow magically hear him.

It was no use. Disaster struck.

You were met with instant darkness, coughing slightly as the powder released a thick fog around you and the first year.

Before you could grasp the full situation, a torrent of green slime and feathers rained down from above, coating you and the first-year from head to toe. The Dungbombs exploded seconds later, filling the courtyard with an awful stench.

The first-year yelped, clutching her books as the slime dripped down her robes. You froze for a moment, stunned, before shaking your head with a soft laugh.

Fred winced, guilt twisting in his chest.

“Oops,” George muttered, though he didn’t sound all that sorry.

Lee burst out laughing, "Merlin, did we just traumatise a first year?!"

“Poor kid,” Oliver said, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Fred, however, barely heard them. He was too busy watching you. Instead of panicking or getting angry, you crouched down immediately, brushing feathers off the first-year’s face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said gently, your voice soothing. “It’s just a bit of slime and feathers. Another tip, beware of silly pranks, it's all part and parcel of the Hogwarts culture." You comfort the kid, trying to lighten the situation by laughing softly, "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

The first-year nodded, her lower lip trembling, and you smiled, guiding her toward a nearby fountain.

Fred couldn’t stop staring. He didn't know who you were, but he did know this, he wanted to be yours.

You were covered in slime and feathers, an absolute mess, yet you still looked radiant.

There was something about the way you put the first-year first, your patience and kindness shining through, that made his heart thud in the best way.

You helped her cleaned as much as you could off her robes, murmuring reassurances the entire time before chanting, "Scourgify!", instantly her robes were as good as new.

Only after she was cleaned up did you finally turn your attention to yourself. With the help of the cleaning spell, the feathers were out of your hair and the slime off your sleeves in no time.

“Merlin! Fred, you’ve got it bad,” Lee said, smirking.

“Oh, leave him,” George teased. “He’s clearly in love.” Fred’s ears turned pink, but he didn’t care. For once, he was speechless.

“How come I’ve never noticed her before?” The red head murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He was certain he would’ve remembered someone like you. “Maybe because you’re too busy pranking people,” Oliver said dryly. "Who is she?" Fred asked, ignoring Oliver's remark. "Seen her around a couple of times, especially in the library, she's in Ron's year." Oliver hummed, watching as you conversed with the first-year.

“That explains it,” George quipped. “She’s too smart to bother with Fred’s idiocy.”

Fred scowled, but his gaze remained fixed on you. There was something magnetic about the way you carried yourself, and he felt like everyone had disappeared, you were the only one in sight, to him.

He knew he had to make this right. He needed an excuse to approach you. Right! An apology. And of course, he had to impress you.

The Ravenclaw girl finally gave a small laugh as you finished off explaining the pranking culture at Hogwarts. “Thank you, I-..I think I know my way to the library from here now.” she said softly before hurrying off. ___

The next day, Fred had a plan. A proper one.

Breakfast in the Great Hall hummed with the usual morning chaos: the clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional bursts of laughter from each houses' table.

Fred stood at the entrance, trying to look nonchalant but failing miserably. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of enchanted flowers—slime-free this time—that were charmed to sing a cheerful apology tune when presented.

He wiped his palm against his robes for what felt like the hundredth time. “This is foolproof,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“You say that every time,” George pointed out, his tone dripping with amusement. He nudged Lee, who was barely containing his laughter. “What do you reckon? Will he get through two words before tripping over himself?”

“Five Galleons says he’ll combust,” Lee said, grinning.

“Will you two shut it?” Fred snapped, though the tips of his ears turned red. “This is serious.”

“Serious,” George repeated, mocking Fred’s tone. “You’re holding a singing bouquet, mate. Nothing about this screams ‘serious.’”

“Just watch,” Fred said, his voice low but determined.

That’s when you walked in, and Fred’s stomach flipped.

You were laughing as you entered, your head tilted toward one of your friends. That laugh—light, carefree, and far too distracting—was etched into Fred’s memory, playing on a loop since the previous day.

The sunlight streaming through the tall windows hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your smile. You were radiant.

Fred’s heart thumped in his chest as he stepped forward, the bouquet held out like a peace offering. “Hey!” he called, catching your attention.

You turned to him, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Yes?” you said, the corners of your mouth quirking up into a curious smile. What did he want from you?

Fred grinned, his confidence teetering on the edge of unraveling. “Listen, about yesterday—”

But before he could finish, the bouquet let out a sudden pop. A puff of pink smoke erupted, followed by an earsplittingly off-key version of “I’m Sorry About The Slime” that echoed through the Great Hall.

Fred barely had time to react before the bouquet detonated in a second burst, showering him in glitter and knocking him flat on his back.

The Hall erupted into laughter.

Fred groaned, staring at the enchanted ceiling, which now looked even farther away than usual. He could hear George’s loud, obnoxious cackling somewhere to his left.

“Five Galleons,” Lee said smugly.

Fred grimaced, but before he could even begin to think about recovering, a familiar voice broke through the laughter.

“Guess I’m not the only casualty this time.”

Fred turned his head, blinking in disbelief. You had flopped down beside him, lying flat on your back on the floor as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Glitter sparkled in your hair, and your grin was wide and unapologetic.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, his voice caught somewhere between bewilderment and awe.

“Making sure you’re not the only one who looks ridiculous,” you replied, shrugging as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair.”

Fred let out a breathless laugh, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “You’re mental.” But he loved it.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, glancing at him with a teasing smile.

From across the Hall, George shouted, “Right on, Romeooo!!” His voice was exaggerated and dramatic, and Fred could practically feel the heat rising in his face.

“Oi shut it, George!” Fred yelled, though his tone lacked bite.

You laughed again, and Fred swore his heart might actually burst. “You’ve got quite the fan club,” you said, gesturing toward the group of students, particularly, Fred's 'boys', who were now openly watching the scene unfold and chortling.

“They’re a bunch of idiots,” Fred muttered, though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “You know,” you said thoughtfully, “for someone who’s usually so good at pranks, this was a spectacular disaster.”

Fred groaned, running a hand through his now glitter-covered hair. “Tell me about it.”

“But,” you added, your voice softening, “I appreciate the effort and the apology.”

Fred looked at you, his heart stuttering. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “And between you and me, I think you pull off the glitter look better than anyone else here.”

Fred laughed, the sound loud and genuine, and for a moment, the rest of the hall faded away. “I reckon you pull it off better than I do.”

“Why thank you, it's actually my dream to be covered in glitter. Shining as bright as a quidditch trophy is the goal." You joked, but Fred smiled warmly.

You do shine bright, he thought.

As you stood up, you reached out a hand to help him up. Fred took it without hesitation, warmth spreading through him at the simple gesture.

“Come on, glitter boy,” you said, your tone teasing but fond. “Let’s get you sitting somewhere before you injure yourself again.”

Fred let you lead him to a bench at the side of the hall, his hand still tingling from where yours had been.

As you both sat down, he turned to face you, his usual confidence returning in a slow, steady wave, “I’m Fred, by the way."

You laughed, tucking a strand of glitter-dusted hair behind your ear. “I know. You and George are kind of hard to miss.”

Fred’s grin widened, his chest fluttering at the sound of your laugh. “Yeah? Well, you’re kind of hard to forget...uh?" As if on cue, you told him your name. "Y/N." You smiled. "Y/N..." He repeated back, how fitting, a pretty name for a pretty girl.

Your eyes softened, and for a moment, you studied Fred's features. He did the same, glancing at your lips occasionally.

You'd always seen him from afar, to you he was just a prankster, a jokester, busy with his schemes, you'd never thought you'd actually come face to face with him.

But now that you did, you saw him in a different light, almost.

“If this is how you usually apologise,” you said, your voice light again, “I’m scared to see what happens when you’re not sorry.”

Fred chuckled, shaking his head. “Stick around, and I’ll show you.”

You leaned back slightly, your smile lingering. “I just might.”

And in that moment, Fred knew—he didn’t just want to impress you. He wanted you, all of you, your wit, your laughter, your sparkling eyes.

He just wanted to be yours.

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ari-ana-bel-la · 9 days ago

Note

(hoping this ask go through.. sighs)

Imagine George or Alex with a toddler!reader who likes naming her plushie, it was all normal names like candy, baby, rainbow until one day they decided to name it after a driver. the news spread like wide fire and now all the drivers want a plushie named after them?

Estie-Bestie

The sun was warm, the garage buzzing, and the paddock unusually calm for a Thursday media day. George stood at the edge of the hospitality area, watching his four-year-old daughter, Yn, sit cross-legged on a large picnic blanket spread out just beside the Red Bull motorhome. She was surrounded by plushies—at least ten of them—all named, hugged, and carefully arranged.

“Okay, Baby sits here. Rainbow, you go next to Candy. No fighting, okay?” Yn whispered with authority, pointing each plush to their designated spot. “This is nap circle. Everyone gets cuddles. Even Monkey, even if he smells like Uncle Lala."

George chuckled from a few meters away, arms folded across his chest.

“Lando smells bad now?” Carmen asked, slipping an arm around his waist as she joined him.

“No idea. I guess Monkey picked up the vibe,” George grinned. “She’s got a whole social structure worked out. Last week she told me Candy and Rainbow were in a fight because Rainbow borrowed Candy’s hat without asking.”

Carmen laughed. “Drama starts young.”

Then, something unexpected happened.

Yn picked up a brand-new plush—a soft brown bunny with a crooked ear. She held it up, examining it like she was choosing a name from a royal decree.

George leaned in slightly, instinctively tuning in.

“I think,” Yn said, very solemnly, “I think your name is... Esteban.”

There was a pause.

A long pause.

George blinked.

Carmen blinked.

“Did she just—” George started.

“Yeah,” Carmen confirmed, eyes wide.

Yn clutched the bunny to her chest. “Esteban is a good bunny. Esteban likes hugs. He never yells. He eats pretend carrots and tells Rainbow she looks pretty even when she’s grumpy.”

George crouched down next to her. “Sweetheart, why did you name him Esteban?”

Yn shrugged. “I like it. It’s a funny name. It makes my tummy giggle. Estie-Bestie is his nickname.”

That’s when Pierre wandered over, sipping on a protein shake. “Hey hey, little Yn! What’s the plushie update today? Any new ones I need to meet?”

Yn held up the bunny proudly. “This is Esteban! My Estie-Bestie!”

Pierre choked on his drink. “I’m sorry—did you say Esteban?”

“Uh-huh.”

Pierre exploded in laughter. “Oh my God, Estie-Bestie! This is gold.”

George stood up, rubbing his face. “Please, Pierre, do not—”

Too late. Pierre was already pulling out his phone.

“This is going to make his week. Month. Life. Hold still, Yn, smile with Estie-Bestie!”

Yn posed like a pro, bunny up in the air like she’d won a Grand Prix. Pierre snapped a photo, then immediately ran off.

Within ten minutes, Esteban had the photo.

Within twenty, the entire grid had seen it.

By the time the drivers’ briefing rolled around, chaos had fully bloomed.

Esteban entered the room to an eruption of applause. Everyone was clapping. Some were even whistling.

“What—what is happening?” he asked, confused, laughing.

Lando leaned forward, grinning ear to ear. “He doesn’t know? Oh my God, he hasn’t seen it yet!”

Max pulled up his phone. “Allow me.”

The moment Esteban saw the picture—Yn holding up the bunny, captioned “Estie-Bestie reporting for cuddle duty”—he dropped into a chair, hands over his face.

“This is the greatest honor of my life,” he said dramatically. “I’ve peaked. Nothing will ever compare.”

Charles leaned in. “Estie-Bestie, huh? That’s adorable.”

Carlos smirked. “I can’t believe she named it after you. What’s so special about you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Alex added. “I’ve been bringing her ice cream all season.”

“Maybe that’s why she didn’t name one after you,” Oscar quipped. “She prefers bunnies over bribery.”

“Alright,” Lando said, clapping his hands. “We need a plushie strategy. Everyone needs a chance to be immortalized by Yn.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “We’re really strategizing over a four-year-old’s plushies now?”

“Yes,” they all said in unison.

The next day, gifts started pouring in.

It began with Max, who casually dropped off a soft lion plush at George’s motorhome.

“Just something for Yn,” he said innocently. “No pressure, but if she likes it… I was thinking maybe she’d name it… Maximus?”

George sighed. “You guys are unhinged.”

Oscar came next, handing over a sleepy-looking koala.

“No name suggestion,” he said humbly. “Just thought it might be her vibe.”

Carmen, now fully entertained, lined them up in Yn’s play corner. “This is officially the Plushie Hunger Games.”

By Saturday morning, Yn had a queue of plushies to meet.

Pierre gifted a penguin named ‘Pierre-Peng’.

Carlos gave her a red fox with a tiny scarf. “Just think about naming it something cool. Something like… Carlito.”

Fernando went full chaotic, bringing her a giant kangaroo that could fit three smaller plushies in its pouch. “If this doesn’t win her over, nothing will.”

George just shook his head. “You guys are hopeless.”

After qualifying, the drivers gathered around in the hospitality garden for dinner. Yn arrived with her arms full of plushies, followed closely by Carmen, who looked both amused and slightly overwhelmed.

Yn stood in front of the table like she was about to deliver a state address.

“I have announcements,” she said clearly.

The entire table went silent.

She held up the penguin. “This one is not Pierre-Peng. He is called Mr. Ice.”

Pierre looked devastated.

“Koala is named Sleepy-Boo,” she continued. Oscar gave a tiny fist pump.

“The lion is named Roary George.” Max groaned.

“The kangaroo…” Yn frowned. “...is too big. He stays in the bag.”

Fernando put a hand to his heart, wounded.

“But,” Yn said dramatically, holding up the fox, “This one… he is Carlos.”

The table erupted.

“YES!” Carlos jumped up, doing a tiny victory dance. “I DID IT! I HAVE BEEN CHOSEN!”

“I don’t understand,” Lando muttered. “I gave her that glitter unicorn. It’s literally called Lando-Corn.”

“She gave that one to Rainbow to ride,” George whispered.

“And Monkey?” Lando asked.

Yn pointed. “Monkey still smells like you.”

Later that night, George tucked Yn into bed inside their motorhome, plushies piled around her like a royal court. Esteban the bunny sat proudly at the center.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” she yawned.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Estie-Bestie too?”

“Of course. He’s in charge now.”

