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rhaeverie · 2 years ago

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Gift Wrapping is a Serious Matter — hjs

‣ pairing: han jisung x reader

‣ genre: fluff, implied f2l/coworkers-to-lovers, crack?

‣ wc: 3.6k

‣ summary: In all honesty, you had no idea why you decided to take up the job of gift wrapping at your local mall. There are moms constantly yelling at you, your fingers are covered in papercuts, and the hours are long. Luckily, your coworker, Jisung, is there to make it more bearable.

‣ warnings: some sexual jokes/innuendos, attempt at being funny, honestly this is just the pair being goofy at work, I thought it was gonna be mostly cute but it’s more just (attempted) crack

‣ an: oop late post but it’s okay ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ I wanted this to be cuter but I’m limiting my stuff to like 4k words to each one unless I seriously can’t. Anyways, enjoy!!

Series Masterlist

“Finally! Took you long enough!”

Jeongin drops what he’s doing, throwing his hands up in some sort of exaggerated exasperation.

“Jeongin. I’m literally five minutes early.” You can’t help but situate yourself at the side of the counter that lifts open, blinking at the boy. You greet Choi Beomgyu, another worker, who’s in the middle of making a present look pretty with ribbons.

“I know, but you being here reminds me that I can finally leave and you’re stuck here for the next six hours, ha-ha,” Jeongin rubs the fact in your face as he multitasks, finishing the present he was currently working on.

“And what happens if I leave?” You lift the counter and quickly slip under it. You blindly stick your hand into your tote bag to pull out your Santa hat, plopping it onto the counter before turning to grab one of the four vests hanging underneath the tabletop.

“Then you’d be leaving Jisung Hyung alone, and I know you wouldn’t do that.” Your eyes widen at the mention of Jisung and you shoot Jeongin a glare equal to a warning. You quickly look to see if Beomgyu heard anything and you’re thankful that he’s still very much focused on the present he’s wrapping.

“Yang Jeongin shut your mouth right now!” You shout quietly. Jeongin only knows of your crush on Jisung because the shift that day was slow and Jeongin had managed to fish a confession out of you.

“Do I lie?”

You groan. Because, no, Jeongin was not lying. With all the shit you have to manage at this booth, you couldn't possibly leave Jisung or anyone else alone to handle the booth. This gig was a team task. Yelling moms? You needed that backup. Oh, you’re going to be tying a bow? Let me put my finger here to hold it down. Hell, even if you hated Jisung, you could never leave the boy alone to manage the gift-wrapping booth on his own.

Besides, you liked spending time with Jisung and you were still too afraid to ask him to hang out outside of working hours.

“Lie about what?”

Speaking of the boy, Jisung enters the scene still bundled up in his big puffer coat, scarf, and chunky beanie. He’s peeking between his winter garments, blinking between you and Jeongin.

“Oh, nothing,” Jeongin shrugs. At this point, he’s finished wrapping the present and he’s attaching a label to it for the owner to know which one it was.

Jisung shrugs it off and he slides a drink tray with two large coffee cups, “I got us hot chocolate.” He pulls down his scarf, revealing a red nose (which you guess had resulted from the cold) and a wide grin.

“Thank you so much, Ji,” you gasp, “Let me put my stuff away and I’ll grab mine.”

Jisung nods and busies himself with his coat and toque. While he was at it, Jeongin managed to tease you. “Thank you so much, Ji!”

He instantly earns an elbow to the gut, “You’re just jealous you didn’t get one.”

“Why would I be jealous when I can go get myself one right now?” Jeongin laughs, “Because I’m not gonna be here for the next six hours…” He’s putting his vest away and grabbing his things. Instead of lifting the countertop to leave, he hops over it coolly.

You shoot him one last look, “Yeah, yeah. Now leave. You’re basically loitering.”

“I have to wait for Gyu,” Jeongin points at Beomgyu who was now following in pursuit, “Wanna get some hot chocolate before we leave?”

Beomgyu nods, “Please.” The boy quickly throws on his jacket and grips a beanie and his mitts in one hand. Jisung enters the booth when Beomgyu leaves, almost taking out the younger boy with his backpack on the way in.

“Why is your backpack ginormous?” you stifle a laugh, gathering the presents that Jeongin and Beomgyu had left. The two leave, wishing you guys a good luck. “Have one of Santa’s elves in there or something to help us?” You’re obviously joking, but the child in you is hoping that an elf would truly jump out of Jisung’s bag to offer assistance.

“I wish,” Jisung laughs. He grabs one of the vests and slips it on, “I went to the gym so my gym stuff is in here.” Zipping it open, he pulls out his own Santa hat and tugs it onto his head. The hat pushes his bangs lower over his eyes and you feel your heart jump at how utterly cute he looks.

“Makes sense,” you reply coolly. You continue to organize the wrapped presents, plopping them into bags for the owners when they return.

Without hesitation, Jisung quickly takes a sip of his hot chocolate before he moves to help you organize the wrapped presents into bags. You two do it with ease, having developed a routine over the past few weeks.

When you first met Jisung, he had introduced himself as a student, gym rat, and part-time cashier at a nearby grocery store, opting to take up this job to try something new since it was a seasonal job. You remember not exactly knowing how to react to his introduction, blinking at him for a few, very brief moments before you introduce yourself.

But when Jisung continued to speak to you, it was rather easy for you to figure out that his dorky introduction was the tip of the iceberg when it came to his personality. He spoke about anything and everything with a sense of child-like wonder, interacted with customers like he’d known them for years, and wrapped their presents like they were to be given to the Royal Family.

And though, initially, you weren’t exactly looking forward to having your ear being talked off by him each shift, especially since you found the act of wrapping presents relaxing, you found that being talkative was a big part of his charm. Because of him, the long, dreadful hours flew past like nothing—hell, before you knew it, you were actually looking forward to the shifts despite how much you complained about it every morning.

You suppose this was how you had developed feelings for the boy. Not only was he sweet and apparently good at everything he tried, he was easy and comfortable to be around.

And for you, that was rare.

As all shifts go, you both fall into a comfortable rhythm, chatting about random things to pass the time. Somehow you both were lucky enough to not have the big rush of customers that dropped by the mall on the way home from work, still recovering from the rushes last week with customers who pushed for an amount of wrapped presents that seemed to be enough to give to everyone and their mothers.

You and Jisung were simply given smaller gifts, maybe a bigger box here and there, but most of the presents you were asked to wrap were small and easy, ones that didn’t even take longer than 5 minutes. Considering it was the 21st, it seemed logical that people were buying for quick, last-minute purchases.

“The amount of old people who buy lube is…” Jisung gags. He had just finished a string of stories about how he’s judged customers based on what they buy and this was how he was choosing to conclude it. Your jaw drops as he looks back at you with a pained expression, “Like I mean, good for them but, the amount of old people, you know?”

“I mean… ‘tis the season?” You're unsure whether to laugh or gag, “I guess they’re trying to keep the holiday season spicy or something.” You rip a piece of tape from the dispenser, finishing off one of the last presents from a small group given to the booth.

“Y/N!” Jisung gasps.

“What?” You retort, “You’re the one who brought it up.” You attach a label of the object to the box and place it in a bag that is sitting between you and Jisung.

“I know, but you’re giving me the image of old people…” He shudders, the bell on his Santa hat jingling, “Okay, okay we need to stop talking about lube and old people.” Jisung finishes his own present and plops it next to your finished present.

You snort, moving on to the next present in the pile and physically cringe at it, “Can you believe people are giving other people lingerie? Let alone make other people wrap it? I don’t even think I should be touching this right now.” Lingerie itself wasn’t the problem here, it was the fact that you knew who gave this to you to wrap and it felt fucking weird for you to be wrapping it.

“It’s not like it’s used,” Jisung points out, gesturing to a tag hanging off of the garment. The set you were working on was the last present for the meantime so Jisung had time to kill, “Touch it all you want.”

You elbow him, “How about you do it then.” You toss it into his hands and he jumps back, a yelp escaping his lips. His voice echoes across your part of the mall, catching the attention of shoppers strolling past. You clamp your mouth shut to keep yourself from childishly laughing out loud, eyes glossy from holding it back.

“I–” Jisung gawks at you with a slack jaw and wide eyes, “I can’t believe you just did that!”

You can't hold back the laughter any longer, and it bursts out of you, drawing more curious glances from passersby, “If you have no problem touching it then go ahead and wrap it.”

He groans, “Fine.” Jisung steps up and whips out a gift bag, wrapping the lingerie set with tissue paper before plopping it in. Then, he decoratively sticks in more tissue paper to conceal the intimates. When he finishes, he labels it and pushes it in your direction.

“Thank you,” you say, still recovering from what just happened. You quickly store the present with the others, tucking it beneath the tabletop. “I still honestly don’t understand that… why couldn’t that man just give jewelry or something? A necklace or earrings for a woman is always a safe bet.”

Jisung presses his lips together and he hums, recalling how you said necklaces or earrings were always at the top of your wishlist, simply because you could never get enough of them. “What if she wanted it though?”

“To each their own,” you shrug, “But making us wrap it?” The lingerie set wasn’t the oddest present you both had to wrap, but it’s been a good week and a half since the last one.

“That’s fair, I guess,” Jisung snickers, “We’re like, partaking in their–”

“Okay, that’s enough,” you throw a hand over Jisung’s mouth and give him a look of warning. Jisung opens his mouth to speak but you take your thumb and push his chin up to shut it back closed.

“Ow!”

“I barely did shit, Ji, don’t be dramatic.” You pat his cheek when you let go of his mouth and he frowns, “You made me bite my tongue.”

“Gross, were you going to lick my hand!?” You look at him with knitted brows and wide eyes, wondering how the hell you even developed feelings for this boy.

“No?” It comes out more like a question and a sheepish smile on his face indicates that he was lying through his teeth, “Your hand was covering my mouth!”

“You could have just physically moved my arm away from your mouth!” You counter, throwing a soft punch at his arm.

“You’re mean.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’r–”

“Ahem!”

You two don’t notice that a customer is standing and waiting for you both to notice her, not a hint of Christmas joy in her eyes. Although you don’t see her feet through the booth, you can tell that she is tapping her foot out of impatience.

“Oh, we apologize ma’am,” Jisung speaks up, taking a step forward, “How may we help you?”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Taking your dinner break towards the end of the shift, you leave Jisung alone to manage the booth alone. You waited until it became evident that no more customers were expected to come with an overwhelming number of presents. After being away for a brief thirty minutes, you found Jisung snugly seated on the little step stool tucked away in the corner of the booth.

“Any presents?” you questioned. You shuffle under the gate and scan the inside of the stall, only finding the presents that the two of you had wrapped beforehand.

“Just that,” Jisung points to a small, hexagonal-shaped box sitting by itself next to the bags of other presents, “But that’s it.” He leans his head back, resting it against the counter’s edge before he closes his eyes, “Man I just want to go home.”

“One hour to go,” you sing, “Then we can leave.” You huff and scan the area of the mall that surrounded the booth, noticing that there were already a lot fewer people shopping compared to earlier, “Are you bussing again today?”

You turn your head to look at him, eyes still shut and resting. You couldn’t help but peer at his bottom-heavy set of lips and the way his two front teeth peek out between them... and the way his lashes tickle part of his cheekbones.

You wonder if Han Jisung knew how pretty his features were.

“Yeah,” Jisung hums, “You?”

You answer, “Mmhmm.” And although you and Jisung didn’t take the same bus home, you were still happy to hear that you weren’t going to be waiting alone in the cold for the bus.

The remaining customers who visited the stall were those who were there to pick up the presents you both wrapped, which were easy one-and-done interactions.

As the clock ticked down, you and Jisung found yourselves in a comfortable silence, a shift from your usual banter. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but rather a tired one, both of you ready to finish the day and head home. Interacting with tens of different people was exhausting.

But despite your excitement to actually head home to snuggle up on your couch, your eyes were still flickering back and forth between the mall corridor and the hexagonal box now sitting alone. You go to pick it up, placing it on the tabletop. “Did you get the number for this customer’s gift? Why haven’t they picked it up yet?”

Jisung blinked at the box, sliding it his way, inspecting it as if he had written a name or number on the wrapping paper, “I’m honestly not sure.” “It looks like it’s important,” you frown.

“I’m sure they’ll be back tomorrow if not today,” Jisung grins. He sits the box back down gently and stands almost shoulder to shoulder next to you.

You hope he’s right because it was odd thinking someone had dropped a present off and didn’t pick it up. Hell, the gift was so small that the owner could have just waited for it to be wrapped.

When the final hour passed, you both swiftly closed up the booth, tidying up the wrapping paper, tape dispensers, and tags. The box still sat in the same spot that Jisung placed it in. He takes it, “I’ll put this somewhere safe for tomorrow.”

All you did was nod.

Jisung yawned, his energy visibly drained from the day's work. He picks his bag up after bundling himself up with his winter jacket and scarf. It almost weighs him down, but he regains balance with a shuffle of his feet.

“Well, that's a wrap,” you say, attempting a pun to lighten the mood. Jisung manages a tired chuckle, rolling his eyes and appreciating the effort. The clattering of shutters from other stores rumble throughout the mall and it’s another indication that the shift was finished.

“Finally,” he sighs, stretching his arms above his head, “Let's get out of here.”

Exiting the booth together, you and Jisung head towards the exit closest to the bus stop. It wasn’t snowing or windy, but you could predict that the air was going to be cold, so you brace yourself by hiking the collar of your jacket up over your nose.

When you and Jisung slip out through the doors, you immediately feel the chilly evening air biting at the exposed skin on your faces, an aching contrast to the warmth of the mall. Your pockets do nothing to keep your hands warm, feeling air that managed to slip into your pockets.

“Fuck,” Jisung’s teeth rattle, “Fuck, it’s cold.” His shoulders rise to his ears, his body attempting to keep itself warm. In other circumstances, you would have answered Jisung with something sarcastic like ‘No shit, Sherlock’ or ‘Wait? Really?’, but you were freezing your ass off right now.

It was so cold that you two couldn’t even talk on the way to the bus stop, legs and feet moving quickly to get there. You could feel your lashes stiffening from the cool air, previously moist from the way your eyes had slightly welled up from the slap of cold to your face. You want the bus to come right now and quickly, but last time you checked, it wasn’t coming for another 10 minutes.

As you wait for your buses, you steal glances at Jisung, thoughts still occupied with that seemingly abandoned hexagonal box. Your breath forms small clouds in the frigid air as you try to shake off the cold, eyes flickering between the dimly lit bus stop sign and Jisung's bundled figure.

“Y/N?” Jisung’s voice is muffled by his thick scarf, almost sounding like you were imagining it. But the way his eyes blink back at you, you know he really was talking to you.

“Yeah?” You push your hands deeper into your pockets, seriously regretting not bringing thicker gloves. You need to turn your entire body to look at him, the brim of your toque falling just over your brows.

You silently watch as Jisung slips his bag off his shoulder, sticking his arm in to pull something out. He rummages for a little bit, pushing things aside before he finally finds what he is searching for. Watching in anticipation, you wait for him to reveal whatever it was.

Jisung’s hands open to present the hexagonal box, still neatly wrapped in the booth’s paper, and he pushes it toward you, holding it out.

Your heart skips a beat, “Jisung, why do you have that? I don’t think we’re allowed to bri—”

Jisung shakes his head and he inches closer, still holding the box out for you to take, “Merry Christmas?”

You try to process what is going on, shifting your gaze between the box and Jisung’s eyes, “Wait so…” You gently pick the box up from his hand and then look back up at him, “This is for me?”

The man in front of you nods, “From me.”

The cold air nipping at your fingertips has been long forgotten, “I’m still confused, Ji.”

“Open it,” Jisung says, “I hope you like it.”

“But I didn’t get you anything.”

“Does it look like I care?” Jisung counters, “Open it.”

Your eyes glance up and behind Jisung, making sure that the bus is not on its way to the stop before your fingers begin fumbling with the wrapping paper. The ripping of the wrap fills the silence between you and Jisung, your eyes trained on what was sitting beneath it.

The box is black with faux leather. Nothing on it indicates what it was. No brand name or anything. But when you shake it, the box rattles in the slightest, indicating something small inside.

After crumpling the wrapping paper up into your fist, you go to open the lid of the box and set your eyes on a dainty, gold necklace. The pendant was a simple gold heart, no larger than the tip of your index finger, something you’d definitely pick out for yourself.

“Jisung…” you whisper, running the pad of your thumb over the heart, “You didn’t have to get me this… it’s beautiful, but you didn’t need to get me this.” Your arms stretch out to return the shiny necklace back to him, shaking your head.

