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kjmsupremacist · 3 years ago

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sweet boy (i’ll eat you whole!) (jenoxfem!reader)

Jeno could be classified as having “golden retriever energy” or whatever the kids on TikTok are calling it. His heart is pure and open, and his favorite activities are eating and laughing.

Well—eating, laughing, and loving you.

Characters: Jeno, Reader

Genre: one-shot, romance, fluff, smut, established relationship, college au (though its not very important)

Pairing: Jeno/fem!reader

Warnings: d/s themes (dom!reader, sub!jeno), humiliation, praise kink, some rough treatment but not a lot; mostly it’s just jeno being pliant and a little dumb

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3.2k

Jeno could be classified as having “golden retriever energy” or whatever the kids on TikTok are calling it. His heart is pure and open, and his favorite activities are eating and laughing. He’s bright-eyed and optimistic, and he loves people, all people, all the time. He’s friendly and kind.

You’ve been dating for a couple of years now. You met in the first semester of college, and at first you thought he was a fucking idiot, but you realized that it was only because he was trusting and excitable. And that made you fall in love, quickly and with no detours; just a straight plummet to overwhelming endearment. And somehow, he loved you back.

It was easy with him. Your exes had tended to be closed off—they seemed to think it made them less of a man to show that they cared about their girlfriend. Jeno was different from the start. He loves you out loud. He loves to love you.

So, you suppose, his favorite activities are eating, laughing, and loving you.

You share an apartment now; your parents thought it was ill-advised, but it’s only for the school year, so it’s not like you have to worry about being stuck in a lease forever if things go south. You don’t think they will, though. It’s midwinter, and you haven’t had problems cohabitating. You share your chores evenly, and you’re both messy, but not dirty, so it works out.

Jeno’s classes run later than yours (partially due to the fact that you got stuck with the early morning classes, much to your chagrin) so you’re alone in the apartment for the moment, bumbling your way through cooking dinner. You’re going out with your friends tomorrow, but tonight is for you and Jeno, and you’re excited. It’s been a long week.

The door opens as you slide the casserole into the oven, and you hear his voice, bright and cheerful. “I’m home!” he calls.

“In the kitchen!” you reply, tugging the fridge open to get yourself a Mike’s Lemonade. You pop the cap off and take a quick swig before your boyfriend comes barreling around the corner and wraps you in a tight hug. “Hi, sweet boy,” you giggle. “Careful, or I’ll spill.”

“Ooh.” He has only just noticed the drink in your hand. He releases you and swipes it before you can react.

“You can get your own!” you complain, but you’re laughing. He takes a swig and hands it back. “How was class?”

“Boring,” he replies with a shrug, “but fine. What are you cooking?”

“Mac ’n’ cheese,” you reply. “It’s gonna take a little. I made salad, though, if you’re hungry now.”

“Always,” he says, already reaching for plates. “Thank you.” You laugh fondly.

You talk about your days over the salad, and by the time you’re done, the mac ’n’ cheese is ready. You each have a helping of that, and then Jeno washes the dishes when you’re done. You’re warm and happy as you cover the rest and slide it into the fridge. You turn to see Jeno grinning at you, his eyes familiar crescents. “Come cuddle with me,” he demands.

And who are you to say no?

The bed is huge and comfortable, but the two of you barely take up half of it, curled up together. Jeno snuggles close to your chest, and you press your lips to his temple, smiling.

He pokes you, and you poke him back. “What,” you mutter, giggling when he does it again. “Jeno, ‘m gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, and disentangles himself from you so that he can tickle you with both hands. You scream, flailing, but he’s pinned your legs with his and all you can do is twist side to side, trying to bat him away.

So you do the only thing you can think of to stop him. You kiss him.

It works; his hands fall away from your ribs; he leans over you and he has to use them to hold himself up. His eyes are sparkling when you break apart.

“Very clever,” he says. There’s a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks; he’s blushing, and staring at your lips.

You pretend not to notice. “So, what’s our plan for tonight?” you ask lightly. “Other than trying to tickle me to death.”

“Um,” Jeno says, distracted.

“If you want something, just say it,” you say quietly, raising an eyebrow.

He blinks; even after a couple of years together, he still seems surprised when you catch on to the inner workings of his mind. He blushes harder. “I don’t,” he says.

“Do I like liars?” you prompt, letting a slight edge enter your tone, smiling to yourself when he squirms.

“No,” he answers. “I, um, I wanna fuck you. If that’s okay.”

You suppress laughter. Looking at him, you’d think Jeno would be a smooth talker, always charming and charismatic. Handsome boys tend to be like that; it’s what you thought when you first met him. He made quick work of proving you wrong. “That’s not how you ask me for things,” you say, blinking at him serenely. You take his pinky finger between your thumb and index and squeeze.

This is where he can let a shift happen, if he wants. If he doesn’t, he’ll say he doesn’t want to scene tonight, and you’ll move on. He rarely makes that choice, though.

He puffs out an exhale, and then nods, ducking his head. “Will you let me fuck you, miss?”

You smile. “Of course, baby.”

His gaze flickers to yours and he gives you a shy smile, then pushes off the bed, stumbling in his haste. He tugs for the hem of his shirt.

“Slow down,” you say, tilting your head. “Let me look at you.”

He obeys, though you can tell it takes a great deal of effort. “Yes, miss,” he mumbles as he pulls his t-shirt off.

He really does have a fantastic body. You know everyone who sees him thinks so; you know everyone who sees you together is jealous. His chest is broad and muscular, and his waist is delicate despite his perfect abs. You trace the attractive line of his neck down to where it meets his shoulder appreciatively as he fumbles with the button of his jeans.

A hot thrill races through you when he finally pulls his pants down and you catch sight of his cock. He’s already half-hard; he always gets off on you telling him what to do. You have to tamp down your anticipation, instead gesturing him closer when he looks at you for instruction.

“Now me,” you say, opening your arms to him. His hands are on your body the instant the words leave your lips. He’s eager, always eager; what he lacks in finesse, he certainly makes up for tenfold in enthusiasm. You don’t mind. Lack of finesse can always be worked around. What matters to you is knowing that you’re wanted, and he shows you, loud and clear, every time.

He unbuttons your shirt, helping you peel the sleeves off your arms, and then tugs firmly on the waistband of your pants. You lift your hips, happy to let him do the hard part, which is coaxing the hem of each leg around your ankles.

In all his clumsiness, Jeno knows how to get your clothes off efficiently, so it goes quickly. He tosses your pants aside—you’ll probably have to pick them up later, but it’s not a big deal—and crawls back up the bed to you. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulls you forward so you can rest against his shoulder while he works to unclasp your bra. One deft movement and the fabric falls away. He does it faster than usual, and you wonder if he’s been practicing. Maybe that’s where your old blue bra went; you’ve been looking for it for a week. At least he had the courtesy to steal one he knows you don’t like to wear. Regardless, the thought of it amuses you, and you have to force down a smile.

He presses a kiss to your left nipple, and you gasp.

“Sorry,” he whispers before you can even admonish him. “Can’t help myself.”

“I’ll let it go,” you mutter good-naturedly, “since you’re being sweet.”

He flashes you a grin, so blinding, so handsome, and moves down to hook his fingers on the delicate lace of your underwear. He wiggles them down your body; you bend your knees so he doesn’t have so far to go.

With your panties finally out of the way, you tug him back up to the head of the bed again to give him a kiss as a reward. He moans softly into your mouth. He’s using one hand to hold himself up. The other wrist is trapped in your grasp. That hand twitches; you can tell he wants to wiggle free so he can touch you, but he’s good and doesn’t move.

When you break away, his eyes are glassy. He blinks a couple of times before focusing back in on you. “Miss?” he asks softly.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I please eat you out?” He asks like he thinks you’re gonna say no. You only say no to requests like that if he’s been particularly bad, which is honestly quite rare. Still, you pretend to think about it for a minute before acquiescing.

“Yes,” you say after a moment, watching his eyes light up as he hurries to situate himself between your legs.

Jeno’s a little messy, but there isn’t really a non-messy way to eat pussy, you suppose. You guide his head with one hand in his hair, and stutter through an inhale when you feel the warm heat of his tongue on your clit. He traces circles with the tip, then presses his tongue flat against you and toggles it back and forth. It’s a rare talent of his; up-and-down and around are easy motions, but side-to-side, especially that fast and with that much force, is a feat. You certainly can’t do it; neither could anybody else you’ve ever slept with. You sigh, letting your head fall back.

Without your scrutiny, though, he gets lazy. His movements slow, and you can hardly feel the pressure of his tongue as the minutes tick by. You raise your head, tightening your grip on his hair. “Hey,” you say sharply. “You asked to eat me out. Do it right.” You hear him inhale, and a spike of arousal runs through you when he redoubles his efforts. “That’s better.” You loosen your grip a little, but not completely; a reminder for him to behave. “If you don’t show me that you know how to use your tongue, maybe I shouldn’t let you speak.” No speaking means he can’t ask for permission to come—at least, not in a way that you can’t pretend not to understand—and he knows you can get cruel when you set your heart to it.

He makes a muffled sort of whimper against you; you think it’s supposed to be an apology, but all you can feel are the vibrations from his voice. If it was an apology, it’s a good one, you think, closing your eyes.

He slips a finger into the wet heat of your pussy without asking, but it feels good, so you let him. He has such pretty hands, such long and nimble fingers. He adds a second after a bit, and then a third after a while longer. The drag of it feels good; desire scatters with the goosebumps across your skin, dancing in senseless patterns around and around and gathering back in the hollow of your throat, where a low moan is building.

You release it, and Jeno hums against your clit, head still buried dutifully between your thighs. He crooks his fingers every other thrust, and it makes you dizzy sometimes, how well he knows your body without trying, even though he’s so distractible. A few more thrusts have you coming, shuddering and clenching around the swell of his knuckles as his tongue slows to a stop.

He raises his head, and you smile at the sight. His chin is slick with spit and with you, and you lean forward to kiss him. It catches him by surprise and the rest of his body freezes, even his hand—like he forgot he still has his fingers inside you. It’s cute, and you giggle against his lips.

He’s trembling when you release him, and your eyes find his cock, hard and red against his stomach. He sees you looking, and blushes. You look back up at him and give him an indulgent smile. “Gonna fuck me, or what?”

“Yes,” he answers after a moment’s hesitation, surprised by your blunt eagerness. He stretches a long arm out to root around in the drawer of your bedside table, coming up victorious a few seconds later, condom pinched between his thumb and index finger.

You watch him prep himself through half-lidded eyes, petting his thigh lazily to let him know you’re looking. A minute later, the condom wrapper is lost somewhere on the floor, and he’s bending over you, one hand on his cock, ready to guide it in.

“Okay?” he asks, pausing just inches away.

“Go ahead, baby,” you say, and he pushes into you.

Jeno has a damn nice cock. It stretches you and fills you but it doesn’t hurt, and you afford him an appreciative moan when he bottoms out.

“Ohfuck,” he whispers in your ear, the two words strung together like one. “Feels good, you always feel so good.”

“I know,” you say primly. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, miss,” he rushes out before he begins to thrust.

The time when the combination of an abundance of eagerness and a deficit of finesse becomes a problem is now—he goes too fast too quickly; he wants, and he lets the want control him. Some days, he’s better, but today, like most days, he lets it run away with him before you can even gather the breath to warn him not to.

“Slow down,” you say, squeezing his hip. He falters, brow furrowed. “Slower.” You watch him struggle into a slower, more comfortable pace. “You have such a nice pretty cock, you know, but you don’t even know how to use it properly. Isn’t that right?” He shivers. “You still need me to tell you what to do, even after all this time?” He doesn’t answer you, just kind of whines and moans in the back of his throat. You raise your hand in front of his face and snap your fingers. “Hey! Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeno gasps. He only says ma’am when he’s sorry; it makes the corners of your lips twitch in satisfaction. “I’m sorry.”

You sigh, feigning disappointment, letting it roll off of you so Jeno feels it. “You can’t even answer me when I’m being nice and letting you fuck me,” you continue.“What terrible manners!”

When he looks up at you, his eyes are bright with unshed tears. “I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “It just feels so good, I can’t think—”

You coo. It’s hard to stay mad when he’s so obviously trying. “I know, baby.” You cup his cheek. “It’s okay. That’s why I’m here, to help you out even when you’re feeling dumb, right?”

He nods, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Good boy,” you murmur, and he whines. “My good boy.”

He bends to press kisses to your neck, your collarbone, your tits; he ends up with his mouth closed around one of your nipples, tongue flickering across it. It’s electrifying, even if there’s little grace, and you let out soft gasps at each movement, running a hand down his back.

He’s panting now, breath hot against your skin. It’s sweet; he gets overwhelmed so easily. You can feel him inside of you, the pulse of his need; can see it in the way his hips stutter; can hear it in his voice when he swears.

“I’m close, I’m close, please,” he huffs. He tilts his face up and you see a single tear-track running down his cheek. “Fuck, please, need to come.”

You reach up to run a hand through his hair. “You do, do you?” you ask. He nods quickly; his thrusts have slowed, you notice. He’s trying to make sure he doesn’t come before you say he can. “Why’re you slowing down, baby?”

“Because I—I can’t—if I don’t—” Frustration brings a fresh wave of tears to his waterline. “You know why!” he accuses.

“Never said you could go that slow,” you say, tsking at him when he cries out and forces himself to pick the pace back up. You hold the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “Oh, look at you. You’re so cute when you get desperate.”

He whines in protest, which only proves your point. “Please.” His voice is faint, strained.

“So sweet, baby.” You lean in, scrape at his pulse point with your front teeth. “I could eat you whole.”

Jeno coughs out a sob. He’s shaking head-to-toe, like a leaf in the autumn wind, skin shining with sweat. “Please please please,” he chants quietly. “Please, it hurts so bad.”

“You beg so nice,” you say, and he gives a little cry. It sounds so defeated. Maybe you’re terrible for enjoying this, but he’s so precious. “Okay, baby. You can come.”

“Oh god, thank you, thankyouthankyoutha—” He cuts himself off to moan as he stills inside of you, letting his orgasm take hold of his body. You can feel the heat of it like this, without the movement to distract you. He thrusts shallowly to work the rest of it out, sweaty forehead resting heavy on your shoulder.

“Look so good,” you say, offhand.

He sighs happily. “Felt good,” he says. He pulls out gingerly, flipping over to do away with the condom. Then he turns back to you. “Now let me make you feel good.”

You smile. “So sweet to me,” you reply, watching him push three fingers into your pussy. He twists and curls them, smiling in a sort of self-satisfactory way when you moan.

He fucks you with three fingers until you’re dripping and writhing, and then has the audacity to squeeze his pinky in beside the others. Like this, it’s easy for him to press in deep and rub his thumb against your clit. You come within seconds, curving forward, spine ripped from the mattress as pleasure wracks your body for a second time. You sink back down against the bed as it subsides, trying to catch your breath.

You both get cleaned up, throwing your laundry into the hamper and stealing kisses as you go. You find clean underwear and an old t-shirt, and get cuddled up again on the bed, this time much more docile.

You find the remote, and together you scroll through Netflix, trying to decide what to watch.

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?” Jeno says, eyes never leaving the screen as he skims title after title. “Like, Netflix-and-chill, as in Netflix and then fuck, not chill-and-Netflix?”

You laugh. “Well, first of all, we’re not Netflix-and-chilling, we’re dating, so we can do whatever we want,” you point out. “But we can go again after the movie if it’s bothering you so much.”

Jeno blushes, from the tips of his ears down to the enticing peek of his stomach showing where his tank top has ridden up. You grin. You have him wrapped around your pinky finger, but it’s only fair. He has you wrapped around his just as tight.

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the-bau-quinjet · 4 years ago

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Seven Drinks

Bucky x f!reader

Summary: There's a reason Y/N has never had more than 3 drinks around the other avengers, and they're about to find out.

Warnings: depression, thoughts of suicide, panic attacks, angst (don't worry there's fluff too)

Word Count: 4322

a/n: This is inspired by that episode of Brooklyn 99 with 6 drink Amy (I adopted that concept!) and also Halsey's album Manic. :) I hope you like it. Anything in bold is a lyric from one of the songs on the album!

Please let me know if I messed up the trigger warning tags! I've never written anything like this before, so I just want to make sure I do it right.

Masterlist

"We're having a party tonight." Tony's announcement was met with the usual groans of annoyance at having to schmooze with the typical socialites that attended Tony's party. "You know, you are so ungrateful sometimes. here I am trying to throw you a party, and you're complaining!"

"Tony, we all appreciate the effort you go to, but- at least speaking for me- I don't like people." Y/N's response was effortless, swiftly calming Tony and explaining the reactions.

"That is why-" Tony stuttered when he actually registered the words you said. "That doesn't sound like you at all. And besides, this is a party for just us. It'll be more like team building, but without any pre-planned activities. No "smarmy, rich people" to deal with." He directed his last sentence at Bucky, Steve, and Sam.

The team actually seemed excited at the prospect, albeit skeptical of Tony's motivations.

Unsurprisingly, Nat worked up the courage to question him on it first, "what's the catch?"

"No catch. Just friends, food, and lots of alcohol." His grin quickly shifted into a smirk as the entire room turned to look at you.

You groaned slightly, not wanting all the attention. "Look, there is a reason I cap myself at 3 drinks." Holding up one finger, you started to explain, "One drink Y/N is barely any different from my sober self."

Wanda quickly cut you off, "not true! You get louder." She smirked, happy to have added that tidbit of information.

"Fine." With a laugh, you admitted she was right. "I might get the tiniest bit louder." You held up a second finger to continue your explanation, but were once again cut off.

"It's not a bad thing. It's just your happy, bubbly, and slightly louder than normal personality shining through!" Nat added, seeing an opportunity to tease you for being so positive all the time.

"Thanks Nat. Anyway," emphasizing the rudeness of being interrupted twice, you continued, "two drink Y/N is more touchy feely than normal. Not in a creepy way though!"

"I love two drink Y/N. She gives the best hugs!" Thor eagerly added to the conversation, glad to have dropped by when he did.

"Thanks Thor." With a small smile in his direction, you held up a third finger. "Three drink Y/N is the perfect amount of just past tipsy to have fun without doing anything extremely embarrassing. It makes the most sense to stop there." You finished her little speech with your typical smile and a resolute nod of your head.

"Seriously, you need to relax. Just let loose this one time!" Sam tried to encourage you. With the eyes of nearly every avenger set on you, your resolve didn't last very long.

"Fine! Maybe I'll have a fourth drink." You were met with cheers as you rose from your spot on the couch, trying to prepare for the night that was to come.

As soon as you stepped off the elevator, you had a drink in your hand. Clearly your friends were going to make sure you got a fourth drink. even Steve seemed excited when he saw you, although his golden boy personality didn't disappear completely.

"You sure about this? I don't want you to feel pressured!" Bucky nodded, weirdly enthusiastically, before adding, "Yeah doll, don't drink more than you want to."

"You two are too sweet. Sam's right, but don't tell him I said that." You winked at the two super soldiers, emphasizing the joke. "I should let myself relax sometimes. I'm in a safe place, with friends who won't let anything happen to me. What could a few more drinks really do?" You couldn't help but smile at how true that was. You were surrounded by people who care about you.

"Oh, so now it's a few more drinks? What are we talking here, six drink Y/N? Seven?" Bucky teased.

"You'll have to wait and see, Ducky." You teased right back, knowing how flustered he got at the pet name. Steve laughed at his friend as you walked away, ready for your second drink.

Before long, you had your fourth drink in your hand. It was slightly odd how literally everyone was staring at you, but your were three drink Y/N at the time, so you were drunk enough not to care.

You downed the fourth drink, unprepared for the consequences.

"So, Y/N... how do you feel?" Clint braved the waters, everyone eagerly awaiting your reaction.

"That is so nice of you to ask! I feel great! I don't think I've ever been this happy." You jumped up and down, hugging Clint with a huge smile on your face.

"How did you get even happier?" Tony chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

"Do you not like it?" Like a switch had been flipped, you were nearly crying.