George smiled and turned off the light, but not before whispering a warning to the plushies. “You lot better behave. No more recruiting.”

As he stepped out, Carmen was leaning on the doorway, shaking with laughter.

“They’re going to lose their minds over this all season.”

“They already have,” George said. “And Yn? She’s just getting started.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-♡○♡

Extra Scene

By Monza, there was merch.

Fans were wearing Estie-Bestie shirts. Carlos was signing fox plushies. Oscar got a request to autograph a koala named Sleepy-Boo 2.0.

And in the middle of it all was Yn, sitting in the paddock with a new plush—a small gray elephant.

Lando approached cautiously. “Hey Yn… what’s the elephant’s name?”

Yn thought for a long, long moment.

Then she smiled sweetly.

“Jeff.”

Lando blinked. “...Who’s Jeff?!”

George just laughed. “That’s my girl.”

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em1i2a3 · 5 days ago

Note

If you take requests or suggestions, i believe that you would execute a bob reynolds fic with this plot ✨perfectly✨

I literally LOVE all of your bob fics. They’re my comfort reads before i go to bed at night!

Body Paint

Pairing: Bob.Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You are trying to find the best smudge proof lipstick for the upcoming gala that the team needs to attend tomorrow, and you have found the perfect test subject for the swatches.

Warnings: Pure and utter fluff, and there’s quite a bit of sexual tension. The reader and Bob both have feelings for each other and they’re both well aware of the mutual interest (secretly of course), she takes this as an opportunity to tease.

Author’s Note: I loved this request so much and I immediately started writing it because I was so excited to give it a go! So So Fun! Thank you for the submission! :) (also credit to the artist who made the drawing too because it’s fantastic)

Word Count: 3,362

You gave every drug store lipstick display a run for its money with the collection you had laid out across the bathroom sink. An entire rainbow of tubes was scattered in a controlled type of chaos–organized first by shade, then grouped meticulously by brand. Reds on the left, mauves and berries in the middle, and neutrals off to the right like a little modest army. You had even gone so far as to lay a folded white towel beneath the lineup like a staging mat, saving yourself from scrubbing stains off the marble countertop. The air smelled faintly of your makeup remover wipes–sweet and sterile–and your forearm was streaked with half-dried swatches, but it just wasn’t good enough.

This was all in the name of finding the lipstick. The one that not only matched the dress you were wearing to the PR gala tomorrow, but one that was also smudge-proof. You didn’t want feathering, or fading, and you certainly didn’t want it transferring onto napkins, glasses or people.

You wanted security.

You knew you should’ve started this task earlier in the week, but between back-to-back recon debriefs, endless intel meetings, and mediating three separate team arguments that nearly ended in Walker and Yelena actually strangling each other, the lipstick trials had fallen to the bottom of your to-do list.

Now there was less than twenty-four hours to go, and you were elbows-deep in swatches and stress.

You capped one more tube with a dissatisfied sigh and reached for the next–

Only to pause at the sound of a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Y-Y/N?” Came Bob’s voice–muffled, hesitant and laced with that familiar nervous warmth. “I-I need to come in and get my brush. I forgot it after my s-shower…” You froze, mid-reach, one hand hovering over a berry toned satin finish tube. Your lips curled into a slow smile.

Perfect timing. For you, anyway. For Bob? That remained to be seen. You crossed the small tiled room in a few barefoot steps and swung the door open with a grin.

“Excellent! You’re just who I need.” Bob blinked at you like a deer caught in LED headlights. His shirt–black, baggy, and soft–was damp around the collar, clinging to his skin and chest in a way that made it impossible not to look. His light brown hair curled at in little waves at the ends, still damp from his shower that was still kissing the walls, and the navy sweatpants sitting low on his hips were hugging him far too well for a man who clearly didn’t see himself in the way you were seeing him in.

”…Wh-What?” He asked, brows furrowed, gaze daring from your eyes to the mess of tubes on the counter.

“Come in,” You said smoothly, reaching out and tugging him gently by the wrist, guiding him over the threshold with ease, “Sit on the toilet lid, and hurry up with the hair brushing…I need a test subject.” He obeyed-but only in the way someone might follow a siren calling them to certain doom. He moved like he wasn’t sure if he’d stepped into a trap or a daydream.

”L-Last time I heard the words ‘test s-subject’ I ended up getting injected with a sun god…” He mumbled, grabbing the brush from the hanging organizer on the shower door. You laughed, warm and low at the comment.

“Relax. I’m not injecting you with anything. You’re perfectly safe with me.” Bob sat down slowly, brush limp in his hand as his gaze swept across the counter again, scanning over the contents that you had lined up with such care.

”S-So what is all of t-this?” You turned slightly towards him, unscrewing a velvet-matte red as you spoke.

“I’m trying to find the perfect lipstick for the gala tomorrow,” You said matter-of-factly, swiping the colour gently across your bottom lip, “It has to match my dress and it has to be smudge-proof.”

Bob tilted his head, watching your quick movements intently, “Smudge-proof?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be constantly running to the bathroom to check for fading or fix transfer stains. I want to actually enjoy the night. Have a drink. Maybe dance. You know…Breathe.” He gave a thoughtful little nod, bringing the brush through his damp hair.

”D-Didn’t really think about that, a-actually…” You turned away from your reflection to look at him, a coy smile peeling onto your lips.

“Most guys don’t.” But Bob wasn’t most guys of course, and as expected, a beat later he added to the conversation again…

”…W-Wait…Why does it have to be completely smudge-proof though? I mean if you’re just–“ You shrugged, letting your gaze flick toward the mirror, while your lips pressed together, transferring the color over to the bare one above.

”You never know,” You said casually, “I might be planning on kissing someone.” Bob froze like someone had yanked all the oxygen out of the room. His cheeks–already pink from the post-shower warmth–turned a deeper, rosier red in seconds. It bloomed across his cheekbones, dusting the tips of his ears, and spread like a sunburn. His mouth opened slightly like he meant to say something, but all he managed to get out was:

”O-Oh…” He choked, swallowing the lump of nerves in his throat. The brush in his hand was still mid-motion through his damp locks, but it had stopped moving entirely. You smiled at him.

”Alright,” You started, twisting the lipstick down and putting the cap back on with a soft click, “First one. You ready?” He nodded slowly, like he couldn’t trust his voice. His eyes tracked you as you stepped forward–deliberate and unhurried–until you were standing directly between his legs.

His brush lowered slightly, and then the wave of your scent hit his nose.

Your perfume was warm, and sweet, with a hint of plum riding off of the tail end of each inhale he took. Beneath the main notes there was something tropical–maybe coconut from your makeup remover, or the vanilla-tinged balms you always wore when your lips were bare.

But now your lips weren’t bare at all. They were red, and bold, and smooth, just like fresh velvet. He looked up slowly, through his lashes, and found you were already staring down at him. You tilted your head, smiling, the curve of your mouth smug in a way that made something tighten in his chest.

You didn’t say anything as you reached forward–fingers brushing gently along the side of his jaw, your thumb just beneath the hinge of it. He let you tilt his head more toward you like he was made of clay and you were the ceramicist.

He dropped the brush into his lap, forgetting about it completely.

Your face hovered near his and he could feel his breath hitch audibly. You leaned in slow enough that he swore he could hear his own heartbeat ringing through the room.

Then your lips pressed to his cheek.

Warm, firm and lingering. It wasn’t a quick peck either. Not an innocent brush. It was a kiss.

You lingered just long enough for him to feel the curve of your mouth, and the faint stick of product with the pressure of intention behind it. He could smell the stain now–berries and heat, sharp pigment and your sweet breath that had a faint scent of strawberries from the gum you chewed on. If he was a sailor and you were the siren…He would be dead at sea.

When you pulled away, he swore the room was spinning a little. You cocked your head to the side and looked at the mark you had left just above the apple of his cheek. A bright, undeniable red, plastered on his pale tone.

“Hmm,” You said thoughtfully, “Definitely transferred.” Bob sat in stunned silence, skin still tingling from where your mouth had been–he didn’t know whether it was because he was allergic to the ingredients or because it was just him buzzing from all the adrenaline, though he would find out in due time. You dabbed at your own lips with a tissue saturated in make-up remover, wiping the colour clean.

“Not a keeper,” You mumbled, “It’s a shame–it was a really good match.” He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t find words, nor could he find a way to breathe. He didn’t even know how he was still alive at this point, all he knew was he saw you reach out again.

You selected the next shade carefully.

A sultry plum–deep, and elegant, with just enough bite to stand out. You rolled the colour across your lips in smooth, practiced strokes, then blotted once on a folded tissue before turning back to him.

Bob still hadn’t moved an inch. He was still sitting frozen on the seat, brush limp in his lap, his shimmering blue eyes flickering between your mouth and the floor. The cheek you had kissed was flushed a bit deeper now.

“Test two,” You announced gently, stepping into his space again, until the hem of your t-shirt brushed against his thigh and he had nowhere left to look that wouldn’t betray him in some way. Your hand came up to his jaw again–just two fingers this time, soft and easy, tilting his face the opposite way.

His lashes fluttered under the feeling of your breath brushing over them as you kissed him again. This time it was just below his temple, closer to the hinge of his jaw–closer to where his pulse was throbbing faintly beneath his skin. You pressed a little firmer this time, letting your breath fan against his ear.

Bob inhaled a quiet breath through his nose, attempting to keep himself calm, but in reality he was gripping the fabric of his sweatpants between his fingers like it was the only thing holding him back from collapsing. When you pulled away, you didn’t look at him, you just kept your focus on the mark.

”…Transferred,” You murmured, brushing your thumb lightly over the stain–making sure it was more of a caress than a swipe. You didn’t move back this time, you just grabbed another makeup wipe and removed the color before reaching for another.

It was a dusty rose this time, it was softer, and much more muted than any of the other colors he had seen you in.

Once you had applied it, you leaned in–closer now–and kissed the slope of his cheekbone, just beneath the curve of his eye. Your lips barely grazed the skin there–it was as if you did it to see if he would flinch or move.

Bob’s jaw tensed under your touch, and you were hyper aware of his breath hitting your skin in short, warm bursts, his chest lifting against you. He hadn’t said a word–but his hands had now left his lap and were gripping the edge of the counter, white-knuckled in anticipation.

You reached for the next tube–something far more delicate than the dusty rose before it. A pink so faint it was almost nothing at all. A whisper of colour. You applied it, blotted it, then turned again. Bob had somehow managed to get a handle on his breathing in the moments you were applying the next colour, but it was too controlled. You could practically feel the storm building beneath his skin, golden and humming, and desperate to stay still.

Your thighs brushed the inside of his knees as you tilted his head up to yours again, looking at the way his skin was flushed and warm, beneath the shades of pinks and reds…A gradient of restraint. You leaned in, and this time your kiss landed just beside the corner of his mouth, not touching it, but close enough to tease.

Bob made a sound. It was barely audible. A sof, helpless little nnnnh in the back of his throat–like a gasp that had gotten stuck on the way out. You didn’t say anything. You only bit back a knowing smile, and pretended not to hear it. You just wiped your lips again and moved on to the next shade–a creamy nude gloss, with just a hint of peach.

You came back in and kissed beneath his jaw, where the stubble was soft and patchy and tender. The spot made him twitch, his throat working under the weight of the kiss, like he was trying to swallow air.

His breathing changed then and became heavier and shallower.

And when you came close to him again, in a different shade–this time pressing your lips right onto his Adam’s apple–Bob’s head tipped back instinctively.

Like he was offering himself up to you–surrendering himself completely.

You continued to kiss him, moving progressively lower, marking him up with various shades. Then suddenly you found yourself at the hollow of his throat, just between the lines of his collarbones. His chest was rising faster now, with flush traveling beneath his shirt, like it was echoing the trail your mouth had carved against his skin.

You pulled back slowly, lips hovering about the damp collar of his shirt, bringing your hand up to brush over the fabric.

”Oops…” You murmured softly, putting on a teasing tone beneath your words, “I think I’m running out of room.” Bob looked down at you with eyes that were no longer blue. You hadn’t even noticed he had his eyes closed tightly for the majority of this until now.

There was gold flickering at the edges. Sentry was just barely cresting the surface–quiet, curious, and turned-on by the proximity. He was enamoured by what was happening, and Bob was allowing him to watch through his eyes because he was too focused on trying to keep himself together. The air around Bob was shimmering faintly, vibrating with tension like he was lighting up the room.

The sensation of your lips had done this…You had done this, and you were proud of it.

Your nails dragged gently down the front of his shirt, tracing a circle around the fabric.

”I think you may need to take this off…To give me more space of course.” You whispered, watching as his brain seemed to short-circuit. His eyes were still half-lidded, heavy with heat and something distant and flickering gold. But when they opened fully they met yours with the softest, most terrified kind of care, glancing down at your mouth just as your bottom lip slipped between your teeth…And that’s what did it for him. That was the punch of encouragement to the gut.

He gave you a small nod, then reached for the hem of his shirt. His hands trembled slightly from the kind of overstimulated shyness that lived just under the surface of his flesh, in the space between ‘I want this’ and ‘I don’t know what to do with all of it.’ He peeled the black shirt up slowly, exposing inch after inch of pale skin, dusted with freckles and pure heat. There were a few scars here and there. A mole right near the dip of his sternum. A faint sheen of sweat that bloomed across his chest and shoulders from the heat in the room–or from the heat of your lips…Possibly both.

The fabric came over his head, messing up his semi-brushed hair in the process, and he folded it carefully in his lap like he was going to get up to put it on display or something. You let yourself stare.

At the freckles on his collarbones, the ones on his biceps. The soft stretch marks that feathered under his arms and the little curve of his ribs as they flared gently with each nervous breath he took. You wanted to map everything with your mouth.

So you did.

You leaned in again, with a fresh colour on your lips–deep pink this time, and kissed just beneath his collarbone, then a little to the right, then down the slope of his chest–right over where his heart was pulsating beneath its shield of flesh.

Bob made a quiet sound, something soft and strangled that never made it fully out of his throat. His hands were still in his lap, his thumbs gripping the hem of the shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from grabbing yours. Every part of him was vibrating–his jaw clenched, chest rising, shoulders tense–and still he let you do it, staying perfectly still.

You changed shades, kissing higher, then lower.