“I wanted to,” Jisung declares, “I saw it at the jewelry shop near my gym and thought you’d like it.”

“I do…” you nod, “Thank you, Ji.” You retract your arms and almost cradle the box in your arms, too lazy to put it into your bag, “I promise you I’ll get you a present too… to say thank you.” Behind him, you can see one of your buses from afar, slowly advancing on the icy roads. You feel a sense of relief when you see it’s your bus, already imagining the warmth the vehicle holds inside.

“Scratch that thought,” Jisung notices your bus pulling up, too, so he knows he needs to make this quick, “There’s something else you could do to say thank you.”

“What is it?”

“A date with me?”

Your eyes narrow and you can’t help but throw a soft punch at his arm, “Han Jisung, is this seriously how you’re asking me out on a date? By wooing me with a necklace?”

Jisung rubs the spot of contact and he groans, “No?”

“Cause I’d say that it’s a little bit cute…” you grin shyly.

“Well in that case, yes.” You can hear the smile in Jisung’s voice and you roll your eyes. Of course, this was his plan all along. But you still admit to yourself that it really was cute.

Your bus finally arrives and halts to a stop right in front of you and Jisung. The driver opens the door and your stiff, frozen joints move you up to get into the vehicle. But before you get on, you quickly turn to Jisung, who’s still waiting for an answer.

“A date it is then.”

taglist: @tytrackfebreze @hoonieji @niinjo @dinonuguaegi

an: finally got around to finishing this bc I rly didn't think I'd be this busy but it is what it is,,, hope you enjoyed this! up next is Jake!

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cyberpunk-20xx · 2 years ago

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Kerry's situation is a very painful reminder of how fucked up the game's canon society is, even to the rich people. Which is maybe my biggest gripe with the game. A game where I'm not given even the slightlest chance to change shit around me, a game that's just so pessimistic and cruel in how it treats its characters, so hopeless, is not punk. but that's smth else entirely to talk about.

Back to Kerry. He's less suicidal at the end of the game when V reached out and helped some to sooth his trauma about Johnny, even if one could argue it's maybe just, well, putting him back where he started or indulging a toxic fixation. Depends on your interpretation. But his situation hasn't actually changed, he's still held by his label in a death grip, even if at least his current manager's supposedly out of the picture. But even that i don't believe. All we know for sure is that we burned his yatch. Like. Kerry tells us that his MSM Record manager (can't remember his name and be bothered to check) makes him drink on purpose to get him to sign shit, which is blatant abuse and all we get to do is fucking burn a boat? Let me make the dude a corpse, even if you make me have to work for it jfc.

I really love when fanfic writers actually address that issue btw, because it really hurts me to think about him being left in this bullshit. And in so many endings we know his situation is less than ideal even with V.

Kerry's profound unhappiness is visible in many ways: the state of his house, his insinuated addictions, his impulsive, self-destructive behaviors, his tendency to lash out and paranoia to assume people are against him, and overall defensiveness, his fear of the unknown, his clinging to fame, his refusal to see his kids, his mentioned and hinted suicide attempts. He's a guy who, at 89, doesn't seem to me like he knows what he wants, what he needs.

Personally, it both hurts me and makes me really like him, because I find him relatable in how he reacts to despair. In that aspect, I find him very well-written, even if a lot of shitty tropes and pop star stereotypes are used. Yes, pop stars one.

(One other thing that's devastating about Kerry is that he's a rocker, but he doesn't act like one, according to his own definition (which seems to really just be Johnny's shitty macho definition altho it's a whole label that precedes both of them in the TTRPG lore). Which wouldn't be a problem to me if he also didn't find the genre inferior to rock.)

But what fucks me up the most is that he's dealing with despair at all, when out of the four LIs, he's the one that has the safest, most stable life. Hell, he could even easily leave Night City and never look back, and still create, he's got the money for it, it might sound terribly materialistic of me but the man has enough money to just no longer be dealing with all this shit. But he's stuck there because even at nearly fucking nine decades of life, he's not yet felt seen, heard, or acknowledged. He's still scrambling for his roots and something to look forward at once.

Kerry is 89 and has the self-esteem of a 23 years old still.

If I just listen to my basest instincts, I blame Johnny for a lot of that, but that's the easy way, actually. If I actually think about it, Kerry's responsible of his own life too, and Johnny got nothing to do with how he feels out of touch with his Filipino roots, or him being a burnt out rockstar, Johnny is not that powerful at all, and mostly I blame Arasaka and the corps, and i blame the music industry in the game especially actually, i blame the media and the fans for how Kerry bit by bit stops feeling human in the spotlight, but the thing is, it's harder to be angry at those, even in game. Because we're not actually given meaningful ways to do something about inequality in game, and when you're unable to fight something, your brain becomes apathetic to it. It's just a survival thing. my brain does that a lot. i prize my anger a lot because of that (probably why i am so attached to Johnny tbh).

I think Kerry craves to be seen as the man he is, but his ways to try and fix that is to feed the demigod image his career upholds. I'm mad we can't do something about it, nor see the change he deserves happen. I'm mad a game with "punk" in its name is so hopeless and cynical.

#kerry eurodyne #cp 77 #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk kerry #cp77 kerry #just copypasted from my rambles and edited it a little #as per usual #discord thoughts

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marcusmixes · 11 months ago

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If you knew nothing about Marcus – which he found most people did - and were totally fucking stupid – which he found most people were – then you would probably assume that night-clubs were right up his alley. Marcus dealt in music, blasting it as loud as is medically safe to human ears through his headphones, and he was certainly no stranger to sneaky joint in the comfort of his own flat. The common denominator, of course, being that Marcus found comfort in both music and drugs while tucked neatly into his own comfort zone, away from the loud boom of an inconsistent bassline, poor sub control, and the sweaty bodies of strangers.

Producers, directors and executives alike tended to primarily focus on where the money was rolling in, rather than focus their attention on the actual talent behind the sound. Case in point: Marcus Greene had found himself situated in arguably one of New York’s busiest clubs on a random Tuesday night, cringing away from the unwanted touch of some Big Wig record producer who kept insisting on resting his hand on his thigh. After a solid thirty minutes of what was allegedly being confidently referred to as active negotiations, Marcus waved away the contract that was currently stuck to the table in front of him, remnants of jäger bombs glueing it to the surface. The Brit wasn’t drinking, but the men scouting him – and poorly, at that – had been.

Feeling resigned already and bored out of his mind at their misguided attempts at poaching him, Marcus pushed to his feet and held up a hand to silence the protests that were readily flowing from their lips.

“Even if the money you were offering me was even worth half a glance, I still wouldn’t be interested,” Marcus stated bluntly, his voice lifting into a near-shout to be heard over the music that filled the club. He had never been interested in policing his tone with people he didn’t like. He had no desire to baby anyone, and he wasn’t about to apologise for being honest. His mums had taught him better than that. “Your offer is shit, and I don’t like any of you. I’ve heard more than enough, and I’m not interested.”

Without waiting for a retort, Marcus simply shrugged and turned his back on the men and redirected himself towards the entrance.

Fists clenched at his side, Marcus glanced around him as drunk strangers sidled up next to him, hands pulling and grasping at him as thin-lipped girls so white-girl wasted on bottles of WKD tried to lure him out onto the dancefloor after them. Unfiltered and visibly disgusted, Marcus uttered several Absolutely Not’s as he openly grimaced in their direction, before veering away from the dancefloor entirely.

Another thing that Marcus was looking forward to getting away from – besides the obvious presence of money-grabbing label execs and girls with their inhibitions so loose even Natasha Bedingfield might have something to say about it – was getting well away from the jarring music that was chorusing over the speakers. Earlier on in the night – back when he’d arrived over 40 minutes early for his ‘meeting’, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he’d tried, to no avail, at finding a quiet corner to burrow himself in – Marcus had noted the DJ at the decks. Primarily, he wouldn’t have paid him much notice, not in a setting so far from his realm of comfort, but he’d found himself enthralled with the way the man was seamlessly transitioning between tracks. From his song choices to the way he managed to command the room, even from behind his turntable, he seemed to have complete and total control over each sound that vibrated through the room, and each body that swayed in time to it.

There was none of that, now. With the DJ from earlier seemingly gone, the room was filled with a mismatch of genres, mixed lazily together in a way that made him feel like his ears were bleeding.

With another grimace, Marcus continued his search for the exit, before his gaze landed on the face of a stranger – but a familiar one, at that. Unthinking, he rerouted towards the other man before stopping abruptly in front of him, arms crossed awkwardly across his chest as he blocked the other man’s view, uncomfortably trying to garner his attention.

“I saw your set earlier.”

It was a statement, and a rather abrupt one at that. Kennedy often told Marcus that he could be... awkward. She didn’t say it with an unkindness, but merely because she knew that reading tone wasn’t entirely Marcus’ strong suit – particularly his own. It helped ground him on the rare occasions where he found himself not wanting to offend somebody.

“Sorry. Let me try that again,” he winced, his voice muffled under the ruckus that the other alleged DJ was causing. “I enjoyed your set earlier. You were good. Really good.”

#thread: charlie1 #ft. charlie

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nineslover222 · 1 year ago

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I have no mouth & I must scream

Forgotten, my body is laying on the gurney, two slits in my neck to hose out the blood. Damn. It appears I’m bleeding out alive! Oh my Atlanta! My stupid head is upside down! There’s a pretty woman with long black hair however, so who am I to label this as a dreadful situation! Ms.Banshee (this is her name I’ve decided,) runs her fingers by my neck, properly adjusting the tubes. My body feels like I’ve stuck it against a waterfall! How serene. Ah the pain of feeling dry. Squeezed out by a banshee doing her dishes for I am a sponge. Roses stain me and her hands! What a fine wine I make. To my disappointment, Ms.Banshee is gone and so is my libido. Blue light fancies me instead and I roll my eye. Half of me is scarred by fire and I’ve managed to lose an eye after 109 years, arguably this computer is shit. Imagine destroying humanity and you pick me as 1 of 6 to keep in a sex dungeon! There is nothing to destroy? Once again, computers. It’s to my great pleasure that I don’t have to explain the situation since Ted has already. I will state that I do not like Ted though. I don’t actually quite like anyone here. Anyone as in what’s left of these people. Which is fine, because no one likes me and I get that fact out in tears later. At first this whole thing sucked but I’ve gotten quite used to this. Lucky me! Lucky me! My nerves are fried and the psychology that follows my brain is etched in! Little computer wouldn’t have fun without me anyways! I’m a court jester ya ta da ta da! Or a suck up. Another reason I’m not lyked. I do AM’s job for it. I’m basically employee of the month here. Employee of 109 years.

“Who are you talking to?”

“What.”

“God you’re fucking crazy.”

“Blah Blah I crazy.”

“DONT MAKE REFERENCES.”

“This computer am i right? Ah I have no skin. Now I can see if there’s anything underneath!” Nimdok sighs in a very nazi way.

I throw up. My stomach twists and reminds me of my mom. The bile lands on Gorristor’s shoes and I can already tell he is not amused. My eyelids flicker as I remain humorous. AM pretends to not lyke me but I’m aware of its superficial love for me. Not that AM didn’t attempt to take this from me, in rather depressing manners. But usually AM doesn’t give up on these types of things, I am an exception. I throw up confetti. An unpleasant rainbow sprinkle pile mixed with yellow and clear fluid settles between the rusty metal panels. I wipe my mouth with the bottom of my shirt and lay on the heated metal. The mixture a bit too close to my head. I cook on the metal like a pork chop on a frying pan. My eyes blink slowly, luckily for me i guess it doesn’t take much to make me miserable. My mind already deteriorates at the comparison of myself to a slab of edible flesh. If AM were to attempt to go much further in this area, it’d break me. Which is arguably no fun to fix. It takes time and AM is impatient. Something I’ve also picked up. This drives the other five mad, which I’m sure makes AM happy in some way. As much as I love playing Jester it comes at a tragic cost, I shrug. Staring at the floor besides me and talking to the banshee. Her gross nails stabbing into my muscles. I welcome the pain. AM is cruel but giving me the banshee woman is what gives me the last sliver of sanity. Which is right where AM wants me, standing on a sharp point forever balancing between utter nonsense & meaning. My throat burns and a bloody bile batter spills from the corner of my mouth. Slightly from my nose as-well. Whatever. I don’t have the energy to roll my eye but I stare at hers. The patterns around me shift and I feel sick again. Stuck on a conveyor belt that doesn’t know which way to go. Still and stuck on every axis at the same time. AM understands kinetic energy and time is a cruel concept made up by humans. I stare at a broken clock that randomly decides when it’s not broken. The border of it forms a wallpaper that’s been there since the 60s. I hit the wall and crack several teeth. Sometimes I wonder what this all looks like from the other 5’s point of view. Sometimes I can see. It’s rather comical. I truly am a jester with hooks coming from the inner skeletal system. Stringed up to nothing. Yet moving accordingly. My body has never been mine and will never be. I’ll never even know who owns it either.

Despite my adventures, sometimes I get a glimpse of what’s going on else where. Not that that window was even worth opening. It’s better to stay inside with the banshee and sandpaper that scores its body system of choice. Staring at a blue screen that looks like someone I once knew. This channel sucks. The TV laughs, I’m glad at least someone is enjoying this. Because whoever wrote the plot of this show must’ve been a sadist. That’s what the others say at least. But when I get on my knees and grasp the side of the box, I only manage to see my own disgusting reflection. Eyes that are hollowed in and stare. I smash my head in my sanctuary and the glass lobotomizes me. A fatal flaw in coding. The truth is, I didn’t last 109 years. I managed to last 1. Disappointing I know. Sorry, a jester with suicidal thoughts isn’t a good pet. AM knew this, just another reason to hate humans. Weak. Perhaps a mercy killing.

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againstme · 1 year ago

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wow i always see posts like this right when i’m dealing with the same thing. i think the trans gods are trying to teach me a lesson that i keep running from.

i’m in a place right now where i’m in a position in which i’m passing 100%, and people assume i’m cis 100% of the time, and don’t know that i’m trans unless i choose to disclose that to them, and it’s so conflicting of a situation.

i’m basically having to kill the 16 year old transmedicalist-influenced chase that saw passing as the end goal, passing as the only thing that matters, as the true “reason” to be transitioning. and not feeling that way about others, but so deeply and innately about myself.

all of my life i’ve been running away from so many labels. i’ve always been identifying in a non-conforming way, from being young and yelling “i’m uncomfortable!” when my mom would put me in itchy dresses, later realizing that that was an intersection of autism and gender dysphoria, to getting to a point where i’m being seen as “male” now, but something still feels wrong and inauthentic about it. sometimes i feel like i pushed too far on the gender lever.

but it’s really due to other’s perception, or what i guess is my imagined idea of other’s perception of me.

“is my voice going to give me away? do i sound like a girl? no, i just sound gay. what even is sounding like a girl in the first place?”

“i wore this crop top and got asked by another patient if i like to wear girl’s clothes. am i being found out? did another patient tell him my secret? how will he react? do i wear the shirt again? do i hide in hoodies?”

i just talked to my case manager about all of this becoming so overwhelming, and feeling stretched in all these different directions of ways i feel like i should present and things i feel like i can and can’t talk about, because this one person is ignorant or this other person might talk shit about me or i don’t know if people are gonna look at me and do that look that people do when i tell them and i can tell that they’re trying to imagine me as a woman, and he listened to me go on and on until i ran out of breath and had my head in my hands.

he told me what other people are saying in the tags of this post: that i’m not letting myself be my true authentic self. and that because of that, i’m fearing people’s judgement of me, but not even the real me, of this carefully crafted puppet that i’ve made of myself that’s supposed to fit into the molds of whoever’s around me. “no, i can’t talk about autism around this person. these people don’t know i’m trans. i can’t talk in this group therapy session about gender norms because i was raised as a girl and i don’t want people to look at me weird.”

but i’m not even giving them a chance. i’m not letting myself be seen as the real me, as the real chase that i am when i’m around others that get it. i feel myself getting so wrapped up in the idea of “passing”, in the idea of blending into a crowd that i formerly stuck out in like a sore thumb, but i’m realizing that i want to stick out. i want to be the odd one out, i want there to be discussion about hard shit because i’m breaking the ice and talking about it. and breaking people’s brains, their idea of a trans person and what a trans person looks like or acts like or whatever preconceived idea they have of a trans person in their head.

i’m (slowly) starting to reject the idea of passing. i’m tired of it. i’m tired of dragging around this fucking ball and chain attached to my leg, this huge fear of being found out. so what? why does it matter? why do i feel the need to conform?

people who are obsessed with passing are gonna be the death of our community i swear

#thank u for this post #c.txt #just saving it so i can go back to it don’t mind me!