"What?! No!" Tony was so taken aback at the tears pooling in your eyes, he froze, unsure how to fix it. He looked around the room for help, but everyone else was just as shocked as him.

"I'll fix it!" You were at the bar, fixing another drink before anyone fully comprehended your mood swing.

You walked back up to the group, sipping from your fifth drink as if nothing happened. "What?" You questioned the odd looks, but before receiving an answer you squealed, again jumping up and down. "Let's dance!" You turned around, ready to move to the more open area before looking back over your shoulder, "Wanda! Nat! Pepper! Come on!"

The women shared a look, ultimately shrugging before joining you on the makeshift dance floor.

"Bucky, you've been staring at her for 20 straight minutes. When are you finally gonna talk to her?" Steve couldn't help but pester him about his feelings.

"I can't help it. I've never seen her dance so much. I mean, I know she's always happy, but this is a whole new level." He didn't take his eyes off of you, even when he was responding. "I can't tell her tonight, though. This is the most she's had to drink in years."

He watched as you moved back over to the bar, needing another drink after dancing so much.

"Here we go, six drink Y/N." Bucky gestured to the bar. Steve shook his head, but allowed the change of topic.

About five minutes after your sixth drink, you were somehow bounding around with even more energy. You were nearly running around the room, trying to talk to everyone at once.

"Ducky! Have I ever told you I took gymnastics lessons for 7 years when I was younger?" You were bouncing with pent up energy, excited to be sharing more information about yourself.

"No, you've actually never mentioned that." He smiled, enraptured by your childlike enthusiasm, so enraptured that he didn't notice the mischief in your eyes.

"Well, I did! Watch this." You handed a confused Bucky your now empty glass, turning and throwing your arms up. Bucky realized two late what was happening, and with both yours and his glasses in his hands, he couldn't physically stop you.

"Y/N, wait!" His shout had everyone turn and look as you flawlessly executed two cartwheels in a row.

Bucky would swear your smile got even bigger as you turned around to look at him again.

"Normally I can do more, but" you hiccuped, then lowered your voice to a really terrible whisper, "I'm a little drunk." You leaned into him, laughing as if you just told a joke.

Wanda walked up to you with a seventh drink, hoping seven drink Y/N had a little less energy, but happy to see you having so much fun. "Here ya go! One more of your favorites, just like you asked."

"Thank youuuuuu!" You shifted to hug Wanda, leaving Bucky to miss your added warmth.

You sipped your seventh drink slower than the rest, quickly running out of energy. Sliding the empty glass across the bar, you slipped out of the party unnoticed, making your way to the kitchen for some pickles- your favorite drunk food.

Your seventh drink hit you just after you opened the pickles. Gone was the happy, bubbly persona you showed the world. The mask slipped away, leaving you alone to contemplate your life choices.

You made your way to to the lounge just outside of the kitchen, choosing to lay on the floor behind the couch and stare out of the large floor to ceiling windows.

"Where's Y/N?" Bucky glanced around the room, an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Huh? Oh, she said she wanted a snack." A very drunk Wanda turned to look at where the food was set up, scrunching her face in confusion when she couldn't find you. "Weird. Maybe she went to the bathroom?"

Bucky, having noticed your absence 8 minutes ago, didn't think you left for a bathroom break. "Maybe." Plus, you always took the girls to the bathroom with you. His eyes flitted about the room, taking one more glance before deciding to go look for you.

He decided to head for the kitchen since Wanda said you wanted a snack. He laughed at the open jar of pickles, knowing you at least passed through this room. He put the pickles away before popping his head into the lounge area.

"Y/N?" He called out, figuring this was the most likely location for you to end up.

You hummed in response, not moving from your spot on the floor. Bucky walked further into the room, slightly confused as to why he could hear you but not see you. That is, until he realized you were laying on the floor behind the couch.

"Why are you on the floor?" He smiled when he found you.

"I'm just looking at the sky." Your voice held a melancholy air as it floated through the room. Bucky's smile faltered, not used to hearing you sad. In the three years he's known you, he's only ever seen you sad because of a movie or tv show. Otherwise, you were quite literally always happy.

"Why-" he faltered, unsure how to check on you. "Is everything okay?" he nearly choked the words out, feeling slightly stressed at your sudden gloominess.

"Yeah." You took a deep breath, slowly letting it out in a deep sigh. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... I don't know." You sigh again, still looking at the sky.

Bucky chances another question, wanting to get you talking since you're acting so off. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel... so sorry." You words were so soft that Bucky could barely hear them.

"Sorry?" He tried to hide his confusion, matching your soft tone as he sat down a few feet away from you. "About what doll?"

"Just... because I feel so sad." Tears pooled in your eyes, but you didn't stop staring at the sky.

"What are you sad about?" It's taking everything in him for Bucky not to hold you right now. He doesn't want to make you even more upset, especially because he's never seen you like this.

"No one around me knows who I am..." He watched as a tear rolled down your cheek, shining in the light from the moon.

Bucky moves closer, just close enough for him to reach out and hold your hand. You squeeze it, instant relief flooding through him that he hasn't crossed any boundaries.

He goes to speak, but you cut him off. "I'm not breaking. I won't take it. And I won't ever feel this way again." Your voice is harder, as if your angry with yourself.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay to have feelings. You're allowed to feel like this. Don't push it away. Talk to me. Why don't you think anyone knows who you are? We're all here for you, Y/N." He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, trying to convey how serious he is.

You let out a dry laugh, wiping the the tears from your cheek. "My self preservation..." Bucky can tell there's more to, choosing to wait for you to continue. "All of my reservations..." You sigh again, sitting up, you scoot closer until you can lean your forehead against his shoulder. "I bottle it up. I'm my own biggest enemy." You let out another dry laugh, shaking your head without moving it from its resting place on Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky wraps his arm around you and leans his cheek against your head. "Take your time. You can talk to me." He whispered, trying to keep you talking without getting mad at yourself again.

"Well, I'd like to tell you that my sky is not blue, it's violent rain." The sounds of your sniffles break his heart. "I just pretend everything's fine because that's what I had to do when I was younger." Rather then interrupting, Bucky continues to rub small circles on your hand and your back, encouraging you to continue when you're ready. "Can I tell you a story? I... I think it'll help explain some of it."

"Of course. Anything you need, doll." He curses himself for the pet name, not wanting you to think he's joking. He just can't help it when it comes to you.

"Thank you, ducky." You chuckle, but your words are just as sincere as his. "You know I have two sisters, and I love them with all my heart, but sometimes growing up with them was hard. My older sister, she put so much pressure on herself to succeed. And, she did. She was so good at everything she did, that I felt like I had to be just as perfect.

With my younger sister, it was like it was effortless. She put just as much, if not more pressure on herself. but, she could do anything she tried to, with almost no learning curve. I always felt this crazy amount of pressure to be just as good.

My parents, they didn't really help with that. I mean, they were so supportive and I'm so grateful to them, but it was a lot of pressure. The summer between my junior and senior year of college, I wanted to get an internship. Ya know, to get some experience. It would set me up better for getting a job after graduation.

I spent months looking and applying, but nothing was working out. So, I went home for the summer. My mom would come home everyday and ask me if I got a job yet.

I spent nearly every waking hour looking for a job, even just a part time one for the summer. So one day, when we sat down for dinner and she asked if I got a job yet..."

Bucky could feel how tense you were telling this story, but he knew you needed to get it out.

"I told her, 'no, not yet' and she just seemed so disappointed. She asked if I was even applying and I snapped.

I yelled at her, something that had never really happened before. I told her I was trying. I was doing everything I could. She yelled at me for yelling and said it wasn't unreasonable to ask for updates.

I yelled right back. I kept saying I spend all day everyday trying and just when I finally get a break, she walks in and brings it all up again. I was stressed enough without her constant reminders.

I ended up running away from the table, in tears. I hid in the bathroom, there... there was a pair of scissors on the counter and I really thought about killing myself that day."

The tears are pouring out of you at this point. Bucky threw caution to the wind. He picked you up, maneuvering you to sit across his lap and lean your head on his chest. He kept rubbing circles into your back, murmuring words of encouragement.

"My younger sister tried to check on me, but I wouldn't open the door. My mom stomped down the hallway to her bedroom. I was full on having a panic attack in the hallway bathroom. I think I stayed in there for an hour before I went back to the dinner table.

My dad was in the kitchen. He put my plate in the microwave to heat up dinner for me. I ate through near constant tears, it only got worse every time he tried to ask me what happened. Why I snapped like that.

I wanted to apologize to my mom for yelling, so after I ate I went to her room. I knocked, and when she told me to come in I opened the door. I just remember her looking so angry.

I apologized. I told her I was sorry for yelling. She said something about not being unreasonable again. I cried again. When she asked what was wrong, I told her I was scared.

I couldn't put it into words though, so when she asked me 'of what?' I just shrugged. Then, she asked me if I was on my period.

God. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell at her again, To make her understand 'I only wanna die some days. But if I decide to break, who will fill the empty space?' I decided that day that I would never try to tell anyone how I actually felt."

Bucky holds you as you cry. You're not sure how long it's been when you can finally breathe enough to talk again.

"I just, so many people have bigger problems then me. I grew up in a loving household. I went to college and made friends. I got a job after I graduated. So why am I so sad sometimes? I just wanna scream but what’s the use? At night, I lay awake and I stare at the door, I just can’t take it no more."

Bucky continues comforting you when he speaks again. "Just because other people have problems, doesn't mean yours are irrelevant. You are 100% allowed to feel however you feel, even if it seems like there's no reason for it. Have you ever thought about talking to someone about all of this? I know you just said you haven't told anyone how you actually feel for years, but I think it could help." He smiled nervously when you raised your head to look at him.

"I have actually. I joked about it a lot with my roommate right out of college. I always used to say 'everybody needs therapy' as a joke. Of course, I meant it. Most people probably do need therapy." You laughed, moving your arms around Bucky's neck to hug him. "Thank you for listening to me. I like talking to you."

Of course, Bucky noticed your smile didn't reach your eyes. He was confident in his words when he spoke again. "You can always talk to me. I'll always be there to listen." He followed that with a less confident "What's been bothering you today?"

"Oh, nothing that serious. It's just all pent up inside, ya know?" You smiled again, hiding your face so he couldn't see your lies.

Of course, he could still hear it in your voice. "Y/N, you can tell me. I want to be here for you."

"I... It's just, my insecurities are hurting me." You laughed at yourself. "Here we go with the fucking riddles, again. On the plus side, I think I've cried so much I'm back to one drink Y/N."

"Well, it has been 3 hours since I left to come find you." You were grateful for Bucky's joke, needing something to lift the mood a bit. "But, don't try and change the subject. I still want to know what's got you all sad." His words were light, but you knew how serious he was.

You took a deep breath, burying your head in his neck. "How could somebody ever love me?" You spoke into his shirt, not moving your head back even an inch.

"You know I can't understand you when you talk into my neck like that." Bucky tried joking, but even he knew it would do little to calm your fears.

You moved back, lips still grazing his skin when you repeated yourself, "how could somebody ever love me?"

Bucky wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you how much he loves you. He would gladly spend every day of his life loving you, but he didn't think this was the right time. Not when you just poured your heart out to him. So he settled for the almost truth.

"Anyone would be lucky to love you. You are selfless. You put everyone else first, no matter what. You always make sure everyone has a reason to smile, even when things aren't going right. You tell the best jokes. You're great at cuddling." He squeezes you closer to him, emphasizing the point. "You are beautiful, inside and out. Everyone who comes into contact with you automatically has a better day. You are incredibly strong and independent. I've never met anyone so incredibly good. Even Steve. Anyone would be lucky to be loved by you."

His words brought more tears to your eyes, pooling in the corners. "Then how come everyone that I’ve dated says they hate it cause they don’t know what to do with me? I feel broken."

"They were all idiots. You're not broken. Not even a little bit. You're learning how to express your feelings. You just need someone who would take it slow." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, struggling not to tell you everything.

"I wonder if you’d take it slow." Your eyes go wide when that slips out. You hadn't meant to make things uncomfortable. One look at Bucky's face has you freaking out. He looks stunned. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to say that. It just slipped out! Oh god, you've been there for me all night and I go and fuck it up by admitting I'm in love with you."

Your eyes grow even larger. You would move out of his lap, but his arms are still holding you in place. "Shit! Maybe I'm still drunk because apparently I have no filter." You say the last part more to yourself, but he can still hear you.

"Y/N?" Your name comes out of his mouth in a soft whisper.

"Yes?" You cringe internally at messing everything up.

"I would take it slow." He smiles, leaning his forehead against yours while he waits for you to absorb his words.

"Yeah?" You whisper back, a smile ghosting your lips.

"Yeah." You both lean in, exchanging soft, slow kisses and sleepy smiles.

The two of you ended up falling asleep leaning against the back of the couch. The sun streaming through the windows, combined with the noise of the other avengers in the kitchen, wakes you up.

You nudge Bucky, grinning when he pulls you closer.

"C'mon. Let's get some breakfast." He groans again, but eventually stands up.

The two of you walk into the nearly full kitchen, surprising everyone by coming from the lounge rather than the elevators. They share amused expressions, unaware of the emotional hurdles you jumped last night.

You head right for Sam, hugging him tightly before moving on to hug everyone else.

"I just wanted to thank you all. For encouraging me to live a little last night, but also for being there for me." Tears spring to your eyes again, shocking everyone but Bucky. "You're all like a family to me and I'm so glad I have you all to lean on." You made your way back to Bucky, leaning into his side while he poured both of you some cereal.

You smile when you look at him, kissing his cheek before sliding into the stool next to his.

As if broken out of a day dream, Sam sputters out a question. "What the hell did seven drink Y/N do last night?" Thrown off both by your behaviour with Bucky and the short emotional speech.

"Oh, seven drink Y/N is an emotional little bitch. I think I cried eight years of suppressed tears." You laughed, grinning at Bucky when he squeezed your hand. "Also, I think I need a therapist." Your casual admission has Tony spitting out his breakfast.

"What the hell happened last night after you disappeared from the party?" He guffaws, trying to put the pieces together.

"Also, why aren't you even a little bit hungover?" Nat chimed in, upset at missing out on seeing you anything but cheery.

"Well, to answer Nat first, I don't get hungover. Never have, even the one time I blackout out." You shrugged at everyone's slightly jealous expressions. "To answer Tony, I had an emotional breakthrough. Bucky helped me talk through it, something I never thought I'd be able to do. Long story short, i'm going to learn how to share my feelings instead of suppressing them all."

"Suppressing them? What are you talking about? I've literally never felt anything but happiness from you before?" Wanda questioned the new development.

"Well, that's because I'm really good at hiding how I feel. I'd rather not go through it all again, so just watch the security footage from the lounge last night, yeah? I want you all to know, even if it took seven drink Y/N to share it." You quickly finished eating, pulling Bucky to the doorway.

"While you do that, we're going out. Bye!" Before they could question anything else, you ran to the elevator, dragging a very willing Bucky behind you.

"We're going out?" He questioned when the elevator doors shut.

"Yep. Get dressed, I want to see all your favorite places in New York. Even if they're different now. Take me to all your favorite spots." You both smiled, sharing another soft kiss before parting to change for the day.

"Hey," Bucky called, causing you to turn over your shoulder, "I love you."

"I love you too."

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes one shot #tw: suicide #tw: depression #tw: panic attack

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goodlucktai · 3 years ago

Note

(I feel like I should finish your prompt first but. These ones are so good....feel free to ignore if you have too many asks but 29 or 33 with chocobros...?

PROMPTS LIST

33. “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

ik i just did this one for natsuyuu but...........chocobros

They're somewhere in Duscae, near enough to the coast that each breeze carries a hint of the sea, on another errand for another stranger to scrape together enough gil to eat tonight.

They've stopped at the last little roadside cluster of shops before the countryside stretches far and wide and wild, stocking up on what meager supplies they can afford.

Noctis has never lived this way before. He's never gone to bed hungry before. Neither has Gladio or Ignis, for all their world-weariness and the general practical knowledge and common sense they walk around with that far surpasses Noctis' own.

Ignis can budget with the best of them, and Gladio is willing to eat literally anything at any time, but Prompto is the one who gets it.

He chats at length about all the times he's had to get creative with pasta or rice because it was all that was left in his pantry. Back in high school, when he could only work part-time. When someone should have been taking care of him, and instead he was left to figure out how to stretch a tiny budget much farther than made sense.

"Come on, Iggy," he said once when they were out shopping, half-laughing. Like he thought Ignis was joking. "Fresh produce? We've got like a hundred gil between the four of us and we're totally out of restoratives."

And Ignis paused, and glanced sidelong at him. He put back the crisp, flowery vegetables and pulled out his little notebook and asked for suggestions instead. It took Prompto a few minutes to convince himsef that Ignis was taking him seriously, but now they like, bond over canned fruit.

"I'm gonna kill this catoblepas with my bare hands," Gladio says with feeling, leaning against the car. "I'm so godsdamned sick of pasta. Don't tell Iggy I said that."

Noctis rolls an energy drink between his hands absently, brow furrowed. It's tricky business, and he's not very good at it just yet, but home-made elixirs save them a ton of gil. He feels guilty when they have to spend their money on something he should be able to do himself.

"I'm telling him," he says without missing a beat. "He'll never forget, and he'll give you shit every single time you make cup noodles from now on, forever."

"I can't stand you," Gladio tells him seriously.

The bell above the door of the convenience store rings brightly, and Noctis glances up to see Ignis and Prompto walking out looking a lot more cheerful than they did going in.

Gladio's face does something very subtle and specific when he sees them, there and gone in a second, before Noctis can pin it down and figure it out.

"What are you two chucklefucks up to?" he calls over. Ignis immediately narrows a disapproving stare at him, but Prompto beams.

"I got a commission, sort of!" he says.

"A commission?" Noctis parrots, sending the energy drink back to the Armiger.

"Sort of?" Gladio adds.

"While we were checking out, the store-owner saw my camera, and seemed really into it," Prompto says. "Since, you know. It's unique."

Noctis does know. The digital camera hanging at Prompto's side has been with him since Noctis first bought it for him three years ago. He would rebuild it every so often, bowed over a collection of impossibly tiny parts spread out carefully across a dish towel at the kitchen table in Noctis' apartment. To call it unique is a bit of an understatement.

Gladio frowns, sensing where this is going a split-second before Noctis does. "And?"

"And he offered me money for it! Like, more than it's worth probably. A lot more."

"I don't see how that could be possible," Ignis says smoothly, leaning through the open window of the Regalia to put the shopping bag in the backseat. "Since your camera is clearly priceless. Which is what I explained to the man."

Noctis relaxes, glad that Ignis and Prompto have bonded over shopping to the point that neither of them want to do it unless they can go together-- because if Prompto had been in there by himself, he 100% would have sold his camera. He would have hated to do it, but he would have done it. It's like he thinks he owes his friends something just for letting him exist.

"Good looking out, Specs," Gladio says gruffly. Prompto waffles a bit, looking torn between pleased and embarrassed. Noctis decides to rescue him.

"What commission, though?" he asks.

"Oh, right. Well, he was kind of bummed about the camera, but he asked if he could see some of my photos, and Ignis said we had time-- "

If it were literally anyone else, Noctis thinks, up to and including and especially the Actual Crown Prince, Ignis would have said they were in a hurry and not to show off.

"--and he seemed really impressed! With the photos! I told him we were going to take down a catoblepas, and he asked why, and I said for some cash, I mean, clearly," Prompto adds, gesturing at the four of them and their general road grime. "So he, ah-- well he's never seen a catoblepas up close before, and he said if I could get some good pictures of it, he'd pay me for them. He gave me a figure, and it's, like, better than some of the jobs I've done for Vyv."

He's delighted, clearly. He likes feeling like he's pulling his own weight. Noctis is always so relieved when Vyv calls, not because of the inherent payday, but more because it puts this light in Prompto's eyes that Noctis would easily climb a hundred volcanic mountains for.