A sheer gloss that glimmered under the light as you kissed just below the curve of his pec. A matte brick red as you moved toward the center of his chest. Then you put on something soft again, something nude and barely there, as you pressed your hands against his thighs for a bit of leverage while your lips found the inside slope of his ribcage. You could’ve sworn you felt his knees buckle under your hands.

By the time you reached the underside of his pectoral muscle, you heard the faintest breath catch in his lungs, like he couldn’t even take full breaths anymore. And then you kissed just above it.

One final, perfect kiss.

You pressed your lips down and held them there–longer, slower, firmer–fighting back the urge to mark the skin with something that wasn’t lipstick. You felt the flutter of his pulse beneath it. And when you finally pulled away, you let your lips ghost against him, your eyes trailing down to where you had kissed.

“Ooooh. This one’s good…I think we found it. No transfer!” You announced, looking up at Bob, seeing the ruined look plastered on his face.

His eyes were heavy, shot through with blue and gold. His mouth parted. His skin was flushed a deep red and marked in soft lip stains, all across his chest, neck, jaw, and face. The air shimmered around him like static clinging to the atmosphere, and he was breathless. He let out a sigh.

”P-Perfect,” He whimpered, so dazed his words barely had shape to them. His body shifted, like he was meaning to stand–maybe to retreat, maybe to run cold water over his steaming body, maybe just to breathe–

But you didn’t let him.

Before he could even try to get up, you surged forward and kissed him on the lips. Hungry, wet, and deep. You kissed him like it was the conclusion to a story you had been telling in colour across his skin. Bob let out a muffled, desperate little moan into your mouth, as his hands found your waist, then your back, then your hips–grabbing, pulling, and holding. He crushed you to him, allowing all his restraint to unravel all at once, letting what little control he had slip through his fingers.

You kissed him like you had wanted to from the very start. Like all the kisses around his whole body led to this one final one–this overwhelming, messy, and utterly perfect one.

He kissed you back with awe. With the kind of pressure that said ‘thank you, please don’t stop, I’ve been waiting.’

You pulled back just enough to breathe–barely. Your foreheads bumped, and the air between you was heat, electricity, and trembling silence.

Bob’s lips were swollen now. Kiss-bitten, and wet. But when you looked…

The colour on your lips hadn’t transferred onto his. You smirked, and reached up, gently swiping the faintest trail of spit off his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, tilting your head to the side.

”Fantastic,” You whispered, leaning forward just a bit, “It’s definitely kiss-proof.”

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greenorangevioletgrass · 1 year ago

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tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?”

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile. And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…”

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too.

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off.

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved.

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered.

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter, “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

#art donaldson #divorced!art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #divorced!art x reader #art donaldson fluff #eeeeeeeee im so h-word physically and emotionally for him #ava writes #challengers fic

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jkgnggj · 1 year ago

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YES THEY DO !!

Saiki has their notifs on mute bc they're just spamming him messages or arguing between each other loll

thinking about how the pk psychic kids almost definitely have a group chat

#love the psychickers #they def have multiple gcs bc miko keeps kicking out toritsuka out of each one #or she makes new ones without him and he always somehow manages to get into them so she has to make new ones w/o him #the reason he keeps getting into them is cuz of akechi tbh #not bc he wants him there hell no #but bc he likes chaos #and inviting him means he can see the two monkeys fight each other till someone (tori) cries #or until saiki yells at them to stfu #theres never a dull moment w these four

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rika-mmendmethings · 2 months ago

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Against Blood & Water l Sylus

Chapter 2

CH 1 l CH 3

Summary: Seventeen years ago, your life had taken a turn for the worse when your newborn twins were separated from you by a cruel twist of fate. The same fate had led you to the N109 Zone, to your children who were all grown up now. Reconciliation with your boys would've been slightly easier had they somehow not acquired a father figure over the years who wasn't letting them go anytime soon.

Warning(s): Subject to change as we progress further into the story. For this chapter: mentions of blood and drugs, self-suturing, minor character deaths, stalking, some comfort in this one.

Word count: 1.8k

Playlist coming soon.

Notes: New chapter every Thursday! This story is for the Sylus girlies' who consider Luke and Kieran their babies. A little information on the timeline: in this story, the reader is 35 with Luke and Kieran being 17. Sylus never felt like 28 to me so he's a hot ass 39 year old man (bear with me). The timeline is a bit confusing I know but soon it'd be cleared too. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask me and I'd try my best to give you a proper answer without revealing too much. Let me know if you wish to be added in the tag list for this series. ♥

Tag list: @babyx91 @pillarofsnow @beyond-the-stars-fairy @yuki-sama6 @sylviewrites @idiashusband @sadmonke @monophobix @lunarvolley @stxrrielle @fries11 @gremlinartstudio @lillycore @novthirty @animegamerfox @cathedralofaudra @nm4565natty @69-gojos-wife-69 @eolivy @namjoons-toenails @silverianni @nezuswritingdesk @beaconsxd @justpassingdontworry @ruyaya

The warehouse loomed like a tomb swallowed by the night, its skeletal frame etched against the bruised sky, whispering secrets of violence and forgotten deals. Flickering neon lights spilled weak, jaundiced glows onto the cracked concrete floor, casting long, distorted shadows that danced like specters of the past. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, oil, and the faint, acrid bite of burned rubber.

You ran for your life through the chaos like a monkey with its tail on fire. Bad idea. Your mind had screamed at you an hour ago as you snuck into the warehouse to investigate further the drug traces that led to it. But you rarely listened to your brain, and that habit had brought you to this exact moment — hidden behind a few metal racks, your hand gripping your gun beneath the armor of your tailored black blazer.

You’d made the rookie mistake of visiting the warehouse without double-checking if it was truly empty. Some men from the drug-dealing gang were dozing off on makeshift beds after consuming too much liquor. Being light on your feet, you’d made sure not to make any noise just in case, and you were almost done collecting evidence when things went south. You’d pulled out your Polaroid camera for instant pictures of the drug packets, but after a few mechanical shutter sounds, you heard other noises in the background.

You ducked behind metal containers, your heart halting when you peeked and saw burly men searching around. Thus began your little cat-and-mouse game.

Back in the present moment, you analyzed the situation after calming yourself down. Four men on the ground floor of the warehouse, rifles in hand, with you on the first floor. You had a gun, of course — you weren’t that stupid — but taking all of them down would be a hassle, especially with a limited number of bullets. Soon enough, they’d come up to search.

You quickly formed a plan: distract them by aiming at your far left, behind the metal containers, then jump off the first floor and hurry out through the small cavity in the wall you’d come in from. You smacked your forehead with your hand when your mind began to play the Subway Surfers theme song as if it were the musical backdrop of a film starring you.

You were all set to put your plan into motion when you heard their raised voices. But their angry spouts weren’t directed at you — they were directed at someone else who had entered the warehouse. A complete silence fell over the space, and as you strained your hearing, you could make out a new, huskier voice.

Soon after, loud, painful screams echoed before abruptly stopping. You heard footsteps retreating, presumably out of the warehouse.

You blinked once, processing the turn of events. The men who were targeting you were probably lying dead on the ground floor right now — victims of another man who wanted them dead. Strange. You thought, glancing at the Polaroid camera hanging around your neck. At least the evidence was safe, and you were alive. You’d think about who your guardian angel was later. For now, you need to head back to your temporary apartment in the slightly safer regions of the N109 Zone.

You rolled back your tensed shoulders and moved out of your hiding spot, making your way downstairs via a mostly hidden and rusty staircase. Your gun was still tightly clutched in your right hand, just in case. You were about to weasel out of the wall cavity when two pairs of footsteps had you freezing.

You immediately whipped around, aiming your gun at the origin of the sound, and shot without thinking twice.

The tall person you’d shot groaned, knees buckling as he fell to the ground. Beside him, another man in the same uniform, groaning just a second later, clutched his arm before also crumbling to the ground. You gasped, realizing they hadn’t even been on your trail — they were walking over to the dead, burly men.

You felt bad, okay? You knew anything could happen if you moved closer to the unknown individuals, but you didn’t wish to leave them in that condition — especially since they hadn’t even targeted you. They were probably henchmen of your supposed guardian angel if their matching black costumes and crow-themed masks — with horns and beaks concealing their faces — meant anything.

After an internal battle between your logic and your conscience, you finally decided to approach them. You were still on guard but had put your gun away in its holster under your blazer. You nudged the men, but they didn’t even budge, so you assumed they’d passed out from the pain. You pondered why the second man had passed out if he hadn’t even been anywhere near the bullet.

Rushing to your motorcycle, you grabbed your medical kit and hurried back to them.

Luckily, the bullet hadn’t entered anyone’s body — it had only grazed the first man’s arm. It left an angry, gaping gash, though, which was currently bleeding. You rolled his sleeve up to his shoulder and began stitching it. You needed to get this done before they woke and swore mortal enmity against you. You tried to hurry, not really wanting to know if the stitches were messy, but some unknown feeling had you slowing down and being a lot more gentle than you could possibly afford right now.

After some time, you were done tending to the first man’s wounds and had even checked the second man for any injuries for inexplicable reasons. You quickly stood up, double-checking if you had everything you owned on you before rushing out of the warehouse to where your bike was hidden. You put your belongings in the saddlebag before zipping it shut. As you were about to grab your helmet, a small tap on your shoulder caused you to freeze mid-air.

You glanced at the two sets of shadows stretching on the ground just behind yours. It seemed you’d wasted too much time, and now you were about to be barbecued by the probably angry young henchmen. With no backup plan in mind, you turned around with your hands raised in surrender and eyes clenched shut.

“Thanks, missus.”

You’d expected a gun’s muzzle to your head or a hand around your neck, strangling you. And out of all the other wild things you’d expected, thanks was the last of them. You thought you were dreaming until another calm voice brought you back.

“You shot us unknowingly out of human instinct. But you still tended to us, so we decided to drop by and let you know we appreciated that.”

You were hyperventilating, you were sure of it. Until the first man spoke with a lilt:

“Your aim is super cool, though, missus. We were actually awake but wanted to see who had shot us, so we played dead, and it worked.”

You slowly lowered your hands as you heard them burst into hearty laughter. You opened your eyes, rigid as you took sight of their faces beneath the masks. The injured one wiped the sweat off his forehead with a napkin, and the other rubbed his chin — all the while laughing.

It wasn’t their near-identical faces that threw you off — no — it was the color of their eyes. Their irises were the same hues as yours: electric grey, intense as storm-churned clouds.

A gripping realization churned your heart as you silently noted the inky, curly locks — like those of the father of your late twins — and the resemblance to you in their facial features and height. Your lips wobbled, and the smarter side of you willed you not to jump to conclusions. But how could you ignore the unfamiliar warmth and contentment in your chest as you watched them laugh and interact?

Still, the lawyer in you knew better than to claim anything without evidence backing it up, so you remained quiet. They looked quite young, probably in their late teens, and that assumption caused your mind to race.

You pulled yourself together as both of them started speaking simultaneously:

“Anyways—”

The twins narrowed their eyes at each other, and you suppressed a smile.

The uninjured one continued, “We have to deal with the dead scums inside and be back before dusk, so sayonara, missus.”

Both of them saluted you as if you were some sort of general before turning on their heels.

Before they were out of earshot, you called out, “Wait.”

The twins turned around, looking at you quizzically. You shuffled on your feet, asking reluctantly, “What are your names?”

The twins nodded. The injured one pointed at himself and introduced, “The one who you shot is me. I’m Luke, the elder twin,” he pointed to his brother and trailed on, “And this is Kierran, the younger twin. Now, we really ought to dash before boss-man has us in a tight spot. Bye, missus.”

The twins waved you goodbye in sync before hurrying back into the warehouse.

You felt as if lightning had struck you. All doubts, all what-ifs — cleared. You’d crocheted a pair of blankets when you’d found out you were having twin boys seventeen years ago. Your mother had suggested adding the names you’d chosen for them on it too, aside from the cartoons.

Luke and Kierran.

You’d smiled in pure bliss that day as you told your father the names you’d chosen for your kids from the crocheted blankets. A smile of the same kind, albeit even happier, now bloomed on your face as you realized that fate had found a way to reunite you with your children once again.

And you weren’t letting them out of your sight ever again.

A joyful smile curled across your face as you slipped into the dim confines of the apartment — your so-called temporary hideout. The door clicked shut behind you with finality.

You dropped onto the couch, sinking into the worn-out plush. Their faces played over in your mind, every gesture, every word. You were already thinking of the next move, the next encounter. You’d make it happen. You always did.

But then… a pause.

Your brow furrowed, the grin faltering just slightly as a thought cut through the haze like a blade.

“They mentioned some boss-man…” you muttered, voice low, nearly lost to the silence. Your gaze flicked to the window, unfocused. “Who exactly are my children working for?”

The room gave no answer.

But if you'd been paying closer attention — if you'd listened to the silence — you might have caught the almost imperceptible flutter of feathers, or the faintest click of talons on steel. A pair of glowing, crimson eyes blinked once from the darkness, then vanished. The answer to your question, however, did not linger.

The spy departed, slicing through the night sky until it reached the edge of a sprawling mansion. It landed softly on the calloused fingers of the very man you were trying to uncover. The bird gave a mechanical caw as a red hologram burst into life, casting a ghostly light across the man’s face.

There you were, speaking, pacing, questioning. Vulnerable. Unaware.

“Interesting,” the man said, voice like fine velvet. His eyes burned with something unreadable — part curiosity, part calculation.

He leaned forward, watching the screen closely.

“Very… interesting.”

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

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scribblesofagoonerr · 5 months ago

Text

new year, new chaos | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

summary: it's a brand new year and with it, there's a lot more chaos around the corner.

double the trouble masterlist

"Oh, bollocks..."

You stare at the pregnancy test in your hands, frozen in disbelief. The tiny bathroom suddenly feels too small, too hot, too much.

The newfound nausea that you've been plagued with for weeks? Well, that mystery's solved. But now your stomach churns for a completely different reason-- sheer panic.

"No, no, this cannot be happening. This can't be right, can it?" You mumble, pacing back and forth. The words on the digital test stare back at you, bold and unrelenting.

Pregnant.

"God, it was that damn stupid vodka," You whisper, eyes widening in realisation, "Oh, man. I'm never drinking again. Never. I swear."

A sharp knock on the door interrupts your spiral.

"Monkey?" Keira's voice rings out from the other side, "Is that you in there? What's taking so long? I need the bathroom!"