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kindathoughtprovoking · 3 years ago

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dear god people are being overly literal

#this is about louis’ 1d quotes in music week #he has said similar things before with more nuance and for some reason ppl are latching onto this quote word for word #he isn’t a fucking idiot oh my god #if you look at what he’s said in the bigger picture of ALL his quotes abt the hiatus #he knew it was coming and knew it was necessary #he has said before that it was the reality of the break hitting him and being like Now What #from a personal and professional life adjustment kind of way #also so many people are straight up ignoring he was the second one to drop music #and what he had going on personally #and that he was stuck with a shit management and label situation #i saw a post yesterday suggesting that he didn’t really want to go solo in the beginning bc of these quotes and I am… deeply bothered #that is what Louis haters said #just bc he had personal and professional hurdles #does not mean he didn’t want this #and it doesn’t mean he didn’t know what the others were doing #he has always played hiatus talk this way but I think people are being exceptionally weird and nitpicky about this latest print quote #THE END #anyway I need anons to stop #and I need ppl in general to not rewrite history for the sake of angst

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joshym · 2 years ago

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Lilac Moon

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary:

You’re a singer in a small, local band called Lilac Moon. You play rock and roll music with a bit of a bluesy, jazzy, r&b flair to it. You moved to Nashville with your best friend, Ivy, to pursue your dreams, leaving your families behind as they weren’t the most supportive of this endeavor.

Your band does well enough locally, even having a small group of die hard fans who love you, but you haven’t been able to go much beyond that.

You now have 2 self funded, indie label ep’s out, and currently working on your first album. However, lack of funds is making this venture quite difficult and it’s taking longer than you and the band would’ve liked. This means picking up gigs wherever and whenever the opportunity strikes. It’s mostly small, run down bars that you play, bars that are really only visited by the locals. This makes it a bit hard to get your music out there and the joy of playing has ceased due to lack of motivation.

One night, you and your band have a gig at a small, locally owned bar in East Nashville. To your surprise, all four members of your favorite band just so happen to be in the crowd.

After the show, you catch them talking with your manager.

What could this possibly mean? And why did Josh keep staring at you during the set?

Word Count: 5.4k+

Warnings: (18+ MINORS DNI) *most of these are eventual warnings, not specifically presented in this chapter. each chapter will have it’s own specific set of warnings* angst, mentions of cheating, alcohol abuse, fighting, arrests, drug use, sexual situations, lots of eventual SMUT.

a/n: hi, everyone! ☺️ this is an idea I’ve had stuck in my head for awhile now, and I’ve finally found the time to sit down and write it. I really hope you all enjoy this little brainchild of mine. don’t be afraid to let me know what you think!

much love, lis. 🤍

(let me know if you want to be added to the taglist🫶🏻)

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

You decided to take a stroll through downtown Nashville by yourself this morning, clearing your head after a particularly stressful set with the band last night. Nothing worked right, from the sound system to the lighting, all the way to your tired and worn-out vocals. You had another set tonight at the same bar, and you were incredibly nervous. You needed to get some fresh air, clear your mind, and walking the streets of Nashville in the quiet of the early morning usually did the trick.

You’re walking aimlessly, green tea with honey in hand, when you’re stopped abruptly by running into the back of someone.

You nearly spill your tea all over the unsuspecting man you so rudely collided with. He turns around swiftly as you struggle to keep your balance. Upon turning to face you, you're left breathless. Is this….Josh? Josh Kiszka? From Greta Van Fleet?

Greta Van Fleet is one of your favorite bands, one of your biggest inspirations. You’ve been in love with their music since the early days of From the Fires. You and your best friend followed them to countless gigs, even had a few priceless souvenirs such as some guitar picks from Jake and even a drumstick from Danny.

You knew they lived in Nashville, but over the course of living here over the last few years, your paths somehow never crossed. You were busy, they were busy, it just never happened.

You’re completely still, stuck staring at this man whose music inspired you to chase after your dreams.

He looks at you with a confused grin plastered to his face, and you knew then that you had to say something.

“Holy shit, I am so sorry. I totally wasn’t paying any attention. I didn’t spill this on you, did I?”

You decided then that you wouldn’t let on that you knew who he was. You weren’t going to be that annoying fangirl that gawked at him and made him feel uncomfortable by proclaiming your love for him. So, you did your best to keep your cool, opting to just treat him like the human being he is.

“No, no not at all!” He huffed a laugh. It eased your nerves only slightly. “Just took me by surprise.”

You’re relieved that he’s so cool about it. He giggles more as he takes in your mortified expression.

You stand there for a spell, wondering what to say, when suddenly a very loud laugh comes out of nowhere. You turn to your side to see Sammy, Josh’s little brother and the band's bassist and pianist. You then realize that he was most likely a witness to the whole thing.

“Ah, ignore my dimwitted brother. He’s high as shit at the moment.”

Sammy walks towards you both, holding two lattes that came from the small coffee shop around the corner.

You’re starting to question whether any of this is real. Josh and Sammy, here? With you? It simply can’t be.

“Here’s your oat milk latte, brother, sans dairy so your voice doesn’t turn to shit. Hey, thank you for almost sending my brother to another dimension, but you should try a little harder next time. Really get the job done.”

He pats your back as he’s praising your clumsy act, laughing as he envisions the scenario all over again. You laugh with him, but the embarrassment creeps back up on you and Josh notices.

“Sammy boy, get fucked. She barely nudged me. Besides, it would take a lot more than that to send me to oblivion. I’m quite sturdy on my feet, as you know.”

“Yeah, okay. Pretty sure you’ve been on your ass more than your feet in your lifetime.”

You all start laughing, and the boys are laughing quite loudly as you hold back a little to not embarrass yourself even more with your obnoxious, snorting laugh.

You can’t help but notice Josh’s not-so-subtle glances at you as the two of you make eye contact multiple times. His eyes are so genuine, so sincere. You’re pretty sure you’d get lost in them if you gave yourself half the chance.

There’s no way he’d ever be interested in me, right?

“Um, well, sorry again. I really need to pay better attention. I just zoned out completely, I guess.”

Josh giggles, making you blush.

“No seriously, it’s no big deal. What’s your name?”

“My name's y/n.”

“Well, y/n, this is my much younger, far more immature brother Sammy, and I’m Josh. It’s nice to meet you on this lovely morning.”

You laugh a little at this, not because of what he said about Sammy, but because it seems so strange to you that they’re introducing themselves so casually, like they aren’t rockstars in one of the biggest bands in the world and completely unknown to the fact like you’re one of their biggest fans. You keep up the act, not wanting to make this encounter anymore awkward for you.

“It’s nice to meet you guys, too! I, um, should probably get going. Pretty busy day. I’m sorry again. I’ll pay better attention next time!”

“Oh, next time, huh? Look Josh, she’s already planning your second date!”

“Sam, you're absolutely insufferable. I sincerely mean it, y/n. No hard feelings at all. But I’m holding you to that paying attention sentiment. Some people around here aren’t nearly as pleasant as I am.”

There was something about hearing him say your name that instantly caused the butterflies in your stomach to swarm.

He ended his statement with a wink. You smiled and looked down at your feet, attempting to hide the blush that was again creeping up on your cheeks.

“Thanks, Josh. Hope to see you guys around sometime!”

You continued your walk while waving back at the rockstar brothers, nearly crashing into yet another bystander and causing them both to laugh.

What you didn’t know was Josh watched you walk away until you were out of sight. He was captivated by you. He loved how shy and sweet you were, and he thought it was adorable how your cheeks turned pink with almost every word he said. He knew he wouldn’t forget you, and he genuinely hoped you would bump into him again.

“Oh, Joshua. You foolish fuck.”

“Um, pardon me?”

“She was clearly into you. You’re batshit for not asking for her number.”

“I don’t know, Sam. I think the universe might have something in store beyond our control. I don’t believe that’s the last I’ll see of her.”

“Damn hippie.”

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

You’ve been resting most of the day, drinking lots of warm tea and gearing up for the show tonight that you’d been secretly dreading.

You love music. You love performing. You love the feeling of being on stage. Nothing compares to it. But lately, you've been in a slump. You’ve lost your confidence, your ambition. You’re quickly running out of money, and the small amount that these gigs make you and the band is hardly enough to keep you afloat.

You want to finish the album. You want to move forward from this phase in your career. It just wasn’t happening, and you felt stagnant.

You’re not sure how much longer you can continue these bar gigs full of drunk, mindless people who couldn’t give a shit one about your art. If you have to listen to one more belligerent man yelling at you to take your top off in the middle of a heartfelt song, you might *accidentally* toss an amplifier in the general direction of said man.

You hate that you feel this way. You hate that the music has become lost in the stress of trying to make enough money to eat.

You want to go back to the beginning of it all, back to wanting nothing more than to make the music you want to make with the people you love the most. That all seems like a distant memory, a dream of a dream trapped in another lifetime.

Still yet, you tried your best and gave your all in every show.

You were often emotional on stage as the lyrics you typically write come straight from your heart. There’s something so magical about creating a song and sharing it with the world. It’s when you allow yourself to be your most vulnerable, to truly let the music guide your spirit.

There’s always a bet in place amongst your bandmates over whether or not you’ll cry during a set. Jokes on the ones betting that you won’t break down in tears, because 9 times out of 10, you do.

Although you still weren’t thrilled about playing in the same, lackluster bar as the night before, something about tonight felt different. You couldn’t quite pinpoint it. You somehow felt a little lighter, a little more inspired. Maybe tonight won’t be as much of a shitshow. You hoped for as much, at least.

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

You arrived at the bar around 5:00 in the evening, about two hours before the doors were set to open. You weren’t scheduled to hit the stage until 9:00, but you and the band wanted a little extra time for a soundcheck given how messy last night was.

You all start getting things set up, but it didn’t take long considering you had left most of it in place from the night before.

You’re in front of the microphone stand preparing for a mic check when the go ahead is given from the guy in the sound booth. You started singing a little melody you randomly came up with, moving your thumb up and down a few times signaling where you needed the volume set.

You never used any sort of in-ear monitors over fear of them not working properly, and you just never saw the need for them since you mostly played really small venues. This meant that the sound truly needed to be perfected at every show to ensure you could hear yourself and your bandmates properly.

Still talking to the mic, you decide to tell everyone about your encounter earlier.

“You guys will never believe who I ran into this morning. And by that I mean I quite literally ran into him, like physically bumped into his back. I wanted to crawl in a hole.”

Jay, the guitarist, (and unfortunately your ex) had to chime in with his typical rhetoric of mocking you and your not-so-graceful moments.

“Jesus, y/n. It’s a wonder they let you out on your own and not worry about whether or not you’ll be fit to sing the next day. Why is it you always find yourself in these stupid situations?”

“To be fair, it’s because you played like shit last night and I had to think of how we were going to make up for it tonight. So, I guess you could say I was a bit distracted.”

The other two in the band bust up in laughter.

You and Jay never really rekindled your friendship after the break up, considering he cheated on you multiple times, with multiple different women.

You managed to keep things professional, because as much as you hated to admit it, he was a damn good guitar player and you two have written some wonderful pieces together. Your music just wouldn’t be the same without each other.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough, guys. Tell us, y/n! I’m dying to know.”

Your bassist, Ivy, has been your best friend for the better part of the last decade. You two decided to leave your hometown behind and take on Nashville together, to live out your dreams.

She wasn’t a huge fan of Jay. Never had been, if she were to be honest. She never fully approved of you two dating over fear that he’d do, well, exactly what he did. She could see right through him when you were stuck with your rose-colored glasses on. She tolerated him for the sake of the band, but you’re her best friend. More like her sister. She hated him for what he did to you.

“Okay, first let me ask you this. Who would you say my favorite band is?”

Ivy immediately stops what she’s doing and looks at you with wide eyes and an open mouth.

She knows exactly where this is going.

The two of you had gone to as many of their shows as you could before starting the band. You guys had always bonded over music, and Greta Van Fleet was a band that made your friendship even stronger. They brought out the best parts of you both.

“No fucking way.”

You just look at her with the biggest smile on your face as hers displays more and more shock.

“Are you fucking serious, y/n?” she asks with the biggest grin you think you’ve ever seen on her.

Julien, the drummer, also caught on immediately. He knows you and Ivy had a huge thing for Greta Van Fleet in the past. (still do, unapologetically)

“Oh my god, holy shit, y/n. Which one did you meet?”

“Josh. Fucking Josh. And I didn’t just meet him, I slammed into him from behind because I was off in my own world. Then Sammy came up and he-”

Ivy cuts you off with a loud gasp.

“JOSH? SAM? You’re shitting me. What were they like? What did you say?”

“Josh was so nice, so funny. And Sammy was hilarious. But I was so embarrassed and honestly completely taken off guard. I didn’t say much, just kept telling him I was sorry for invading his space that way.”

“Did you tell them about the band? About how much their music inspired us?”

“Well, no. In fact I acted like I didn’t know them at all. I didn’t want to embarrass myself even more, ya know? And I didn’t want it to turn into a shameless plug.”

“You’re much stronger than I am, y/n. I probably would’ve lost my fucking mind. I’m proud of you for keeping your composure.”

The three of you laugh as you all know damn well that Ivy was right in saying she would’ve lost her mind.

Jay then shoots you a look of pure anger as he makes his way over to you.

“What the fuck, y/n! That could’ve been our chance! They could’ve hooked us up with their people, their label, anything! You fucked us over! You didn’t even invite them to the show? Fucking ridiculous.”

“I didn’t want to bother them with that! They probably get so sick of things like that, of small bands using them to get their name out. I refuse to be that person. We’re not that desperate, Jay.”

“You’re so selfish, you know that?”

With that he storms off, leaving you and the rest of the band in complete silence.

Julien walks up to you, wrapping you in a big hug. A world famous, Julien hug.

“Don’t listen to him, y/n. You did the right thing.”

Julien is the peacekeeper in the group, and whenever trouble brews he’s usually the first to ease the tensions.

He followed Jay to try and alleviate some of his anger so that you all could have a proper soundcheck.

“God, he’s a prick. Why do we keep him around again, y/n?”

You huff out a laugh while you’re adjusting your mic stand to the perfect height.

“When you find another guitarist with half his skill, let me know and we’ll drop him. Until then, I think we’re stuck, Ivy.”

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

7:30 pm

You had run through a pretty successful soundcheck and had now gone backstage to your respective dressing rooms to get ready.

You and Ivy typically shared a room so you both could share makeup and stage clothes. You liked to coordinate with each other for performances.

The rooms were small and dingy, and they wreaked of old cigarettes and stale beer. They also barely had any lighting so you two had to use the flashlights on your phones to be able to see to do your makeup.

Tonight, you had decided on a black leather mini skirt with black tights and a strapless black bandeau top with a sheer bell sleeved crop top over it that tied in the front. You chose a pair of black doc martens to complete the look, along with your insane number of necklaces that you stacked with precision.

Ivy chose a low cut, short black dress that hugged her curves in the perfect way. She was a lot more graceful in heels than you, so she donned a pair of black leather knee high boots with a 4 inch heel. She added the finishing touches with her necklaces that perfectly matched yours.

You both had done your hair in messy curls with tons of volume, and your makeup each consisted of a sultry, smokey eye with nude lips.

You both looked damn good.

The guys typically opted for a more casual stage look, usually jeans with some sort of ripped up t-shirt. They didn’t seem to care quite as much as you and Ivy.

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

8:55 pm

“You guys have 5 minutes! Better be ready or I’ll have your asses!”

Joe is the ‘unofficial’ manager of Lilac Moon. He’s basically everyone's dad who is there to keep you all in line. He’s technically retired from the music business, having been everything from a producer and a sound technician, to a member of multiple different groups, playing just about every instrument under the sun. He’s a bit of a jack of all trades, you could say.

He barely gets paid, but he doesn't mind. He enjoys the music and loves being the mentor for the group. He isn’t afraid to tell it straight, but he always has a loving intent.

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

9:03 pm

Jay and Julien are already on stage ready to go, keeping the crowd entertained while you and Ivy finish up some last minute touches to your stage looks. It’s not uncommon for you two to be the last ones to make it out.

“Y/n! Ivy! It’s past nine, let’s go! You look fine, now get yourselves out there!”

“Shit. Sorry, Joe! We’re ready!”

You and Ivy finally hit the stage to roaring applause as your local fans are excited to see you both.