"Damn, Prompto, at this rate you'll have funded our whole trip," Gladio says. He doesn't ruffle his hair anymore, because Prompto actually hates that, just sort of scrunches his fingers through it instead. Prompto doesn't hate that at all. It's adorable.

Sometimes in the early morning, when he and Noctis are the last to drag themselves out of the tiny camper, they'll do their affirmations together:

"Gotta be our best today," Noctis will say, and Prompto will put on this absurdly determined expression, bed hair hanging into his eyes and cheek still creased pink from the pillow.

"Gotta get those hair scrunches," he'll reply gravely.

"What else did he say, Prompto?" Ignis says in a pleasant tone of voice that Noctis hasn't trusted since he was seven years old.

"Um! Nothing. Nothing worth repeating, anyway, you know." He is looking completely away from them now, an avoidance tactic if Noctis has ever seen one. "Woah, is that really the time? We better get going if we wanna catch that cow before it gets dark!"

He turns toward the car and runs into Gladio's arm instead.

"He suggested that Prompto's talents would be put to better use in different company," Ignis says, his voice carrying clearly over Prompto's whine of 'nooo, Iggy, let it go.' "He said that if Prompto ever got tired of our lifestyle, his door would be open."

Ah, Noctis thinks, followed by, ouch?

"Oh, fuck that guy," Gladio blurts. "Let me go talk to him."

"No!" Prompto clings to his arm, throwing all his weight into keeping Gladio in place. The Shield, who could bench Prom's entire body weight in one hand, lets himself be detained anyway and pretends to be annoyed about it. "Ignis, why are you causing trouble right now?" Prompto says frantically.

"Transparency is important in a relationship," Ignis replies.

"There's transparency and then there's causing trouble. Noct, tell them."

"I think Gladio should go talk to him," Noctis says immediately. But then Prompto looks betrayed, and it makes Noctis feel awful. "Ugh, okay. Okay. We're leaving. Ignis, Gladio, that's an executive order."

"Are you sure I can't punch him in the face?" Gladio grumbles.

"Am I-- yes, dude!" Prompto half-laughs nervously. "Very sure!"

"What if I just broke his nose a little?"

"Then that would be treason, I guess, cause Noct just said no."

It's with the standard amount of bickering and noise that they climb into the car, the top rolling up over their heads as it starts to drizzle. Ignis pulls smoothly back onto the cracked asphalt road and reaches over to turn the radio on; a peace offering. From the backseat, Noctis can see the corner of Prompto's smile, framed by a flyaway piece of yellow hair.

They live this way now, but they didn't always. Noctis used to have the run of the whole Citadel, had his own penthouse apartment, grew up dodging banquets and lavish dinners. It's not like he likes sleeping on the ground and having nothing to eat. It's not like he chose to lose his home.

But it could be worse. It's not a bad way to live, just Noctis and the people he loves best and these countless hours together. There's a lot of hard work and sometimes he goes to bed hungry but he knows he'll remember these days forever. He knows he'll miss them.

"Hey," he says, over the quiet sound of rain on the windows and the catchy synth-pop crooning out of the speakers. "Don't ever sell your camera, okay?"

Prompto says, "I mean, I wouldn't ever want to."

"Seriously," Noctis presses. He doesn't want to let it go. It feels important. "Your pictures are-- they mean the world to me, Prom. I can't even tell you."

His friend looks bewildered. He's half-turned in his seat, and his eyes stray to Gladio, then jump to Ignis, then settle back on Noctis. Whatever he's looking for, he seems to find it, because he smiles.

"Okay, weirdo," he says, "one fully-documented roadtrip, coming up. I won't leave anything out."

Noctis is counting on it.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #chocobros #polyship roadtrip #prompto argentum #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #noctis lucis caelum #my writing #prompt #owletstarlet #ffxv fic #irrelevant but i listened to willow by twsift on repeat while writing this so thats like. the vibe

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suginami-division · 2 years ago

Note

A knock is heard on the door of the Alert Detective Agency. Opening the door reveals no one but a few wrapped presents all addressed to Shuu Edogawa. Bringing them inside you see an envelope attached to one of the gifts with "Open First" written on top. Opening the envelope you see not a letter but a disc the size of a hand. Suddenly the disc activates and reveals a hologram of Kaoru Shinozaki of Wicked Requiem.

"Happy Birthday Shuu! Sorry, I can't be there to hand you these in person but Yuriko refuses to let me out of the house. Something about passing me out in the street because I haven't slept in 168 hours. Which rude I've gone longer without sleep before." Kaoru complains, pulling out an energy drink and drinking it all in one go. “Alright enough about my lack of sleep time. It's gift time!” Kaoru cheers.

Opening the first gift reveals several small black and white orbs lined inside the box.

"A way for you to distract people, the black orbs are smoke bombs while the white orbs are flash-bangs. Throw either on the ground hard enough and they’ll release black smoke or white light to blind your target. It’ll help you escape without having to do that weird crab maneuver as a distraction." Kaoru giggles.

Opening the second gift reveals a small black rod no bigger than Shuu’s hand. To Shuu’s surprise, the rod extends to a baton. It begins to glow in the signature color of the Sazanka Zombeez.

"I’m sure you’ve seen my Spider Bite gauntlets before. The baton is the same way. Hit the button on the side and you’ll give someone an electrical shock when you strike them. Though for your baton I limited the strength so you don't accidentally stop someone’s heart with it. It should just be strong enough to knock someone out." Kaoru finishes.

Opening the last gift reveals a prepaid gift card.

“Here’s a little something so you can get something a little nice. It has about 10,000$ loaded onto it. So you can spend to your heart's content. Get a few new outfits on me. Huh? Where did the money come from? Don’t worry about how I got the money." Kaoru replies a smirk on her face.

"Well Shuu, I can feel the lack of sleep catching up to me. I hope you enjoy your gifts and the rest of your birthday. Come and visit soon. Ah, shoot just remembered Kanra says to come over tonight cause she baking you a cheesecake for your birthday.” Kaoru manages to get out before her head hits the table. Loud snoring can be heard as the hologram cuts off.

Having just gotten back home from partying with a few friends and in between getting ready to see his family, Shuu was surprised to see a mysterious stack of gifts appear in front of his door. When he was able to carry all the gifts in and set them on the coffee table in the middle of his office, Shuu was surprised to open the envelop and see the hologram of his good friend pop up. How cool was it that Shuu got a hologram message from a friend? Already, he was excited to see what the boxes were going to have.

Making himself comfortable on one of the couches, Shuu unwrapped the first box and let out a little chuckle. Smoke bombs and flash bangs would certainly help with having to make a more safer escape, especially with how many of the D.R.B. competitors that have been catching Shuu! “With these, I can really confuse those guys, hehe…!”

Digging into the next box, the reveal of the electrical baton really seemed to excite the detective. Extending the rod and watching it glow, he couldn’t help but stand to give it a few test swings, just to see how it felt in his hand. “This is amazing! My own surprise baton!” In an almost sadistic giggle, Shuu started to plot. “Maybe I can test this on Ryuko before the day ends…”

Getting into the last gift, the gift card probably surprised Shuu the most. 10,000 was a lot and it really worried Shuu where Kaoru had gotten that sort of money. And as if the hacker had read his mind, Shuu got his answer pretty quickly, although it wasn’t explicitly stated. “I’ll let this slide… Just for now.” Shuu could only pout at the smirking hologram. It was hard to say no to an opportunity to indulge in his secret hobby. For once, Shuu didn’t try to scold Kaoru for doing something that was most obviously illegal.

“Thank you Kao-chan!” Shuu smiled and waved at the hologram, despite knowing that the Edogawa division member was unable to see or hear him through the recording. Watching Kaoru slam into the table at the end got Shuu to flinch and begin to worry for her health, but he figured that what Yuriko said was true… Poor girl must have stayed awake for over 150 hours, which really was worrying. Shuu hoped that Kaoru got the sleep she needed at the end. “I really should go see them tonight. Hopefully mama Yu-chan will let me in tonight.”

Picking up what was undoubtedly his favorite gift that Kaoru had given him, Shuu continued to give the baton some more test swings. He kept giggling to himself, extremely excited to have gotten a new defensive weapon, although there was no doubt in his mind that it could get confiscated if he got caught with it.

“S-Should we be worried about nii-chan?”

“I mean… He looks happy?”

The three triplets spied on Shuu through the window of the agency's door, eavesdropping on the collection of items that their older brother had seemingly gotten from the suspicious hologram friend they had never seen before.

“Papa's gonna tattle on him if he saw nii-chan with that stuff. I’m pretty sure his hologram friend gave him some illegal stuff.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely.”

“Should we say anything?”

“...”

“Yeah, let’s not.”

“For nii-chan?”

“For nii-chan’s happiness.”

Thank you! Finally, Shuu can taser criminals for justice. ☆ﾍ(｀･ω･)ﾉ┌┛

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone oc #sazanka zombeez #suginami division #shuu edogawa #happy birthday shuu 2022 #ask #edogawa division #kaoru shinozaki #edogawa triplets #ichigo edogawa #niko edogawa #mikasa edogawa

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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years ago

Text

hi y’all<3 here’s a new section of the gallavich as seen from alternate POVs fic, this time featuring lip!!!! (i wanted to wait til after the ✨lickey drama✨ in the new ep before posting, but then i decided against it bc i didn’t want to re-write this lol)

i started to have way too many feelings while writing this so it’s a little lengthy and contemplative, but rest assured it features some domestic fluff/ian and mickey being disgustingly in love- i hope u enjoy<3

Lip shuffled into the kitchen of the Gallagher house, opening the fridge door and reaching past the clanging beer bottles to grab a metal soda can on the way back of the shelf, hearing a faint fizz escape as he popped the tab. It was late, the moonlight streaming in across the kitchen through the worn curtains and pooling on the kitchen floor— after Tami had crashed in their bed at the apartment after a long day at work and Freddie was sleeping soundly in his crib, Lip had come by the Gallagher house, without really knowing why. He just needed to clear his head, to get some distance from Tami and all her relentless nagging about moving and apartment hunting and his colossally obvious fuck-up with the bikes— he just needed some space, some less stifling air to breathe outside of their half-packed apartment crammed with boxes lining the walls.

It was funny; no matter how much energy Lip had poured into he and Tami’s first apartment, into painting the walls and agonizing over their kitchen backsplash like it was his first-born son, whenever Lip thought about home, whenever he felt that pit of uneasiness growing in his stomach and he just needed a place where he could lie back on a couch and loosen the knots in his shoulders and breathe in familiar air that would fill him up, instead of the too-clean smell of Tami’s flowery potpourri that she’d placed on the expensive coffee table in their living room— Lip always found his feet leading him across the slabs of sidewalk and past the chain link fences towards the Gallagher house, no matter the time of night. He had only been in the house for a few minutes before he felt the tight-knit something in his chest begin to unfurl— he didn’t even want to start to think about what was lodged there. This had been a crazy fucking couple of months, and he wasn’t going to start getting sappy about selling the house now, not when they were so close. He’d dug a hole too deep this time, and he needed the money. He couldn’t fuck up again— not with Freddie to take care of. No matter what it cost him.

So that’s how Lip ended up sitting at the Gallagher kitchen table at 2 a.m. on a Thursday night, sipping at an overly-sugary pop that was no substitute for what he really wanted to be drinking right now—he could imagine how it would warm the insides of his stomach, how it would cushion whatever weird fucking ache was in his chest right now. But— no. Fuck no. He wasn’t going to do that now. Everything about selling the house, about moving on, was about getting his shit straight— about leaving the bad parts of this sagging roof and these stained floorboards behind him.

Lip slouched in the wooden kitchen chair, scrolling on his phone and finally letting out a breath he didn’t really know he had been holding in all day, when he heard a creaking of footsteps padding at the top of the stairs— too heavy to be Liam or Debbie, too careful and unfumbling to be Frank dragging himself through the house. Lip flickered a glance up from where he was sitting and met Ian’s eyes as he turned the corner of the stairs, his skin looking translucent and overly pale in the moonlight like the ginger motherfucker he was.

Ian nodded his head towards Lip in acknowledgement, like he wasn’t surprised in the slightest that his older brother with a whole ass family and apartment of his own was decidedly squatting in the kitchen of his childhood home, drinking a pathetic-looking can of Dr. Pepper. Ian slid open the fridge door, grabbing a beer and swiftly popping the cap off by knocking the bottle on the side of the counter—and then in an instant it became one of those quiet, familiar nights when it was just Lip and Ian in the kitchen, sometimes letting easy conversations flow between them, but other times, just like this— just sinking into each other’s presence in the silence. Ian’s shadow mingling with the moonlight on the kitchen floor immediately snapped the atmosphere from lonely and self-pitying and stale to something lighter, something familiar—like the worn, buttery leather of a baseball glove that fits just right.

Instantly Lip was brought back to so many nights before this, of he and Ian orbiting each other in the kitchen at night— when they were kids and would creep down the stairs and eat fistfuls of junk food that Fiona had forbidden, or steal warm sips of the open beers Frank had left on the counter. This was where they’d processed Monica’s return, late at night while they passed a cigarette between them and Ian hadn’t tried to hide the tears that were freely rolling down his freckled cheeks, back when they were both just confused kids who clung to each other— this was where they’d processed Frank’s alcoholic meltdowns, too many to count, and all the love and loss and confusion that had passed between these walls, all the collateral damage of living in this fucking neighborhood. And Lip felt a sudden pang in his gut, sharp and present, when he realized that it might be one of the last nights that he and Ian got to spend in the kitchen like this.

Lip immediately shoved the thought down with all his might, a hydraulic press squeezing out any sentimentality. He had to do this— for Freddie, for Tami. He had to man up and move on, even if it meant physically wounding the crumbling walls to ease the pain of the parallel jagged wounds somewhere deep in his chest, or screaming and shouting until veins popped in his neck, so loud that he knew he was radiating his pain outwards like a fucking atomic bomb.

But tonight, Lip had no more fight left to give. He just wanted to let these four walls hold him one last time, without even realizing that was what he had needed until this moment. Ian slid a chair out from the kitchen table and sat beside him, leaning back and dragging out a slow, sleepy breath.

Lip cleared his throat, softly. “Where’s Mick?”

“Passed out upstairs.” Ian scrubbed a hand over his face. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Lip raised his eyebrow, almost involuntarily, and Ian immediately jutted his chin up in a half-nod, an affirmation, as he leaned back even farther and took the first sip of his beer. No, he wasn’t manic and yes, he was fine. After all the years that had passed since Ian was still figuring this shit out, Lip sometimes forgot that checking in on him wasn’t really his job, not anymore.

Lip took another sip from his soda can, a movement to fill the easy silence. “How was your guys’ night?”

Ian shrugged non-committally, his shoulders still slumped back in the chair, his lips puckered around the mouth of the bottle as he stared off into the distance at the peeling kitchen wallpaper. “Eh. It was fine. I dragged Mickey out to try and make more gay friends. Ended up being a mistake.”

Lip held back a laugh, taking a sip from his own drink to mask his smirk. He had ample auditory evidence that Mickey was plenty as gay as Ian, but it was still hard to imagine Mickey leaning into all of this shit— Ian used to wear golden underwear and frequent gay clubs and go to social justice brunches, but none of that really seemed like it was Mickey’s scene.

“Oh yeah? Mickey not the easiest person to befriend?” Lip said it with his eyebrows raised, like the joke was obvious.

Ian looked up at him, like he’d been snapped out of a sleepy train of thought, staring earnestly like Lip’s jab had flown right over his head. “Actually, it was kind of my fault. I was the one who made us leave this dinner party thing we got invited to. They were all talking shit about the Southside, about how they hated their families, and I couldn’t really… connect with them, I guess.”

Lip pondered that, taking a breath and stretching his arms above his head. God, he was sore— he hadn’t even been fucking working, aside from hauling those bikes from place to place to avoid the cops, but all the pent up stress and tension was starting to linger in his bones.

“Yeah, it was the same for me. In college, or whatever. Joaquin was the only person I really talked to, because he got all the shit I was always going through.”

Ian nodded contemplatively—but he was staring off into space again, almost like he was half asleep. Lip took another sip of his soda. He could bring up the house shit again right now—it was all that they’d been talking about for the past few weeks—but for some reason it felt too raw, too intense to bring up right now, like it would cut through this peaceful moment, this island in the vast sea of uncertainty Lip knew he was bringing down on all of their heads. So in this moment, he opted for smoother waters.

“Why’d you guys go looking for new friends, anyways?”

Ian finally broke out of whatever drowsy, pensive trance he’d been in, his lips sloping into a smile. “Mickey kept giving me shit for always doing what you do, after breakfast today. I figured… I don’t know, I just got all pissy and tried to prove him wrong.”

Lip felt the corner of his mouth tick upward at that. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Ian grinned, and held out his beer bottle, stretching his arm across the table. Lip tapped it with his soda can with a light “Cheers,” then took the final sip. He crushed the can to a disk on the table, pressing it down firmly with the heel of his palm and watching the sides compress. Ian’s eyes were cast downward at the table, watching his movements.

“How’s stuff with you and Tami going, all the packing and shit?”

Lip turned the flattened can on its side, contemplatively spinning it like a top on the table and fidgeting with it between his fingers.

“Honestly? I’m fucking exhausted.”

He could hear the breathiness as he said it, how deflated his own voice sounded. And Lip knew could make himself say more— he knew if anyone would get it, Ian would.

“It’s just… fuck, man.”

He looked up and Ian was staring directly at him now, his expression unguarded— listening. Listening like he always did in these moments. Lip let out a low chuckle, trying to shield his own vulnerability.

“How’d we get so fucking old? How is this… it, y’know? Finally leaving the fucking nest, or whatever.”

Ian smiled, placing his beer on the table. “I think you already left the nest when you had a baby and moved into an apartment with your girlfriend.”

Lip shrugged, fiddling with the crushed can again between his fingertips. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

“And you are the one making us do this, for the record.”

If Ian’s tone wasn’t as playful or as tentative as it was, Lip would have worried that he was upset— but judging by Ian’s still-comfortable slouch and his steady expression, Lip knew he was fine— he was weathering the storm, just like Lip was.

Ian leaned forward.

“Hey. Mickey was giving me shit—but it is true. You’re my best friend, even though you can be a fucking asshole sometimes.” Ian’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Ian’s eyes flickered around the kitchen as he spoke, and Lip heard everything that was unsaid. Even though you’re kicking us out of the house. Even though you’re changing everything. Even though there isn’t a focal point to our lives anymore.

You’re my best friend.

And Lip felt that pang in his gut again, sharp like a dagger.

He’d said it before, and he’d had no problem saying it over and over again in Mickey’s absence, up until the months before the wedding— Ian did always go a little bit “loco” when Mickey was around.

Which, fuck him, I guess, for caring about his little brother with an undiagnosed mental illness who was off living in the Milkovich House of Horrors slash meth lab with Mickey fucking Milkovich, the bully with greasy hair who Lip wrote papers for in high school and who now was a literal, actual, godforsaken pimp. Lip had seen a teenage Ian bruised and drunk and curled into himself crying over Mickey too many times to ever think that this shit was a good idea— and years later, when Ian almost threw away everything, almost threw away stability and sanity and his fucking family to follow Mickey Milkovich across the Mexican border, Lip knew he had to say something, even though it was an unspoken rule that he and Ian didn’t really critique each other’s love lives since the Mandy-and-Karen fiascos of years past.

So he’d said it, that day in the kitchen, after Ian had returned on a Greyhound bus and they were still processing the dull pain of Monica’s loss— and Ian had taken the feedback with a closed-lip smile, like his head was somewhere else, as he picked at the corner of the beer bottle label with his thumb.

And then less than a year later Mickey was released anyways, and ended up standing in a tank top and boxers in the middle of the Gallagher living room, when the house was crawling with strangers and Freddie was barely two weeks old— and Lip had taken in a sharp breath, a bundle of hesitant nerves sprouting for whatever the fuck this situation was going to become; but not one that he could really give attention to, with all the other bullshit that was pulling at his focus, like the desperate screeching of his newborn kid and the mascara running down Tami’s face.