"Uh, fu... Just a sec!" You scramble, wrapping the test in layers of toilet paper like it's some incriminating piece of evidence and hide it behind your back, "I'm... I'm comin' out now." You yank the door open, flashing an unconvincing smile.

Keira takes one look at your pale, panicked face and frowns, "Geesh, you look a bit worse for wear. Did we party a bit too hard last night, eh?"

You shrug, trying to play it cool, "Uh, maybe, I guess so..."

"Wait a minute," The older girls' eyes narrow as realisation dawns, "You didn't drink last night, you were practically drinking J2O all night... Oh my God, Monkey! Are you--?"

"Shh!" You hiss, grabbing her arm and dragging her into the bathroom before slamming the door shut, "Okay, listen, I need to show-- Actually, no, I need to tell you something."

Keira arches an eyebrow, "Alright, hit me with it. What's going on?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, "I'm late."

"Late?" Keira repeats, confused, "Like for something? You should really keep a better track of the time..."

"No, late late. My period," You clarify, cheeks burning.

Keira's eyebrows shoot up, "How late?"

"Like... Four or five days," You admit, scratching the back of your neck with your free hand.

"Oh, that's not too bad. It could be nothing. It could just be stress--"

"It's not," You cut her off, sheepishly pulling the test out from behind her back and unravelling the tissue. The words "4 weeks pregnant" are still there, glaring at both of you.

Keira's jaw drops, "Fuckin' hell-- Are you... Are you serious?" She asks in a hushed tone of voice.

"I mean, unless this test is lying..." You trail off, shoving it back in the bin like you can make it disappear, "I need your help, Auntie Kei. My mums are gonna kill me."

Keira lets out a low whistle, shaking her head, "Wow. Okay. Uh... Right. First of all, breathe. Second, we'll figure this out."

You groan, sinking onto the toilet lid, "I'm so screwed, aren't I?"

"Well..." Keira smirks, "I'm not the one who has to tell Leah Williamson that she's gonna be a Nana before she's 30."

"You're not helping helping!" You snap, burying your face in your hands, "I... I don't know anything about babies! What if I drop it or something? And my career-- God, it's all over!"

Keira crouches in front of you, her tone softening, "Hey, relax, Monkey. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna figure this out, alright? You're not the first footballer to have a baby. Your career isn't over. And as for Leah..." She pauses, her smirk returning, "Well, good luck. But hey, I'm here for moral support."

You groan again, completely muffled behind your hands, "I'm dead. I'm completely dead."

“How did it happen?” Keira asks, her voice a mixture of concern and curiosity.

You exhale shakily, glancing away for a moment before speaking, “The night we won against Bayern. Me and some of the other girls went out for drinks to celebrate…”

You vividly recall the night – Champions League group stages: Arsenal Vs. Bayern Munich.

“Be sensible, and don’t drink too much!” Leah warned you before you got into the Uber with some of the other girls, all of you heading to the club, “If you need me to pick you up, text me, alright?”

Leah had opted out of joining the team for the night, choosing instead a quiet evening at home with Buddy and the rest of her family.

But you? You were feeling on top of the world. The win was secure, and the celebrations were already in full swing.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be grand. I’ll see you in a bit!” You waved her off, climbing inside the Uber and flopping down on the seat beside Kyra, “Next top, we’re goin’ the club!”

You, Kyra, Laura, Alessia and Vic ended up staying out long after the others had left the club, swept up in the thrill of victory. You were high on adrenaline, letting loose after weeks of intense training in preparation for the game.

But now it was over, and you could celebrate.

And damn, did you celebrate that night.

“Monkey!” Kyra’s voice called out from across the bar, “Ere’, go on an have another shot of this!”

You glanced over, shrugging and grabbed the shot. You throw it back in one go, grimacing instantly, “Er, that’s absolutely rank. What is it?” You ask, rubbing your throat.

“Vodka,” Vic grins, slapping you on the back, “Drink up, and I’ll get us another one!”

“Eh, why not?” You laughed, having too much of a great time to really take note of the effect of the alcohol in your system, “Ugh, it burns the back of my throat, but damn, that’s good. Next rounds on me!”

You remember how the drinks flowed freely that night, and laughter filled the air. For the first time in a long while, you felt completely at ease. The pressure of football, the endless expectations – Gone, at least for that night.

You lean back in your seat, remembering, “God, we were all so drunk. I barely even remember what happened after that.”

At some point during the night, you’d found yourself outside, leaning against the wall, drink in one hand, vape in the other. The buzz from the alcohol clouded your judgment.

And then he walked up.

You didn’t even catch his name, and as far as you were concerned, he was just another lad who’d joined the party – A friend smile and flirtatious wink, and before you knew it, you were talking, laughing, and then…

A kiss. Just one. That somehow led to more, a mix of adrenaline, vodka and whatever else that made you lose control.

It wasn’t planned, and it definitely wasn’t intentional. It just… happened.

Now, sitting here with Keira, the panic begins to settle in. All you can think about is that night – The stupid decision, the heat of the moment, how everything can change in an instant.

You grimace, suddenly remembering a faint detail from that night, “You wanna know the worst thing I found out?”

“What’s that?” Keira quirks an eyebrow.

“The lads’ a Spurs fan,” You mutter, pretending to gag at the thought of it, “I don’t know what I was even thinking goin’ there.”

Keira lets out a low chuckle, shaking her head in amusement, “Oh dear. I wish you good luck with that one then,” She teases, her tone light, though there’s an underlying sympathy.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning, “My mum’s gonna kill me alone on that, never mind the fact I’m pregnant.”

“I never realised how quiet it is around the house without the girls being here,” Elle remarks, swirling a glass of wine as she lounges on the sofa with Leah tucked up beside her, while Keira sits nearby, sharing a rare moment of calm.

Keira has decided to extend her visit for a few more days before heading back to Spain, stretches her legs out lazily, and nods in agreement.

“Monkey’s still here though, right?” Elle adds, glancing toward Leah.

Leah hums, sipping her drink, “She’s upstairs.”

“Oh yeah, but she’s watching Marvel. You won’t hear a peep out of her,” Keira chimes in.

“Enjoy the peace while it lasts, babe,” Leah jokes while leaning back into the cushions, knowing it won’t last long in the house.

“Indeed,” Keira chuckles, “It’s a rare thing when the double trouble duo are together” She states with a smirk.

However, the quiet doesn’t last long.

“Mum! Have you seen my iPad charger?” Your voice echoes from upstairs, “I can’t find it, and my iPad’s about to die!”

“And there’s the peace ruined. That was quicker than I anticipated it would be,” Leah groans, reaching for the remote to pause the show just as the doorbell rings, “Oh, and there’s the door– Chinese is here, Monks’!”

You would usually jump at the chance to eat Chinese food, but tonight, the smell wafting from the kitchen hits you wrong. The scent of the egg-fried rice turns to your stomach, making you feel queasy.

“Thanks,” Leah exchanged pleasantries with the takeaway driver, bringing the hot steaming food into the kitchen, “Monks’! Are you coming to eat?”

“She might have her headphones in,” Keira notes, walking into the kitchen.

Leah hums, beginning to open each one of the containers to dish everything up onto the plate, “She’d better hurry downstairs, or it’ll be cold,” She moves to grab the plates out of the cupboard, “Monkey! The Chinese is going to go cold if you don’t hurry up!”

“I’m ere’,” You mumble, the faint whiff of food instantly making your stomach churn, “Um, I’m not feelin’ all that well, I don’t want to eat that much…”

Leah frowns, looking at you suspiciously, “We ordered your favourite. What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know, I'm just not feelin’ well I guess,” You admit, shrugging your shoulders as you avoid her look, “I might just skip dinner if that’s alright? I don’t think I can eat much.”

“You do look a bit pale, Monkey,” Elle observes, concern flickering across her face.

“You haven’t eaten much all day,” Leah arches her eyebrow, dishing food onto a plate, “Just try and eat something, and if you can’t stomach it then that’s okay.”

“I don’t know if I can,” You look at the plate in hesitance, “I think I might just be comin’ down with something…” Your words trail off as the overwhelming smell finally sends you rushing to the bin.

“Whoa,” Leah is immediately alerted, abandonding the food and rubbing your back as you retch, “Easy, my girl. Take it easy.”

Keira grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills up a glass with water “Here, Monkey,” She says, handing it to you, “Just take small sips, okay?”

You do as instructed, taking small sips of water until you start to feel better.

“There we go,” Leah murmurs, continuing to rub your back, “Do you feel better?”

You nod weakly, “I’ll feel better when I’m not near the food. It’s making me worse.”

“Wha… What’s going on?” Leah’s brow furrows, beginning to get suspicious, “You usually love Chinese food, and now all of a sudden it’s making you throw up. What gives?”

“I don’t know,” You mumble, avoiding her gaze, “I think I’m just unwell…” You try and avert out of the kitchen, but Leah’s quick to react and stop you.

“Not so fast,” Leah’s tone sharpens, and she crosses her arms, “Monkey, I know you. You’ve been acting differently lately. Talk to me, what’s going on?”

“Don’t be mad,” You whisper, voice trembling.

Leah furrows her eyebrow, “Monkey…”

“Please, please don’t be mad…” You beg, somewhat fearful about the blonde’s reaction.

“Spit it out, Monkey,” Leah urges, her voice softening, “Whatever it is, we can handle it. You just need to tell me what’s going on.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, hesitant to speak, “I’m… I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Leah stares at you, stunned, “You’re what?”

“I’m pregnant,” You repeat, barely above a whisper.

Leah’s mouth opens and closes as she tries to process, “Wha–How… How did this even happen? I mean, I know how, but… I didn’t even think you had even had your first kiss yet!”

“Mum!” You exclaim, embarrassed, very much aware Elle and Keira are still in the kitchen as well, even if Keira already knew.

“Leah, come on,” Keira interrupts, biting back a laugh, “The kids’ 19, she’s not a nun.”

“Wait,” Leah’s gaze inched in on her best friend, “Did you know about this, and you didn’t tell me?”

Keira holds her hands up in the air, “I only found out this morning, but it wasn’t my place to say anything, Le,” She tells her, “This is Monkey’s news to tell you.”

Leah blinks in disbelief, “I… I can’t believe this– I thought you were into girls?”

“Yeah, me too,” You retort, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly, “I guess not…”

“Well, clearly not,” Leah mutters, exhaling a sharp sigh, “Is this your idea of experimenting? I mean it’s a little late, isn’t it? You’re not even on anything–You know, you could have talked to me about this, and we could’ve gone to the doctor together–”

“Mum!” Seriously?” You cut her off, tears stinging your eyes, “I’m freakin’ out right now… It’s all over. My career is over. My life is over.”

“Oh, no, my girl,” Leah’s expression softens instantly, stepping forward, wrapping you in a hug and resting her chin on your head, “Your life isn’t over. Sure, things are going to change… You’re going to have a baby, and well, you can kiss goodbye to the next 18 years of sleep, but…”

“You’re not helping me here!” You groan into her shoulder.

Leah chuckles softly, pulling back to meet your eyes, “Don’t worry, my girl. There’s nothing to be scared about. We’ll get this all figured out, alright? You don’t have to do it alone.”

You look at her sceptical, “So… You’re not mad? You’re not going to kick me out?”

“What? Why would I be mad?” Leah shakes her head, “Shocked, yeah. But mad? I could never be mad at you, my girl. Never. I’m here for you. We both are, and you don’t have to worry about ever being kicked out. This house is your home, for you and the baby as long as you want to live here.”

“I still have to tell Mama,” You murmur in realisation, anxiety creeping back in.

Leah hums in agreement, “You do.”

“Can you help me with that one?” You ask, wearly.

“Oh no,” Leah says quickly, holding her hands up, “This one’s all on you. You have to tell her, Monkey.”

Keira grins, “New year, new chaos, huh?”

You shift nervously, one foot to the other, “Alright, uh… I guess I have other news to break as well.”

Leah raises an eyebrow, “What could possibly be worse?”

You wince, preparing to speak again, “The lad I slept with is a Spurs fan,” You blurt out before bolting for the door.

“YOU WHAT?” Leah’s shout reverberates through the kitchen.

“Oh, I think that went well,” Keira snickers in amusement.

“Monkey, you get back ‘ere right now!” Leah yells, “What do you mean he’s a Spurs fan? Are you joking me?” She asks, emphasising the team name for dramatic effect.

Keira shakes her head, still laughing, “You took that worse than the fact you’re gonna be a Nana before you’re 30,” She jokes, “Nana Leah has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Leah’s eyes widen in horror at the realisation, “No, no, absolutely not! That’s not happenin’!”

You flop back down on your bed, leaving Leah in her mid-panic about the news. Despite her reaction, a weight feels lifted that you don’t have to keep it a secret from her anymore.

Now, you just have to tell Jordan.

“Well, no time like the present,” You mumble to yourself, grabbing your phone from where it’s buried under the covers. Scrolling through your contacts, you tap on Jordan’s name and wait for the call to connect.

“Hiya, little one,” Jordan’s familiar voice greets cheerfully.

“Hi, Mama,” You reply softly, biting your lip. The usual comfort her voice brings feels overshadowed by nerves.

Jordan immediately picks up on your tone, her brow furrowing on the other end, “What’s the matter, little one? Everything okay?”

“Umm…” You hesitate, gripping the phone tighter, “I have something I need to tell you.”

“Oh?” Jordan’s voice is calm but curious.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, “Uh, are you sitting down?”

“I’m not, but should I be?” Jordan jokes lightly, trying to ease the tension she senses, “What’s going on?”

Your heart pounds as you swallow the lump in your throat, “So, uh… The thing is… I’m pregnant.”

There’s a pause on the line.

“Right,” Jordan finally says, her tone a mix of shock and disbelief, “Are you… Are you sure?”

“Crystal,” You confirm with a weak laugh, “The positive test in the bin confirms it.”

“Wow,” Jordan exhales sharply, her usual composure faltering, “Alright, wow… So, you’re pregnant.”

You nod even though she can’t see you, “Yeah.”

“Have you told Leah?” Jordan questions, curiously.

“I told Mum just before I called you,” You admit.

Jordan hums on the other end of the phone, “And… How’d she take it?”

“Better than I expected, honestly. I mean, she was shocked, but she wasn’t mad. Although…” You trail off, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Although what?” Jordan prompts, sounding more grounded now.