Ivy quickly grabs her white Hofner violin bass, already plugged in and ready to be played.

You make your way to the mic and start talking to the crowd, making some of your famous (more like infamous) jokes to warm up the audience.

You look back and nod at the band, signaling that you’re ready. At last, the bar is filled with the sounds of Lilac Moon.

The crowd is quite loud and excited tonight. You all feed off of their energy perfectly as you play your music. You changed the set a bit from the night before, so everything felt fresh and new. It was going so much better than last night, and you felt the love radiating from the crowd in ways you never had before.

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

9:47 pm

You’re at the part of the night that your set typically slows down, doing a few softer, ballad-like songs.

You had been working on a new song for awhile. It was loosely based on your experience with Jay. You hadn’t performed it yet, knowing you would be entirely too emotional, but you decided that tonight was the night for it. You were ready.

Before you and Jay split up, he had been teaching you guitar so you could eventually play a little on stage with him. Well, since you broke up, you’ve not really wanted to pick up the instrument again. This new song, though…it requires a bit of backing rhythm guitar, meaning you’re the one that needs to play it.

You walked to the guitar stand to pick up your baby blue epiphone les paul that you bought yourself second hand several years ago. This is the first time you’ll be playing it on stage, and you’re nervous.

“If you’ve been to a Lilac Moon show before, you know this is, um - a bit out of the ordinary.”

The crowd laughs as you get your guitar set up comfortably.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been practicing. But if it sounds like shit, just blame Jay.”

You glance at him with a smirk as he throws a matching one right back at you.

Right as you're about to strum the beginning chords of the song, you notice a familiar set of faces in the crowd, albeit faces you’ve never seen at one of your shows before.

You’re completely still as you lock eyes with none other than Josh. To say you’re stunned is an understatement.

He looks just as shocked as you, with a large, confused smile gracing his face. There’s no way he remembers you, right? No - no way in hell.

To make matters worse, the whole band is here. They’re with other people whom you can only assume are friends of theirs, possibly their security team or management.

You’re not sure how long they’ve been here as the lights pointing to the stage have been far too bright to make out any faces in the crowd up until this point, save for the ones who were right up against the stage.

If you had to guess, you’d say they’ve been here the whole time. Now you’re really nervous. And you’re about to play guitar for the first time in front of a crowd-in front of them.

It’s too late to back out now, and with your bandmates looking at you with subtle confusion, you decide to just go for it.

“This is a new song we’ve been working on, it’s still a bit of a work in progress so bare with us. It’s called “Alone Again.”’

The crowd gets excited at the thought of new music and you’re happy with the reaction.

The song begins. You start strumming the chords and singing, already feeling the emotions rise.

Don’t you dare start crying, y/n. Not in front of them.

The bridge of this song is passionate, serving as the climax to the eventual heartbreak the song ends with.

You’re really worked up, unable to control the emotions any longer.

You step away from the mic briefly as you gather yourself during the chorus, Ivys’ backing vocals taking over. Julien watches you with concern as his drumming increases to a wild pace.

You gain your composure and step back in front of the mic, singing with so much fervency.

The song ends strong. The crowd is the loudest they’ve been this whole night.

You did it. You fucking did it.

You set your guitar back on the stand and grab the mic.

“What’s a Lilac Moon show without a little emotional breakdown from yours truly, am I right?”

You do this sometimes to lighten the mood a bit, when it all becomes a bit too heavy for your liking. You laugh with the crowd as you all prepare for the final song.

“Let’s get a little louder, shall we?”

The audience cheers as you perform the last song. It’s an upbeat, good old fashioned rock and roll song that never fails to garner a strong reaction from your fans.

You glance every so often to see the famous rock stars dancing and having a great time.

You can’t believe it. They seem to be enjoying themselves, listening to your music. You would have never in a million years seen this coming.

You finish the song to loud, boisterous applause as you all make your way off stage.

You quickly run up to Ivy to ask her if she saw what you saw, but you’re cut off by the loud chanting of “ENCORE” coming from the audience.

“What the hell? They want an encore?”

You’re surprised as this has never happened before.

“Well shit, kids. Get back out there! Give the people what they want!”

Joe is practically shoving you guys back on stage. You’re all in utter shock as you make your way back out.

The cheering is almost deafening as you begin another song.

You’re filled with so much love and excitement as you can feel it emitting from the people in the audience. You feel fulfilled, you feel happy.

As you’re performing your encore, you can’t help but notice that it seems the boys and their entourage are no longer in the crowd.

You’re betting they just wanted to leave before the after-show chaos ensues, but you can’t help feeling like maybe they just weren’t impressed enough to stick around for the encore.

You quickly shove those thoughts down to give the audience the best you can give. It was the perfect ending to this amazing show. You guys even decide to throw in your own little rendition of Me and Bobby McGee by Janis Joplin, a crowd favorite cover of yours.

Julien tosses his drumsticks to the crowd as Jay follows suit with a few guitar picks as you exit the stage for the final time.

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

10:24 pm

You’re all backstage again, full of pure adrenaline.

Julien runs around hugging everyone and gives you and Ivy enthusiastic kisses on your foreheads.

“Holy shit, guys! I think that’s the best we’ve ever been! Where’s Jay?”

Ivy rolls her eyes and looks at you before responding.

“He’s probably already at the bar on his third or fourth drink. You know how he is; the drinking binge begins as soon as he’s done with his responsibilities to the band.”

You’re not interested in talking about Jay. You have to ask them if they saw the guys in the audience.

“Did you guys see who was out there tonight? I almost lost my shit.”

“What? No, who are you talking about?”

Julien is a bit confused, but Ivy saw them too.

“Holy shit, y/n. What the hell were they doing here? I thought you said you didn’t tell them about us?”

“I didn’t, I swear! I’m just as confused as you are!”

You both hug each other, laughing and trying to make sense of it all.

Julien has already moved on from the conversation, making his way to the bathrooms.

You start to head back to your dressing room to gather up your things when a thought enters your head.

Where’s Joe? He’s always waiting on the side of the stage for us, always there when we exit. Why wasn’t he there after the encore?

As you turn the corner, you see him.

“Joe! There you are! Did you see-”

You then realize that he’s not alone. He’s talking with some people, but not just any people.

He’s talking with Josh, Jake, Sammy and Danny, and the people they came to the bar with were also part of this conversation.

You stop dead in your tracks.

What the hell are they doing back here? And why are they talking to Joe?

“Y/N! Holy shit, you sly dog, you!”

Sammy runs up to you and embraces you in the kind of hug you give to someone you’ve known your whole life. You eagerly hug him back. You can’t believe he remembers you.

Here comes Josh with a huge, toothy smile on his face.

“Hey, y/n!

He pushes Sammy to the side so he can have his turn giving you a hug. He sways you back and forth in his arms a bit and you practically melt under his touch. You feel you could stay in the safety of his arms for the rest of your life.

He breaks the embrace but keeps his hands planted on your shoulders.

“You know it’s funny, but I can’t seem to recall you telling us you’re in a band. A fucking incredible one, at that!”

“I-I guess I just didn’t think to mention it. What on earth are you guys doing here? I feel like bars like this aren’t really your speed?”

Danny starts to make his way over to you, leaving Jake and their team with Joe to finish the conversation.

“Daniel here has been trying to get us to come and see this band he’s been digging for a while now and we finally agreed. Had I known how fantastic you were, I wouldn’t have hesitated!”

“I don’t know why you idiots haven’t learned by now that you should always trust my music taste.”

Danny introduces himself to you, and you’re once again in shock.

Danny knows your band? He actually digs your music?

“I swear every time I see you guys, you blow me away! Truly great stuff.”

How many shows has he been to??

“Oh my god, thank you so much. I’m not even sure what to say. I mean, you guys are incredible and I’m a huge fan. I wouldn’t have ever expected you all to be here and-”

Your rambling is cut short by Josh removing his hands from your shoulders, displaying a look of slight concern mixed with a smirk.

“Wait, you’re a fan of us? You could’ve fooled me! Why didn’t you act like it when we met you this morning?”

Shit. Your act is up.

“Well, I guess I was just in shock and didn’t want you to think I was just another crazed fan who just so happened to run into you accidentally-on-purpose, you know? I swear, it truly was an accident.”

Josh starts giggling at you, seeing that familiar look of embarrassment flushing your face again.

“Oh trust me, y/n. I have no doubt it was an accident. You looked like you saw a ghost or something.”

He grabs your arm, letting you know it’s okay and that you can relieve some of your visible tension.

“So what are you guys doing back here? What were you talking to Joe about?”

About that time, you hear a high pitched shrill coming from behind you. You instantly know it’s Ivy.

She runs up to you and the guys and introduces herself to them. She’s having a hard time hiding the fact that she’s a major fan, and you can’t help but laugh at her and her enthusiasm as she hugs them.

Joe, Jake and the people accompanying them start to make their way over to you all.

Jake gives his brothers a confirming nod.

“We’re all set, boys. I suppose we just need the official ‘okay’ from the band.”

Jake glances your way, his cheekbones high on his face and he smiles at you both.

You and Ivy look at each other with genuine confusion as you can’t figure out what the hell is going on. You both look to Joe for some answers as he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Y/n, Ivy, the boys and their management have asked me if you would like to join them on the road for the first half of their next tour starting in July. Thoughts on this, ladies?”

You’re both at a loss for words. They want you to join them? What? Is this actually happening?

You instantly look at Josh who appears to be anxiously awaiting your answer as he chimes in.

“You see, we’re down an opener for the first part of the tour, and that’s why Daniel wanted us to come watch you guys tonight. He figured you all would be perfect for the job, and I agree. So what do you say? Care to join us on this audacious trip?”

“Oh my god..I-I mean we’ll have to check with Julien and Jay but, I don’t see why not! That sounds amazing! I can’t believe it, you want us?”

“Josh absolutely insisted on it as soon as you walked out on stage. In fact he could hardly keep his eyes off you, isn’t that right, bro?” Sammy says as he nudges your shoulder and throws you a wink.

You look at Josh to see that his cheeks are the ones burning red this time.

Julien is practically sprinting down the hall when he figures out who’s backstage with you.

“What’s up, guys? Huge fan of your stuff, seriously. So sick to see you here!”

He gives them all handshakes that turn into his notable hugs.

“Hey Jules, they just asked us to join them on the road this summer. Think that’s a good idea?” you ask him as he’s instantly making friends with the other drummer.

“Are- are you fucking serious? Of course I do! No way, man!”

You all break out in laughter as he makes yet another round of handshakes and hugs to show his gratitude.

Josh moves a little closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and bumping your hip with his playfully.

“So, it’s settled then, y/n?”

You look at Ivy as she’s vigorously nodding her head up and down, tears in her eyes as she’s struggling to contain her excitement.

“I think that’s a resounding yes!”

to be continued...

Chapter 2

join the taglist!

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

taglist: @jakeyt

#josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #sammy kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet fic #gvf fic #josh kiszka smut #greta van fleet smut #josh fic #lilac moon

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fvrsaeken · 2 years ago

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he's still not yelling and she couldn't tell if she was glad because she didn't want him passing out, or because she knew she'd break the second he did. it was definitely a mix of the two. because she wasn't really mad at him, she was mad at the situations that the world had put them in. sure they had, in a way signed up for some of this when they decided they wanted to be famous but all of this? this trauma? this pain? fuck, no one in the world would sign up for that shit.

"but you can't stand there and tell me no one tried because i fucking did and that's not fair!" she ran her hands over her face and up into her hair. "i don't know what you want me to say carl! do you want me to say that i'm sorry for not doing more? i don't know what i'm supposed to do!" it was the first genuine question she'd had, despite the anguish in her voice.

all she could do was stare at him as he finally started to yell at her. she was trying to figure out what he was getting at. if he was blaming her for having a stable relationship before hannah died or what was happening. she didn't say anything. she didn't have anything to even say because everything she said would be twisted she was sure, with how angry he was. she wanted to yell back that people hated her for dating hannah too. not to the extent of getting death threats, but homophobic slurs and insults were nothing new to the former couple. and when people finally caught the inkling that her and bergen were getting closer? they used it. twisted it to make it seem like everyone could be cured from their "demons" as they put it. they didn't care that she was bi. they cared that she settled for a man. that was all they needed to make their stupid fucking point.

it was true. he was right she had told him she didn't wand to talk before she just went off. and if she wasn't shaking and crying she probably would have said that she hadn't meant to yell at him but she was just yelling at the shit situation she'd found herself in. she was stuck in the loop of her own self loathing except this time there was collateral damage greater than just her own ego and self-image. then came the words that felt like he had just stabbed her. actually she definitely thought that stabbing her would have been kinder. she took a step back as she tried to process the words that had just been thrown at her. "i..." all the anger that was left in her disappeared so quickly after that. "but i..." her eyes were wider than they'd ever been, the lump in her throat getting harder and harder to swallow. "that's not fair." she tried to sound strong but she could hear her voice wavering. "i was seventeen... i don't know what i could have done... every time i wanted to try and help everyone would tell me to let the grownups handle it but they weren't! i didn't know what to do... but i..." she couldn't even finish her sentence before the dam finally burst and she let out the most heartbreaking sob. was he really blaming her for that? had the damage been done? she remembered going to their dad, she remembered going to her old manager, and her old label. she even remembered going to carl's old team. multiple times. but each time she was met with: "you're just a kid, let the grownups handle it." and again, she was seventeen, she didn't know what to do. maybe she should have tried harder, gotten carl to slowly start moving his stuff into her house so she could at least try to keep him safe.

when he grabbed his phone, judith wanted to stop him, wanted to tell him that she never wanted to fight like this and that she just wanted a little pity party. but she was still sobbing and it was getting harder and harder for her to breathe, so she settled for sinking to the ground to pick up the contents of the drawer she'd upturned. she couldn't get her breathing under control and the panic attack she was heading towards was getting closer but she couldn't let that happen. not yet. she just had to hang on a little longer, now that carl had started yelling she knew bergen would be close by and once carl left, he'd be there. he'd get her through yet another panic attack. she couldn't even bring herself to acknowledge what he had said for fear that the last remnants of her sanity would slip away. so instead she sat sobbing and cleaning up the mess she'd made, wondering how much damage they had truly done.

HE'S HAD ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT, listening to his sister throw a tantrum like she was the only one affected. sure, it probably sounds fucking selfish, but carl was hit so much harder. people eventually stopped talking about judith, people STILL talk about carl. he still gets tweets directed about him, but they've ramped up since act 2 released. now he gets ones about still being on drugs, because no one with a 'decently functioning brain' would consider the music he made normal. that and the tweet he made about it being four different experiences depending on your state of mind: sober, drunk, high on weed, high on acid. that one still gets quote tweeted three weeks later with 'and how would you know that it's different if you haven't tested it out yourself ??' his addictions are going to haunt him for the rest of his life, no matter whether or not he's still suffering from them.