Later that night, when he’d had a spare moment to breathe and Tami was finally calmed down and sleeping in their cramped bedroom, he’d run into Ian in the moonlit hallway as he was stumbling his way out of the bathroom, drowsily rubbing his eyes with his hair sticking up. And Lip had stopped him with a whisper, placing a hand to tap Ian’s shoulder as Ian blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey. So uh… I see Mickey’s out.”

He’d seen the defenses immediately raise in Ian’s eyes, like he knew what Lip was going to say next.

“Yeah.” Ian had said it soft, quietly, like he was afraid of someone waking.

You sure that’s a good idea? Lip could feel the words itching on the tip of his tongue, and he was aching to say them again, all these years later— and yes, maybe his head was so wrapped up in his own shit that he didn’t really have the authority to be doling out relationship advice to his little brother right now, but so much of this reminded him of things that had happened in the past, of Mickey Milkovich crashing on Ian’s bedroom floor until he inevitably couldn’t anymore, until the pressure cooker of his presence mingled with Ian’s inevitably exploded— or at least that was how Lip saw it. There were too many wounds, and they were bound to leave scars— Lip was honestly surprised as fuck that the Gallagher house was Mickey’s first stop out of prison, after everything that had gone down between the two of them.

But, for Ian’s sake, Lip tried to reign it in—despite the fact that they’d just been commiserating about “being in love with crazy people” as they crouched on the living room stairs the night before as Ian sipped on a beer, sputtering out a “fuck no” when Lip asked if he was going to marry Mickey (which was an equally as batshit question as if Lip was going to marry Tami). Despite all of this— now that Mickey was back, Lip could see that this was something Ian wanted, that this was something Ian was treading carefully into, one more time. He was definitely stronger now; even Lip could see that.

“He gonna be hanging around here a while?”

Ian had given a gentle, sleepy smile. “Yeah. Think so.”

And Lip had just reached out, and clapped Ian’s sleep-warmed body on the shoulder. “Sounds good, man.”

Ian had walked the remaining length of the hallway, opening the bedroom door— and in the shadows, Lip could see that Mickey was curled on the old, concave mattress of Ian’s single bed that he’d slept on since they were kids— and Ian had lifted the thin blanket and pressed up next to him, the mattress sinking beneath their collective weight, settling in and pressing a kiss to the top of a snoring Mickey’s head without a second thought. Huh.

That was the beginning of Lip starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, this time with Mickey would be different— and it was. As Mickey started to become a daily fixture in the Gallagher house, constantly pinned to Ian’s side, Lip had noticed how something solid had shifted—they weren’t reckless kids anymore, for starters. He hadn’t really seen Mick and Ian physically together since Ian was catapulting off the deep end, in the weeks after Ian had gotten dragged away by the P.I.s and Mickey had gotten locked up for some crazy fucking stunt trying to murder Sammy. Things were too intense then, too technicolor—for some reason, Lip thought Mickey being back meant that they’d return to being that way.

But now here was this guy, placing a gentle hand on Ian’s chest and saying “Woah, wait a minute” to protect Ian from the batshit P.O. that had just barged through the door—and Lip couldn’t help but realize that was something that he would have done to protect Ian, in a universe where Mickey was still behind bars.

After then, Lip just kept seeing it— the ways that Mickey showed up for Ian. Not even in the ways that he used to, like forcing Ian to take his meds back when everything was uncertain and Ian was slipping through their fingers like sand in a sieve; but in a more solid, adult way, in a way that made Ian buzz whenever he was around him, in a way that made Ian happier and lighter. And maybe it was just the sex—part of it had to be the fucking sex, considering how loud they always were— but Lip realized, after a couple of weeks of Mickey’s presence in the house before their whole eventual engagement fiasco, that Mickey was Ian’s friend, in addition to all the other things he was. After all the years of uncertainty, they’d finally grown the fuck up— Mickey was someone who brought out the best in Ian, and it was like Ian had been waiting for this moment, for Mickey by his side, before he could fully and totally bloom.

And it was weird how emotional that made Lip— after seeing Ian as a hollow shell in a jumpsuit pushing garbage cans around a college campus, or pretending to be someone he wasn’t who wore patterned button-up shirts and threw around fucking useless five-dollar words that Lip didn’t understand like “gender identity” and “intersectionality”— Ian had finally made it, beyond being the bruised, scrawny kid getting sexually abused by a creepy 30 year old man in the back room of a mini-mart, or getting high off his ass every night and starving himself to fit into a golden thong, or wearing a baggy janitor suit with dark circles under his eyes and pallid skin. Ian had done that shit on his own, and made himself into something in Mickey’s absence, sure— but so much of him being the full, happy person he was in this moment was because of Mickey, and Lip could see that now.

Ian was himself— he wasn’t a shadow anymore.

And that was why Lip had said he thought he should marry Mickey, in the end— because there was no doubt in his mind that Mickey Milkovich wasn’t going anywhere, not anytime soon.

Lip could still see it now, in the way that Ian was lounging comfortably in the living room, like he had his whole life— but now Mickey was resting just as comfortably beside him. It was a few weeks after that night in the kitchen, and Lip had just pitched the FOR SALE sign in the Gallagher front yard— now everyone was huddled in the living room, for what they now knew was one of their last lingering nights in this space. Liam was sitting next to Lip, pressed into his side, seeking the comfort that Lip knew he needed through all of these massive fucking changes— Franny was playing on the floor and Debbie was sitting beside her, and across the room Ian and Mickey were pressed side-by-side on the fraying loveseat, scrolling through the lease document for their new apartment on the battered laptop. They were murmuring things to each other that Lip couldn’t really make out— but Mickey was pressed against Ian, slouching into him slightly, and Ian’s eyes were light. In his flicker of a glance towards them, Lip noticed that Mickey was playing with Ian’s hand, swiping a finger over his wedding ring, as Ian scrolled through the paperwork and started to read all the contract information out loud— and Lip smiled to himself as he tried to tune out all the sappy bullshit that was going on in that corner of the room.

Ian was going to be just fine.

Hour later Lip strode out the door to the front porch, a cigarette he’d bummed off of Ian wrapped in his fist— he didn’t smoke anymore, especially not under the same roof as Tami, but there was something about the gravity of this night, of the flimsy red and white sign rooted in the front yard, that made Lip’s fingertips itch for a cigarette and made his brain buzz with the want of nicotine to dull the sharp edges of everything he was feeling—for smoke to float in front of his face while he sat on the front steps just one more time.

He perched on the front steps as the sun was just starting to set, the fish-scale shadows of the chain link fence encroaching further and further into the yard as he flicked at his lighter.

He heard a light cough from somewhere in front of him— and saw that Mickey was outside too, blowing smoke out of his mouth and leaning against the fence in the front yard facing the house. Lip nodded at him in acknowledgement, then took the first drag. Fuck, he’d needed this.

“You gonna miss this place?”

Mickey said it into the open air, like he isn’t really talking to Lip— his eyes were off in the distance, staring at the paint-chipped front façade of the house. Which was fucking bullshit—why would Mickey be staring absentmindedly, almost fucking wistfully, at the Gallagher house?

It’s not like he and Mickey didn’t talk— they definitely did, pragmatically flinging banter across the kitchen to each other at breakfast when coordinating rides for Liam or grocery list items when Debbie was off at work, existing in the same space every morning— and Mickey helped him haul literal tons of iron when he’d helped him steal the bikes, had haggled over his cut. But never like this—never with any weight, never in a way that was this casual, or this familial, about fucking feelings.

Part of that was probably because it was hard as fuck to worm your way into the Gallagher family—as wide open as their door always seemed to be, with people filtering in and out and crashing on hallway floors or the lumpy couch, this house only continued to function because of its nucleus— because of Lip and Ian and Carl and Debbie and Fiona and Liam and yes, even Frank. Everyone else was a passerby, an impermanent blip crossing through the way station; Jimmy-Steve, Sean, Carl’s slew of girls, Mandy and Karen.

Monica.

None of them were Gallaghers— none of them considered this place to be home, or got all the privileges that came with that. The Gallaghers, the real Gallaghers, had seen every one of these people come and go— and something slippery suddenly crept into Lip’s realization that despite all the odds, despite all of his doubts about him—Mickey had chosen to stay close to these four walls just as much as Lip had.

“Mickey’s family.” Ian had said it over a mouthful of bacon at breakfast a few weeks ago, and Lip had immediately shot him down; but maybe there was some truth to what Ian had said, some truth to the oddly unfailing consistency to Mickey’s ten years. Which meant that maybe…

Maybe it was time to make a fucking peace offering, or whatever.

Lip hummed in acknowledgement to Mickey’s question, pulling himself out of his train of thought.

“Hey. Mick.”

Mickey looked up at where Lip was leaning on the porch, his brows furrowing like he was bracing himself for a confrontation. “Yeah?”

“My head’s been too far up my ass the past couple of months to say it, but, uh. I’m glad you’re family, y’know?”

He’d been passively thinking it for months— but he’d never said it to Mickey, never this directly. He hoped Mickey got it, without brushing it off or shooting him down with some snarky fucking comment like he always did. Lip meant it— he was glad, he was grateful, he was ready to let Mickey Milkovich keep being a part of his fucked up familial life. And he hoped that Mickey saw that.

Mickey just rolled his eyes, taking another drag of his cigarette—but he didn’t say anything in reply, not for a moment. And then:

“You’re as sappy as your fucking brother, Phillip.”

#i’ve said it once and ill say it again nothing makes me more emo than ian and mickey sharing ian’s old bed #also sorry this was kinda ANGSTY what can i say #lip is Too Much #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm

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itsbeaconhillsbaby · 3 years ago

Note

I love your writings, they’re so good and realistic and not weird and cringe like some others on here, by far the best I’ve seen in a while !! Was just wondering if you’re taking requests and if so if you could do one when your an actress and have always had a crush on him but you meet him at an after party at a premier or something and have flirty banter and maybe more ? Thankyou x

hello my lovely x

this is so unbelievably sweet I've been screaming since this popped into my inbox. I wanted to start this off by saying a massive thank you - this is my first ever requested piece and I am so excited to be able to create something for you! this is a milestone fic: the 10th fic that I've written for tom, and is also one of my longest!! I also want to apologise for how long it has taken me; I started on this a while ago now and you have been so patient and kind! please enjoy and let me know what you think! (also the timing that this is now coming out on his birthday is all the spook!!)

after party antics || tom holland x reader

word count: 2729 warnings: alcohol use summary: premiere after party meet cute

Circular tables filled the floor as glittering chandeliers hung low from the ceilings above. Pretty foliage and large blooming fresh flowers in pastel pinks, greens and blues, draped through the room, entangling themselves around chairs and across wooden beams. Lace, satin and chiffon brushed along the floors as what felt like the entire film industry conversed with one another; hands clutching at suit jacketed arms, glasses clinking in cheers.

Music, chatter, camera flashes and laughing filled the room - sounds reverberating all around. You glide through the crowds, smiling and nodding your thanks as people congratulated you from either side.

Taking a detour from your path, you spotted the signs for the bathroom and let out a shaky exhale when it appeared empty. Resting your hands on the wash basin and closing your eyes, you took a couple of deep breaths before your face erupted into a toothy grin, a small squeal of excitement bubbling from your lips.

You were at an after-party.

For your very first film.

Surrounded by some of Hollywood’s finest.

WHAT!

If your best friend woke you up stating that this was all some insane dream, you wouldn’t be surprised. It would make more sense, actually – this just couldn’t be your life.

You could feel yourself spiralling and spritzed a little bit of water onto your face to calm yourself down, making sure not to ruin the amazing make-up look that your team had spent so long perfecting earlier that day.

The premiere had only just finished.

You had walked across the red carpet on wobbly legs – cameras flashing, thousands of fans screaming from behind barriers, photographers and press overpowering each other in order to get the best angles and shots; screaming for you to ‘look over here’, ‘turn to the side.’

The premiere had only just finished up as you sat amongst a drool-worthy cast; some of the biggest names in Hollywood. Joining such a large cast was daunting, especially considering who some of those people were – and more so since it was with Marvel, one of - if not the - biggest film franchises out there.

You took another look in the mirror, tucking your hair behind your ears and smoothing down the front. Giving a twirl in your signature Teuta Matoshi gown, the tulle dress embroidered with tiny little yellow daffodils and white daisies, you took a moment to admire your favourite designer as you adjusted the slightly puffed sleeves before leaving the restroom.

You held the door open behind you to allow for a gaggle of tall women to enter in beautiful flowing gowns, turning abruptly to shift yourself out of the way - smiling at them as they all smiled back.

Up on the tips of your toes, wobbling slightly in your heels, you try to peer over the heads of the masses of people. You were eagerly looking for your team, consisting of your incredible manager and your best friend, who you dragged everywhere with you. But you could barely see past the sea of heads in front of you.

You decided to head for the heavy, wide double-set doors that stood open, leading out into the freshly manicured gardens; alive with luscious trees, plants and flowerbeds. A separate dirt path led into a lowly lit rose garden that was nestled in amongst the grasses.

It was a little quieter outside, but not by much.

There was a large marquee to your immediate left. A bar was situated at one end as bottles were flipped in the air - waiters passing out trays lined with champagne flutes. Pristinely clothed tables were crowded with guests; bodies tumbled past you as they headed into the marquee - parties splitting into different locations now that the main event had concluded, leading into a very alive and wild after party.

Your cheeks ached as the smile on your face refused to drop. Too amazed by your surroundings to let it relax. You stand out on the patio area, looking out across the gardens towards the glow of the city in the distance, lights twinkling in exchange for stars. Despite the dry warmth of the evening you could feel the lightest of winds raising the tiny hairs on your arms.

“Room for another?”

You jumped slightly at the interruption, the voice light and questioning. You turn, your dress dancing around you.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting. I’m Tom, I’ve been meaning to introduce myself all night. Congratulations on the film!”

As you exchange pleasantries, your cheeks gathering up some heat beneath the radiant glow of your make-up, he presses forwards leaning in for a hug as you do the same. You can feel his hands against the bare skin at your back leaving behind tiny little goose-bumps in their place, your skin tingling from his touch. You couldn’t help but breathe in his cologne, the pleasant woodsy scent engulfing you.

“Ah, so you’re the spider guy? I think I’m getting the hang of these superhero names now.”

Your lips twitch, forming a playful smile.

He tilts his head ever so slightly to the side, eyeing you up as tiny crinkles appeared around the outside of his eyes. They were looking at you inquisitively with a sweet kind of intensity.

You could feel your heart kick up a notch under his gaze. You scolded yourself internally for your lack of composure. Of course, you knew who Spider-Man was, you’d been such a fan of the Marvel films for years and you’d have to have been blind not to notice the cute, brown haired, quick witted, web-slinger who the world quickly fell in love with. They weren’t the only ones; did he look even better in person? How was that even fair? You shook your head slightly at your thoughts in an attempt to dispel them from your conscious.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m a fan of yours – your work is brilliant.”

You continued on with your bumbling word vomit – a light pink blush evident across your cheekbones and nose.

Tom’s face lights up more as you stumble over your sentences, his eyes glistening in the darkening sky.

“Oh really? Big fan, hm?” He wiggles his eyebrows teasingly, before calling upon one of the many smartly dressed men and women swooping seamlessly through the crowds with their glossy black trays.

You take a moment to drink him in. His crisp navy suit sat comfortably unbuttoned, the satin shirt hugging the figure beneath. He looked older than you’d seen him portray onscreen; his jaw strong and chiselled. His shoulders and body filled out his suit comfortably, hair beautifully fluffed; although it did seem slightly rumpled, as though he had been running his hands through it.

“Oh yeah,” You paused for a beat before continuing, “Then again, I think you’re about the 30th actor I’ve said that to tonight.”

He nods, laughing, his eyes lighting up at your relaxed, playful energy.

“Oh. Okay, nice. No, I see how it is. New girl keeping us all on our toes with the flattery.”

He holds one of the crystal champagne flutes out to you before picking up his own. Shimmering, golden liquid danced as you accepted the glass, fingertips brushing over open palms.

The cool bubbles gently slid down your throat. You could feel eyes on you as you focussed on the glass in your hand.

“Have you met everyone yet?” Tom gestured towards to the lit-up marquee, “A lot of us were talking about how great you were in your film, they’ll want to meet you.”

“Now who’s full of the flattery,” You tease, nudging his arm slightly as he shakes his head at you, “But honestly, I haven’t, I’m kind of finding it all a little bit intimidating. I’ve also lost my team which is not helpful.”

You took another sweep of the area. Now low-key wishing that you wouldn’t find them for a little while, not if it meant that you could continue to talk with Tom with no interruptions.

“Well hey, I can introduce you? I was so terrified when I did my first Marvel premiere, but everyone is so great. Trust me. It’s like a strange, crazy dysfunctional family. I think you fit in perfectly.”

“Are you calling me strange, crazy and dysfunctional? You have an interesting way of making friends, Holland.” You both laugh, “Only if you’re sure though? I don’t want you to be stuck introducing me all night.”

“Don’t be silly. We’ll make it fun. C’mon.”

Tom led you through the entrance of the marquee, turning on the charm as people fist bumped or pulled him in for a quick hug or handshake. Every time they did he peered through his eyelashes at you, inviting you to introduce yourself.

As you made jokes and conversed with your new peers, Tom couldn’t stop himself from watching you. Your name had been all the buzz recently and he’d been eager to meet you. Not only because you were undoubtedly going to be working with each other on future projects, but because you were also getting thrown into the Marvel spotlight like he had been. Little did he realise just how enamoured he had become with you in such a short space of time. There was something about you, he thought, as your cheeks glowed, a wide grin resting upon your face, eyes dancing wildly as you spoke with your new peers - something that he felt drawn to. You noticed him staring and gave him a little wink, shaking him out of it as he joined back into the conversation.

****

The two shot glasses sloppily thump against the bar top.

“Ha!”

“What! No, I was totally first!” Tom protested loudly, throwing his hands into the air.

“I definitely beat you!”

You smiled politely at the bartender as he collected the row of glasses lined up in front of you before turning wildly to face Tom.

“You just can’t face the fact that I won.”

He gestures to his brother who had pulled up a stool to join you both, “Harry c’mon, I won right?!”

“You can’t ask him that, it’s cheating. He’s your brother, of course he’s going to pick your side.”

“Tom, I hate to say this mate but I think she has you beat…” Harry said regretfully, camera slung around his neck as he nursed his own drink, mouth falling into an upturned grin as he supervised the pair of you.

You looked past Tom, straight at Harry, grinning proudly, “I take it back, Harry’s opinion is very important.”

Tom gives Harry a gentle shove as they mess around. You feel an arm slink around your shoulders, giving a playfully gentle squeeze. Your heart thumps along to the beat of the bass, music pulsing through your very bones as the three of you continued to laugh and joke around. Tom’s hair had gotten far more rumpled as the night had gone on, a long way off the perfectly styled look that he’d started off with.

You decided you preferred it messy.

Tom was sitting close by you on his stool, your knees both knocking together. His foot was tapping the footrest to the beat of the music. He’d discarded his suit jacket, and it now hung from the back of the chair, leaving him in his fitted shirt. You couldn’t help but notice his defined muscles as he ran a hand through his hair before resting it on the back of your seat.

“You look really pretty tonight. I saw you walking the carpet earlier, you completely owned it up there.”

“Tom Holland, are you flirting with me?”

You spun in your seat a little bit, making direct eye contact as your hand rested gently on his knee.

As soon as the pair of you had challenged each other to a drinking competition (involving a lot of shots) the night flew by, and you found yourself becoming more and more comfortable with Tom. He was quickly going from that cute actor who you had a little crush on, to someone you were actually spending time with? The intimidation you were feeling from earlier had dissipated, leaving you feeling slightly fuzzy and very happy.

He shrugs, that cheeky grin appearing again. A twinkle shining within those gorgeous brown eyes.