“I think she took it worse when I told her the lad’s a Spurs fan,” You confess, bracing yourself for the reaction.

Jordan groans on the other end of the line, “Oh, for God’s sake, Monkey. Could you have not chosen literally anyone else?”

“Apparently not,” You quip, grimacing at the fact that you willingly slept with someone who supports that team, “Trust me, I almost gag at the thought of it. This baby is going to be a Gooner.”

Jordan chuckles in response, “Well I think if Leah has anything to do with it, it definitely will be,” She states, “Other than that, how are you feelin’?”

“I’m… I’m getting there, I think I’m over the shock of it now,” You admit honestly, “I was a bit terrified to tell you both, but now that you both know, I feel better. Less alone.”

“You’re never going to be alone, little one,” Jordan assures you firmly, “We’re always going to be here for you, and for this baby as well. No matter what.”

Her words bring a lump to your throat, but this time, it’s one of gratitude, “Thanks, Mama.”

“Always,” Jordan says softly. Then, with a playful edge, she adds, “But seriously, Monkey. A Spurs fan? What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” You reply sheepishly, “I was so drunk… I’m never touching Vodka again.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Jordan laughs in agreement, “Alright, we’ll talk more when I see you, okay? Try to take it easy for now.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to put the skydiving on hold for now then…” You joke with a laugh, finally feeling a bit lighter, “I can’t believe that I’m going to have a little rugrat of my own.”

#monkey #double the trouble fic #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso one shot #scribblesofagoonerr #chaos fc reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community #keira walsh x reader

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planet-hwa · 2 months ago

Text

BAD BOY FACADE CHAPTER 6 — 산

. . . ⇢ previous chapter ◦ series masterlist word count 2.5k

warnings petnames, swearing, gang affiliations, gang fights, mentions of drug dealing, slight gore?

❝ when you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect? ❞ 🎧 now playing 505 ; arctic monkeys

Speeding down the streets and passing all the nice houses, eventually turning to the wretched ones, San glanced at the message Wooyoung sent once again.

‘White Guardians at the warehouse. They’re looking for you.’

Harshly stopping at the entrance of the abandoned warehouse, bikes owned by members of The Black Pirates were mixed with other bikes belonging to their biggest rivals — a larger number of bikes. San jumped off his bike and rushed inside, met with the stand off of the two gangs.

The two gangs used to be closer, more recently , business partners some would say. Everyone but authorities knew that The Black Pirates held a drug dealing operation, and The White Guardians used to be one of their biggest consumers. Until a younger generation of the gang got caught with the contents, and were quick to rat out the providers. That was the moment The Black Pirates cut all dealing ties with the gang, and unintentionally started a hell cycle of sabotages and physical altercations between the two.

“What the fuck do you dicks want?”

“Finally, the man of the hour!” A tall boy cheered, the smaller group behind him snickering at his comments.

Of course, it was always this group that would cause trouble, never the older members of the gang. And San, Wooyoung, Mingi and Jongho were always the four that had to deal with them.

“I’ll ask again,” He said, standing face in front of the ring leader of the group, still threatening enough even to the taller boy. “What the fuck do you want?”

“You know what we want.” The boy said, serious and determined to intimidate San, but his confidence was hard to falter.

“We don’t sell to you anymore, now fuck off.” San snapped.

The boy scoffed, turning before pulling his fist back and throwing a punch, one San avoided quickly. Chaos erupted quickly, kicks and punches being thrown around. Though there were a couple more on the attackers, the small group of Black Pirates held up a good fight, majorly keeping the upper hand.

San focused his attention on the main boy, landing every punch he could, and gaining a few in return. The boy backed up and swiftly pulled out a pocket knife before lunging back at San, avoiding any potential fatal wounds he could. The two gangs were so focused on attempted murders that the sound of police sirens growing closer didn’t render to them until the last available second.

_________________________

Night fell upon the town, the moonlight shimmering through the sheer of your curtains and casting a gentle glow in your room, along with the white light that gleamed from your phone. Your eyes grew weary as you did your ritualistic scroll through social media before bed, blinking away the blue light induced tears that glassed over your eyes.

Though it was extremely late — 12:27am to be exact; and the rest of the house lay quiet, you couldn’t sleep no matter how tired you were. Even with all of the commotion throughout the last week, every emotion and image of what happened still burning away in the back of your brain, sleep just refused to chase you. You closed your phone and placed it on charge, turning away to try and rest for the night. Just as your eyelids started to feel heavy and ready to grace you with slumber, the sound of an engine outside caught your attention.

Who would be driving at this hour?

As the noise became louder, it became more recognisable. It wasn’t a car’s engine, but the engine of the motorbike that dropped you home earlier tonight. Questions began racking your brain; why would San be on this side of town at this hour, what was he here for, was he coming to see you? You peaked through the window’s curtain that sat just above your bed, glancing up and down the street and finally catching sight of the bike as it slowed at your driveway. You watched as San hopped off the bike, quick to notice the way he stumbled as he began walking to your front door.

Was he drunk?

Before he could reach the door, you had quickly tiptoed down stairs so as to not wake anyone — considering they somehow didn't wake from the loud, revving engine outside their yard. He raised a knuckle to the door, ready to knock, but it creaked open before he could. As you gained more of a sight of him, your heart sank. Your eyes gazed over his face, though it was in the shadows, you could see the discolouration and access of blood.

“Hey princess.” He mumbled, a weak smile on his lips.

“San, what are you doing here, are you okay?” You whispered, concern laced in your voice and readable on your face; he thought it was adorable.

“S-sorry, I know it’s late but…” He looked down at his bruised knuckles before returning his eyes to yours. “I didn’t feel safe going anywhere else right now.”

Glancing over his body, you noticed the blood dripping from his knuckles and the slight tears in his clothing, as well as the bruises and splits in his face. You grasped his hand gently, not wanting to hurt him more, before quietly pulling him inside and up the stairs to your bedroom. Thankfully, your bathroom was connected to your room, so the little noise you would make would be shielded by the extra walls of your bedroom.

“Sit on the toilet seat, please.” You pointed whilst bringing in a small stool from your makeup vanity, he did as you said and sat down, positioning the stool in front of him as you collected your small first aid kit from the drawers.

He achingly removed his leather jacket and discarded it on the floor, the bruises up his arms easily noticeable, especially with the lack of sleeves on the grey tank top he wore. Your eyes ran over his biceps as he rubbed over them soothingly. Though he was bruised and injured, you couldn’t help the gaze that was glued on the defined muscles, quickly looking away once he caught you staring.

“You don’t have to-”

“Shhh~” You hushed, wetting a cotton pad with disinfectant before beginning to lightly dab it on the cuts on his face. He winced at the sudden sting but remained still. “You can’t let them get infected.”

Wiping away any dried blood and adding ointment to the small, non scarring cuts that scattered over his face, you moved your attention to the worst of them. A nice split through his eyebrow that was likely to scar and a deep cut on the side of his lip, almost looking like piercings gone wrong. The moment the damp cotton pad grazed against his eyebrow split, San pulled back suddenly at the strong sting, sharp eyes glared back at you.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, gently cupping his face with your free hand and pulling it closer, you pressed the cotton pad lightly against the cut once again — now he accepted the comfort and warmth of your hand that held his chilled cheek, he almost melted into the touch.

You replaced the cotton pad, now soaked with burgundy blood, with some tissue and continued dabbing away any reminiscence of pain. So focused on curing San, you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes remained fixed on you and your every movement. The way his gaze stayed on your eyes, never roaming your body which felt slightly more exposed than usual, even in fully covered pajamas. The small smile that settled on his lips the moment you opened the door, and how it remained the entire time even with the pain he was feeling.

“Can I ask,” You paused, watching as he cocked an eyebrow slightly, a small nod encouraging you to continue. “What happened?”

“Uhhh, just a small fight.” He smiled and lied right through his teeth, and you knew it — there is no way a ‘small fight' would cause such harm. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

“It’s hard not to worry about it when you leave in a hurry, and then show up in the middle of the night covered in cuts and bruises.”

San hummed softly in response, eyes still deeply attached to your own, yet he was quick to glance away once you looked back at him. Holding his chin in your hand, you tilted his head up slightly, his eyes turning from fierce cat eyes to gentle puppy eyes, and began swiping the cotton pad against his lip. The cut was deep, almost splitting his lip completely in half, but he remained still as the antiseptic pad wiped the dried blood away.

Finally finished clearing his beautiful face of injury, you focused your attention on his bloody knuckles. “Give me your hands.” And he complied, resting his hands in yours as you cleaned his wounds.

“How do you know all this stuff?” San asked, watching intently as you began wrapping one of his hands with a bandage.

“I did a first aid course once,” You explained. “And, I have an older brother.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you finished off the final bandage, a small amount of blood still seeming to soak through the fabric. As you tightened the bandage, your fingers grazed against San’s causing bolts of electricity to flash through you — through the both of you. Tension buzzed through the static in the air, your hand still holding onto his and refusing to move, and he wasn’t pulling away from the touch either.

Looking up into his eyes, you were met with a gentle sense of adoration, something you weren’t used to. Usually San seemed confident and overly cocky around women, but it was different with you, he almost felt… shy. The moment you opened the door, his heart was fluttering uncontrollably. He’s never felt this way before, and it was more confusing to him than algebra.

There was no way that a girl he met only a few months ago could have this much of an effect on him.

“A-all finished.” You stuttered, shifting your eyes around the bathroom and attempting to avoid him, yet you were drawn back to them in an instant.

He smiled, his dimples prominently showing themselves. “Thank you, princess.”

You looked away and rolled your eyes jokingly. “You gotta stop calling me that-”

Your sentence was short lived, your attention being pulled away by the sudden hand that grabbed your chin lightly. You watched as San’s eyes drifted back and forth between yours and your lips before leaning closer towards you. His breath was warm against your skin, your lips were mere inches away but he still held a sense of hesitance, waiting for your unspoken conformation.

Suddenly, his lips were attached to yours, ever so gently. It wasn’t his usual tone, passionate and lustful, he wanted to embrace the moment. He wanted to feel the soft plushness of your lips against his. Noticing you weren’t pulling away, his hand cupped the nape of your neck and pulled you closer, adjusting you onto his lap, the material of the bandage around his knuckles lightly tickled your skin. His free arm wrapped around your waist securely, making sure you felt safe and weren’t going to fall backwards.

You never thought that you would kiss anyone else apart from Yunho; let alone San; let alone in your bathroom in the middle of the night. Butterflies flourished within your stomach as the kiss deepened, yet a sense of innocence remained. It was obvious there was no push for anything more, simply enjoying the feeling of your lips dancing together. Your hand held his jawline, fingertips tracing the defined bone lightly. A pink tinge painted across his cheeks at the touch, his ears beginning to turn a bright red.

After a few minutes, you disconnected to catch your breath, but his lips instantly tried to chase yours for more. Landing a chaste kiss on your lips, then another quickly on your cheek, he watched as your face grew flustered, giggling at his delicate actions. Your fingers were lightly intertwined with his, watching as your fingertips grazed over his bandaged knuckles, unsure of what to do or say next.

“I-I should probably go.” He mumbled, almost inaudible and stuttered.

“Or you could stay…” The second the word left your mouth, his eyes found yours once more.

He couldn’t tell if you were serious or not.

“I mean, in your condition, you probably shouldn’t be riding in complete darkness for twenty minutes.”

He thought about it for a few seconds before silently accepting your offer with a nod. You got off his lap, promising yourself you’d clean the bathroom tomorrow, and lead him back into your room. Quickly grabbing some clean clothes from your older brother’s room, extras he had left before heading to college, and gave them to San. As he began to change into the new clothes, you distracted yourself by dragging the mattress out from under your own bed and decorating it with cozy blankets and pillows.

“You can sleep on my bed-”

“No, I’m not kicking you out of your bed.” He shut down your offer quickly, holding a serious tone yet you could see a smile casted over his face in the dim light. “You will sleep in your bed, and I will sleep comfortably on the mattress.”

Rolling your eyes in slight annoyance, you didn’t fight him on it, seeing as he already had a tough enough fight tonight. You climbed into your bed, snuggling yourself under the covers and making sure no limb stuck out for any “monsters” to get — because, yes, you were still cautious at your grown age. San followed, falling into the mattress below and tugging the blankets over himself, turning his body to face your bed.

“Goodnight, San.”

“Goodnight, princess.”

The room fell quiet, the only sound being the light buzz of the internal heating and the soft, sleepy breaths from the two of you.

“Oh wait, I forgot something.” San whispered.

You heard him rustling around, unable to properly see anything but a moving shadow, until he was leaning above you. He cupped your face gently, pressing a soft kiss to your lips for the final time tonight before returning to the mattress. Warmth began to fill your body, your cheeks felt like they were on fire, and your lips tingled slightly. You hadn’t felt that way about a kiss since your first, though it was a feeling you welcomed.

The two of you drifted off soon after, the sound of San snoring lightly easing you to sleep after him. When you woke up in the morning, you expected to look down and see his quiet body, but he was gone. The mattress was tucked back under your bed, the pillows and blankets folded neatly on the floor along with the clothes you lent him. A small sense of dejection filled you at the sight, or lack thereof, of San — it almost made you feel like ‘just another girl’ even if you didn’t sleep with him.

Or maybe, he was just really good at Irish goodbyes…

. . . ⇢ next chapter

author's note this chapter is actually quite short because i deleted a bit of the fight due to it being a bit repetitive and wanting to leave a little to your imagination, but it wasn't posted on time because i worked two early morning shifts and was completely drained so i do apologise for that + a timeline check for this series if anyone is confused: this chapter is set roughly around 2-3 months after the first chapter

✉ taglist @morethingsfandom @solaris-amethyst @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @baby-stay92 @autieofthevalley @liveloveseonghwa @dejatiny @mortal-advocate @dreamsoffanfics @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @dalsuwaha @nevieatiny @woateez @choizlover @woosmaid @yeosannie4 @auroras-colors @mintchocosan @jjongbearsies @frzzenfrxg @sanniebabes @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @eyesonlyformingi @sannies-tiddies @honeyjongie @rainteez02 @robertsbbygirl @mingisgf999 @atzz8 @moonlight-hwa @chrryjoong @sanhwalvr @cloudysannie @atxxzist @choisansplushie @starz-choisanii @slowitdownmakeitb0uncy @jerseygirlzzzxx @mzngi @sparda1234 @babigriin @marvolos @snapcracklen @posseup @justineasian @amazaynaastha @vixensss @deltamoon666 @randajjjad @m4n4-s4m4

written by planet-hwa™

#written by planet hwa ༉‧₊˚✧#bad boy facade series 🕸♥✟🕷#ateez #choi san #ateez series #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez smut #san series #san x reader #san imagines #san fanfic #san fluff #san angst #san smut

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fansids · 1 year ago

Text

Shadow of the King Au Art Dump

Since I very rarely get past the sketching phase any presentable art is rare, but I managed to find some for ya'll

Warning for some old ass art:

1. The Stalwart Generals

I spent an ungodly amount of time figuring out the designs, dynamics, and personalities of all of these monkies so I'll be damned if I don't show them first.