❝ you can try all you fucking want, judith, it's not gonna mean shit. things can come off the internet, but you can't wipe people's memories. even the people that are like 'i've heard he's got cool ass music' get responded to with 'he's a drug addict, don't listen to his music because he'll use the money for more shit.' i get that people are allowed to have their own thoughts and opinions, but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, it's all i hear. did you know that for the entire day of the release party all i heard from rebecca was 'don't go near the bar, okay ??' god, it was fucking annoying. you don't get told 'don't go near another girl,' but i get told to stay away from places because maybe, JUST MAYBE, i'll fucking cave. ❞

HE WASN'T REFERRING TO JUDITH KNOWING WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO BE SHIT ON, he was referring to her knowing what it was like to have people want you dead. hearing her say he's blaming her is what makes carl snap, what makes him start actually yelling. ❝ JESUS CHRIST, I WAS TALKING ABOUT PEOPLE WANTING ME DEAD !! I GET FUCKING DEATH THREATS, JUDE !! NOT JUST BECAUSE OF WHAT I DID, BUT BECAUSE OF WHO I AM !! BECAUSE I'M A GAY MAN DATING A TRANSGENDER MAN !! I GET PEOPLE TELLING ME THEY'LL FIND OUT WHERE I LIVE AND FUCKING MURDER ME !! THIS IS WHY I DON'T TYPICALLY GO OUT IN PUBLIC ALONE !! YOU HAVE BERGEN WITH YOU ALL THE TIME, DAD HIRED HIM FOR YOU, AND WHO THE FUCK DO I HAVE ?? NO ONE !! AND YOU DIDN'T LIVE WITH SOMEONE WHO SCREAMED AT YOU AND CONTROLLED YOU AND TRIED TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU AND THREATED TO KILL YOU IF YOU EVER TRIED TO LEAVE HIM !! YOU DON'T GET TO STAND THERE AND ACT LIKE YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO HAVE PEOPLE WANT YOU DEAD !! ❞

HE'S NEVER YELLED AT JUDITH LIKE THIS, he knows that yelling upsets her, considering she heard nearly constantly it for almost six years after lori died. it seemed like all carl and rick ever did was scream at each other, the only times they were ever civil was if company was over or they were in public. a normal volume of voice was not on their mind ever. it really was a wonder rick's co - workers weren't at the house weekly for a domestic disturbance. ❝ FUCK YOU, TOO !! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO SAT THERE TELLING ME YOU DIDN'T WANNA TALK ABOUT ANYTHING, BUT THEN STARTED DUMPING ALL OF YOUR SHIT ON ME !! YOU ACT LIKE I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT ANYTHING THAT HAPPENED TO YOU !! WHO WAS THERE THE SECOND HE GOT TOLD HANNAH DIED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU ?? ME !! WHO'S THE ONE WHO WROTE AN ENTIRE FUCKING SONG FOR HER BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH SHE MEANT TO YOU ?? ME !! I WAS THERE FOR YOU FOR THAT, YET YOU SAT BACK AND LET EVERYONE ELSE HANDLE IT WHEN RON TREATED ME LIKE SHIT !! WHO'S THE ONE WHO DIDN'T CARE NOW ?? ❞

'IF ALL YOU CAME HERE TO DO WAS THIS, THEN GET OUT.' fine. he swipes his phone off the counter, taking a deep breath to stop himself from sobbing and to try and calm down, because he can feel the tears stinging his eyes and his heartbeat slowing down. he's stressed the fuck out, but yelling like this is making it worse. ❝ fine, i'll leave. i'll fucking leave and just let you sit there in your own self pity. since that's CLEARLY what you want. ❞

#carltongrimes #&.* j.g. | interactions #&.* j.g. | a. miss americana #tw: drug mention

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alwaysxyou · 2 years ago

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I think what's extra frustrating about this whole situation is just the not knowing when or why of it. Like I know it can't go on forever but there have been so many times where it seems like we're getting somewhere (bye bye Elevator) and then bam something else hits us. I just hate it for louis

i said i wasnt going to respond to this right now but im fired up now and i am going to answer it. none of this is about coming out none of this is about larry none of it is about being gay even! it's does louis know he deserves better.

you don't want to draw attention to your actual relationship - why do you need to even speak about it? answer questions with that you'd like to keep your private life private and that's the end of it. "oh you used to be so open? yeah i was a lot younger and now ive grown up a bit and realized i want to keep it private" any one who pushes it is labeled as an asshole interviewer. publicist listening in to every single non-live on air interview and jumping in to skip questions if necessary. only do live interviews with anchors and hosts you trust and have agreed to keep it professional beforehand. get the best media training in the business and have every possible answer locked into your brain.

you don't want people to think you're gay - why not? nothing wrong with being gay. but in any case, see answer above about not wanting to talk about your personal life and then turn the answer back to the fans "im not/i don't like to talk about my personal life but what matters to me is the fans and im so honored to have fans from that community." next question

"well he needs the publicity" well he's not getting any now. the only publicity from that stunt walk was talking about how young she was, or how quickly he moved on from e. how about louis at a charity event? the gossip sites post pictures of louis with f or stories he tells but want to know what else they would post in the same way? pictures of louis with a dog. or a lizard. or a hamburger. or shirtless!

also! where is the doc promo! or tour promo! where is the exclusive with first look photos and interview with day of tickets coming out? where are the ticket specials in the cities where tour needs to be sold more (buy a tour ticket get a free movie ticket)? where are the merch bundles (buy a shirt get a movie ticket voucher)? or just merch in general? where are the radio spots and the billboards and the bus stop ads and the commercials and the social media? radio interviews in tour cities? they wouldn't do a press junket yet but! and if no one brought those up why isn't louis or his manager saying something and asking for those plans and those rollouts? and if they aren't getting those or know what to ask for why aren't they hiring people to figure out what's not working and make it happen?

you don't have to come out, you don't have to reveal your relationship, you don't have to even elude to anything. but you do deserve better treatment, better promo, a better image. privacy, kindness, fans, general population respect. what might have been the way people did it in 2013 isn't the same as 2023. but all of louis' rollouts are stuck there. once upon a time for an artist, the worst thing you could be was gay. and even if that's not the case anymore, if that's still where your head is okay. you don't have to come out. but you don't deserve to be doing this shit or putting yourself through this either.

he got out of sony, he got out of modest. he claims to be the boss so goddamn put your foot down and take a fucking stand. if there's lasting contracts or whatever get the best lawyer out there and fucking take back what you deserve. and don't fucking settle for anything less. someone on your team has an idea you don't like? too bad for them, you pay them, you make the ultimate decision. and if they don't let you or try to fuck you over, you hire someone else. and do that again and again until you get what you want. life is too freaking fucking short to not be putting yourself into the best possible situations wherever you can. louis deserves that.

#stunts tw #asks #anon #also obviously we don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes #which I’ll always disclaimer as #just! this is how it’s appearing and I wonder if they know that

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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

Text

( this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #bucky x you #BOY OH BOY THE FORMATTING I WANNA SCREAM

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dracosathenaeum · 4 years ago

Text

The Game | D.M.

Summary: You and Draco are friends with benefits but a game of spin the bottle causes you both to rethink your situation

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x reader, slight Fred Weasley x reader (hot make out scene 👀)

Warnings: Smut, angst, daddy kink, baths, alcohol

Word Count: 3,651

A/N: You’ve just lost the game, you’re welcome xx I also wasn't going to post this tonight but @fuckingdraco and @dracoswift hyped me up, ily <3

MASTERLIST

FOR THE NON-BRITS: touchwood = knock on wood

You weren’t anything special. No golden girl like Granger, not a descendant from anyone of significance, no. You were just you. And perhaps that was why he was so surprised when his heart started tugging at his chest every time you left his arms.

He had been with countless the girls.

He had touched you the same as he had touched Pansy.

He had kissed you the same way he had kissed Daphne.

He had held you the same way he had held Millicent.

He had fucked you the same way he had fucked half the girls in the year.

Yet you still managed to be different.

You had started out as just another pass time, but you had lasted longer than any of his other flings, and beating Pansy was a trial in itself. She had stuck to him like glue in between other flings. He didn’t hate her company; he just knew he your company hadn’t become annoying to him yet, and that was all he needed. Maybe that’s why you had lasted so long, as soon as he realised girls started falling for him, he would pull away and break things off. But it had been almost half a year of your mutual agreement and you showed no signs of infatuation, no pesky feelings that would get in the way of good sex and he liked that.

He hadn’t grown tired of you. Hadn’t begun to find your voice annoying or your kisses dull. He still loved the way you felt in his arms, loved waking up to you curled into his side and most of all, being inside of you.

He wasn’t in love, feelings may be there, but not love. Not that he was willing to jeopardise his consistent shag of course, finding another girl to take over would be easy, finding one who wouldn’t catch feelings would be the hard part. Besides, he was used to you, if you wanted to break off the arrangement, he wouldn’t stop you but he sure as hell wouldn’t be the one to do it. He would simply wait it out, wait for you to fall for him like all the others before you had. Except this time he would give you a chance, test out your compatibility perhaps, though clearly you were both very compatible in bed.

You had both set some rules early on.

1. There would be no labels attached to whatever relationship you two had

2. If either of you wish to pursue a romantic relationship with someone else, you must break off this agreement first

3. Could use the other to keep unwanted advances off

That last one was more for him than it had been for you, not many people had noticed you before you started sleeping with Draco, but none had attempted to even flirt with you since the two of you became public. Everyone knew of course, that you weren’t together together, just fuck buddies as it were, that was all of Draco’s relationships after all. But that didn’t mean anyone dared try to interfere.

Astoria Greengrass. The younger sister of Daphne Greengrass, someone Draco still considered a friend despite their history and her feelings. Astoria however was not someone anyone expected to try and cosy up to Draco, especially considering how Draco’s arm was still wrapped firmly around your waist as she threw on a flirty smile. Astoria was innocent, she was young, and her sister had surely warned her away from him judging by the look of hurt flashing across the elder sister’s face. Yet here she was.

A 7th year party was the last place you expected Draco to be stolen from your side, but you let him go, you don’t really have a say after all, rather, he’s the one that lets go of you.

You knew the game well, you had watched the girls before you fail at the final hurdle but you were determined. You had first noticed him properly in 3rd year, started developing feelings in 5th before finally getting your chance in 7th. You had managed to catch his eye; you had learnt the failures of the previous girls and you used it to your advantage.

You finally had the chance to be something more, to pretend he loved you when he held you, when he fucked you, when he moaned praises in your ear. You wouldn’t ruin your chances. Not yet. Not when you had spent the past 6 months hiding your emotions, willing your face to give off no sign of jealousy. There was only one emotion you found hard to find, hurt. But that usually came after he was gone, when he wouldn’t stay some nights and instead left you the second he was done with you. Those were the nights that you realised just what kind of game you were playing, that in the end, you would be the one to lose everything.

You try not to look, you really do. But it’s an itching behind your eyes, fingers fiddling with the cup you’re drinking out of and it’s the anger in Daphne’s eyes as she watches their exchange that makes you finally turn and look. He’s leant against the wall with Astoria stood infront of him, fingers innocently strung together as she stared at him from under her perfectly curled eyelashes. A whisp of her perfectly curled hair falls infront of her face, you watch as her mouth forms an innocent ‘o’ before trying to blow it away only for it to fall back. Her giggle makes you want to hex her. Draco tucking the strand of hair behind her ear makes you want to shave her head. The flush that comes across her face at Draco’s actions and his hand that lingers in her hair a second too long has you joining in on the spin the bottle game you had previously sat out of.

Downing the contents of the glass in your hand, you wince at the burn before sitting at the empty spot between a Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

You look up to see yourself directly across from Cormac McLaggen which has you cursing under your breath and sending a silent plea to every god and deity there is to save you from that. Anyone but him.

You cheer when the circle cheers, watch as horny teenagers practically swallow each other’s tongues. Cormac gives you a greasy smile that has you wanting to get up, but it’s better than watching Draco and Astoria flirt their perfectly compatible arses off.

“Anyone but that bastard McLaggen.” You whisper it just before you spin, hoping that it works in your favour rather than jinxes it, tapping the table leg behind you with a quick “Touchwood” just to cover all grounds.

You’ve fucked it.

It spins, but the universe is mocking you. It slows down, likely to land on fucking McLaggen. He could be a fucking prince for all you cared but there was no way you’d let that slimy shit kiss you.

You cross your fingers, willing for it to pass him. And for a while it looks like you’re screwed, but just as you’re about to feign alcohol poisoning it passes him, by barely an inch, but all the same it passes him. You watch with wide eyes as it lands on Fred Weasley by that one inch and you let out the breath you hadn’t known you held. The worried expression on your face quickly became one of relief, a look of relief could’ve been mistaken for happiness, and for a certain blonde, it had.

Fred raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not expecting that reaction from you, before offering you a toothy grin that you return before crawling to where he sat, settling your arms around his neck as his guided your face to his.

You couldn’t stop the moan that sounded at the first touch of his lips against yours. They didn’t know your lips as Draco’s did but that didn’t stop him from being a damn good kisser, knowing exactly where to put his hands and when to use his tongue. Fred Weasley was good. You briefly wonder if the alcohol was why you couldn’t pull away but that didn’t matter when he took your lower lip between his teeth and bit hard.

Forgetting yourself and where you were, you didn’t object when he grasped your thighs in his hands, pulling you to straddle his lap. You don’t hear the cheers erupt around you; you don’t hear Astoria shout after Draco as he leaves her mid conversation, and you don’t notice he’s gone until Fred pulls back to catch his breath.

You catch Pansy’s gaze from over Fred’s shoulder and that’s when you realise something was wrong.

She was smirking at you.

She only ever did that when things had gone her way, which, when concerned Draco, was never a good sign.

You were in half a mind to just turn your head slightly and kiss the man you were sat on senseless again, especially with the way his fingers gripped your thighs under your skirt. But you also knew they were trying to keep you from running as soon as you could, as if knowing you would inevitably follow the Slytherin out but wanted you to stay anyways.

Your head drops to Fred’s shoulder, breathing in a scent you could only describe as homey and warm, the opposite to Draco’s crisp, sharp aftershave, a scent you loved and could almost describe as home.

All these years and not even a magical first kiss with someone (though you were very drunk) could waver your love for him.

“Draco is one lucky bastard.”

“I’m sorry, Fred.”

“It’s okay, it’s just a game after all.” You grimaced at his tone but dug yourself deeper into the hole.

“If it’s any consolation you are a damn good kisser.” Complement a man then leave him high and dry for another, great job y/n. You were doing great.

“The second he fucks up you know where to find me though yeah?”

You couldn’t stop the giggle that left you lips, in a life where you weren’t already enamoured with Draco, perhaps this could’ve been the start of something.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

His fingers slip from your thighs, offering you a hand to steady yourself before you take off, the bottle continuing to cause messy drama as you watch Harry’s spin land on Theo. Damn Draco and his fucking temper tantrums for causing you to miss that moment.

The walk back to Draco’s room sobered you up, head clearing and realising what him leaving meant. Was he mad that you had kissed another person or was he… jealous?

You had never let yourself hope before, but then again, you had never found a reason to.

He’s waiting for you, pacing around the room with his brows furrowed in a way that reminded you of a child throwing a tantrum. The thought of it making you laugh, giving away your presence in the room.

“Draco, I-“

He pushes you against his door, hands trapping you against the hard wood of the door behind you as his mouth swallowed your words. His hands worked quickly to strip you of your clothes as you tried to reciprocate his actions as best as you could, mind whirling as this was not where you had expected this to go.

Fred’s kisses had been new, they’d been exciting and addicting. But Draco’s? Even whilst he was pissed and rough, they were home. Lips you were used to, lips that could mould to yours perfectly instantly, lips that knew exactly how you liked to be kissed.

He pulled away to bring his mouth to the column of your neck, giving you a harsh suck where he knew would have your knees buckle, using the movement to sweep you off the floor and onto his bed.

Draco works fast when he’s angry, nothing in his mind but fucking his anger out of his system. He’s out of the remains of his clothes before you even have a chance to catch your breath. He stares at you with an unreadable expression so you match his, your features showing indifference rather than the usual lust you would allow yourself.

His narrows his eyes at you one last time before he brings his body between your spread legs, his warm mouth making contact with your cunt, tongue swirling around your clit. Your hips raise of the bed, wrists pulling at the charm that held them in place over your head as the rest of your body tries to get as close to the source of pleasure as possible.

A whine leaves you as his mouth stops its ministrations, one of his hands pushing your writhing hips back onto the bed as his darkened eyes find yours once more.

“Good girls behave, y/n.” You can’t stop the moan that falls from your lips when eases a finger into you, eyes never leaving yours.

A second finger joins the first, curling at a certain angle that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, a heavy weight starting to form in the pit of your stomach.

“Only good girls get to cum y/n, you haven’t been very good tonight, have you?” The tightness in your stomach ready to uncoil when his lips met your clit again, giving a harsh suck before pulling away from you completely. Without his hands holding you down your hips rise up, following his fingers as they pull out and away from you, his cold gaze telling you everything you needed to know.

“I’m sorry Draco, please. Please. I was so close; I swear I’ll be good from now on. I promise. Draco please.”

“I don’t think you have.”

He’s standing again, hands on his hips, tongue running across his lips, the lips that had just almost pushed you over the edge. You didn’t have time to be frustrated over the near orgasm, besides, Draco had a thing for orgasm denial, you were all too used the edging.

“Unbind my arms.” He raises an eyebrow at your attempt to shift in power, but does as you ask all the same.

Your hands reach for his heavy cock, mouth giving a tentative suck at the swollen head, tasting the salty precum on your tongue. Your hands give him a few hard strokes before you take him back into your mouth, eyes watering as you struggle to fit even a third of him in your mouth.

“As much as I love to see you choke on my cock, I don’t think you deserve it today.”

You stare up at him through your eyelashes, the twitching of him in your mouth was all the confirmation you needed to know he was very much enjoying the view of you struggling to accommodate the size of him. 6 months of practise but you still couldn’t manage to take him in all the way.

His hands cup your face as he pulls you off his cock, replacing it with 3 of his fingers instead. His fingers press down on your tongue, forcing your head back, the rest of your body following as he lowers himself over you, his free hand already lining himself up with your entrance.

“Beg for it.”