“I don’t know. Am I?”

He slides off of his seat, holding a hand out to you, palm up.

“C’mon.”

“Where are we going?” You questioned, as Harry returned with the drinks.

“Dance floor.”

You can feel your face light up as you hopped down from the high stool, gripping onto Tom’s hand as he helped navigate you back down to solid ground. He whispered to his brother who comfortably started up a conversation with the people around him, before giving him a pat on the shoulder as you dragged him over to the dance floor.

The floor was already packed with bodies. A live DJ station was against one wall facing out into the crowd; flashing, swirling lights brightened up the outdoor space. You pointed out a space in amongst the crowd and Tom led you both towards it, far better at making a path through the wayward limbs than you would have been.

The space was small, and the pair of you were in extremely close proximity. This was the most at ease you’d felt all night, allowing yourself to just feel the music and dance with one of the sweetest, most charming and insanely attractive men you’d possibly ever met. The space quickly filled up, growing tighter until you and Tom were practically chest to chest. He was a quick mover; his hips, legs and arms moving in all the right directions.

Your bodies were pressed together tightly, rapid heartbeats beating as one.

He leans in, pressing up against your side, brushing some stray hairs out of your face, “I also meant what I said earlier. You’re really beautiful tonight.”

“Just tonight?” You whisper into his ear, leaving him to flounder slightly on the dance floor. A little colour flushed to his cheeks as he lifted an arm, spinning you under it.

Before he has a chance to answer, you continue.

“You don’t scrub up too badly yourself, Holland.”

As the two of you lock eyes; the heat from the dance floor, the pounding of the music and the dancing, twinkling lights all fade to the background. His eyes dart to your lips, and you can't help but follow his lead, when you can suddenly hear your name being called out in the crowd.

"Oh my god, I got her. We've been looking for you for ages!" You were suddenly no longer face to face with the cute boy but instead looking into the slightly stressed face of your manager, "It's nearly 4am, the car is here and we gotta go!" She took a moment to look between you and Tom, who suddenly now looked a little bit embarrassed and sheepish - nervously rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Oh. Sorry, I've interrupted something here, haven't I?" She awkwardly made her way back through the crowd after whispering a sorry in your direction.

You smile at Tom, and make your way out from the dance floor. He was close behind you, nodding to a group of people back up at the bar.

He pulls you in for a goodbye hug, embracing you similarly to how you'd hugged earlier in the evening. Except this time was full of promise and a strange tension that hadn't been present before. You could feel the goosebumps prickle your skin where he touched it - his hands gentle as he held them tight around your waist, breathing you in before pulling away.

"Thank you for tonight, Tom. I owe you, seriously."

As you hurriedly caught up to your team, dress fluttering behind you as you immediately begin laughing and chatting animatedly to them, you could feel eyes on you. You looked back as you continued to vacate the marquee and head for the cars out front. Tom was stood, staring after you, a bright smile on his lips.

Something told you this wasn't the last you'd hear from him, and your stomach flip-flopped immediately at the very thought of seeing him again after tonight. For now however, the image of the brown haired, glossy eyed young man smiling after you in awe would have to be enough.

#glamour-l #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland meet cute #asks #lisa writes #you should've seen my reaction to getting my first request THE EXCITMENT #I haven't posted fic in ages now tho and im all shy and nervous again omg #I really hope you like it

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thesmokingguns · 3 years ago

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Tous Les Jours

word count: 1472

Requested: “Hii💖 can i request a fic where their s/o is in a band like baby metal and at first their like “how cute girls dancing to metal” but then they see how heavy it is and how much control they have over the crowd” I don’t know who requested this but I hope you like this. It was super fun to write!

“Salut, Salut, Salut! We are Les Petites Souris from Paris, France! Comment ça va, Los Angeles?” The crowd roared to life at the opening act. Dressed in feathers, bedazzled corsets, and fishnets it looked like Vegas showgirls and very out of place for the opening act to a rock and roll show. “This is our song Tous Les Jours!” Nikki looked up, confused from the bar where he was currently being bumped into by people trying to rush closer to the stage. Tommy and Vince both looked absolutely out of their minds excited besides him.

He had been promised to see the hottest band in LA at the moment and a huge competitor but what looked like three hot French Burlesque dancers were on stage. WHen the music started his eyes furrowed together. Heavy bass lines and drum beats mixed with great guitar riffs, and then they were singing. The lead singer was pretty blonde with long legs that she was using to do the Can-Can with her backup singers. BUt her voice was angelic. Nikki watched the three girls in their synchronized dance moves. The high energy of the girls were like a mix of pop stars on MTV and strippers. The way that they danced to their music, that was way heavier than he could imagine for them. He stood in almost shock as they performed, well TBone pretty much went nuts beside him.

They sang a few songs before the crowd started to get wild and try to surge forward. It was like a fight club as people pawed at the stage. Nikki felt like he was watching Beatles Mania happen. The lead singer finished her song, giving the crowd a look over that made them fall silent. Tommy elbowed him, in awe of the stage presence from the petite singer.

“Que faites-vous, mes amis?” she tsked at them and Nikki felt his eyes glued to her as she walked a few steps towards the crowd. The way her hand went to her hip and she looked out at them like she was scolding children, “This show is for everyone but we will not sing if you keep acting like this, d’accord?” though they didn’t know what she was saying they all agreed with her anyway. The way she smiled at the audience had them all cheering as she walked over and started dancing again.

Nikki loved watching the way the three girls bounced around the stage like they were just having a lot of fun. It didn't feel like they were acting but it also felt like a full performance. It was a gimmick but they could actually perform and all of them had great voices that sounded right over the heavy music. By the time that the show was ending he understood why the guys had wanted to come to see the band so badly. He was surprised at the end of the show when he was thinking about how he didn’t want it to end. He enjoyed watching the girls dance to the heavy music, their bright smiles, costumes bouncing at their silly moves, and the way they drew the crowd into them.

At the last song it got so loud he could see his whisky shake in the glass. The crowd was absolutely losing their minds for them. The girls all clasped hands bowing to them and giving them all waves as flowers, bras, and even what looked like a pair of boxers all made it up onto stage. The singer once more stepped forward waving at the crowd and trying to get them to quiet down so she could talk.

“Merci, mes amies. Once again we are Les Petites Souris. We are selling some merchandise in the back of the club. Hannah, wave your hands so they can see you, mon amour.” Nikki turned to see the girl waving her hand. “We also will be playing at The Roxy tomorrow night. You can find me at the bar before the set and buy me a few drinks, oui?” she smiled as there were catcalls and whistles from the crowd, “Merci, mes amies. Until tomorrow, bonne soiree.`` She departed the stage and it took a few minutes for people to realize they were done and not coming out for an encore.

It was crazy how the crowd was already leaving when they hadn't even been the main band for the night. Vince and Tommy were already finishing their drinks which the bassist knew meant they were going to try to head backstage to meet the new chick band on the club scene.

When they made it backstage they had no problem finding the dressing room since they had all played here before. T-Bone wanted to just walk in but they managed to restrain him as Nikki knocked. The door opened and there was the blonde, looking him up and down.

“Do I know you?” She asked and he smirked that her accent had been real and not just part of the show. Her eyes rolled away from him to the two men that were with them. He could hear someone say something to her in French and she responded lazily with a Hand wave.

“I’m Nikki Sixx, this is Vince and Tommy. We saw you play tonight and just wanted to invite you out.” Her eyebrow rose and she turned to look in the room of girls relaying the messages. Two heads poked it looking at the men and they were all chattering over each other in what seemed like a game of pick your date. Nikki felt the heavy blue eyes on him of the blonde.

“So you come to our dressing room after our show without flowers, without champagne, without anything about our show and you and tes sales amis want to take us out tonight? Tut-Tut, Monsieur Sixx.” She walked away from the door replaced with another blonde who was making eyes at Tommy.

“Do not pay Charlotte any mind. Come back in an hour, yes? We will be ready then.” She shut the door leaving the boys all standing around. Nikki told the boys he’d be back in a little bit leaving the club, feeling like he had a challenge ahead of him.

The hour passed and when then girls came out they were changed from their stage costumes to more casual jeans and leather jackets. Nikki handed Charlotte a bouquet of roses watching the way her eyes danced in amusement.

“Great show.” He said, a smile blooming over his face. He watched the way she cracked the flowers bringing them close and inhaling the sweet scent.

“Merci, Monsieur Sixx.” Her hand went to her forearm lacing their arms together as they headed out and into the waiting limo that the band had.

That night turned into six months later and the pair had been pretty much inseparable. Nikki would take out the French singer as often as possible. She basically lived at his house, throwing parties and laughing loudly with all his friends. The way she managed to get everyone to befriend her with almost the trance-like control she held on stage never stopped impressing him.

The cult-like following of the band had them headline large arenas where seats were packed to watch the cute girls dance to the metal songs. Everyone seemed to forget they could perform with a full range or dance moves and musical talent until they were seeing it live. The way the girls were in cotton candy pastel burlesque outfits contrasted to the heavy metal playing in the background.

Nikki had seen them dozens of times, loving to support his girl, and still he would be sucked into their performance. The cute dance moves, the heavy music, and the sexy outfits all seem to add to the band. He loved watching them can-can to the heavy baselines and the elegance they brought to the music. Just like he was hooked on seeing them he was hooked on their lead singer.

Nikki had known after the first night when she pulled cognac from her purse to splash liberally in their coffee after dinner that she was the girl for him. She made them all feel like they were in the presence of something great and lifted them all up to feel great as well. He loved that when he was having jamming sessions to figure out new songs she’d pick up her guitar helping him come up with the melodies to his music. Or how she’d sing his lyrics and he could finish a song after she had hummed out a few lines. The chemistry they had was something he had dreamed of.

He knew he loved her and he planned to keep her around so that he could continue to love her. Tous les jours.

#Nikki Sixx #Motley Crue #Nikki Sixx x OC #Request #Nikki Sixx headcanon #Nikki Sixx imagine #Motley Crue imagine #Nikki Sixx fanfic #Nikki Sixx fan fiction

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caterpellas · 4 years ago

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munich nights • harry styles

summary: touring inseparably as best friends and musicians, yours and harry’s relationship takes a cruel turn in munich.

warnings: smut (oral m recieving)

genre: bestfriend!harry, friends to lovers(?), angst, smut

pt 1/? (two is here) word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first time writing in like a year so some feedback would be amazing, pls be kind and show some love to my crumby attempt lol

chapter playlist :D

harry.

he was sort of your anchor. unspoken, of course, that he had taken such a high profile role in your life. he didn’t need to know, to know. you were certain it worked in reverse, that you grounded him just like he did for you.

you’re not sure of the timestamp on the beginning of your friendship, sometime 3 years ago after mindlessly chatting in a shoreditch bar, at the sort of venue you were both cackling over after a couple of overpriced gin and tonics.

“i’m not sure why i came here, it really isn’t my scene,” you said after calming your laughter down.

“me neither. i’m not all that into £18 cocktails made with organic fruit juice,” he jested back, although you felt a hint of sadness in the next, “it makes me miss home.”

after that you clicked instantly.

you both bonded over being musicians; your styles contrasted entirely though. his band, who you met a few occasions later, were the antithesis to yours. mitch and sarah looked and sounded like they were fresh from a 70’s pop rock band, whilst your bassist and drummer, both twins, had buzzed heads and black dr martens on 24/7. the differences between you and him didn’t matter in the slightest. which is why, after 18 months of building the strongest friendship you’d had in your life, he asked you and your band to come on tour with him.

touring with your best friend and now biggest fan was the single greatest experience of your life. you would admit to the apprehension you first felt about opening for harry as your music wasn’t exactly in keeping with his genre- you were a little grungier then his soft style. i suppose the opposites between you is what enhanced everything about your relationship, musically and personally. in articles harry was always praised for his effeminate fashion choices, and since gaining some recognition as his opener, the articles were now mentioning how you dressed too, hyping up your more boyish, ‘can’t be bothered’ clothing taste you’d developed over your years in the band. your shoes were always chunky and platform, your top or bottoms usually oversized and always with the same thick chain around your neck. to some, your style seemed intimidating but it couldn’t be further from the truth. harry knew that best of all.

3 months into the tour now, you had made it to munich for the 1st night of your european portion of the tour. you and harry were sat next to one another on the plane, sharing an earpod each, playing music from your playlist titled “h”. you hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight, after reading a particularly disturbing article about harry’s recent paparazzi shots. “harry styles’ player ways making a comeback?” it read, and pictured him with a couple models you’d met in new york together after going out for the night. you couldn’t place why but the article made you feel sick. you put it down to seeing such a close friend’s name slandered in the press, and you hoped he hadn’t read it yet. harry was often disheartened after reading the gossip people like to spread about him, occasionally involving you as well.

“you seem very deep in thought.” harry’s morning voice could be heard over the sound of steely dan in your ears. turning to him, one of his eye’s peering at you, you reply, “not really- just thinking about the set list.”

“you need to switch off your work brain sometimes,” he grins up at you, “have a little more fun! munich will be great, lots of beer to try.”

“of course that’s what you look forward to most. you know munich is filled with some beautiful architecture and history right?”

“that’s great and all, but you know what else they have?” harry questions you and you shake your head.

“oktoberfest.”

you arrived at your airbnb not long after- harry’s band and yours all preferred staying in a large house or apartment then some posh hotel that didn’t feel quite as welcoming. harry’s manager picked the place out, opting for a villa that sleeps 10 people, filled to the brim with oak panelling and a big fire place in the centre of the room. there was a hot tub outside that would probably never be used in your short stay there. the kitchen had a large island in the middle and a big aga keeping the place warm in the late september weather. his manager really outdid herself this time.

“this is place is so beautiful,” you still weren’t over all of the beautiful places this tour had taken you, the short time you’d been travelling had been a sensory overload.

“you’ll really like munich, y/n,” harry said yawning, grabbing both your shoulders from behind. his touch took your mind back to the article.

“harry,” you started, reluctantly turning to face him, “i know it’s none of my business who you, you know- fuck, but i was just wondering what happened with those models after i left?” harry’s calm expression never faltered as he answered, “me and camila kissed in the taxi but then i went back to the hotel. why?” you didn’t have the strength to answer honestly, and tell him it was because the thought of him having a threesome with two supermodels made you physically wretch, but you felt an obligation to give him a somewhat truthful answer.

“i saw an article about it, the paps caught a glimpse of it,” you white-lied. if you were going to be honest with yourself, the reason him with people like camila and gina bothered you so much is because of the way you compared yourself to them. you were overall confident, you were proud of your style and “gives no fucks” attitude you’d built up over the years, but these were literal models. women who were paid, like paid a lot, because they were beautiful. harry’s dating history has had a lot of women you could never measure up to be as good as and that was a real confidence breaker.

“well anyway, are you ready for tonight’s show? we were thinking it would be cool if you guys came on with us and...”

harry, as per usual, performed with all of his heart and soul and yet again amazed you. he had been doing this for three months, playing at least three shows a week and his energy levels were still unmatchable. you were back in your dressing room, taking off your stage clothes and putting on an almost identical outfit, wiping the sweat off your brow and upper lip. the monitor in your room played harry’s set, and you had to find any way you could to distract yourself from his performance before you ended up fantasising about the way his sweaty curls cling to his neck and how you wished he was sweating like that just for you, for an entirely different reason.

“thank you so much munich!” you hear harry’s accent through the small tv, and look up to see him panting and grinning, before running off stage. you had no idea why, but tonight there was a small amount of nervousness about you. since reading the article, you’ve had to address the gnawing idea that you could possibly have feelings for harry that were more than just your deep set friendship. would you act differently about the man you loved more than anyone in this world? you didn’t want things to change- they were perfect with him. he’d jest with you when you became too much of a perfectionist about your latest song, telling you to stop thinking so hard or you’ll have an aneurysm. if people commented on his style or yours, he’d laugh it off and tell everyone he’s “the woman in the relationship” sarcastically, and you’d be in awe at how he essentially said a huge “fuck you” to gender norms. he made you comfortable being you and you coveted his ability to be so happy being him. the thought of this bond being broken frightened you to your core. the knock at your door was a good signal for your thoughts to end.

“you coming y/n?” the group of you were all headed to a german beer bar, since harry was so eager to try the world famous pilsner. finding a large lounge space with sofas inside the bar, you all sat and ordered a round, celebrating a good night’s work.

“to the first night in europe,” you toasted, “cheers!” all your glasses clinked together and the nervous feeling started to fade finally. sat next to harry, you discussed the tour so far, he told a story about being in one direction and it reminded you of a hilarious story from when you were 15, when you used to listen to emo music and swore how much you hated one direction, and they all laughed at the irony. if you had told your 15 year old self this was where you’d be at 21, you’d have snorted and laughed till you cried. but life works out in strange ways and you wouldn’t change it for a second. a few drinks in and any of those nervous feelings about what harry was to you had evaporated like alcohol till you eventually had to remind yourself that whilst your hand was on harry’s knee, it meant nothing. and the way he leans forward to you as he laughed at your not-so-funny joke. but those reminders were getting weaker the more his touch started to linger after he went to go and grab his pint the same time you did.

“we really must stop meeting like this,” he jokes as your hand rubs against his for the 50th time that might and you laugh at him because your afraid if you don’t play it off as a joke you’ll lean over and kiss him. you find yourself in need of a distraction from his low buttoned shirt and endless black ink drawn across his chest that you can see in high definition when your this close to him.

“i’m going to get another round,” you exclaim dramatically, telling yourself more than the rest of the group. making your way over to the bar, you can feel harry’s vision bearing into your back as you lean against the counter to get service.

“another round of pilsners on the table’s tab please,” you ask as soberly as you can. you’re not off your face yet, but the alcohol is definitely present, surrounding the corners of your vision.

“i’d rather by you a drink.” a slightly german accent crowds your ears and you look over to see a man, not all that different to some of the guys in harry’s band, smirking at you.

nervous, you reply, “no you don’t need to do that we have a tab here.”

“i insist.” afraid to be impolite you quietly thank him, and turn back to the bar. you can’t even think of chatting to guy at a bar whilst the man you love is sat so close by. even though it’s not returned, the pain of giving him up to flirt with a stranger is too much to bare.

“so what brings you to a local’s bar like this one?”

“me and my friends are working here for the night.”

“just here for the night? such a shame,” his smile, although attempting to seem unthreatening, is making you uncomfortable. the bartender seems to be taking forever with your order.

“i’m staying in a hotel a few minutes away, come and join me and their bar for a real drink?” your heart was pounding. you rarely got hit on so you were a little out of practice on how to deal with persistent assholes like these ones.

“i can show you how the germans like to do it.” that was it- he’d gone too far and you were so embarrassed by this point you were too humiliated to even reply to him. your neck was getting hotter and you could feel your cheeks reddening.

“you okay?” harry’s voice took you out of your panic-stricken state, “you were taking a while.”

turning to harry and preparing to tell him how this man won’t get the message, the german creep pipes up, “she’s fine mate. we were just discussing a date.”

“listen mate, i suggest you back off. alright?” harry grabbed your hand, tightly, and guided you out of the bar.

“harry where are we going?” you could barely comprehend what had happened in the last five minutes to even realise he was hailing a taxi.

“back to the house. i’ll text the others.”

“harry i’m fine honestly it’s no-“

“who said i was fine? i wanted to leave and i thought maybe you did too.” he was angry, which wasn’t something you saw in harry often. he was a happy guy, and optimistic about most things in life.

“is this because of that guy?”

“of course it is y/n.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t realise he’d be an assho-“

“why’re you apologising?”

this shut you up. you didn’t know why. this wasn’t the first time a guy had been slightly predatory towards you and you doubted it would be the last. after the first couple times your in situations like this you tend to see yourself as the problem and not the guys doing it.

“i don’t know, harry.” you climbed into the cab together and harry gave them the address, seeming somewhat cooled off from earlier. your head was buzzing from the alcohol and the fact that harry had essentially rescued you from what could have been a scary situation.

“harry?”

“yeah, y/n?”