The Generals take care of anything SWK is unable to. They are in charge of FFM when he's not present.

Marshal Ma - While technically all the generals are the same rank, Marshal Ma is considered SWK's unofficial second in command. She's calm in every crisis with a very low bs tolerance and is 75% of the reason why the island doesn't fall to chaos every time SWK leaves. She's highly respected by all the inhabitants and can and will break your spine Bane style if the situation calls for it.

Marshal Liu - Mean bisexual. Marshal Ma's sister and the bane of her existence. On duty she takes her role very seriously. Off duty she likes to keep Ma on her toes with her dumbassery. She's easy going, hates clothes, and loves to fight. She has a slightly concerning amount of knives on her person at all times. She is big gay for General Beng.

General Beng - Meaner lesbian. A siamang and the largest and tallest of the generals. She enjoys dressing up, tea (both kinds), and a good party. She has a very short fuse. While her size and strength alone would generally deter anyone from testing her temper, there are always idiots. She can fight, but she knows her Liu would enjoy it more.

General Ba - The youngest of the generals. While she's not shy, she is very quiet. She does not waste her words. But, when she speaks, the others will stop whatever they're doing to listen. She likes to spend her free time in the libraries. Get her in the right mood and she'll argue with you for hours about the most random subjects.

2. Macaque face evolution

Was trying to get a feel for Macaque's face and how it changes throughout the au. Top right is the youngest, bottom right is the oldest. Bro gets all sorts of messed up from the whole died and resurrection thing and very much looks wrong afterwards.

3. New fit

Macaque and SWK have the whole cape thing going on, I figured SWK gave Mac one of his own when he was still training under him. I like to think it holds a lot of sentimental value to him since he still wears it in present day but he would rather get his head smashed in again than admit it.

4. I'm sure this won't come back to bite anyone later

Eeesh. Imagine spending your whole life training to receive and keep the Sun Wukong's attention only for him to casually give it to some random human boy thousands of years later. I mean, Macaque did betray him and everything, but it's the principle.

5. The Tongbi Gibbon Concepts

One of the four world-wrecking/celestial monkies. My brain was very focused on the whole pulling celestial bodies out of the sky part of her abilities that I made her based around that line.

Don't know if this fit is still canon as she and the Horse Monkey had a large role to play in Shadow of the King, and I'm considering if I should take them out

Bonus:

I consider the Tongbi gibbon and the Horse Monkey to be older than both Sun Wukong and Macaque in Shadow of the King. The Horse Monkey is the eldest, but the Tongbi's age is nothing to sniff at.

That being said, that does not mean she can't be bought.

Takes place after all the traumatizing shit in SotK

Panel 1

Tongbi: Child, I am an ancient being. I hold the power of gods within me. I was witness to the birth of the Great Sage himself. I have seen nations and empires rise and fall. I have gathered and spent innumerable wealth. Yet you think you can bribe me with 20 yuan?

Panel 2

The host: ...how 'bout 30?

Panel 3

Off-panel (Horse Monkey): TONGBI!!

MK: I thought the nimbus made you airsick

Red Son: Not helping, Noodle Boy

Tongbi: BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!

#edit: added dialogue cause my handwriting is shit #edit: corrected Ba to being the youngest. Idk why I called her the oldest #shadow of the king au #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lmk #lmk stalwart generals #lmk marshal ma #lmk marshal liu #lmk general beng #lmk general ba #lmk macaque #six eared macaque #lmk tongbi gibbon #sun wukong #myart #lmk comic #doodle

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itsabouttimex2 · 1 year ago

Note

Can I request a platonic yandere sun wukong and macaque realizing that the teen mystic monkey they've been raising is planning to leave ffm?

O Child of Unity

(I’m assuming you want Shadowpeach, then? I’m still not the best with it, but I’ll try! Also, a new bot is up!🧡💜 Also again, this fic is compliant with Deepest Hues- which I’ll expand on soon!)

There are four base colors in our world: black, white, yellow, and red. Together, these four hues represent the base components of alchemy- nigredo, albedo, citrinitas, and rubedo.

In times ancient and forgotten, a massive reservoir of these four colors existed in each corner of the earth. Like pools of chaos they surged, brimming with power and life. From each of these brightly-hued depths did an egg arise, containing a Mystic Monkey of incredible potential.

One of light. One of shadow. One of snow. One of fire.

And recently, a brand new simian, born of a union from nigredo and citrinitas, pitch black and bright yellow fusing their mystical lineage into a mottled green.

Their union blessed the world with a little virescent monkey, big eyes and soft fur-

You.

The world is such a wonderful place, you’ve learned. Geysers of boiling water and hunched spikes of snow. Sand white as bone and lakes stained pink by algae. Forests comprised of just one tree and diminutive flowers with digestive maws.

From book to book you’ve torn, indulging your curious brain in every last little wonder of the world- from glacial peaks to crystal caverns.

How many pages have you worn away by now, dreaming of wonders far beyond your reach? How many dreams has your mind spun, longing for something new? How many times have you lost the world to a lovely little daydream that took hours to shake?

A less generous eye would view this behavior as unhealthy. They might even refer to it as a ‘coping mechanism’, spending half the day locked into a foggy haze, pretending that life was more exiting, more fulfilling.

Even you had come to realize the inherent instability of your constant stupor, eventually.

All you have to do to fix this problem, then… is make those dreams a reality!

…right?

Right! No time to waste worrying!

Packing is easy! It used to be a time-killer of yours as a child, pretending to go on adventures across the world with only your trusty well-stocked backpack. All these little games were played out under the watchful eyes of your fathers, ensuring your fun never turned dangerous or led you somewhere that was off-limits.

You’d pick a locale and prepare for an ‘expedition’ with snacks and clothes, always running and asking Bába to open the pantry for you.

“A winter adventure,” Sun Wukong would lovingly coo, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Sounds like fun, bud! Don’t forget to pack your warm socks, kay?”

He’d laugh and play along, pushing sandwiches and chocolate protein bars into your hands, always with a pouch of juice to pair. Sometimes he’d go the extra mile of bagging them up, giving you a paper sack that wouldn’t be out of place on a field trip.

(How often you begged to be enrolled in school, physical or at least online. And your fathers would ‘tsk’ and shake their heads, but quickly promise you ice cream as a bandage balm for your youthful sorrow.)

And then he’d watch your little journeys with a quirked eyebrow, smiling as you pulled your plushes (given that you had no playmates outside of base simians and your often busy fathers) along and narrated your games.

You’d fill out a page in your bulky journal detailing the ‘journey’, consigning your little hours of make-believe to white pages.

And as you had grown, that many-paged journal stayed tucked under your arm, all your thoughts and hopes written away into it.

Even now, as you stare out at the endless horizon so plainly in front of you- the book is held to your chest, warmed by the excited beat of your heart.

It holds all those dreams you’ve dreamt for a full decade now, each one precious and utterly perfect to your nostalgic mind.

The grass is long and bright, glistening with morning dew. It sparkles under the rising rays of the sun, a picturesque landscape laying in front of you. Flower Fruit Mountain (Mount Huaguo, as your fathers sometimes called it) was beautiful. Is beautiful. But pretty can only satiate the mind for so long, and certainly couldn’t fulfill your wanderlust any longer.

You had explored every cave, climbed every tree, mucked every puddle, cuddled every monkey.

It had been nice. And you’d miss it, but-

The world was waiting!

And you could wait no longer.

Stuffing the oversized book into your backpack, you do the one thing you’ve wanted to do for years- and take off running.

Lush grass rips under your feet, laying in scattered half-length piles as your boots tear across the wet ground. Muddy footprints squash down flowers and weeds alike, nothing stopping your gleeful dash.

Over puddles and through tree crooks, beneath towering canopies and across deep ponds- you run. All that hampers you is the heavy bags strapped to your back and waist, full of the supplies you once only dreamed of handling during a journey.

A real, actual journey! How long had you waited?! Years and years! And it was finally coming true!

But you turn the corner of a rock too quickly, and smack head-on into something solid and warm, the figure grasping you tightly.

And all too suddenly, one of your fathers- Macaque- stares down at you, clearly displeased.

“Explain,” he sharply says, holding out the note you had left on the dining table, unfolded and excitedly penned. It had been written in such a rush of gleeful adrenaline that some parts are nigh-unintelligible.

But; even with wild pen scrawl and joyful errors, it was clearly an intended farewell.

The claw marks shredding through half of the paper is proof that he hadn’t exactly taken the notion well.

“Y/N. What the hell is this? You’re running away?”

“N-no! I’m just-“

“Do you think this is how it all works? You throw a note on the table and head out into a world you know nothing about?”

“I do know about the world! I’ve been researching it for years!”

“Your ‘research’ doesn’t mean a thing! You have no skills, no experience, nothing!”

“Because you won’t let me do anything!”

The accusation causes him to bristle in anger, lips pulled back as he snarls. His fangs, glistening and sharp, draw your attention.

(Sometimes you forget what Macaque has done. How scary he can be. Sometimes you forget that he’s never regretted his crimes. Moments like this are happy to remind you.)

Your bravado and boldness vanish startlingly quickly, shrinking under the furious gaze of the simian.

The Six-Eared simian snags your wrist, stomping over to a cavernous rift of shadows. With your arm held tight, he jumps in and drags you along.

You fall from a ceiling and into the waiting arms of your other father, Wukong. He grins and nuzzles the fur of his cheek to your own, relishing in the warmth of familial closeness. A golden brazier burns next to him, recently lit and brightly chugging the wooden fuel within.

“Someone was up to a little bit of mischief, huh?”

His reaction is the polar opposite to Macaque- where his husband blows up and seethes, the Great Sage lies to himself and pretends that everything is okay. It’s easier to think of his child as a little imp than an outright runaway.

As Wukong dotes, Macaque rips away the thick jacket and boots that you were wearing, throwing them into the nearest closet.

You didn’t need them, after all. You weren’t going anywhere.

Though a part of you is disgruntled to have some of your clothing torn away so suddenly, it’s only when he snatches the backpack that you scrabble from the Great Sage’s arms.

“Don’t mess with that!” You call, trying to wrangle the bag from his grip- but he’s got your journal before you manage to pry it free.

He holds the gargantuan journal, full of all the dreams you had through your life- to see snow penitentes, to view miscolored lakes, to visit ancient forests, to explore the world that had been kept from you for so long.

“This is what gave you those ideas? Your little baby book, kiddo?”

“It’s not-“

“Shut it! You tried to run away. You don’t get to speak right now.”

He takes a moment to breath, glaring at the offending journal. To him, the answer is clear- get rid of the book, and he’ll get rid of your silly ideations of “freedom”. If it comes undone to the very binds, then maybe you’ll give up on leaving and return to the cozy schedule your fathers adhere you to. Forehead kisses and morning cuddles, shared meals and long naps through the cold of winter.

Without it, his life will go back to being perfect, and to an obsessive villain like Macaque?

A little bit of your sorrow is worth the happiness that keeping you close brings.

“Enough of these pointless dreams.”

The Six-Eared Macaque stands to his full height, the multicolored glow on his ears fading to black as his eyes burned red. With one angry sling, he throws your book into the deepest ashes of the gilded brazier.

It catches quick, melting and warping for just a brief few milliseconds before incinerating.

You stand there for a moment in sheer disbelief, watching as a decade of heartfelt writing crumbles away in seconds.

The raw, unspeakable hurt it produces leaves you breathless and mute, incapable of summoning even a single sorrowful word.

Macaque staggers back as tears bubble up in your eyes- even the villain himself has realized that this was a step much too far. His intention; as often to the innocent and undeserving, was to inflict suffering.

Even his own family wasn’t off the table.

His sable hands are much too slow in retrieving the book from uncaring flames, snagging only an empty cover now bereft of inner pages.

Ruined. Utterly ruined and destroyed.

The slow realization that you’ll never have back your childhood journal, never read again your years of games and research, never write another word in the precious book, never finish it- never, never, never, never, all in a devastating row.

The realization sinks in slow, but clicks into place all the same.

A low whimper builds in your throat, slowly pitching up as wetness spill down your cheeks. So many tears fall that they blind your vision, pairing well with the sobs that escape you.

Wukong glares at his partner with boiling eyes, a look of outright hatred in them. “Macaque. What. The. Hell.”

“…they h-had to learn a lesson,” he weakly justifies, his cowardice bubbling up in full force.

Run from Five Phases Mountain. Run from the Brotherhood. Run from Wukong. Run from the Lady Bone Demon. Run from the Samadhi Fire. Run from consequences and run from heroes, and pray that everyone forgets how badly he deserves to be punished for his cruelty and arrogance and sins.

Still a little rat, slinking in the shadows.

“Get out,” the Great Sage snarls, fangs dripping with immeasurable hatred, and, as ever, as always-

Macaque runs.

Wukong turns to you as his pitch husband bolts, throwing off his chest-plate and wrapping his unfathomably powerful arms around your quivering form.

He’s warm, much like a spring of volcanic water, or sun-kissed wood.

Or a raging, burning fire.

You don’t really want to be warm right now.

But the ferocity with which you pound his chest and gut leave the simian utterly unfazed, shushing and hushing you all the same.

“Shh, pumpkin, shh. You know your Bába hates to see you cry. C’mon, let’s dry those tears. Y’know what? How about we get you some ice cream, bud? Something sweet and cold to make you feel better.”

Wukong doesn’t wait for a response. He rarely does. The immortal boosts you up into his arms, heading to the kitchen. He kisses your cheeks and forehead and the bridge of your nose, trying to placate your tears with an overdose of physical affection.