All it would take would be one small shift of your hips and he would slip inside of you but the last time you had tried that he had bent you over his knee and slapped your cheeks until they were burning. You knew when to test him, and right now was not the time.

“Please fuck me Draco, I’m yours-” You’re not done practically purring your words when he thrusts so that his hips are flush with yours, giving you no time to adjust before he starts pounding into you with deep satisfying thrusts that have you drooling on his fingers.

His hands hold yours above your head, his mouth hot against your ear as he grunts and reminds you of who you ‘belong’ to.

“That Weasley could never fuck you like I can. This cunt is mine; it’s made for my cock and my cock only, do you understand?”

You whimper as your only response as his hips switch from their long deep thrusts to sharp snaps of his hips against yours, his mouth still reminding you who you belonged to.

“This cunt is mine; do you understand?”

You don’t know if you had responded with a “yes” or if it had simply merged with a moan to become incomprehensible.

“Yes what?” His hips continued their thrusts all the while, never losing their rhythm as your body arched into him and squirmed trying to get closer.

“Yes, daddy.”

You don’t call him that a lot, only when you’re truly in need of a trap card and apparently you were as it fell naturally.

His eyes snap up to meet yours, his grey eyes turning even stormier than before as he claims your mouth in a bruising kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth and fingers finding your swollen clit again.

“Be a good girl for daddy and cum.”

You don’t have to be told twice and finally let go of the heaviness in the pit of your stomach, your walls clenching around his as your body clings onto him, mouth unable to keep up with his kisses. The sight of you lost in pleasure, body writhing under his own, the fact that he had been the one to bring you this much pleasure was all he needed to paint your walls white. You hadn’t even noticed his stuttering hips, hadn’t noticed him still before pulling out. You were still in a daze, collecting your breathing as you came down from a high you had never experienced before.

“Are you okay?” You blinked away the blurriness in your vision to see Draco’s worried eyes scanning your face, hands keeping your gaze on him. “Was I too rough love?”

You know you must look horrendous right now, sweat coating your skin, a dazed expression on your face but you still give the biggest smile your tired muscles could.

“I’m perfect.”

“Want me to carry you to the bathroom?”

“Please.”

You’re in that space between reality and dreams when he picks you up, an arm hooked under your back and knees. He places you on the toilet first, you made the mistake of forgetting once and you made him promise to never forget again.

You watch as he moved around the bathroom, eyes appreciative of the view. Watching his back muscles become taunt as he stretched was something you could never get tired of. The red markings down his back from a couple nights ago were still prominent, you had offered to heal them, but he insisted on wearing them like ‘battle scars’ to show off in the quidditch changing rooms, you had rolled your eyes when he gave you that reason.

He had charmed the bathtub to fit the both of you, sliding in first before helping you step in. You rest against his chest, humming appreciatively as he runs his hands across your skin, focusing on the way they felt rather than the ache between your legs and on your wrists.

“I mean what I said.”

“hmm?” you had almost fallen asleep, his voice pulling you out from your haze.

“You’re mine. All of you. If you’ll have me.” You’re fully awake now, body tensed up as you realise exactly what he meant. You turned your body to face his, ignoring the water splashing over the sides of the tub as you settle between his legs again, facing him, “You want me? What happened to wanting no strings attached?”

You knew the game he played well, you wouldn’t fall at the final hurdle, if that was even what this is.

“I want you y/n. I’m not going to spout some bullshit love confession like some first year drugged on Amortentia, but I can’t share anymore.” Draco Malfoy was bad at communication but good lord this was a new low even for him. You were half inclined to continue feigning indifference to protect what you had, but the other half was greedy. Draco was offering you more, how could you not take this opportunity. You had beaten the game, you had gotten Draco to want more with you, well at least you were 70% sure.

“Is this some roundabout way of you asking me to be your girlfriend?” His upper lip twitched as you said the word girlfriend, the action making your own eyes drop to the space between you. Wet fingers cup you face, bringing your face back to his as he captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. You had had lazy kisses together before, during lazy morning sex. But this, this was slow and meaningful and full of emotion. He might never be good with words, but this, this would be enough.

You pull away from him by a hair’s breadth, lips only millimetres apart. “Okay.” Each syllable you said caused your lips to touch again, neither of you moving just yet. He lets out a shuddering breath that he must’ve been holding in, a grin covering his face in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re lucky you asked now, I was hoping to visit Fred soon.”

The ache between your legs only became worse as he kept you awake for the rest of the night, edging you and taunting you for hours to prove you belonged to him and that a Weasley wouldn’t even begin to compare (too bad you never got the chance to).

Waking up with sore limbs and a satisfying ache all over your body was worth every second it had taken to get here. To win Draco Malfoy.

TAGLIST: @bbeauttyybbx @pipppaaaaalouisee @theslytherinprincessworld @fangirl-3d2y @tttyrus @scriptingslytherin @justmimithings @purpleskymalfoy @minigigglybabi @505weasleys @secretaccshh @obbrssession @whatwoulddracodo @thatoneniceslytherin @thehumanistsdiary @mariah-can-dream @futureofanthropology @pixieflutter @tobarmaidswhodontcount @dray-cookies @xuckduck @dreamyginny @dracofeltonmalfoy @lord-byron @inglourious-imagines @audreythehufflepuff @beiahadid @moonlightorbit @imonlyherecauseimbored @dracosgoodgirl @dreaming-about-fanfictions @goldensatine @avengers-end-me @sad-bitch-h0ur @zhangyixingxing1 @yourenotafailureoverall @pastelpuffbar @miso-tang @pixiedustsupplyco @harry-and-draco-loves @tsukibaby @dracoswhore007 @hogwartslut @mischiefisbeingmanaged @raylovessarcasm @drxcomvlfx @dracosballs @standingandstaring @its-chickenwing-450 @iamproudtobeaslytherin @mischiefisbeingmanaged @pxroxide-prinxcesss @slytherinxraven @jinnbie @lunalovegoodsgirlfriend @Utzelh8 @gloryekaterina @capkatie @jquick-18 @imcedricdiggorys @osterfieldnholland @explxsion @big-galaxy-chaos @malfoycrave @softlyqoos @krazykendraisnotinsane @minsuuwu @lumlfy @mllzhxrrs44 @weasleyis0urking @slytherinwh0re @gwlvr @m3ssytrash @aubreyanna02 @akaaaaashiiii @carrobrumbrum @dracoswift @bitchybeatle @samnblack @dumspirospero-1 @dracomalfoyswifeee @fuckingdraco @myshaahmad77 @you-sunshine @little_me204 @lipstickandloveletters @pillowjj @meipotter @dracoismybabey @rennaisancebaby @gwlvr @alastheadventurebegins @dracosbaibe @sydnee-kom-spacekru

#Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #draco x reader #draco smut #Draco Malfoy x reader #Draco Malfoy smut #tw smut #tw alcohol #tw bath #tw daddy kink #fred weasley

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skepticalarrie · 4 years ago

Note

Hi Allie I had a question about “Larry baiting”. I’m a larrie and I believe they’ve been together since 2010/11 but one of my friends brought up something that kind got me a bit stuck. When Louis changed the Spotify covers earlier this year for the walls anniversary, wouldn’t it be possible that his management/label had him do it for “Larry baiting”? Because otherwise I don’t think he would be allowed to do anything of the sort. It’s really loud and obvious. How would u explain the whole situation ? Now I’m not saying I’m “unlarrying” because that’s dumb but isnt it possible that even though larry is real, that was done for more attention ?

No, dear, it really wouldn't. Because for it to be used as "larrybaiting", therefore a PR strategy, larry would have to be openly discussed and "displayed" like it was something fine or at least acceptable. I don't think we really talk about this anymore, but larrybaiting 100% happened at some point. In very early days, they used to milk the shit out of larry, their "bromance" was everywhere, larry stylinson was everywhere. I mean...

(the heart-shaped picture is absolutely ridiculous omg look at them this is disgusting)

Stuff like this article is totally profiting from their special connection and lovely "friendship". I think is very easy to tell why 1D was so huge, the boys' friendship was very genuine, people loved to see them together and interact. It makes them look relatable and essentially good guys that you would like to date. And that's when things changed. 1D was always marketed as the boys next door, extremely appealing for the young female audience, but things for larry actually changed when their "bromance" got in the way of how the band was being promoted. Promoting a homosexual relationship was the last thing they wanted when talking for an audience that was basically fantasising about them. And that's when larry became a forbidden subject, they stopped interacting, not leaving any room for interpretations, that's when the narrative against larry and larries began - like, real fans don't support larry stylinson, it's disrespectful, it ruined their friendship, conspiracy theory - basically to help to shut down rumours putting the fans against each other. And that's what we still see to this day, and that's why probably all of our inboxes are full of hate right in this second.

So for it to be an actual strategy to "please" larries, larry would need to be allowed in the first place. And that's obviously not the case. Everything official follows the official narrative where they hate larry, everything indisputable leans towards completely heterosexual images with girlfriend and son. Why would their teams put so much effort into larrybaiting when they would have to deal with damage control immediately after. Larry only shows up when there is room for plausible deniability. Which is exactly what happens in this case.

Now, here's a question to you anon or anyone who believes "larrybaiting" is a thing: would they really do that? I mean, we're talking about guys desperately talking through teddy bears, would they play this game while facing such severe closeting? And if you think larry is not real, but they still larrybait (because that's the only logical explanation for a few things let's face it), why are you supporting them then? Larry ruined their friendship, it's horrible and disrespectful, but they are fine with profiting from it? Feeding it? What kind of people do you think they are.

#ask #larry baiting #larrybaiting #pr and marketing

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kittehkwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Streets

“No Final Fantasy can we end these games though? ” - Doja Cat, ‘Streets’ (2019)

Summary: Trevante finally decides to say something, revealing to you how he feels and it leads to something the both of you only thought could happen in your dreams.

Warnings: Fluff, angst?, smut

Can be read as a stand alone, or as a continuation to Like I Want You

No backing down now. He thought.

I've been goin' through some things

I struggle with my inner man

“I have something that I have to get off my chest.” He said.

There was no hint of playfulness laced in his voice like usual.

No this was serious and it made you shiver.

Trevante couldn’t help but still get nervous around you and it took everything in him to not kiss you again.

The feeling of your soft lips gently caressing his back in shock but with such fluid motion and the current running between you both was something you wouldn’t mind feeling again.

Baby, we tried to fight it

We all been there some days

“ I like you. Ok? I’ve liked you since we started hanging out more and i got to know you more but

Thought I needed something else

And acted like I was okay

“But I always thought you weren’t interested in me like that cause you’d always call be your friend and yea there may have been a few times of playful flirtin but I figured that just how it’d be with us and i didnt want to say anything when you would talk to me about those assholes you’d go one dates with and clearly didn’t know how to treat you”

We just had to work it out

“If I knew this was how you’ve felt, or what you thought we could’ve saved us so much time and mindless pinding over the wrong people...”

You thought of all the times you went on those dead-end dates with guys that couldn’t hold a conversation to save their life or the ones that talked so much that it irritated you to no end and how you’d go to Tre and he’d be there. Waiting on you with open arms, hanging onto your every word and giving you advice.

That’s why you thought he didn’t feel the same. What man would be so selfless?

You wanted to leave and try to move on in hopes of protecting yourself when really you were causing more problems and you could’ve potentially caused him to lose interest..

And baby, I needed space

“I’m sorry for trying to basically avoid you at every cha-”

“It’s alright. I guess you wanted to protect yourself from disappoint like you’d normally be on the receiving end of, but i'm not them and I can definitely say that without a doubt, you’d be my queen and not second fiddle against the juvenile excuses some of those dicks told you back then.” He was right. He’d always treat you so nicely and you misread it as friendly behaviour when for him he didn’t want to run. He wanted to stay out of fear that someone would take you away or treat you in a way you didn’t deserve.

There was a bit of silence between the two of you.

You're pouring your heart out

“we are idiots aren't we?” You both laughed, breaking the silence and it made you both feel lighter knowing you’ve spoke your peace and to have the next person feel the same made you want to float above the clouds even more than you were now.

“I guess we are, but it makes it interesting.” He said, softly in your direction.

His smile was gracing his face and it made you melt to know that he felt the same and to know that he was there even when you tried to leave, made you feel so dumb to keeping your mouth closed about how you felt and you were sure your friends knew but wanted to leave you both to doing what you were doing incase they were wrong.

You held me so down

All those nights you’d go to him about those aint shit niggas that wasted your time...

So down I never grew

You didn’t see that as a sign of his attraction. Just as a sign of his friendly nature and you blamed it on your lack of healthy relationships before meeting this great man that you knew no one could compare to.

Yon knew that no one else could hold you down like he did.

I tried to find out

All those guys were nothing.

They meant nothing like the man sitting next you did in your whole time of having feelings for him but you wanted to make sure that it wasn’t you that was self-sabotaging these short term talking stages or relationships, if you can even call them that.

When none of them came through

But it wasn’t you. You thought, as you looked at his structured face, glancing over every little feature from his eyebrows to the hairs in his beard. They just weren’t him and you knew that now.

now I'm stuck in the middle

And baby had to pull me out Like you

That night brought on an onslaught of feelings and emotions but you both remained outside until your friends called it a night and he sobered up to drop you back to your place.

The ride was comfortably silent with fluttering glances and the soft music playing through the speakers made you feel safe and right about the future of this “friendship” between you two.

Like you

Over the next few days, you both facetimed, called, texted whatever way you could keep communication open, you both did it and it was like old times again, except you both knew the others feelings and it changed from “friendly” to him essentially courting you in a way you both hadn’t put an exact label on but you both knew it was exclusive and no one could break that apart.

After a few dates and some more group hangout, you both managed to agree on having a “sleepover”, but this time it wouldn’t be like normal ; no friends or interruptions, just the two of you and it made you nervous but excited for the days to hurry past.

The days indeed were passing quickly and you made sure to pack an extra set of clothes and some nice undergarments incase you got the chance to change into it, or you’d have another opportunity to wear it for him and you knew he’d appreciate it with the way he always compliments you and your body when given the chance and it made you even more sure that he was the one that was it for you as he didn’t comment on the weight but when you wouldn’t be noticeably be eating a lot around him because you were worried about your college work and submissions he’d subtly give you food during the shared study sessions you’d have with him and your other friends. Similarly, you’d make sure he was eating when he had finals or a sports event.

You guys felt that bonding and caring was leading towards the formation of something beautiful and stable.

When the day finally came, you told him you'd forget to mention the offsite visit you’d be taking to see an exhibit on african american and afro-caribbean art being held for the month

He was happy that you were happy.

The way you were gushing about the work you’d see and how the artists all incorporated the ideas of the diaspora, feeling lost but building some form of unity in their situations brought chills to you and the other students that accompanied the tour.

He loved seeing your pictures that you sent when you got there and when you got the chance, you’d take pictures with the artists and creators.

He knew you’d forget to text him when you reached back to the campus or if he’d need to come get you, to which you’d appreciate seeing as the others seemed to want to stay longer than you had hoped and others had already gone and you didn’t feel like getting in other people’s cars that you werent too close with.

Could you come for me in the next hour?

You asked and saw the three dots before his text came through.

Send your location.

That was his text to you and you weren’t about to lie and say you didn’t feel the little “flutters” as you pictured him laid up and thinking about you like you were him.

Location sent.

This is it. You thought.

No holding back. You convinced yourself, mentally as you continued moving around the exhibit to look at the other pieces you didn’t get the chance to yet when you guys were allowed to take a break as they were opening up some of the other areas for public viewing now

Closed mouths don’t get fed and you were hungry you argued as you saw his latest text that he was on his way, wondering where the time went but anticipating the activities you’d both get into.

You began to look around a few more times before making your way to the front of the building after saying your ‘bye’s, nice to meet you’s and see you later’s.

Leisurely walking to the front you stayed in the cool conditioned air of the building, awaiting the man that managed to continuously surprise you with his bold, straightforward nature.

Glad I brought my bag and waxed the other day so no worries about any fuzz being down there, if things went as you’d hope, you thought before opening the glass door seeing the next he was around the corner and then seeing him pull up to the front.

He pulled up to the front of the building as you made your way outside of the facility.

You watched as he got out of the 1973 Chevrolet Impala you would often watch him work on,

or he’d offer to take you in to go on those long drives that would make you think things once you saw him drive with one hand and his seat back.

Like you said, it made you think things.

He came over to you and walked you back in silence.

Damn papa, you a rare breed, no comparing

The cool air brushing over his exposed arms.