“why did you kiss camila?” alcohol had made you more outspoken and you asked the question that had been driving your nervous energy all night.

“why are you asking?”

a little more honestly then last time, you answered, “i’m just curious.” harry shifted in his chair, slightly unnerved by the question. his whole demeanour had shifted entirely from earlier. he was close and warm with you, the friend you’d become addicted to being with. now he was closed off and moody- a rare sight for anyone who knew him well. you could have picked a better time to ask the question, of course, but you had to know. you had other questions too, like why he was so angry right now, and why did he care that i was chatting with a guy at the bar, even if he was a creep.

“because she wanted to kiss me and i wanted to kiss her. the same reason most humans kiss,” there was a slight element of humour back in his voice now.

“and that was it?”

“yep.”

“hmm.” you tried to ponder this, but your attention span was limited when you were this inebriated. your thought process had quickly moved from harry’s sex life to harry in general and his outfit of the evening- a personal favourite. he’d worn white cream trousers with a vest top and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, along with the necklace you’d given him last christmas. you could see his two swallows peaking from the straps of his wife beater and your mind wandered to the thought of having your mouth against them. against all his tattoos, individually placing a kiss on each and everyone that you had grown to fall in love with.

you remembered the memory of harry coming with you to get your largest tattoo, a greek statue on your upper arm.

“harry you know this isn’t the first one i’ve gotten?” you laugh at how hard he was clutching your hand in the chair next to your seat.

“i know but i’m so excited for you. i want you to know i’ll be sat here the whole time to hold your hand,” he squeezes your hand to emphasise his point.

“harry i’m getting another tattoo not going into life-altering surgery.”

but inside, you were squealing at his words.

“y/n?”

harry’s less chipper current voice took you out of your memory and back to the cab in munich.

“you’ve been staring at my chest for a couple minutes,” his brows were furrowed as he studied your face.

“i want to lick it.” if someone had asked you why you answered with that, you genuinely couldn’t give them a good answer. alcohol didn’t do much to you, except allow you to have fun, and lose any sense of a filter. now was a perfect example of the effects. harry’s eyes widened at your candour- and so did yours. his calm expression only faltered for a few seconds though, before it returned to his neutral, warm face.

“what else?”

“i-uh- what?”

“what else were you thinking about?” your heart was beating so loudly you were sure harry could feel it across in his seat. why was harry asking this? you didn’t want him to know about your thoughts- they were far too embarrassing and far too private.

“i was thinking about all your tattoos,” you confessed.

“i was thinking about yours too.” you thought about all of your tattoos and remembered the dog rose you had on the back of your thigh, as well as the koi carp on your hip bone.

“which ones?”

“the flowers and the fish.” you gulped, knowing he was thinking of your most risqué tattoos.

harry, unusually, was completely serious as he said, “i thought about licking yours too.” you didn’t know where you stood with harry now. you were sat in a taxi, having the conversation with him that you thought would never happen. he wants you the same way you want him. he may not want you the same way a nagging voice told you. he could just be looking for an easy fuck, and you thought to yourself that even if that was all he wanted, you’d still give yourself to him.

“harry-“

“maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore, yeah?” you felt like you could cry- how could he not want to talk, and you were on tour together? this was the most gut wrenching feeling to have him tell you not to talk anymore. harry studied your face as you lip began to quiver, “jesus y/n i meant about the current conversation. of course i want to keep talking to you, i love you- you know, like a friend.”

“like a friend?” you couldn’t ever begin to describe how your heart felt like it fell to the pit of your stomach whilst the acid slowly burnt it away. friends is it. harry isn’t yours to have and he never will be, he just had to remind you in words of this.

“well we’re both a little drunk and clearly turned on- maybe just this once it could be more than friends? just for tonight, i mean?” harry’s clear green eyes didn’t stop looking into yours, and he seemed, i’m not sure, hopeful? as if on cue, the taxi took you back to your villa which was warmly lit from inside and you felt a nervous excitement crawl up your arms and legs at what could possibly come next. harry gave the driver the cash and you dashed quickly to the door of the house, the cool september air cutting through you both dressed inappropriately for the time of year. it dawned on you that your outfit- a big vintage men’s shirt with your oldest and favourite pair of dr martens with sheer tights- wasn’t the wisest choice. harry fumbled with unlocking the door and opened it to find the fire lit and the lights dimmed. it was more romantic than either of you would ever mention out loud but it felt like the house was routing for you. you weren’t sure where harry wanted this to go next, the air beginning to stiffen and feel awkward.

turning to face him, you started, “harry i-“ his lips met yours in an instance and any of the awkwardness left in the room had been dissolved by harry’s soft kiss. he tasted good, despite the beer you’d both been drinking and had you not been intoxicated by the pilsner and harry’s gentle touch, you’d probably care about things like breath. harry grabbed you by the shoulders, much like he did earlier that same day, and guided you into the room further, finding the large sofa and pushing you onto it. falling back, you glanced up at his towering figure. harry was already tall, but his powerful presence added a less literal height to him, and his shadow looked over you. you couldn’t help but stare at him as he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, exposing some of your favourite tattoos of his. you got to your knees so that you were closer to his body and you finally relaxed in his presence, touching all the places you’d dreamed about. your hands raked up his torso to his chest and his head leant down to kiss you again. his lips were perfect and seemed made to be against yours so tightly, and made for the crook of your neck as well as they kissed and sucked there too. the fire in the corner of your eyes illuminated the small amount of gold in harry’s hair and he looked as angelic as he always did in your dreams.

“am i better than him?” harry murmured against your neck. the question caught you off guard. he’d only known one other person you’d had a sexual relationship with since you two became friends and that was a sound tech from one of his old touring groups that you had a small fling with. him and harry never got along and harry even accused him of purposely messing his sound up during a performance once. harry has walked in on you giving him head in your dressing room once and it was incredibly awkward but you both moved past it.

“who are you talking about?”

“you know, that arsehole sound tech from the american tour. do i kiss you better than him?” you could hear the layers to his voice- he was asking with a confidence that you felt straight in your core, but there was another layer to it- insecurity.

“god yes,” you gushed, he had to at least know how he physically made you feel even if you can’t admit your feelings, “you kiss far better then he ever could.”

an idea came into your head at this, “in fact, i bet you’ll feel better in my mouth then he did.” harry jaw slacks slightly and you give him a shy smile. talking like this wasn’t something you ever tried when you were having sex, but harry made you want to be honest. it was the closest you could get to confessing your love to him, and you’d take what you could get from harry right now. stunned into silence, you continue to undress harry, removing his vest to expose his lean stomach and small trail of hair from his belly button, that you kissed all the way down. he let out a sharp breath as soon as you got to the top of his pubic bone, and you finally noticed just how hard harry already was. with a little fascination, you dared to take it to the next level and cupped his length through his trousers, causing harry to groan at the contact. he felt big in your small hand, you couldn’t wait to reveal him, impatiently struggling with his zipper.

“woah, y/n, slow down,” harry puts a finger under your chin and you look up under your lash at him, knelt below him. his smile is a classic harry smile and for a brief second this feels like more than a casual fuck.

“you’re still wearing too much clothing.” harry bends slightly to get to the bottom of your shirt and speedily pulls it over your head, revealing your black cotton bralet and tights. harry’s mouth watered at the sight of you in nothing but your underwear and boots, your long hair falling in messy waves around your minimally tattooed arms. your sure your black eyeliner is smudged and your gloss practically jin existent but harry’s eyes make you feel like he wants nothing more then to fuck you.

“that’s much better,” he smiles again at you, and you take that as a good cue to continue on his member. eagerly, your hands go straight back to his flies, rapidly undoing them and letting his loose fit trousers fall from his hips, exposing his form fitted boxers and you get a much better idea of just how big harry’s cock really was. without realising you mumble, “i want you in my mouth so bad,” under your breath.

“fuck say that again.”

looking under your lashes again, you repeat, “i want your cock in my mouth so bad.” harry groans as his eyes roll back, his words almost being enough without your touch. but your hand still went back to his dick, pulling it out from the restraint of his boxers. it was thick and bigger then you had been with before. without missing a beat, your hand pumped him a few times, and his hips reacted instantly. as if beckoning for your lips to surround his cock, his hips thrust towards you again, and you obliged, licking and then parting your wetted lips for the head of his dick. the pre-cum touched your tongue and it urged you to take more of him further, swiping your tongue on the underside as you push more in. harry moans, gripping your scruffy hair in his large hand, and had to restrain from pushing your mouth around his whole length. as your mouth got acquainted with him, you started to move up and down the length, as harry’s moans got higher and louder.

“y/n your mouth is fucking magic.” the praise went straight to your clit and your underwear was dampening at the knowledge of the dirty things your mouth was doing.

“can you- fuck- can you grab my balls?” you responded immediately and cupped them lightly whilst continuing to bob your head on his cock.

“didn’t know you could you use your mouth for such dirty things, y/n. do i fill you better then he did?”his jealousy fuelled you to go even quicker, this time switching up to concentrating on his swollen head, your tongue lapping against it feverishly, whilst your hand pumped the rest of him. the combination of your hand and mouth was enough to drive harry insane.

“you do so good y/n, i’m gonna cum soon okay?” you release him from your mouth, and keep stroking him, eager for him to orgasm. you couldn’t describe the desperation you had to see the way he looked as he climaxed. if you were to die after this, you knew you would die happy, if only to have seen harry in that state of euphoria that only you could bring him to.

“fuck y/n i’m gonna cum,” harry pants, his thighs tensing and his eyes glazing over. you aim him over your chest and feel his load fall all over your breasts, soaking your bralet as he lets out a breathy moan. his breathes are loud and aside from the fire crackling are the only noise filling the space of the living room. you let his now soft cock go and fall back onto the sofa, too tired to think about all of what just happened, the only thought on your mind is of harry’s moans on repeat. your chest is sticky but you’re too exhausted to care. harry has slowly crept over to sit next to you on the sofa, and you’re unspokenly thankful he hasn’t distanced himself afterwards.

“i need to clean you up.” harry disappears as quickly as he arrived and comes back with a warm flannel. wiping your chest, you watch his face as his brows furrow delicately on his forehead and his mouth is slightly crooked in concentration. you loved every single portion of his face, and suddenly it meant something different. you had seen his face at it’s most real and vulnerable and you had that memory forever.

unfortunately moments like the one you and harry had finally shared don’t last forever, and once harry’s done wiping your breasts off, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, grabs his clothes and leaves you on the sofa.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #friends to lovers #bestfriend!harry #fine line album #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles icons #harry styles one shot #writing #one direction smut

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eminems-skittles · 4 years ago

Text

family game night [spencer reid x reader]

spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: mentions of alcohol word count: 2k

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

"Who's in for a party at Rossi's house tonight?" Y/N said, cheerfully, as she walked into the BAU office. Her bright arrival caught the attention of her teammates, all of them looking up from the mountains of paperwork they were drowning in. Spencer shot a look up to where Hotch and Rossi's offices are.

"Does Rossi already know or are we just inviting ourselves over?" Spencer asked, eyes darting around the group, before looking at his girlfriend. "You know, it's proven that if you invite yourself over to someone's house, they're more likely to unfriend you than someone who invites you over."

"Rossi can't unfriend us, we're basically his children. And he's not going to mind. Are you forgetting I'm basically his favorite daughter?" Y/N said, raising her eyebrows at Spencer. Her claim that she was Rossi's favorite 'daughter' caught a certain brunette's attention.

"Um, excuse me, but I'm Rossi's favorite daughter," Emily scoffed. "I'm down for a party if someone else buys the booze. We should have a game night or a poker night?" Emily suggested,

"Uh no, I am not going to lose anymore money to pretty boy over there," Derek chimed in, his head popping up from behind the stack of folders on his desk. "And we all know that I'm his favorite daughter. Count me in for tonight." He said before pushing out of his chair, "I'll go ask Pen if she wants to go also."

"Alright, so it's all of us for sure. Emily can you ask JJ for me? I'll go ask Hotch, and then tell Rossi," Y/N said, before skipping up the stairs to Hotch's office. Emily nodded but Y/N's back was already turned to her.

"How does she have so much energy? It's 8 in the morning," Spencer questioned, marveling at his girlfriend skipping around the office in the early hours of the morning.

"She consumes the same amount of sugar you do just without the coffee," Emily replied, going back to her paper work, with a small smile on her face.

Y/N knocked on Hotch's slightly open office door. Hotch was hunched over a file when he looked up. "Y/L/N, come in."

"Hey Hotch!" She greeted him with a beaming smile. "All of us are planning on going to Rossi's for a game night tonight. If you could, you should totally swing by!"

"Does Rossi know about it?" Hotch questioned, a smirk settling on his face.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? Of course he doesn't know about it yet. He'd never agree before hand." Y/N said, laughing lightly.

"I'll let you know if I can. Jack might be jealous that I'm hanging out with Aunt Y/N without him," Jack and Y/N spent a lot of time together, Y/N often volunteering to babysit Jack when Hotch had to work late.

"Tell him I'll take him to the movies tomorrow," Y/N added.

"Alright, Y/L/N, I'll go. Should I bring anything?" Hotch asked, his eyes scanning the paper on his desk.

"Emily doesn't want to buy the booze, but I think Rossi might have some. If you want to, you can pick up some beer or some wine. I think I am going to bring some snacks if I can stop at the store," Y/N explained, leaning against one of the chairs that faced Hotch's desk.

"I'll pick up a few cases of beer on the way over," Hotch said, smiling at the younger girl.

"Great! I'll text you what time. See ya, Hotch!," and before Hotch could say bye to Y/N, she was out of his office, her hair just barely catching his eye, as she quickly made her way to Rossi's office.

"Knock knock," Y/N said, knocking on Rossi's open door. He was sitting behind his desk, revising a piece of paperwork.

"Who is it?" Rossi said, a singsong tone in his voice, as he looked up at the Y/H/C agent in the doorway.

"Your favorite 'child'," Y/N said, using air quotes when she said child.

"Of course. What do you want this time? A key to my house?" Rossi said, a hint of sarcasm laced in his words.

"Oh that'd be awesome! Then I wouldn't have to ask you every time I wanted to throw a party at your house. Speaking of which," Rossi groaned, "the team wants to have a get together tonight since we have no cases this weekend. Can we have it at your house?" Y/N didn't even have to ask, she knew she didn't. He always said yes even if he put up a fight about it.

"You already told them it was at my house didn't you?" Rossi questioned the younger agent. He saw her as a daughter, just as he saw all of them as his children.

"Am I really that predictable? I did," Y/N said, her face lighting up with a smile. "Everyone is in, even Hotch."

"Okay, fine. But only if you set up and clean up," Rossi negotiated.

"Will you cook or should we order in?" Y/N asked, making a list of all the things she had to do before tonight, in her head.

"I'll cook. Go get your work done," Rossi said, shooing her out of the office.

She left his office and made her way back to her desk. Y/N pulled out her phone to text the BAU group chat,"Papa Pasta's Spaghetti Children", that Rossi had said yes to the party. Everyone agreed on 6 pm, before remarking on the title of the group chat, like they always did. The conversation ended with Emily saying she was the favorite 'daughter' and no one bothering to correct her.

—TIME SKIP—

Spencer and Y/N had arrived at Rossi's house at about 5:30. They had stopped at the store on the way over to Rossi's to pick up snacks and games for the game night.

Rossi was the first to show up, given it was his house. He started cooking the pasta he was making for everyone, opening a bottle of wine for Spencer and I. JJ and Emily were the next to arrive, each greeted with a glass of wine. We gathered around the island in the kitchen, chatting about our plans for the weekend. The next people to arrive were Penelope and Derek, Penelope claiming a glass of wine while Derek waited for Hotch to arrive with the beer. Ten minutes later, Hotch was walking through the front door with a case of beer in each hand. As Rossi made dinner, Y/N took out the first game of the night, Cards Against Humanity.

"Okay, the card is 'Honey, Mommy and Daddy love you very much. But apparently Mommy loves (blank) more than she loves daddy," Spencer said, a grimace settled on his face, clearing not excited to be judging this round. Everyone slammed their cards on the table, Y/N and Penelope barely able to contain their giggles. "Alright let's see what you guys put down. 'The Kool-Aid man.' 'The invisible hand.' 'Daddy Issues.' 'Chunks of a dead prostitute'" that card earned a chorus of groans and giggles from the group. "And last but certainly not least, 'Spontaneous Human Combustion.' Alright, let me think about this for a second," Spencer said, mulling over his options a little too seriously. "I think the winner of this one is 'Chunks of a dead prostitute.'" Hotch cheered, grabbing the black card. Everyone looked at him in shock.

The game continued until dinner was fully prepared. The team gathered in Rossi's dining room, digging into the meal Rossi made. Dinner went by relatively quickly with stories and laughs being shared. When everyone was finished, they moved into the living room, settling, more like squishing, onto the couch.

"Okay children, time for the surprise game of the night," Y/N said, pushing herself off the couch where she sat next to Spencer. She pulled a game out of a bag that was on the floor.

"You got us Mario Kart?!" Penelope all but shrieked. "When did you get that?"

"I got it a few days before the last case. Rossi mentioned something about having a Wii so I thought why not get us a game for it?" Y/N answered, handing Rossi the game to put into the DVD disc holder. He popped the disc into the Wii and handed four Wii remotes to Y/N. Y/N gave a remote to Penelope, Derek, Spencer, and JJ.

"Wait, I don't know how to play." Spencer said, kind of handing the remote back to Y/N.

"Penny, can you show him how to play? Last time I played was 10 years ago," Y/N asked, going to get a round of beers for everyone from the kitchen. When she came back, Penelope was showing Spencer how to play the game. He looked like a confused puppy.

"Okay I think I'm ready to play," Spencer said, unsure if he could actually play.

Penelope got the game all set up and hit start. The room was filled with the sounds of shouting from the players and laughter and cheering from the onlookers. Penelope was in first place with JJ following in a close second. Derek wasn't that far behind JJ and Spencer could not have been any farther behind the other three. After a few minutes, everyone, except Spencer, were on their third and final lap. JJ ended up winning, with Penelope in 2nd, Derek in 3rd, and Spencer in last place. He let out a huff and threw the controller onto the ottoman in front of him.

"Aw, baby, don't pout," Y/N said, brushing a piece of his hair behind his ear.

"I'm not pouting! It's a dumb game that doesn't make any logical sense," Spencer said, leaning into Y/N, taking a sip of his beer. "Why do players get to throw turtle shells? How does that make any sense?"

"Chill out, pretty boy. You have chess and other smart people games," Derek said, slightly out of it from how much he drank.

"It's just a dumb game," Spencer mumbled under his breath, digging his head into Y/N's shoulder. She rubbed the back of his neck, sharing a look with JJ.

"Are you grumpy because you lost or grumpy because you're tired?" Y/N whispered in Spencer's ear. Whenever he drank too much, he tended to get grumpy, tired, and clingy.

"Yes," he muttered, causing Y/N to giggle. The other's had started on the next game of Mario Kart, oblivious to Spencer's current mood change.

"Alright, let's go home, babyface. I'm gonna go get my purse and tell Rossi we're leaving," Y/N said, standing up from the couch, Spencer whimpering before leaning back on the couch. "Hey Rossi, I think Spence and I are going to head out."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Y/L/N. You've both had a lot to drink tonight. Just crash in one the guest bedrooms okay? I think everyone is going to stay the night," Rossi said, turning to look at all of his shit-faced 'children.'

"If you insist. Does it matter which one?" She asked, looking over at Spencer who was almost asleep.

"Just pick one. See you both in the morning," Rossi said, walking away before adding, "And use protection."

Y/N rolled her eyes before going to get Spencer. They said their goodnights to the team before making their way to the first available bedroom. After they changed into the PJ's they brought just in case, Spencer and Y/N both climbed into the bed. It was quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds Y/N heard were the laughs from the ever so lively party.

"It's a dumb game," Spencer said before he drifted off to sleep.