This was your life. Your world.

And you were starting to doubt that you’d ever leave it.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #Shadowpeach #Deepest Hues

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theartofcollapse · 5 months ago

Note

could you write a really domestic fic f reader x olivia where she arrives tired from a day of work and their daughter is agitated, reader is tired and still making dinner and when she sees that reader is going to freak out she starts running with her daughter down the house and play hide-and-seek to lighten the reader's weight?

a/n: thank you for your request, I hope you like it :) summary: read it above pairing: Olivia Benson x female reader warnings: none word count: 1.1K

masterlist

Teamwork - Olivia Benson

The familiar click of the door unlocking made you glance up from the pot of pasta simmering on the stove. Olivia was home. You felt a pang of relief and exhaustion all at once, the kind that comes after an endlessly long day when you’ve been counting the minutes for backup to arrive. Your backup was Olivia.

“Mommy!” your four-year-old daughter, Sophie squealed from her spot on the kitchen floor, where she’d been playing with her blocks. She scrambled up on her tiny legs, her earlier frustration over a misplaced piece completely forgotten as she dashed to greet Olivia.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Olivia’s voice, though tired, softened instantly. She scooped Sophie up in her arms and peppered her face with kisses. For a moment, you felt the tension in your shoulders start to dissipate, until the shrill sound of boiling water overflowing brought you back to reality.

“Crap,” you muttered, quickly turning the burner down and grabbing a towel to clean the mess.

“Hey,” Olivia said, stepping into the kitchen with your daughter still clinging to her like a little monkey. “You okay?”

You glanced at her, a half-smile on your face, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. Just… she’s been cranky all day, I’m behind on dinner, and I didn’t even get a chance to clean up the mess in the living room. It’s fine.”

Olivia frowned, immediately recognizing the brittle edge to your voice. “Y/N…”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing past her to drain the pasta. You could feel the pressure building behind your eyes, a familiar burn warning you that you were moments away from losing it. But there wasn’t time. Dinner wasn’t going to cook itself.

Olivia set Sophie down, kissed her forehead, and whispered something in her ear. Before you could ask what she was up to, Olivia clapped her hands together dramatically.

“Alright, kiddo! Let’s go. We’re playing hide and seek!”

Sophie’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Really. Go hide, and I’ll come find you. And remember, the tickle monster is coming!” Olivia growled playfully, wiggling her fingers. Sophie shrieked with laughter and took off down the hallway.

“Liv, you don’t have to..” you started, but she cut you off with a kiss to your temple.

“I’ve got it,” she said softly, her brown eyes warm despite the weariness in them. “You just finish dinner, okay?”

And with that, she took off down the hall, calling out, “Where’s my little troublemaker hiding? Hmm, I wonder if she’s under the bed..”

The sound of your daughter’s giggles echoed through the house, and for the first time all day, the weight on your chest felt just a little bit lighter.

You turned back to the stove, the corners of your mouth tugging up into a genuine smile as you listened to Olivia and your daughter’s antics. A crash from the living room followed by Olivia’s exaggerated gasp told you they’d moved their game there.

“Is she behind the couch? No? Oh no, she must have disappeared forever!” Olivia’s dramatic tone had you chuckling under your breath.

By the time dinner was ready, Olivia came back into the kitchen carrying the little girl, who was red faced and breathless from laughing. “I found her,” Olivia said, grinning.

“I wasn’t even hiding!” Sophie declared proudly, making you and Olivia laugh.

As you set the plates on the table, Olivia leaned in close, her hand brushing yours. “You’re amazing, you know that?” she murmured.

You met her gaze, the warmth in her expression chasing away the last remnants of your stress. “So are you.”

Dinner that night was chaotic. Sophie refused to eat her vegetables, and Olivia ended up with pasta sauce on her shirt but it was also full of laughter.

After you’d tucked your daughter into bed, the house finally felt still. You leaned against the doorway of her room, watching her tiny chest rise and fall with each peaceful breath. Olivia stood behind you, her arms slipping around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder.

“She’s out cold,” Olivia murmured, her voice low and warm. “We must’ve worn her out.”

You smiled softly, leaning back into her. “You saved the day,” you admitted. “I was this close to losing it.” You held your fingers an inch apart for emphasis, though the weight of earlier stress still lingered in your chest.

Olivia turned you gently in her arms, her hands finding your waist. “Hey,” she said softly, her brow furrowing in that way that made you feel like you were the only thing in the world she cared about at that moment. “You’re allowed to lose it sometimes. It’s okay.”

Your eyes began to sting again, but this time it wasn’t from frustration. It was the overwhelming sense of being seen, of being held, not just physically but emotionally. “I just.. I hate feeling like I can’t do it all, you know?”

Olivia cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing gently against your skin. “You don’t have to do it all, Y/N. That’s why I’m here. We’re a team. And you’ve been carrying so much, on top of everything else, you still managed to make dinner and take care of her all day. You’re incredible.”

Her words cracked something open inside you, and before you could stop yourself, the tears spilled over. Olivia didn’t say anything, just pulled you close, tucking your head against her shoulder as her hand stroked soothing circles on your back.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You stayed like that for a while, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around you both like a blanket. Eventually, Olivia guided you to the couch, where she pulled you down beside her. She didn’t ask if you wanted tea or try to suggest ways to fix things, she just held you, her arms strong and steady, her presence a balm for your frayed nerves.

“I know I don’t say it enough,” you murmured against her shoulder, your voice thick with lingering emotion. “But thank you. For everything.”

“You say it more than you think,” she replied, her lips brushing your hair. “And even if you didn’t, I’d still be here.”

The quiet comfort of the moment stretched out, and as Olivia’s hand found yours, lacing your fingers together, you felt your chest loosen for the first time all day.

As you leaned into Olivia’s warmth and let her hold you, it didn’t feel so overwhelming. You weren’t alone. You never would be.

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flothunderstorms · 2 months ago

Text

GOLDEN TRUNKS

𝑺𝒐 𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒖𝒑𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕… 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔, 𝑰 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒐.

PART 1. 𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏. 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

Warning: Mature content.

Word count: 5.4k

Munich, Germany.

The sound of the click of the heels of my boots seems non-existent as there seems to be chaos going around where I am walking. People ushering with equipment on their hands, wires tangled on the floor, there’s an alive chatter of workers about the show which is about to start in maybe 45 minutes in time.

They all drown the sound of the hard thump of my heart beating seemingly wanting to get out of my chest.

There are knowing looks as I make my way to my destination, a few smiles here and there, and those hushed whispers accompanied by a soft glare that I dread to see every single time.

Yes, I am the girl who frequently sleeps with your boss who is also the lead singer of this band.

I actually don’t know how it happened. I wanna say that one thing led to another that got me in this position, but I know that would be a lie. What really happened? Well, I've been a big fan of the band since Tumblr days and now I got the money to travel. The best way to see the world is to align your itinerary plan based on Arctic Monkeys’ show tour schedule!

It started in Asia. Singapore. Malaysia. Philippines. All beautiful countries, and after I do my sightseeing and tourist stuff in those countries mentioned, I end my day by going to my favourite band’s show at night. I was on the side of the stage. Not the side where families and friends hang around, but I cannot do barricades as that would entail lining up at 5 in the morning to be first in line. I opted for seated sections, which is at the very side of the stage.

Expensive? Yes, but damn worth it.

It was in Osaka, Japan. Something in the air shifted and I sound delusional, but hear me out. First show in Singapore, we made eye contact. Second show in Malaysia, a smile. Third show in the Philippines, I got a smirk plus a wink. But when in Japan, I could feel his gaze on me the whole show.

His eyes were on me the whole night.

It was not the “sexy type” of gaze. Not the “I want you” like those written in books or portrayed in movies. It was a curious gaze. It was a cautious one even? It was a knowing gaze, like “yes, I have seen you 4 times in a row in the exact same seat of my shows, are you stalking me, stranger” kind of gaze.

And I wanna shout that yes my actions scream crazy, but I really am just a big fan with a bit of money to recklessly spend which is on you!

“4 shows in a row? Are we really that bad you have to see me sing four times before you can make a judgment on my ability to perform?”

A figure occupies the vacant bar stool beside me.

It’s Alex Turner from the Arctic Monkeys.

I almost choked on my drink and it seems like all the words I have learnt vanished in my mind.

Get a grip.

“Well, isn’t it supposed to mean the opposite? That you were so good I have to see you again and again?” I try to put on a teasing smile as I place my now empty Martini glass on the bar counter.

“Well you were hardly singing or dancing on the shows. At best, you were furrowing your eyebrows and giving me a hard look the whole 2 hours of the show that made me feel like I’m playing the wrong chords on my guitar,” he said with a mock hurt expression painting his face, clutching his chest for more effect.

“Should I doubt your ability to perform?” I raise an eyebrow with a smile getting bigger each second as soon as I realise the double meaning of my question.

Alex’s brown eyes lit up with mischief and amusement. “Can I show you how I ‘perform’ instead?”

A chuckle breaks out on my lips.

“I’m Alex, by the way,” he extends his hand for a handshake as he properly introduces himself as if I don’t know his full name and birth date.

I take his hand to shake but my name gets stuck on my throat when Alex raises my hand which he is holding and puts a lingering kiss at the back of my hand like a gentleman.

God, his lips feel so soft and I want it on my own, and his hand feels the right rough against mine.

I swallowed the want that is forming in my throat as I try to hold his stare.

“What brings you here, Alex?”

He shrugs while replying, “well, you’re so dark, babe, and I want you hard,” without shyness in his words.

“Did you just quote your own song to me?”

“Is it working?”

I have always dreamt of this moment, what would it be like to talk with the man who made all of my favourite songs. How does his mind work in conversations? How does he speak without the lyrics coming out of his mouth, but just as an ordinary guy? I am like a moth drawn to the flame, the flame being his presence in front of me.

“It’s working that it makes me want to be down on all fours for you,” I put on my best flirtatious smile, referencing the same song on my reply, as I rested an elbow on the bar counter to lean forward.

Alex’s mouth turns upwards, leaning forward as well, that I can feel his hot breath of exhale fanning my face.

“So, can I get you another Martini?”

First knock. Second knock. Third kno—

“Hello you!”

A pair of arms suddenly envelopes around my waist and I am carried upwards, making me chuckle and rest my hands on the person’s chest for support. The warm scent of vanilla with a hint of tobacco suddenly invaded my senses, making me smile at the familiarity.

Alex.

“Hello you,” I say back. It seems like our greeting consisted of this phrase and it became a cute thing between us.

We don’t know what we are, that's why we don't know what to call one another.

“I missed you,” Alex says while burying his face at my neck, tickling me in the process.

“You saw me 2 days ago.”

“Too long!” He whines as he plants kisses on my neck that soon turns into biting.

“What have you been doing?” I laugh as I attempt to make him stop from giving me the same love bites on the same spot that he made from two nights ago.

Alex stops his actions and lifts his head to meet my gaze. He has this boyish smile on his face that makes him look young, like that era of his when I discovered him for the first time back in 2013.

“Just finishing a song that's been on my mind, there's just one material lyric that seems to be missing,” he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Is this the same song from last week?” I inquire as he places a hand on my back.

He nods in response as he leads me inside of his dressing room. I was surprised at how spacious it was, more spacious than his previous dressing room. There are varieties of snacks and chocolate one of the tables, a proper chiller full with different kinds of drinks, bottles of champagne on the other end of the table, his rolling portable clothing rack which hangs his neat and pristine suits, black velvet couch that looks so soft and sleepable than most hotel beds.

What really caught my attention was the beautiful dark oak wood grand piano sitting in the middle of this huge room, that made me gasp out loud and stop on my tracks.

But this piece of musical instrument catching my eye with its beauty is not the reason why I stopped all of a sudden.

I could feel the blush creeping up on my cheeks as I started to feel hot all of a sudden. God, get a grip, you. I had a fantasy about a piano last night… that looks exactly like what is in front of me… and it was with this man beside me doing unholy things on top of this piano on me…

And it seems like this man I have fantasised about last night can read my mind.

“What's on your mind, love?” Alex asks with a smile starting to form in his lips.

I bite my lip looking up at him and shake my head, “Nothing.”

He shakes his head at me in return and squints his eyes, his lips forming a full smirk now, “None of that, tell me.”

“Nope,” I stubbornly shake my head, shyness taking over.

His hand starts to push me gently forward, making me walk towards the piano and stop when my front is now resting on it. Two hands on my hips guiding me to turn around, making my back now to be the one resting on the wooden piano. Alex’s hand rested beside me, using the piano to catch his weight as he leaned down on me, effectively trapping me between his suit clad body and the wooden piano.

Oh. Oh.

“What? I don’t wanna say it,” I whisper while avoiding his gaze as if that would help him not to know what’s on my mind.

“You imagine me fucking you in a piano, don’t you?”

I looked up to argue which we both knew would be useless and didn’t let me reply anymore as he smashed his lips on my own. I raise my hands to grip his shoulders for support as his hot lips claim me, which seems to be compensating for the two days we have not seen each other, we have not kissed each other.

Suddenly, Alex turned me around once again, and pushed my shoulders forward so that I am now bending in the piano, making my ass sticking in the air. His index finger toys the band of my underwear as he presses his front more prominently, making me feel the outline of his hard cock and I couldn’t help but moan at the sensation.

“My dirty little girl,” he whispers, pulling down my panties down to my boots, tapping my leg gently as he finally discarded my underwear, probably pocketing it like he always does.

I could hear the zip of his pants and the rush crackle sound of the condom wrapper being torn open. I push my ass back eagerly and Alex just lightly laughs while tapping my thigh as a response.

“What if I tell you I had them put this piano so I can fuck you on it because I have been thinking about it too?”

I just whined in response. Everything is heightened at the moment, especially my senses, as I can’t see what he’s about to do, and I can’t just take it anymore.

“Please, Al, I just need you,” I whisper.

God, you’re so down bad.

His fingers start to ghost on my clit, making me clench in response. He starts to collect my wetness and spreads it on my lips and my eyes shut closely as two fingers start to stretch me out all at once. It was slow and deliberate, but God I could feel every inch of his fingers scissoring me open. The rough callousness of his pads hits my walls perfectly as he enters a third finger, making me cry out and grip the cold wooden piano tightly, calling out Alex’s name like a prayer.