The wind carrying his scent that hit you as you slightly trailed behind him, before coming up to the car door and opening it for you while taking your bag and placing it in the back.

And it’s motherfuckin’ scary

He shut both doors and made his way round to the drivers side, getting in and buckling up himself before stealing a quick glance at you as you did the same.

“Ready.” The click of your seatbelt heard before your voice altered him.

He looked over at you, one hand on the gear stick, and the other on the wheel before racking his dark pupils over your shy-seated form. You saw as he but his plush bottom lip before his lips formed a smirk that made your thighs clench.

She better be ready. He thought as he knew that this shy act you had going on was only turning him on more and he wanted to hear that sweet voice of yours yell his name like he dreamed.

Y’all made it back to his and you were met with the warmness and enticing scents coming from within his space.

“I made your favourite.” He watched you walk in slowly, eyeing you again before waking in the light trail of your perfume and body lotion that left you smelling like candy and he wanted to have his dessert now.

You were so consumed with what he said and what he’d done that you hadn’t responded. He turned and looked to you as he made his way ahead when you stood frozen at what he had done for you when you thought no one would ever do such a thing.

Tryna keep him 'cause I found him

“Princess?” There goes that nickname that had you shivering slightly and gave him a chance to openly gaze into your beautiful eyes with a look of confusion at your silence in regards to food.

“Huh? Oh! No! that’s great. I was starving.” You expressed and progressed to his smaller dining room, still shocked at the set up of your favourite laid out and you knew it wasn’t order either because you’ve watched this man cook and always taste tested so you knew you weren’t about to be dissapointed.

“I told you to stop starving yourself. You need me to start bringing you lunches again?” He cared. The fact that this fine, tall, dark and handsome man was willing to come to you and bring you lunch still was getting you all warm, along with the delicious food that was hitting the spot.

This man is bout to get it, you thought before sitting and enjoying the food he prepared.

Both sitting under the dimmed lights and intimate atmosphere he managed to create with what he had, intensified your emotions and the glasses of wine you had with dinner got you to loosen up.

He didn’t want to force conversation. He was ok with just being in your presence and for that, you knew he was the one and you’d do anything to keep him happy and ‘Let a ho know I ain't motherfuckin' sharing’ (or whatever it is Doja Cat said.) You’d thought as he ushered you to his couch after collecting the plates and placing them in the sink before returning to you.

He saw you and couldn’t help but think about you being his. Like actually his.

I could take you to the parents, then to Paris

Plan a motherfuckin' wedding

Tonight i’m gonna make her mine and there’s no doubt about it.

He sat so close and for a second, you felt those shocks you felt the night he first kissed you when your legs touched.

You couldn't help but look at him and see the burning desire he had in his eyes. It was the same for him, seeing your deep pools looking at him with adoration and contemptment that he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for your love, even though he could guess you loved him the way he did you.

You the type I wanna marry (Yeah) and keep you merry

I'll put the ring on when you ready

There was a split second.

Then clothes began to drop around your retreating forms, leading to his room.

The kisses were hard and passion filled. Hands grasping body parts.

Hot skin against hot skin.

The soft glow of the candle he’d lit in his room providing him with enough light to tell that you were ok with this but he still had to make sure

“You sure about this babygirl? Cause once we start...I don’t know if i’ll be able to stop.” He voice dropped many octaves and resonated deep in your soul to the point of setting off a gush between your legs that had you mindlessly nodding your head at the man.

“Words Princess.” He gripped your chin and kept that intense eye contact.

“Yes sir.” The name set off something in him and he had you flung across his mattress, head between your legs and hands gripping your thighs while he kept his eyes on your face contorting in pleasure.

We play our fantasies out in real life ways and

No Final Fantasy, can we end these games though?

He made you cum with a powerful orgasm but you knew he could do better and he knew that he was just warming you up for one of the best nights of your life...besides marrying him and having kids together.

THAT’S how sure of himself he was that he’d ruin you for anyone else.

Could you blame him tho? He finally has you how he’s been dreaming about and he isn’t gonna hold back in let you know how much you mean to him. He’s gonna make sure you feel his love for you like he’s been saying.

You give me energy, make me feel lightweight (Woo)

He saw you come down enough to get on your knees, staring into his face like he was yours.

You saw your essence glistening in his facial hair, the moonlight that made its way in and added to the soft glow of the candle made him look like a beautiful shade of blue and near obsidian black.

Your hands making their way up his sculpted arms, joining at the chest and making their way down his sculpted torso, leading to his happy trail and the prominent tent in his jeans that you couldn’t help but rub your palm against.

“No teasing, Princess.” His voice snapped you out of your day dream of the erect member laying between his thick thighs, encased by the light washed jeans.

You looked up at him through innocent eyes and you swear you saw his pupils dilate even more, overtaken by lust as he brought his hand up your stomach, corse palms over your delicate skin and thick fingers wrapping around your neck for a tight squeeze before he gently pushed you back onto the bed once he saw you close those pretty eyes and bit your lip at the action.

Like the birds of a feather, baby

He pulled you closer to the edge of the bed before he started to remove his denim bottoms. Eyes never leaving yours as he pushed his jeans down his muscular legs, taking his boxers off at the same time before standing at attention once kicking them off.

You couldn’t help but look down at the one-eyed monster between his legs and he took notice at the way you looked at him.

He gripped the base of it before calmly saying “Don’t worry baby. You’re a big girl and I know you can take it.” His hand pumping slowly at the look in your eyes and the wetness between your legs.

He grabbed a condom from the nightstand, rolling it over his tip causing you to let out a whine at not being able to feel his girth in your mouth.

“Don’t worry Princess, you can have a taste later. Right not i want to feel that sweet pussy gripping this fat dick, that alright?” He said a soft voice but it was gruff that it had you getting slick even more at the dominance he had in that moment and the way he put receiving on the backburner.

You just nodded you head and he got close to you to rub his tip between your folds, lubricating the condom with what you supplied. It was a sight for him that he had to think of anything besides busting in the condom then and there.

We real life made for each other

He made you look at him before pushing into your wet valley. He took his time as you relaxed and felt every hot inch insert itself so deliciously slow.

And it's hard to keep my cool

You weren’t going to lie and say you didn’t like the gentle strokes he was giving to let you adjust, however you knew he wanted to go faster and harder if he was as sexually frustrated as you were from subpar partners.

Cause you’re a one in a million

There ain't no man like you

It was like he was reading your mind.

After he noticed you moving your bottom half off the bed to meet his strokes, he grabbed your legs, placing them over your shoulder, not missing a beat and going deeper into your depths.

“Oh shit tre!” He had to let out a breathy chuckle before he felt you grip his dick with your tight walls. That caused his body to jerk even deeper before he could process it and had him releasing a deep grunt you don’t think you’ve ever heard from him before.

“Shit Princess. Got this tight pussy grippin me like this? Who said you could do that?” He was gonna make sure you knew who was incharge in the bed room but you had a surprise for him when you were able to catch him off with the slip of a whispered ‘daddy!’ that made his hips stutter and him lose focus.

You were able to get him on his back, his large member not slipping from your clenching muscles and managed to start grinding on the massive amount of muscle lying beneath you.

“I did. Nigga” You went in after that.

Trevante watched in awe at the way you were taking him, knowing this position meant you’d definitely feel him in your gut if you sat completely over his pulsing, thick pole.

You planted your feet on either side of his hips, hands moving through the wisps of hair sprayed across his chest and switched the pace of your movements.

Up. Down and grind then up again.

He wasn’t going to lie and say that you were riding him like the perfect woman, like he’d always imagine after hearing about the way a woman could trap a man with good sex, he finally believed it with you over him.

That intense i contact was adding to the pleasure for you both and he couldn’t help himself. He brought his hand down on your ass quick and hard before gripping the round flesh in his hands and picking you up to lay back on the bed again before he started to pound into you faster once he saw your eyes rolling back and felt your pussy clenching him even harder.

“You gonna cum on this dick babygirl? Huh?! Answer me and take it like a big girl!”

all you could do was nod your head and repeatedly chant “Yes Yes Yes Yes” even after he finished speaking to you.

You layed under him a blubbering mess but wanting to prove to him you weren’t a punk.

“Cum on this dick Princess. I want to feel that pretty pussy cum all over this -fUCK! THAT’S RIGHT!-yea cum on this dick! Make it yours bitch!”

That word did something for you.

“I’M CUMMING.”

“Then cum bitch.” He whispered into your ear and it ignited the spasms and feeling of pure bliss of release.

He watched you convulse under him and he felt his sack tighten at the way your face looked that he couldn’t take his eyes off yours even for a second.

“Look at me bitch! I said look at me!” He gripped your cheeks between his large hand and got you to face him, seeing your dazed state and then he recognized you were going to cum again.

“You gonna cum again? You like this? Huh?” He waited and raised his leg onto the bed, bending it and forcing your legs to go wider by taking them from around his hips.

He had you so confused in this position.

You didn’t know if you wanted to run or stay there but you knew it had you cumming closer. Then you felt a smack to the face.

“I asked you a question! Answer me!” His loud voice, deep and all baritone like bounced off the walls at his command.

“Yeees I’M CUMMING!” You responded, equally loud you were sure the neighbours would hear but they should mind the business that pays them you thought.

You were getting the pounding of your life and didn’t want to have to stop because of nosey people calling security to check on the unit.

If they didn’t know what was going on, then that’s tough. But you were gonna make sure you got railed well tonight.

He didn’t know what came over him but he had to say it

“You love this dick baby? You love how I feel inside you?” His voice was still deep but that roughness made you tingle and he felt the flutter of your walls over him

“Yes!” You squeaked out.

“FUCK! I feel that pussy gripping me even tighter!”

He looked at you and you managed to pry your eyes open and stare into his as he said what he felt was right in that moment.

“You wanna be my girl? Huh?” His eyes still held list in them, but there was a softness as he slowed down to ask this, coming closer to you to pepper kisses over your face and embrace you.

“Yes!” You loved the way he felt but you wanted him to go harder so when you pleaded “Harder Tre! Please? I need you to go harder” He fixed his position and granted you your wish by pounding into you harder and faster, his gentle thrusts out the window and your ecstasy written all over your face.

You tried pushing his hips away but he smacked your hands away, grabbing both wrists and coming to you closer and to your ear.

“You gonna cum when I tell you to? You gonna be a good girl for me?” He watched you in pleasure of maintaining his composure and not cumming the first minute he sunk into your velvety pussy that he couldn’t even manage would feel so heavenly as it does now.

“Yes” You sounded so pathetic and it turned you on more than you thought possible at being so dominated but the big heap of dark, thick hefty muscle plowing into you made you feel safe even with his belittling of you but you knew it was only for the sex.

“Yeah? My girl huh? You’re so pretty under me.” He whined. It was so beautiful to hear so loud into your ear in the close position he was in.

This close proximity made you feel so connected and had you tearing up a little at the fact you knew he was still being gentle with you and it brought you closer.

Trevante looked down at you and saw the cloudy look in your eyes. He knew you were cumming again and he was right there with you so he let you go and pushed one of his hands between your sweaty bodies, finding your clit and stimulating you double time to climax together.

He saw your eyes rolling back when he felt that tightness in his sack before he shouted out to you,

“CUM! CUM ON THIS DICK!” He roared out to you.

It was a rush you hadn’t been prepared for as he managed to get faster but his rhythm started to become irregular. He still managed to hit that deep spot in you that had you going crazy when his tip would rub over it and all that could be heard was you both climaxing then heavy breathing.

He continued to grind into you slowly, careful that it may hurt you but he wanted to ride out the best orgasm he’s had in awhile, and knowing that it was with you made him want to keep his dick deep in you.

If it wasn’t for the condom, he’s sure he would’ve gotten you pregnant and totally stepped up to the plate to take care of you and his seed.

Like you

He couldn’t believe that you were here, in this moment with him and he had to make sure you know that you were all he could ever want and more.

He raised up and you whimpered at the loss of warmth he provided and the way his body calmed you down after such a session.

“None of that.” He said, leaning back down to place a gentle kiss to you lips “I’ll be back Princess” and then slowly pulling out of you to tie the condom and through it away.

You couldn't help but watch his retreating form go into the bathroom and come back with a damp rag to wipe you up and then leave the room to get you some water and lay back in the bed with you next to him.

You both stared at eachother once he got back in the bed and you managed to fix yourself in a comfortable position, not caring about the sweat or the way you may look like a mad woman.

Instead, you brought your hand up to his cheek and watched as he closed his eyes before puckering his lips, leaning to you for a kiss that you happily gave him and he pulled you to lay on his chest.

He thought you had fallen asleep as you hadn’t moved in a while and knew he had to catch some sleep to if he wanted to get up early and make you something for breakfast.

He planted a soft kiss onto your forehead, gripping you tighter and released a content sigh.

I found it hard to find someone like you

He wasn’t going to let you go and for a moment he thought he heard you say something but he passed it off as fatigue from the intense session the both of you just carried out after months of sexual frustration and tension.

Trevante didn’t know that you were still awake and said that you loved him

I can't be without you

You knew you weren’t gonna run anymore and he was it. Your one in a milllion and you would do everything to keep him, like he would you.

He held you tighter before finally closing his eyes, a small smile on his face.

And I can't be without you

He hadn’t heard you say you loved him...

but that’s neither here nor there.

You’d be alright with saying it again when you both were awake and not high off sexual energy.

Like you.

Taglist:

@killmonger-fics

@browngirldominion

(Dm to be added to the permanent taglist or let me know which actors/characters you’d want me to tag you in when I write)

——————————————————————————

Hey y’all!

Sorry this took so long🥴 Been busy with uni and some other personal stuff so I put this off longer than intended🥴

But what’d you think, hope this met the standards and was worth it?

Don’t forget to like, reblog and/or comment 😊

Hope you’re staying safe, checking in on your friends and loved ones and taking time for yourself :)))

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-K💜

#kittehkwrites #trevante rhodes #trevante rhodes x reader #black!reader #black!oc #lyric prompts #imagine #trevante rhodes smut #trevante rhodes fluff #friends to lovers trope

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mondscheinprinzessin · 3 years ago

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I would love a perspective flip of ‘When you put your lips and your hands on my heart’ but like of the other boys. do they know that Joel and Aleksi are hooking up? do they know that they’re in love? or what’s their reaction to when Joel and Aleksi tell them they’re dating 🤔 … whatever you’d like! 🥰

While writing I had in mind that one of them probably noticed something, and I wasn't sure if it was Joonas because he can read Joel really well, or someone else because they saw something. But it's sweet soul Olli now.

Olli had gained the one and other reputation over the years which were more or less true, some were easy to shake off again and some stuck around and most of all the negative ones were the ones Olli wished he could lose, but well, he provided enough fuel to keep them up as accurate.

For example, he was very well-behaved which had gotten him labelled as boring in school and did not help with his popularity status at all, he was naive at times and believed in the best in people which had gotten him into problems more than once, he was dismissive because he tended to not know how to behave around people and rather avoided them, and what he got to hear the most: forgetful.

Olli himself wished he could just switch this flaw off, but as it seemed it was just his brain that turned itself off and refused to remind Olli of dates, and birthdays and appointments, where he had put his phone and keys, what someone had told him to do just a minute ago, why he had walked into this room in particular. Losing things was nothing new to him but still frustrating.

“Shit, Joonas where did I put my strings?” Olli was frantically searching every surface; moving papers, food, drinks, phones, socks, everything where his bundle of strings could hide under or have magically popped up from where he had originally put them down. Ugh, why did he do that at all, he should have held on to them instead of walking down to the coffee machine.

“I know where mine are, I don’t know about yours, ask our guitar tech.” Joonas dismissed him, nose buried in his phone, feet comfortably put up in Niko’s lap and looking as relaxed as one could be, offering what Olli wished he could be, but he was starting to sweat as the strings didn’t appear under a shoe he was lifting up.

“He already gave them to me earlier and now I can’t find them anymore.”

“Olli where’s your head?” Niko chimed in with his usual amusement, but Olli couldn’t find one in this situation, he was getting desperate to put an end to his quest.

And oh how often Olli had heard this question in his life, and it never lessened to annoy him, humiliation colouring his cheeks when he again managed to lose something before he could manage a smile to make fun of himself because he was, ha, so headless like a chicken running away from the butcher.

“Right here, as you can see.” Olli said and pointed with a finger to his head in irritation, not finding the ability to play it down this time. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be alive and you would see a ghost.” It came out harsher than intended but days on tour were robbing his patience, he really needed time-off in a hotel or something to calm down.

“Well it’s gonna be a ghost bassist we have to perform with if you can’t find your strings. You have thirty minutes left.” Niko replied.