Y/N kissed his cheek before whispering, "You're just a sore loser," falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

#cassie's masterlist #{ writing }#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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themadlostgirl · 4 years ago

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Keeping Warm (2)

*Did I make a second part to this because one person asked for it? Yes I did. Come to me my Felix simps! Enjoy your fluff!*

~~~

That had to be the best sleep I’ve had in a while! This cloak was a lot better than my old one. I wonder how long I could get away with keeping it before the boys stole it back. I folded it up neatly and hid it under my cot so it wasn’t out in the open for them to steal back.

I left my tent and noticed that the boys that had been laughing and teasing me yesterday were keeping a wide berth from me today. I had no problem with that. The farther away they stayed the better.

Since I was truly well rested for the first time in a long time I decided to take advantage of my energy and practice my archery. Before Neverland I never had a need to learn how to wield a weapon but archery was fun and it helped in hunting small game. I grabbed my bow and quiver of arrows before setting off into the jungle. When it came to game on the island there wasn’t a whole lot outside of fish and some birds but they didn’t make for much food.

If you wanted a good meal you had to head into the dark jungle of the island. It’s where all the big game lived since anyone ventured in there. You could sometimes find a rogue boar running around outside of the dark jungle but they mainly stayed within the perimeter. Other than boars there was also a type of goat that lived there. The boys had tried keeping some of the goats for milk a while back but after the “incident” all the goats were shoved into the dark jungle and water became the only acceptable source of drink. Probably for the best.

I was out tracking for a while when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I tried to make it out through the foliage and saw the head of a goat pop up. Gotcha. I notched an arrow and took aim. I let the arrow fly and cheered when it went right through the goat’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Another head popped up, this time it wasn’t a goat though. Felix turned to look at me. “What was that?”

“Sorry!” I rushed over, “I was hunting and saw the goat head. I didn’t mean to shoot at you. What are you doing out here?”

“Same as you it seems. I had been tracking this fat bastard for over an hour.” He kicked the dead goat at our feet. “Almost had it too before you got it first. Nice shot by the way.”

“Thanks! I was really lucky this time around. I usually don’t get a clear shot like that.” I tore the arrow out of the goat’s head. “Since you’re here do you mind helping me lug this beast back to camp?”

“Sure,” Felix heaved the goat up and threw it onto his shoulders. “Let’s get moving.”

“This will surely make for a good dinner tonight.”

“You really wanna let those jerks tear into your catch?” Felix asked.

“I mean not really but this is way more food than you and I can eat so we kinda have to split it up.” I shrugged, “Why do you care anyway? I thought you liked the other Lost Boys.”

“They’re my brothers but brothers can get damn annoying.” He muttered, “Taking shit that doesn’t belong to them and whatnot.”

“Ugh, I know what you mean.” I sighed, “They stole my cloak out of my tent last night so I stole one of theirs as payback.”

“Did you now?” Felix trudged further ahead, “Did you give it back yet?”

“No and I don’t plan to. Mine was so thin it didn’t help at all but this one is really warm so unless they come and pry it away from me I’m not giving it up. It also helps that is smells good so I cuddle up in it even tighter.” My face started heating up after I realized what I just admitted. “Sorry, that was a lot of unnecessary information.”

“It’s fine,” Felix muttered.

I jogged to fall into step next to him. I grabbed an apple out of my bag and started cutting off slices with my knife. I wordlessly offered one to Felix. This time when I popped it into his mouth for him though I didn’t roll my eyes since his hands were full carrying the goat. We trekked back to camp in companionable silence. Felix set the goat down for the others to skin and cook while we rested.

We sat down on a log together while I picked bits of goat fur off his shoulders.

“Felix,” One of the boys approached us, “Pan was looking for you earlier but you were away from camp so he wanted me to pass on a message.”

“And?” Felix asked.

“He’s gone off the island on a mission of sorts. Says he may not be back till morning at the latest so you’re in charge till then.”

“Got it.” Felix nodded and the boy ran off again.

“Man in charge tonight,” I poked his shoulder, “Don’t crack under the pressure, captain.”

“Har har,” He rolled his shoulder ushering me off, “Being in charge for a night doesn’t entail much. I just have to make sure these idiots don’t go rogue during Pan’s absence and do something stupid like burn the camp down again.”

“These boys can really be just the dumbest things on the face of the earth, can’t they?” I shook my head. Then my body shook. A cold gust of wind blew through the camp. It wasn’t like the slightly cooler breezes that Neverland usually had. This was cold. Really cold.

The other boys felt it as well. All of them rushing to their tents and reappearing with cloaks and others running for firewood. “What’s going on?” I asked Felix as I rubbed feebly at my arms.

Felix sighed. “I almost forgot that this happens when Pan leaves. He so rarely does anymore it didn’t even cross my mind.”

“What?”

“When Pan leaves then time stands still. I don’t mean that in the way that tie naturally stands still here. I mean the island basically goes into hibernation without him around. Depending on how long he’s been gone we should start to see the beginnings of…” Felix looked up. The once clear sunny sky had been replaced with dark dreary clouds.

“Oh don’t tell me it’s gonna rain!” I pouted.

“Worse than that.”

We sat there for a minute as delicate white flakes started falling from the sky. “Snow?!” I gaped at the offending weather. “How is there snow? This is a tropical island!”

“It is a magic island too though.” Felix said. “You may want to grab something to put on, viper. It’s only gonna get colder.”

“Right, I’ll be right back.” I ran back to my tent and pulled the cloak out from under my cot. I put it on but while it was thick enough to keep out the chill of the night it was just another feeble layer against the bitter cold that we had been subjected to now.

I went back to the log where Felix and I had been seated but he wasn’t there anymore. I made my way towards the bonfire the boys had started and huddled as close as I could get to the flames. I really hope the boy I stole the cloak from won’t try to take it back now. I fear I’ll freeze to death without it.

The sky grew even darker and the island got even colder. We were quickly burning through our supply of firewood and I knew that it would run out soon. When that happened it was every man for themselves. I figured I’d hunker down in my tent and try to keep warm by myself until Pan returned and the cold went away.

I stayed by the fire as it dwindled down to faintly glowing coals. The snow had really piled up and my toes were numb in my boots. Oh no! I didn’t even take into account the snow! I ran as fast as I could to my tent but it was of no use. The snow had weighed it down and it crumpled. My cot was soaked and the beams I had used to pitch it had snapped. This was just great.

It looked as if the other boys had gotten the memo to keep the snow from piling up on their tents since they rest were still standing. Would have been nice if they mentioned something to me. I shivered violently against another harsh gale of wind and trudged away from my ruined tent. Maybe I could find Felix and he’d take pity on me and let me stay in his tent for the night.

I scoured the wintry white camp but saw no Felix. He was probably already hunkered down. If only I knew which tent was his.

~~~

Damn this cold. Why did the island have to go into hibernation just cause Pan wasn’t around? It really wasn’t fair. Felix hated it all the more since he didn’t have anything to keep him warm now that he had let you have his cloak.

Upon realizing just how bad it was going to camp Felix remembered something that could help him keep warm. He jumped up and ran into the jungle until he found the old, gnarled dead tree that years and years ago had been the first home of the Lost Boys. He knocked against the trunk until he found the hatch that opened up. It would be a tight fit but if he kept his arms close to his chest then...Felix slipped down the hollow trunk of the tree and was deposited into an underground cavern.

He lit a torch along the wall and breathed in the dusty but altogether warmer air. This place looked as if it hadn’t been touched in decades. It probably hadn’t. Felix only ever remembered this place when Pan left and turned the rest of the island into a wintry hellscape. He never told any of the other Lost Boys about this warm oasis since he didn’t want them crowding in around him.

Felix was down there clearing cobwebs and shaking out the dusty furs and blankets when he was hit with a sharp realization. He left you back at camp. He left the one person who cannot handle any amount of cold in any way back in a blizzard!

“Shit!” Felix hissed and climbed back out of the cavern. He raced back to camp and spotted you easily enough since you were the only one still outside. Why were you outside? Why weren’t you in your tent at least?

“Hey,” He shouted, pulling you away from where the bonfire had been, “What are you doing out here?”

“Tent collapsed under the snow.” Your whole body was shaking so bad that it even bled into your voice. “Was looking for you…”

“Come on,” He grabbed your hand and tugged you along, “I know someplace we can go to wait this out.”

Felix knew it was a bad time but he couldn’t get over the sight of you in his cloak. It was just like last night when he got that strange fluttering in his chest. He gripped your hand tighter and tried pulling you faster but you ended up losing your balance and tripping. Felix caught you before you landed in the snow but he could tell you were having trouble keeping up.

“We’re almost there, just a little further,”

“I can’t feel my toes,” You whimpered.

“Damn it,” Felix ran a hand through his hair. “Well we can’t stay out here. Hold onto me.” With that Felix gathered you in his arms and pulled you off the ground. He hiked his way back to the dead tree with you held in his arms. This was the first time he had really been this close to you. Your head nestled on his shoulder as your body trembled. He set you down long enough to open the hatch on the dead tree again and set you inside. You went sliding down and Felix shortly followed.

“Where are we?” You gazed around the cavern you both were in. “It’s warm in here.”

“My own little get away when the island goes into stasis.” Felix explained. He helped you up and ushered you towards the bed at the back of the cavern covered in blankets and furs. “You’ll keep warm down here.”

“Blankets!” He burrowed underneath the blankets with a content sigh. “I am never leaving this pile.”

“Thought you’d enjoy that.” Felix smiled. “Are your toes still numb?”

“A little.”

“Let me see, I want to make sure you don’t have frostbite.” He instructed.

You untied your boots and Felix grimaced when he saw that your socks had been soaked through. You peeled those off too. There was no way to make this awkward so Felix grabbed your feet and inspected them, pushing on your toes to make sure they hadn’t incurred any damage.

“Good news, you get to keep your toes.” Felix pushed your feet off his lap and pulled the blanket you were wrapped in back over them.

“That is a relief.” You smiled brightly. “Thanks for sharing this space with me.”

“Well I wasn’t just gonna let you suffer out there in the cold. The others deserve it but not you.” Felix said. The fluttering was back and he could feel it’s way creeping up his neck into his face. The air in the room suddenly felt too hot. He shuffled back to the foot of the bed further away from you.

There was a beat of silence.

“Hey Felix?” You crawled over to sit next to him.

“Yeah?” Felix tried not to look at you lest the pink in his cheeks be noticed.

“Where is your cloak? Don’t tell me you were out running around in this weather without grabbing it.” You said. Felix resisted a bark of laughter. Said cloak was still around your shoulders and you clutched it tightly in your hands as you looked at him.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” He pulled the hood up over your head and down in front of your eyes. “You kinda stole it, viper.”

“Huh?” Your eyes peeped out from under the hood. He watched with amusement as the realization hit you and you pulled the hood back down to hide. “I’m sorry! I had no idea it was yours! I thought it belonged to one of the jerks that stole mine!”

“It’s alright, you needed it a lot more than I did anyway.” He chuckled softly. “Glad to know you think I smell good though.”

“AGH!” You dove under the blankets to hide further. Your embarrassed voice still rung clear from underneath the furs. “I cannot believe I told you that!”

“Come now, it’s not that bad.” Felix couldn’t help the spark of joy he felt when he teased you. “Come out. I wanna talk to you.”

“Nope! I am never leaving again for the sake of my dignity.”

“Fine.” Felix took a deep breath and pulled the covers up over himself. Your face was inches away from his under the blankets. “I’ll just come to you.”

“Felix…” You muttered, you were still keeping your eyes down so you weren’t looking at him.

“I wanna know something.”

“What?”

“If you get so cold at night why didn’t you ask me for help? I could have brought you as many blankets as you wanted from down here.”

“I didn’t ask because I had already tried asking the other boys for help and all they did was make fun of me. I didn’t want you to tease me too.”

“Teasing you is fun but I’d rather you not freeze to death.” He said, “I also told the boys that if they steal anything from you again then they’ll answer to me.”

“Why would you do that?” You asked, “I get that we’re friends but you don’t have to fight my battles.”

“It’s because you are my friend that I want to help you, idiot.” He poked your forehead, “Which means threatening Lost Boys and letting you steal my cloak. It kinda feels like it’s my mission to keep you warm.”

“A noble cause indeed.” You laughed and Felix decided then that he had never heard a more pleasing sound.

Your smile softened and Felix got lost in your eyes for a moment. The fluttering was getting worse but he found he didn’t mind it. “Here,” You closed the distance between the two of you and left a quick kiss on his cheek, “A little token of thanks.”

Okay. Now he minded. It felt like a billion butterflies had gotten trapped in his ribcage. It was just a moment. A mere second of contact but it lit his body from the toes up as if he had stepped into a fire.

“You okay? Did I cross a line? Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just thankful for what you did and you’ve always been nice to me so--”

“Give…” Felix mumbled under his breath but it was enough to stop your mess of ramblings.

“You say something?” You asked.

“Give you…” Felix took a deep breath but it did little to calm his nerves. “Want to give you one.”

“Give me one what?” You asked.

“A...um…” he tapped his cheek. This was stupid! Why was he trying to initiate this right now? It was only meant to be a thank you kiss between friends and he was making it weird!

“Oh!” Your face got even hotter than it had a moment before. “I mean if you really want to then go ahead. Can I ask why first?”

“A thanks for never dropping a hermit crab in my mouth whenever you offer me food?” he joked. You laughed again, the tension between you breaking.

“I do deserve thanks for that.” You nodded and presented your cheek, “Go ahead.”

Okay Felix. Do not screw this up. There is not conceivable way to mess this up. He inched closer and left a darting kiss to your warm cheek.

“I bring you a lot of snacks,” Your voice was a whisper, “I think maybe that’s worthy of two kisses.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Felix turned your face so he could kiss your other cheek. “While we’re at it I think I’m owed more thanks for lugging that big goat of yours back to camp. It wasn’t light at all.”

“I suppose you do.” You grinned wider. This time when you kissed him you pressed it to the tip of his nose. “You also carried me here so if we think about it logically then I should--”

“Just kiss me already.” Felix pulled you closer.

“Yes sir,” You held his face in your small warm hands and kissed him on the mouth. Your lips were so soft and you tasted sweet like berries. “Felix,” You murmured against his lips.

“Hm?”

“If this is another way of keeping warm, it’s working.”

“Then we probably shouldn’t stop.” His lips met yours again. He couldn’t have you getting cold again after all.

---

(Part 1)

#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #peter pan ouat #request

135 notes · View notes

baepsaetan · 3 years ago

Text

Novocaine Enough | Yoonseok | Part 1

Amazing banner credit to @joonscore

Part 2 -> Part 3

Pairing: Yoongi x Hoseok

Wordcount: 6.1k

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, smut

Rating: 18+

Summary: Four years later, and Yoongi is still an itch under his skin. Hoseok is trying to move on, from his past life and his past love, but there are some voids that can’t be filled. Some needs that can’t be met. And when Hoseok enters a club and hears the music of the man he left so long ago, he realizes that some addictions can’t be healed by anything as simple as time.

Warnings: Swearing; implied, mentioned and past drug use/abuse (cocaine, ecstasy, weed, alcohol); past overdosing; mutually unhealthy relationship dynamic; explicit (kinda angry) sex, including biting, oral, gagging, rimming, edging, marking, barebacking, thigh riding.

Ao3 Link: here

A/N: This took me a disgustingly long time to complete, but I’ve limped to the finish line! I wouldn’t have got there without @ditttiii, who helped me talk through an early version of the fic. Also major thanks to my beta @birbdae for cleaning up this long piece!

Is there anything he loves more than stepping into a club for the first time? The easy answer is yes, but in the moment – in the present – right now – Hoseok can’t give the easy answer. Shoving through the door is like plunging into water, waves of heavy bass surging against him as he submerges into the half-remembered music and suddenly warm air. The change in temperature is a welcome relief after the cold outside and only serves to reinforce the sensation of entering a thicker atmosphere. Breathing in against the sudden pressure, Hoseok does a grateful little skip as he pulls off his beanie and gloves.

Next to him, Taehyung laughs, the deep sound competing with the heavy music beating at Hoseok’s eardrums. “Not even on the dance floor and you’re already starting?”

Tossing his head to get his dark hair out of his face, Hoseok grins. “That suggests I ever stopped.” He hadn’t. Not really. Once you start to dance – to inhale the music and turn it into pure, unadulterated movement – you don’t really take a break. You just… slow down, sometimes.

His companion grins, a boxy affair with no ridicule in it. And why should there be? Taehyung is a dancer, too, and a helluva good one, if Jimin and Jungkook are to be believed. (They usually aren’t, but in the case of a possible new crewmember, Hoseok is willing to lend a little belief.) He’s known Tae for a year now, since Taehyung became friends with Jungkook in one of their classes and started hanging out with the crew, but it wasn’t until a week or so ago that Kookie persuaded him to show off his stuff. Apparently, in the past, there’d been some kind of accident that stopped Taehyung from dancing, yet according to Jimin and Jungkook, that hadn’t shown at all when he finally broke out in front of them.

Hoseok will see the truth for himself soon enough, anyways; it’s not like they came to the recently opened club to just stand around. His eyes flick eagerly at the thought, scoping the place out.

It’s pretty packed, and given how huge a club it is, that’s saying something. This is one of those open area concepts, all sprawling space with two bars pushed off to the corners, and a much smaller upper area, almost an oversized balcony. On the far side of the club there’s a DJ booth that’s swarming with people in front of it, so much so that he can’t see through the crowd to whoever is getting them so pumped. And there are more people streaming in by the second; he and Taehyung have had to shuffle to the side several times since they stepped inside, and by now they’re almost plastered against the wall. That would have been disappointing, except that according to Jin, on Saturdays the floor gets cleared at around 11 and the serious dancers get to have a go at it for a while.

In the meantime… Spotting a gap in the crush of bodies, Hoseok takes his chance and darts almost seamlessly through, throwing over his shoulder as he does so, “You want something to drink?”

His companion follows, albeit more slowly. Not that Hoseok can blame him; Taehyung is broader than he is, making knocked shoulders and collisions almost an inevitability. When Hoseok makes it to the nearest bar, he’s left the other behind.

It gives him plenty of time to hover around the edges, admiring the form of the bartender, who puts Taehyung’s shoulders to shame. The man in question isn’t exactly the picture of grace – not like those in Hoseok’s crew – but his energy is so loud, so vibrant, that it makes up for nearly dropped glasses and a few hesitations as he mixes the drinks for various customers. The breathtaking smile helps; the way he goes from 1 to 100 the second anyone tries to complain about the wait time probably helps, too.

Red-faced and outraged, he’s chewing out some poor guy for that exact offense when Hoseok finally finds room to sidle up to the front of the bar. “And if you think I’m making you another Manhattan after that comment, you can stick it straight up – oh. Hey, Hobi!”

The offender slinks away as Hoseok shakes his head in mock seriousness. “Is Namjoon paying you to bartend or to insult customers?” he shouts over the deep resonance that’s currently more a feeling shuddering across the floor than a sound.

Jin’s indignation doesn’t fade so much as evaporate entirely. Blinking with easy complacency, a small smile playing across his face, he turns and begins prepping the order a girl apologetically yells at him. “Just to bartend. The insults I give for free.”

“Wow, a star employee.” Fake seriousness dissolving into something more real, he asks, “Will Namjoon be around tonight? I wanted to ask him about the competition the club is hosting.”

It takes a few moments to reply, Jin’s hands and concentration caught in the mixing profession before he pulls himself away. “Not until a lot later, if at all,” the bartender replies eventually. “He’s looking after Remi tonight, so if he comes it’ll be after she goes to sleep. And can you imagine Joon leaving her alone?”

“No,” Hobi admits. Namjoon dotes on his daughter so much (the few times a month that he gets her) that it would be a miracle if he showed up tonight. Which is a little inconvenient for Hoseok, but the vague annoyance is buried under the reminder that being a good dad comes before being a good club owner.