“Doing so good for me, darling. Has it really been two days? God, no amount of me fucking you will suffice, huh? Always wanting for more, always taking it like a good girl,” his voice laced with mock patronisation.

I would have replied if I was not just in ecstasy right now, thanks to his three long fingers.

He retreats his fingers on me, making me whine once again. I could hear his hum of satisfaction and I could just imagine him sucking his fingers while his eyes closed and nodding a bit, and that just made me more wet than I ever was before.

“This is torture, Alex,” I protest, wanting to be on my front and see his face as he fucks me.

Alex laughs, and I can finally feel his cock on my ass, lazily gliding it up and down on my cunt to slick his member with my own wetness. One of his hands is gently bunching my hair in a ponytail and tugging it upwards, signalling me to rise a bit, holding me in place.

“Patience, little girl. Remember, who gets rewarded the most?”

“People who wait.”

My skirt is practically on my stomach now. I can finally feel the head of his cock entering me slowly, making me moan out loud as he’s making me feel every vein, every inch of him. As soon as he bottoms out, we both release the sigh of moan that we have been both keeping in. His other hand starts to grip my hip, his thumb gently moving in circles as if he is comforting me as I adjust to his size. I swallow a moan and close my eyes shut as I feel the fullness, clenching on his cock as I try to memorise once again and make my walls mold to his dick.

And it all came crashing down.

The gentleness was gone and it was a one time thing when he thrust to enter for the first time this evening because as soon as he withdrew back, he thrusts forward that made me move upwards on the wooden piano. I could feel my tits being dragged up and down as Alex fucks hard on me.

“God, you feel so tight, darling. Have I not been fucking you good? How are you still so tight around my cock,” Alex breathes in my ear as I clutch on the wooden piano and hold on for dear life. I can’t form words to reply and just let out a whimper at his statement.

“Alex, please, I’m so close,” I pleaded.

“Already, love?” He says that I could feel the smirk that has formed in his lips. His hand starts to collect my hair in a ponytail once again, twisting it once so it wraps to a make-shift rein, pulling me upwards. I gasp at his demand, my back resting on his chest as he continue to fucks into me, one hand now reaching to toy with my clit and making me effectively closer to my sweet release.

This is one of those moments where no words are needed, just action.

He probably has felt the way my walls clench around him tightly at each thrust or maybe it’s my increased moans of his name as he pounds into me one after another, that he suddenly withdraws and makes me clench into nothing, making me open my eyes in confusion. I started to look at Alex over my shoulder to see what happened when suddenly, hands were on my waist and roughly turned me around, making me have a whiplash from the sudden movement. A gasp was evoked from my throat and I reached forward blindly for support.

“I wanna see your face when you come.”

Alex places his hand now under my thighs and carries me effortlessly, having me sit on the old grand piano. He pushes my shoulders down, effectively having me splay around the top of the piano. He places my legs over his shoulder, before making me full of him and start to build his rhythm as we both are on our way back to ecstasy.

My position makes me able to face Alex and God, what a heavenly sight he is right now.

If this isn’t the hottest thing right now. Both my legs are resting on his shoulder, my black thigh high boots look so aesthetically pleasing with his head between them. Alex’s hair is dishevelled, sweat forming on his forehead and a bead has started to trickle down from his temple to his cheeks. His suit is still smoothly ironed, in contrast with his slightly rumpled striped button up shirt that is open three buttons from the top, showcasing his chest that is slightly glistening of sweat. His gold chain necklace is swaying back and forth, as he pushes his hip forward, driving his cock deeper and deeper in each thrust, making me feel him almost in my stomach, but what’s really doing it for me is, Oh. My. God.

His face.

Alex’s face is etched with a look of pure ecstasy. Little breathy moans escapes from his parted mouth as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. His brows are furrowed lightly in concentration while trying to keep his eyes open to see me getting undone beneath him, but the pleasure is overtaking his body, making his eyes roll back and shut it close, as he lets his body move naturally.

Not only I am getting fucked, but I am fucked.

Lord have mercy.

And soon, we both can’t hold it in. Not only in a few minutes he needs to go on stage and the time constraint is adding to the thrill of chasing our orgasm, but tonight is just different. He just feels different.

A good different.

“I need to feel you come, darling,” Alex breathes in my face as I hold on his arms for dear life. I nod eagerly at his command, and the only thing that has left from my mouth are loud moans of his name.

I must have blacked out for a second, because all I could remember is the feeling of his hard thrusts, and how it was a deliberate pace before but it started to become restless, and I know Alex is now also chasing his own high and not holding back anymore, but still not neglecting me as he made me sure I could cross that line of climax first before I feel him spill on the rubber latex. All I knew is just his name as I repeat it over and over again and I clenched my walls tightly against his dick that it was hard for him to fuck me through my orgasm, and that made him to go over the edge and come with me for tonight.

I feel a hand pushing my hair gently out of my face and cradling my cheek, a thumb rubbing it gently.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You good?”

I open my eyes to see Alex already staring down at me, scanning my face in slight concern. I swallowed dryly and opened my mouth to reply, but did not get a chance to when loud several knocks echoed from the door.

“Turner, 15 minutes!”

I chuckled lowly instead in reply as he gave me an apologetic look.

“I’m gonna pull out now,” he announces. I nod and close my eyes to collect myself a bit. I hear the sound of the zipper being made and the light footsteps as he walk around, probably to fix his appearance and make it look like he just did not fuck someone backstage before his concert.

“No words again?” His voice booms from across the room. I can hear that damn smirk even from afar.

“I need to talk now after sex because your ego is getting bigger every time I’m speechless,” I finally opened my eyes and playfully narrowed it on the man who just gave me one hell of experience.

“Well it was so damn good that it made you speechless. No need to be embarrassed about it, love.”

“What made you think it’s good? What if the real reason I’m silent is because I’m disappointed with your performance?”

He stops what he’s doing and looks over at me with playfulness but hint of seriousness from his face. “Do you want me to fuck you all over again on that same piano I just fucked you on minutes ago? Because I’m willing to delay the show just to show you again how good I can fuck you and make you remember nothing else but just me?”

That shouldn’t make my blood rush in my cheeks and feel once again ‘that’ heat from the deep of my stomach as I just had a mindblowing orgasm. I just bite my lip to contain myself and not let out a moan from his words and just roll my eyes at him playfully.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, darling or I swear we’re never going to leave this room all night,” Alex threatens with a smile.

God, what is he doing to me?

I jump back to the ground, knees wobbling a little and he snorts a smirk, evidently proud with the state I’m currently in. I walked towards the other side of the room to fix myself. I look at the mirror and wipe off the smudged eyeliner below my eyes, and made myself look presentable once more, as if I was not just fucked (the best one so far if I might add) by the person who will be singing in front of thousands fans in 5 minutes.

I looked back to see Alex smoothing down his suit and taming his hair that’s now getting longer. I even joked about it one night that he should keep it longer, like his hair during his Humbug era, but he just flipped me off before proceeding to give me the best head I’ve ever had in my life, as I hold on to his starting to get long hair.

Before I left the room, I walked over Alex who is now seated in front of the mirror. Our eyes meet as we gaze at our reflection, and I lean down and press my lip at the shell of his ear.

“I fantasise about you, Al.”

I stood up straight and when I looked at him in the mirror, he had this enlightened expression, pupils dilating as he stared upwards at me with his lips slightly parted open. I gave him a smile and a nod and didn’t wait for his response as I exited his dressing room.

I held my head high as I navigated my way out of the backstage and situated myself with the crowd at the side of the stage. I’m lucky to have a free seat beside me, while on my right there seems to be 3 best friends who couldn’t contain their excitement as they gush over and squeal with one another.

“I wonder what Alex is doing backstage!”

“I bet playing some piano or practicing!”

“Wait, isn't his girlfriend here? I think I saw her!”

“No! They broke up after a long time! His girlfriend’s sister confirmed it on insta.”

“Maybe he’s hooking up with someone else!”

“Before a show? Nah, he’d do it after.”

And those last two interactions just made me laugh. It must have been loud because all three heads just turned to look at me and I visibly swallowed nervously.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t laughing at you guys, I mean well wha—“

“Sorry! Were we too blunt?” The red haired girl interrupted my failed attempt to explain myself.

“No no! Your conversation just well, made me curious too if Alex fucks before a show or he does it after,” I smile innocently, joining in their conversation. Well I know the answer, and he does both.

Fucks me before the show and after either in the bar or a third round even on his hotel room after getting drinks at the bar and a quick shag there.

“Oh definitely after!” The raven-haired girl who previously made it known her answer reaffirms it.

“I don’t think he’s fucking anyone right now,” the blonde one of the trio frowns in concentration.

“What do you think, miss?”

I open my mouth to reply but the lights went dim and I know any second now the band will be walking on the stage together. Soon enough, cheers and scream intensifies and light starts to move towards the stage, a faint glare of light illuminating our faces, the trio still awaiting for my answer before they can focus on the concert.

“Oh I think he fucks you before his show to release some nerves from being anxious and after the show to convert some adrenaline in his system.”

They seem satisfied and enlightened by my answer, nodding before wishing me to have a great night and they went to focus now on the man we’re just talking about as the first song starts to play.

It never gets boring watching my favourite band play. By now, I probably have memorised every breath Alex takes when he sings or every mannerisms he does when he plays his guitar, and every single time, I am still mesmerised with him. He’s so beautifully talented and I’m lucky to be able to see him perform every night. Well, even more lucky to see him not just on stage.

But I consider myself lucky to have the chance to get to know how his mind work, and I want more of it.

My legs are now sore from standing from the start down to the last song of this show, well being fucked bent in a piano might have contributed to the soreness, but I remained standing because I know it will now be the last show of the song, and might I add, my favourite.

It’s the classic ‘R U Mine?’, who would want to sit down now?

“Well this is the time we’ll leave you with our one final song, but I’m feeling happy right now here in Germany. So this next song won’t be the last, it’s a new song. Here’s a treat for you all.”

Everyone in the arena shows no signs of exhaustion, instead, seems like everyone becomes energised to the new song the band is about to play. New song? I wonder if this is the song that Alex has been writing for weeks now.

I looked at the stage and everyone except Alex has left the stage. I became confused even when it was just Alex walking over towards the left side of the stage, near me even, to sit down on a makeshift piano. He angled his body so now he is fully facing my section, making my section amplify their screams.

Alex looks up from where he’s sitting and start searching the crowd, and it is not too long before his eyes landed on me an gave that damn smirk he makes before he does something mischievous that I know would make my heart skip a beat.

“This is Golden Trunks, everyone. I just finished it today, so bear with me.”

Last night when my psyche's subcommittee sang to me in it's scary voice

You slowly dropped your eyelids

When true love takes a grip it leaves you without a choice

I smiled, his voice sounds incredibly beautiful with these new lyrics he’s singing out loud.

And in response to what you whispered in my ear

I must admit sometimes I fantasize about you too

And that made me freeze. My heart skipped a beat and my eyes widen at Alex, who is now looking at the piano and never taking his gaze off from it.

Did he just… was those lyrics from what I literally did an hour ago before I left his dressing room?

The leader of the free world reminds you of a wrestler wearing tight golden trunks

He's got himself a theme tune

They play it for him as he makes his way to the ring

And in response to what you whispered in my ear

I must admit sometimes I fantasize about you too

Oh my God. Those lyrics again.

In the daytime, bendable figures with a fresh new pack of lies

Summat else to publicise

I'm sure you've heard about enough

This time, Alex lifts his head up and reconnected our gaze. His lips touching his microphone as he sings the last words of his song directly at me.

So in response to what you whispered in my ear

I'll be upfront, sometimes I fantasize about you too

It seems like he’s responding to my confession earlier, that I fantasise about him. He is admitting too, that he does fantasise about me too.

And this should skip my heart beat in a good way, but instead why are my ears started to ring and dread flows in my veins?

I was snapped out of my overthinking by the booming applause in the arena. When I looked back onstage, Alex was no longer sitting and he’s now back in the middle and retrieving the guitar he used to play the last song to close the show. Every band member starts to appear now and start to tune their instruments. A bile starts to form at the back of my throat and I don’t know nor I can explain my feelings after that new song that I just witnessed together with thousands of people with me who doesn’t even know I’m panicking over two specific lines from the lyrics of the new song.

It takes me back to Japan. That one specific moment I shared with Alex. The reason why I can’t let ourselves be attached to one another.

It does not sound like it’s the harmless ‘fantasise’ we are talking about here. It sounds like we are crossing that unfamiliar territory of being more than just… more than just whatever this is.

“Are you mine?”

I whip my head to the sound of Alex’s voice who did not sing that line but instead sounded like a question he screamed at his microphone and true enough, it was a question as he looks at me, a mischievous smile not leaving his lips, as he plays his guitar not taking off his eyes on me.

“He’s looking at us! Alex is looking at us!”

“Stop! He’s just staring at me.”

“Oh no, he’s looking at this miss beside you!”

Four heads are now turned to me and four pair of eyes looking at my direction now. I looked at the trio, not even knowing how to respond even.

“You can have him girls,” I smile weakly.

I retrieve my clutch from my seat before waving at the trio goodbye, leaving halfway through the last song. This is the time I’d go back to Alex’s dressing room and wait for him there, but this time, my legs make its way outside of the arena.

The cold air of Munich greets me. I hug myself as I walk down the pavement, flagging down a cab. A cab stopped in front of me and I immediately got in.

“Where to miss?”

I told him the name of my hotel and as soon as the cab speeds up, the more I could finally breathe.

I need to get away from him, fast. If I don’t, I might say something I should not. If I do, I might fall even deeper and it would be too hard to crawl my way back out and impose that fence that we’re not bound to cross as that is some unchartered territory that he established from day one.

Oh now it does make sense when he sang: When true love takes a grip it leaves you without a choice.

So I’m making a choice for the both of us now.

─────────────────────────

Hello! I’m Flo and this is my first ever post here on Tumblr!

Actually, it’s my first time ever publishing a work of mine out in a social media platform. My works would consist of, well just my thoughts and imagination and, I wish to be part of the Arctic Monkeys’ community on here! I will be mainly writing about AM I think? Well, I know.

This is a part 1 out of part 4 (I think) in this little series I had in my mind.

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner imagine #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x oc #smut #flothunderstorms #beginning of the end #Series

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