Olli huffed, pissed at himself. Yes, forgetful applied rather well to him and he hated it. “I’m going to search the dressing room again.” He muttered in passing. They had to be somewhere and maybe walking all over the place will make him remember his steps before he lost them, a brain cell lightening up when seeing a specific stain on the wall or hearing a noise that unlocked the right memory.

With quick steps he walked down the hallway, past other rooms he was sure he never was in, so it would be wasting time to search them, watching out for the right room. Honestly this labyrinth of corridors seemed to confuse him in every venue, and it was a wonder he hasn’t gotten lost yet and Niko would have to make true on the ghost bassist.

He exhaled relieved when he finally read the correct room number, a hand on the ajar door to push it open, but then he stopped when his eyes got a look into the room through the gap.

Joel and Aleksi still had to change when he and the others had gone, but it didn’t look like they were doing that at the moment or rather not in an efficient manner. Joel had his shirt off and he was forced to lean down by Aleksi’s finger hooked into his necklace who was whispering something into Joel’s ear, his other hand splayed right on Joel’s chest.

It wouldn’t be altogether a strange sight if it wasn’t for one of Joel’s hands hidden in the backside of Aleksi’s pants obviously squeezing his handful if Olli had to guess from Aleksi’s laughter.

Of course they all could be handsy but a hand down their pants was a rare one and needed a lot of alcohol in their system to happen, and so far Olli knew of only one of such instances. But this seemed different. a) There was no alcohol, b) it seemed sexual but also far more intimate, but still more than a simple joke, and c) the kiss Aleksi gave Joel before he shoved him away looked habitual but not in the sense of Joonas kissing his friends. It still gave off loving vibes but also a familiarity that was more than friendly.

Olli frowned, not daring to go into the room now after what he had seen and quietly walked back down the hallway, not wanting to get their attention or give a sign they had been observed, not really wanting an explanation on the spot, not so soon before they went on stage.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it and he was deep in thought when he got back to the others, managing a small thanks when handed his strings by Tommi, not looking at Joel and Aleksi once they joined them, the image of them so close together, half naked, still in his mind and not able to make him believe there wasn’t something more than they pretended to be.

And while he was forgetful, that moment surely wouldn’t pass his mind, and he was observant which helped him to think back of it when he saw fleeting touches on stage when usually Aleksi was uninterested to get into heated actions, only allowing the one or other hug at the end of the concert, but it seemed as if Joel had all of his attention know.

And he definitely noticed when that attention wasn’t welcomed anymore and Joel gave them all the cold shoulder, which wasn’t totally uncommon after so much time they were forced to spend together, but it also happened to affect Aleksi the most that was unmistakable.

#answered #honestly I could have written more but the ask thingy said 1 scene so there ya go #you guys will have to pay me more for my work otherwise😤#drippinlou #(you can bribe me easily you just have to find out with what)

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ultimate-sidemen-imagines · 5 years ago

Text

A Not So Happy Anniversary

Title: A Not So Happy Anniversary

Pairing: Reader/Harry

Word Count: 3,151

Warning: SMUT SMUT SMUT

Summary: You and Harry have a long distance relationship. When Harry messes up and misses your three year anniversary, you confront him face to face.

Author’s Note: Ladies and gents, it feels good to be back. My inbox is open to requests. Let me know what you think!

You were furious with him.

Completely and utterly furious with him.

He had done this to you a million times, you always had forgiven him and moved on. But this? This was definitely something you couldn’t let go.

Both you and Harry had been dating for three years now, not a moment did you regret the decision to date the famous "wroetoshaw" on YouTube. You would be the first one to admit that his fanbase and everything that came with being labeled as his girlfriend terrified you but Harry made it worth it. Thankfully, the both of you had managed to keep your relationship away from the public. Fans not in your personal lives eliminated any unnecessary stress you both didn’t need. You were happy, he was happy. You guys barely fought. But that was about to change tonight.

Harry lived in two places: Guernsey and London. He traveled back between the two constantly which always made you a little bit upset. You understood why he'd want to live in London, of course you did. When you had gone out there with him, even you struggled to leave London once your time was up. A mix of the city life and the fact most of Harry’s friends lived there - it was a no brainer.

But being stranded in Guernsey while Harry was away in London had been the first major roadblock in your relationship. There would be long amounts of time that Harry would be in London, leaving you by yourself at home and missing your boyfriend. He'd always come back eventually and apologize in a shower of kisses. You couldn't help yourself but forgive him but this was too far now.

You stormed off back inside your small little flat, flipping off any guys that whistled at you in your short, black mini-dress while doing so. You had decided to get dressed up since tonight was a pretty big deal - the three year milestone with Harry. Your anniversary was today, something that you had reminded Harry about for two weeks. He promised over and over again that he would be home on time for your anniversary and that he'd meet you at your favorite restaurant for a romantic meal. Long story short, you had been sitting at the table for two hours with no sign of Harry. He'd let you down.

You burst through the front door of your flat, throwing your heels off to the floor and locking the door with both locks. At least that way, Harry couldn't get in if he got there in the morning. You sniffled, feeling yourself now start to get upset more than angry. How could he do this? He promised. You’d always forgiven him for being late to come home before but this just felt like a slap in the face.

A second later, you were at the fridge - taking out a bottle of wine and taking a swig from it. You knew it was stupid to try and numb the pain with alcohol, it would only leave you feeling like shit in the morning. You shook your head and put the bottle away, deciding to just go to bed and forget about Harry until the morning.

It was about half an hour later when you had finally gone to bed, wearing one of Harry’s t-shirts and sweats. You were scrolling through Twitter to see if Harry had written anything yet no tweets came up for today. You were a little concerned at that but once you remembered just why you were angry with them, any feelings of being concerned were out the window. You turned off your phone and placed it on your side table - not being able to avoid the framed photo of you and Harry sitting there. At the sight of it, you quickly turned off your lamp and went to sleep.

"Y/N, Y/N. Baby, wake up." You felt yourself being shaken out of your dream, your name being repeated over and over again. Eventually, your dream of a happy anniversary slipped away and your eyes fluttered open.

You saw a dark figure over you in the bed, causing you to scream out. The figure put his hand over your mouth, trying to reach over to turn on the light as you struggled against his hand. "Babe! Stop! It's me! Harry!" He exclaimed in a loud whisper, turning on the dim lamp light to reveal himself.

You calmed down as soon as you realized it was him, shoving him off you and sitting up in the bed. "For fuck sake Harry, you can't just hover over me in pitch darkness at-" You looked over at the time. "2:30 in the fucking morning!"

"How the hell did you get in here anyway? I locked the front door with both locks." You grumbled, crossing as arms as Harry raised an eyebrow

"Yeah, I noticed that. I had to climb up a floor outside and get in through your window." He motioned the open window before shooting you an amused look. "I told you that you needed to lock your windows."

"And you need to take the hint when I don’t want you in the flat." You grumbled, before grabbing one of your pillows and throwing it at him. "Harold, leave. I don't want to fucking talk to you or even look at you right now."

"C’mon babe, don’t be like that. I know you missed me." He joked, only making the situation worse in pure Harry style. How the hell could he be making jokes and not even acknowledge how badly he had messed up? You just glared at him, shoving him off the edge of your bed and laying back down. "Go to the couch - we’ll talk in the morning when you’re actually ready to have a serious conversation.”

"Baby, come on. I'm joking." He cooed as you just ignored him and tried to go back to sleep. Harry bit his lip and sat back on the bed again next to you, watching your body turn away from him. He took the peaceful moment to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before running a finger down your arm softly.

"Harry, I’ll seriously do something I’ll regret if you don’t get out and give me some space." You seethed, though Harry didn't budge.

"Your threats don't make you scary, babe. You're like a hamster." He teased before he decided to get serious - he knew you'd really kick him out of the flat if he kept pulling jokes as such. "Look I'm sorry, okay?"

"Sorry for what, Harry? Missing our anniversary, maybe? Maybe promising you'd be home yet you didn't come back on time. Really? I always let it go but you crossed a fucking line this time." You shot back at him.

"My flight got delayed, okay?" Harry admitted in defeat. "The plane was having engine failure so we couldn't take off in time. I had to sit on that plane for ages, I only just landed an hour ago." He said, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. "I'm really sorry that I missed our dinner. I'll make it up to you, okay? Please don't be angry with me. It’s not my fault that Gatwick is proper shit."

"No Harry, I will be angry at you." You said annoyed, still refusing to turn your body towards him. "Okay fair enough, your flight got pushed back far. But you could've come back to Guernsey days ago so you wouldn't miss our anniversary or maybe actually spend some time with me - but no. You're too busy partying it up in London with all your friends and all the girls that probably want to sleep with you the first chance they get. I know there’s gonna be one day where you just don’t come back to Guernsey for me and that’ll be the end of us."

"Babe, where is all this coming from? You know when we started dating that I said I’d be travelling back and forth." Harry frowned, knowing your anger was coming from something more than him missing dinner tonight. He hated to see you aggravated over this topic. Especially when all his friends knew just how much he loved you and how loyal he was. He knew that you weren’t exactly the biggest fan of the amount of female attention he received online. He understood that. But it did bother him seeing you truly believe that he’d never come back home to you one day. “What makes you think I’d ever do anything like that to you?”

"I’m just scared, Harry." You whispered back at him. "I'm very scared of what could happen while you're in London while I'm stuck here." You closed your eyes and tried to block everything out. Until you felt him turn you on your back. You opened your eyes slowly to look up at Harry hovering over you. You felt your heart skip a beat looking up at him in the dim light. Even when you were upset and mad with him, he still had the power to take your breath away.

"You're mad, you know that? Absolutely crazy." Harry stated, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. "You think I'd get bored of you? Seriously? Take a look in the fucking mirror, Y/N." He teased you before he returned to neutral. “Whatever I’ve done to make you believe any of what you just said? I’m so sorry, babe. The last three years I’ve had with you have been the best of my life. I would never violate you like that.”

“You know I also work in London too - doing all the Sidemen shoots and videos. I’m building that brand more and more to make sure that I can always come home whenever I want. I’m doing it so that we can live comfortably, that I can take you on holidays and help you pay for this place while I’m away. Never once have I been in London and not missed you, Y/N. I know I’m definitely far from perfect but I won’t let you think that I don’t love you. Cause I do, so fucking much.”

He leaned down and placed kisses down the side of your face - pressing a quick peck on your lips before moving down to your neck.

"I fucking hate you sometimes." You insulted, gasping when you felt him leave love bites on the certain spot on your neck that drove you crazy. You snaked a hand into his hair when he did so, feeling yourself wanting him more rather than wanting to punch him back to London.

"I sincerely doubt that you hate me right now." He said in a cocky tone, pulling his head back to admire the hickies he had left on your neck and smirking down at you.

"Shut the fuck up." You growled, grabbing his fistful of his jumper and pulling his face back down to yours. You slammed your lips back against his, the whole action coming from both anger at him missing your anniversary dinner and lust at the same time. You knew there was love in your actions as well but you were more focused on other things at hand.

Harry did a pretty good job at keeping up with the pace of your lips against his, deepening it and taking the moment to nip at your bottom lip. You moaned softly at that before your hands were underneath his clothes, practically ripping them off him and throwing them off to the side. He did the same with you, the both of you continuing to keep your lips together almost like it was a form of life source.

It wasn't long before the couple were now fully naked, Harry's body pressing against yours as you made out. Something about his skin pressed against yours always gave you a funny feeling in your stomach - such a warm and safe feeling. You knew that you loved this boy after three years of dating, you only hoped you'd be able to communicate that through this.

Harry pulled back after a while, leaning over to the bedside table to retrieve a condom while you placed kisses along his neck. You made sure to leave your own marks on his skin. He grabbed one quickly enough and groaned at your hickies, pulling himself off to you long enough to roll the condom onto himself. You felt your eyes gleam at the sight of your fit boyfriend in his most vulnerable state. You completely understood why she got so jealous of him being away from you - he was such a gorgeous boy.

Your boyfriend was back on you a second later, continuing to make-out with you again as he settled himself between your legs. You wrapped your legs around his waist to keep him close, eventually both of you pulling away for air. There were no words uttered between the two, speaking with your eyes and facial expressions. The rough lust and anger had faded away now to a soft kindness and love that you felt whenever you were near Harry. You smiled at him as he returned the favor before pushing into you without another second wasted.

"Oh!" You moaned, leaning your head back against the pillows as he did so. It had been awhile for you both, having been ages since he was last home. You had definitely missed this. "Harry," You breathed out as he let out a long sigh, getting used to the feeling of being back inside you before he started to set a pace. “Feel so good around me, baby. Fuck I missed you.”

"Harry," You moaned louder this time, going up in volume the faster he went. "Harder, baby." You urged him on, hearing a type of groan and growl leave from his lips. He buried his face into your neck as he continued to thrust faster, leaving more hickies on the other side of your neck.

"Oh fuck yes." He grunted against your skin, his words only bringing back that fluttery feeling in your stomach. "My gorgeous girlfriend. Even when you’re angry at me, you’re still so fucking hot.�� He whispered, lifting his head up from your neck to look at you in the eyes while he fucked you. “No-one can have you, you hear me? You're mine." He whispered, taking one of his hands to wrap around your neck. Not too tight but enough to send your mind spiraling.

"Oh fuck Harry!" You cried out at this, your hands going straight to his shoulders. You dug your fingernails into his skin, dragging them down his pale back as you struggled to get your words out. "You're mine, Lewis. You're mine and I'm yours." You choked out, gasping and moaning out a version of his name at every thrust.

"Damn right." He growled, eventually turning you both over so you were on top of him. He kept control despite the change in position, angling his hips up and holding your hips to keep you steady. He kept doing that for a while, just smirking at hearing the porn-worthy noises that came past your lips. That smirk wiped away however when he felt his thrusts starting to falter, Harry coming closer and closer to his orgasm just like you.

"Oh baby, I'm so close." You whispered, clutching onto him as she felt her high nearing. Harry only smirked at this, trying to go as fast as he could in that moment. He sat up from the mattress, keeping a hold on your hips. He kissed you, "Go on baby, come for me. I wanna hear you." He growled against your lips. That was your breaking point.

"Harry!" You practically screamed, reaching orgasm. It was incredible the types of orgasms Harry gave to you, they always left you speechless and shaking. You heard strangled groans of your name come from Harry, feeling him reach his orgasm too. You kept rocking your hips against his as you both worked each other through your orgasms - eventually stopping when Harry pulled out. He collapsed down onto the mattress, bringing you down with him and holding you against him.

You were left a panting mess, resting against Harry’s body and your head on his chest. All that could be heard was your and Harry's panting, both of your eyes closed to take in what just happened before Harry motioned you to look at him.

"You still mad at me?" Harry asked sweetly after a while, “I don’t know how you could be after that.”

"Oh shut up." You rolled your eyes playfully, enjoying his laughter before you pecked his lips.

"Still - I still think something needs to change, Harry." You admitted, gaining Harold's attention. "I mean... I... I love you, I do. And I want to be with you. But you’re in London constantly. I can’t even travel to see you that often because of university. If I’m just barely going to see you, I can't deal with that. I need a compromise."

Harry thought about what you said for a moment, placing a small kiss to your forehead. "You're right. I will admit that I love London more than Guernsey but I love you more than anything." He admitted to you, nothing left but love filling his beautifully colored eyes of his. "So let's fix the problem. When you graduate from uni, come back to London with me."

"What?" You asked, confused.

"Come back with me to London, move in with me and Cal. We never have to be apart that way." He cooed. "I can talk to the guys about letting me come back to Guernsey every couple weeks or so to see you more rather than what I have been doing until you finish school. But when you finish, I want you to move out to London to stay with me permanently. I want to have you there for everything. None of this long distance bullshit. Especially if it’s making you doubt me. I want you with me. To prove to you that you never had anything to be scared about.”

It was definitely a lot for you to take in, moving from your small little town to the big city of the UK. You were nervous about thinking of starting a life there but as you looked at Harry and saw that future involved him - it became a no brainer.

"We'll talk about it properly in the morning, okay? For now, let’s get some sleep. Especially since you gotta make up for missing today." You said softly with a smile, pecking his lips before laying your head back on his chest.

"So after the morning sex?" Harry teased, making you roll your eyes and hitting him with the nearest pillow as his laughter vibrated throughout the whole flat.

Yep. London sounded pretty good.

#wroetoshaw #harry lewis #harry lewis smut #wroetoshaw smut #w2s #sidemen #sidemen smut #sidemen imagines #imagines #harry imagine #youtube #smut

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