He stands in fidgeting silence – silence surrounded by sound and people – for a few moments, playing with the studded collar of his black jacket, watching Jin work, and trying to enjoy the music. Taehyung must have been caught by someone, which is fine and not unsurprising given that it’s Tae. However, the absence of his companion, and with Jin mostly absorbed in his drinks, has mild anxiety trickling under Hoseok’s heels and through his fingertips. He rocks on the former and drums the latter against the sleek black leather of his pants in an attempt to drive the restlessness out. It doesn’t work particularly well, but automatically he finds himself adjusting his movements to the rhythm of the bass, and the focus required does help.

Each song is mixed so well, there’s no weird or awkward moment for his concentration to snag on, and the transitions are seamless, so smooth that the DJ must have curated this tracklist with individual attention to each end and beginning. Not unheard of, exactly, but certainly a pleasure when compared to many of the jarring amateur attempts Hoseok has been subjected to before. Last they’d talked, Namjoon had mentioned he was looking to hire another DJ for his new club, and if this is the man… well, Hoseok just hopes he’ll be the same guy who’s doing their dance competition, too. Another question – or request – to throw Joon’s way the next time they meet.

He’s just about to resign himself to submerging back into the crowd in search of Taehyung when the boy in question pops up, all teeth and warm apology. “Sorry, hyung! I saw a friend I haven’t talked to in a while, and you were so far ahead already I didn’t think I could call you back, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk for a bit so I paused and then I’d lost you and –”

“Don’t sweat it.” It’s always been a marvel to Hoseok that such a rambling and excited apology could sound sincere, but Taehyung makes it work one hundred percent. “Let me grab you something. What do you drink?”

“Oh, well, I like whiskey sours, but you don’t have to –”

“Whiskey it is.” As he turns away, Taehyung’s surprised expression isn’t lost on Hoseok. Yeah, he isn’t often this direct, but the young man’s never seen him at dance practice and besides, the music is scraping under his skin, rubbing his bones the wrong way in the best way possible. It’s forcing him into a different form.

Suiting word to deed, he returns to the bar, puts in Tae’s request along with his own. Like a cheerful despot towering behind his counter walls, Jin takes the order before other people’s, waving off the muted outrage of his customers with shameless ease. It’s good to see his relatively new job hasn’t reformed him too much; it’s not that Jin’s ever actively rude or cruel. but he just has one pace, and that pace is his own.

For all that Hoseok admires that quality in his friend, it still has him flushing and ducking his head apologetically at the accusing looks. He’s quick to grab the drinks, but when he tries to shove money at Jin, the other man waves him off. “My treat,” the bartender calls. “When you all start dancing, everyone’s going to get thirsty and I’m going to be getting tons of tips!” His laughter quickly spikes too high to be heard in this crowd, but he’s still laughing as Hoseok, even more flushed, winds through the press of bodies with the glasses held high.

When he reaches Taehyung, his companion just sips his drink, but Hoseok downs his. The burn down his throat is no more intense than the burn he feels building in his muscles. A different kind of heat.

He finds himself shifting, his body beginning to ache with impatience. Tae is an entertaining person, but Hoseok's restlessness is blazing through his concentration, leaving cinders in its wake, and words of any kind – no matter how entertaining – are a poor thing in comparison. While he's always eager to move when at the club, this is a new level of agitation, a heightened awareness of the sounds and heavy ambience, and at first, he doesn't know what has him so on edge.

They talk some more, just waiting, really, for Jimin and Jungkook to arrive. Taehyung doesn't have a car and Hoseok had agreed to drive him, and Jimin was going to drive Jungkook after a late class. They should be here within half an hour or so, though in the meantime Tae, ever obliging, grabs he and Hoseok two more rounds of drinks. It's while he's grabbing the third round that the impatience becomes less of a hum and more of a howl, and Hoseok grasps with a sudden jolt that it's because of the song that's currently playing.

Whoever is mixing this music is really doing an amazing job; the song modifications, amplifications and beat alignments almost make the atmosphere come alive, and all it needs is an avatar to show off just how much energy it really has. He could be that. He should be that. It’s almost like he and the DJ are in a private conversation, and they’re egging him on, jamming little pinpricks into his joints, demanding he dance.

His mouth is dry – too dry – but that's nothing new when he's in the club, and Hoseok hardly notices it. The next song has just come on, as seamlessly as the last, and with a sharp pang of understanding, Hoseok realizes why he feels so tense, even more so than usual.

This DJ – whoever they are – has similar tastes as Yoongi. The powerful flow of thudding music is creating something in Hoseok, a kind of nostalgic frenzy, and it makes him swallow hard, swallow again with the feeling of shards of glass and regret slipping down his throat. He hasn't heard a DJ who favours reverb and synth choruses so much since the last time he'd guested at one of Yoongi's gigs. How long ago was that? Four years? He can hardly remember.

To remember is absolutely not why Hoseok is here.

"Hyung?" Taehyung says something to him, has said it more than once, to judge by his tone. Hoseok snaps his eyes to the other man's face, his breath abruptly staggered. "Hyung, are you okay?"

"Yeah," and to Hoseok’s ears his voice sounds tinny, strained. "Yeah, I'm fine. Jimin and Jungkook should be here soon, right? I should go grab some alcohol for them."

"Do you wanna take your shot?"

"I will after. Be back in a sec."

"Sure...?" Taehyung's eyes are sharp and probing, uncomfortably and unexpectedly keen, and Hoseok can't remember if he knows about Yoongi. He definitely wouldn't know Yoongi – none of his friends do – because they didn't know Hoseok back then. So – there's no point in explaining. No point in bringing it up. Hoseok swallows again, and walks away, needing to escape. Although he can't escape the music.

He also can't help how his gaze skitters to the DJ booth, there and back again, short looks that can't penetrate the barrier of people crowded around it. It can't be him. It can't. The last time he saw Yoongi...

You didn't come here to remember, he reminds himself savagely.

Jin has seemingly even more customers pestering him than before, and just hands off the drinks without a fuss. This time, hypersensitive and too raw to accept charity, Hoseok makes him take the cash, pressing it to the counter when the bartender tries to decline. Head tilting, thick eyebrows furrowing, for the first time this night Jin looks something other than melodramatic, and Hoseok doesn't want that. He came here to dance, for Christ's sake, not have someone notice a mini-meltdown!

Hefting on a smile that feels like it weighs one thousand pounds, he brushes off his friend's concern and darts away, carrying a tray of glasses. He's hardly taken a few steps before he downs his drink. Too much, too fast, especially for him, but he needs the soft buffer of alcohol right now. Hoseok won't look at the DJ stand. It's not him. There's no way it could be Yoongi. And even if it were...

It's not.

And even if it were, what would he do? Go down on his knees and ask for forgiveness? Punch him in his bleakly certain face? Or–

It's not him.

The music resonates around him – through him – in shuddering waves, jarring his weak attempts to tamp it down, and Hoseok is starting to feel feverish with the familiarity of the flashbacks flickering through his head. He's definitely had too much to drink. He just – he needs to do something. He needs to move.

It is with a huge wash of relief that he gets back to Taehyung and sees Jimin and Jungkook have arrived. Jimin is dressed in faded denim jeans and a glittering blue and yellow jacket, though the jacket will probably be off by the end of the night if other nights are anything to go by. Jungkook is a little more subdued, just wearing a simple white t-shirt and black jeans, but his outfit makes the tattoo sleeve on his left arm pop. Both of them are standouts in the crowded space. Add in Taehyung with his black and white patterned shirt and matching headband, and Hoseok really can’t blame the number of eyes he notices settled on the trio.

Taehyung is oblivious to it. “You’re back!” he exclaims, leaping forward to help Hoseok with the drinks.

Jimin’s sultry expression – he calls it his performance face – is something he wears as easily as his brilliant jacket, and he shrugs it off with just as much aplomb when his gaze lands on Hoseok’s tight look. Eyes flickering about as if he could spot the problem, his smile becoming warmer but tinged with concern, the small man accepts the glass from Tae and then asks, “What’s up?”

A grin can be a work of art, and Hobi turns this into a masterpiece. All ease and bright lines, no clouds in this painting. He’s not quite as good at lying outright, but the noise probably masks his beat of hesitation. “Nothing! I’m just excited to get started.”

“Makes two of us,” Jungkook comments, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he nabs a shot from Taehyung.

“Three!” Taehyung chimes in. They all fall silent, turning expectantly to Jimin.

He’s still watching Hoseok, his lips lightly pursued. Hobi can’t help his nervous titter at the close examination, turns it into a more raucous laugh. “You’re not excited, ChimChim? Come on, we’ve been talking about this for weeks!”

At last, Jimin breaks eye contact, if only to shove back the unruly silver bangs tumbling across his forehead. “I’m excited,” he says, apparently deciding to drop whatever he’d seen on Hobi’s face. “Just hope there aren’t too many rookie dancers around. We don’t wanna make them look too bad when we start.” The look he wears is nothing short of angelic, but Hoseok knows well enough the competitive edge that lurks under that innocent façade. Jimin likes to win.

Jungkook huffs a fervent agreement. He likes to win, too. He’s good at it. Actually, they all do, and they all are. There’s a reason Hobi’s put this particular team together.

Right. Something to focus on, instead of the shadow of memory that the music keeps trying to make more substantial. With a playful nod, Hobi notes with false regret, “Well, if Tae is as good as you say, they might be out of luck.”

“I’ll do my best!” the man in question promises earnestly, and Hoseok can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees a flash of… something… in Taehyung’s eyes. Maybe not the same sharp need to win that Jungkook wears blatantly and Jimin cloaks yet never lets go of, but something. Passion, at the very least.

Hell, it works for Hoseok. Who cares what drives his people, as long as it's driving them to work hard?

As long as it isn’t driving them straight off a cliff.

He knows exactly where that thought comes from, and unbidden he turns to the DJ booth. It’s still too crowded to tell who’s working there. Probably a good thing. At this point Hoseok doesn’t know what will hurt him more; if the DJ isn’t Yoongi, or if it is.

The rest of them are talking and drinking, and he listens with half an ear, half a brain, half a being. The other half is straining to tell if the music really is as familiar as he thinks it is. If he can match that melody with that moment, or that bass with that breath, or that reverb with that regret. It’s stupid, pointless, harmful, but he can’t make himself stop. How funny, that he could have sworn he was over this. Had drummed it out of his muscles and his head both. God, if only he could dance.

Like an answer from the heavens – or maybe elsewhere – the music suddenly cuts off. A voice comes on the mic, clear, crisp, and familiar, but not who Hoseok was half expecting. It’s Jin. “Hey ladies and gentlemen and everyone else. As ya’ll know, it’s time for the Saturday dance off! If you fancy yourself a dancer, stay where you are, otherwise get your ass out of the floor area marked by the thick black lines. If you didn’t know there was a dance off today and you don’t like it, there’s a big ass door under the exit sign. I think we’re over capacity anyways.” With a loud blare of feedback, he cuts off.

Slowly at first, then more quickly, people start wandering out of the space Jin had indicated, crowding against the walls, or heading to the smaller area upstairs. He thinks he sees a few people leave after the announcement, but that might have just been a coincidence. By the time things have cleared, there are some twenty people on the dance floor, not including his crew.

This is exactly what he needs to clear his mind. Hoseok observes those left, his head tilted, an easy smile unconsciously gracing his lips. He can tell at a glance a few people are just idiots who want to flail around and call it dancing. There’s nothing wrong with that, exactly, but experience has taught him that people like that usually get pretty embarrassed when they suddenly find themselves next to professionals. Unless they’re really drunk, in which case they’ll just be a slight distraction. Nothing his guys can’t handle.

As for the rest… Hoseok actually recognizes two women, a couple he’s met at a few competitions, both official and underground. They’re good. Really good. His smile grows, and amid the tingling warmth of all the alcohol he’s had, there’s a fiercer burn, a kind of exultant excitement. He’s too drunk, probably, but this is crystal clarity, a heatwave burning everything unimportant and leaving just his focus and his friends.

And the music. The DJ regains control of the mic system, and he’s starting off with something heavy, almost ominous. The bass is shaking the floor, shaking Hoseok’s foundation, and he finds himself shaking in response, with little tremors of tension. Whoever’s running the music, they know how to start a show, and Hoseok is aching to finish it.

This isn’t an actual competition, of course. No judges, or set songs, or styles. It’s freestyle, and if there’s any kind of critic, it’s the crowd, already buzzing with anticipation and adding to the air of expectation. Hoseok breathes in and it feels like he’s inhaling something far more than air.

Because this isn’t run by anyone official, there are no rules about who can start, or how, or when. While Hobi and the rest of the serious dancers size each other up and feel out the rhythm, a trio of wasted kids stumble into the center of the floor. Their awkward floundering is laughable, and so Hoseok does laugh, a joyful sound echoed by Jungkook and Taehyung and a good deal of the crowd and competitors. It’s not unkind, at least not on Hobi’s part; he’s just too excited to reach the level that’s so far above these people to keep back the explosion of mirth.

Jimin’s lip is lightly curled when Hoseok glances at him, but though he isn’t laughing, he’s squirming in place, clearly impatient to start.

Why keep him waiting?

“You ready?” he asks his crew, a redundant courtesy. They are. “I think we go low for this one? I’ll take the center? Let’s go… Jimin, then Jungkook, then Taehyung? And keep heavy on the left?” Phrased as questions, but they aren’t, just more courtesy, letting Taehyung know how he wants to approach this. They’ve already discussed general four-person set-ups, with Tae and without. The other two know what Hoseok wants. Everyone nods, short, sharp.

He steps forward. Not far. Not really enough to crowd the hammered trio’s space. Just enough to announce their presence and give them room to work. His friends follow, and Hoseok can almost feel them at his back. The wide grin has faded, replaced with an unintentional intensity that, unbeknownst to him, makes it hard for people to look away. Most of the laughter in the crowd dies, replaced by wire-tight quiet.

In that quiet, he begins. Slowly to start. Why hurry perfection? The music pours into his marrow and he turns it into movement, gives it form and features for the simple price of sweat. Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung join in several beats later, not quite matching his moves or each other, but close. Distorted shadows. They flicker in time with the rhythm, a collection of power moves loosely connected by breaking. Hoseok breathes, draws in the crowd’s awe and admiration, and turns it into fuel as he burns through everything but the music.

Worries, memories, regrets, nothing can survive the blaze of his concentration, and Hoseok feeds them to the flames with ruthless abandon, glad to feel them smoulder to ashes.

His moves become sharper, harsher. Everything gets so much more defined when he dances. The audience, his friends, his body, they all assume a stark clarity, almost painfully distinct. He doesn’t worry – he just moves. The music pulses all around him, urging him on, a nameless connection, and as the fluid lucidity gets even sharper, he prepares to speed up.

Soon – in fact, at what feels like exactly the right moment – the song flows into something else. Faster and more electronic. His body reads it almost before his mind does and Hoseok feels himself changing his motions to fit. More popping now. It feels right to hit the floor, so Hoseok does, in a totally controlled spin on his back that nonetheless looks wildly, perfectly out of control. He stops with a shoulder roll that allows him to transition to his feet, making room for Jimin to step forward and claim center as the crowd cheers.

Jimin is… fucking beautiful. The thought is a vague spark without solid form in the midst of Hoseok’s movement, but it’s true all the same. He dances differently than Hoseok or Jungkook, more gracefully, like any second he could swap his bones for the wind and begin to fly.

Not immune to the effect, but far too disciplined to fall for it (much), Hoseok keeps up his pace next to Jimin, letting himself relax even further into the music. The drunk trio are long gone, shuffled off in embarrassment, but some of the others are inching closer. They’re being polite – letting his crew get in a full rotation – but that’ll end soon enough. He relishes their interest. Not because he has something to prove, or particularly cares what they’re thinking, but because once they start to respond, it’ll be another bar to aim for, another goal, one more reason to keep dancing. And God, does he want to keep dancing.

Jungkook is next, powerful, demanding. He hits each move like it’s personally offended him, smashes into the poses as if he wants to break through reality and reach some other plane. When his feet hit a series of rapid beats in quick succession, it’s enough to get the crowd, already primed, to start whistling and whooping.

Hoseok finds himself doubting his choice to put Taehyung last. From what he’s seen from the corner of his eye as they’ve gone, Tae has kept up fine, his movements slick and confident. Maybe just a hair slower than the trio, but that could easily be chalked up to a lack of familiarity, given how much the other three have practiced together and how long Taehyung has been on a break. Still, asking him to follow up what Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok himself have already shown… He’d thought it would give him time to settle any nerves and see how they all approached being center, and Jimin and Jungkook had sung his praises to the high heavens, but now it seems like it might have been cruel.

Taehyung moves into the middle, and for some reason there’s a sudden swell of appreciative screams. Not from anything Hoseok can see from behind and to the side – maybe Tae had made a particularly great expression? The screams don’t really… stop… after that. From what Hoseok can observe, he gets it.

Turns out it wasn’t cruel to put Tae last. Like, at all.

The man is a consummate performer. Several times, when Taehyung’s supple steps put his back to the front and Hobi can see his face, he’s almost literally struck by how good his facials are. Passion is the name of this game and Tae plays it to perfection, his expressions conveying such a range of intensity that it’s a surprise he hasn’t started a fire with his glower alone

Hell, Tae winks at him at one point and Hoseok finds himself grinning at the smug audacity, breaking his own fierce look. Whoops.

He whips it back on, but they’re almost done, anyways. Another group has edged closer, brash with impatience, and a few seconds later start their own dance. Of course, Hoseok’s crew doesn’t give way immediately – like you could snatch the crown that easily – and for a little bit they’re actually dancing against the other crew. It’s a brawl of sorts, Hoseok’s favourite kind of fighting. It doesn’t last long enough (it never does), but it’s exhilarating while it does. The fact that their opponents are pretty good is just gasoline added to the flames.

However, if a good dancer knows how to step while on the stage, a great one knows when to step off the stage, and as the most recent song winds down, Hoseok stops himself. Unwillingly, painfully, but he does. He gives a short bow to the opposing group, granting them the floor amid a cascade of cheering.

When he and his crew walk away, the shouting just gets louder, deafening in its wild appreciation. Exhilaration swells under his ribs, threatening to crack them with its overwhelming force. For just a moment, Hoseok hears the cheers, feels the way his body is still crackling with energy, remembers how good it had felt to move, and he’s complete. For just a second.

And then the moment is gone.

The rest of his friends are grinning under the praise of the clubgoers, a little playful swagger in their steps as they jostle each other, giving compliments and insults on the individual executions each had pulled. Jimin snags his jacket from a girl who had picked it up from the floor, waves with giddy appreciation at her. They’re quick to find a good spot to watch the other dancers, the crowd happy to give way after what they’d shown. A couple of people offer to get them drinks and Jimin accepts while Jungkook and Taehyung beam. They’re all practically glowing, flush with success. They’d done well; they deserve to be proud. He’s proud of them.

He can feel proud and still be hollow, right? The sudden empty fatigue hits him like a cement truck going 100. It’s almost always like this after he dances, and the more intense the performance, the harder he gets hit. Hoseok abruptly becomes aware of the sweat pouring off him, the waves of heat billowing across his skin, the strained, quiet pain of muscles stretched just a bit beyond their limits. He’s… tired isn’t right. He could do three or four more routines like that, all in a row, without getting truly, bodily exhausted.

Drained. Yeah. That’s it. Like he’d poured something vital into each move, spilled himself across the floor, until there was too little of him left.

Jimin and Jungkook know him well enough to give him a little space after a dance, but Taehyung isn’t in the loop yet. “Hobi-hyung!” Sweat has darkened the younger man’s light brown hair, and if it weren’t for his headband, it probably would have been dripping down his face. “Hyung, you were incredible! You have to teach me how to pop at your knee like that, I’ve only ever done my upper body!”

The disconnect is there, unbearably strong. It will fade in the next few minutes, leaving him just fatigued instead of full-on wrung out, but in the meantime Hoseok makes himself laugh. Taehyung deserves that much, even if it sounds strange to his ears. “Only if you teach me that expression you were wearing during the chorus while you were center. Think I saw a few people faint when you looked their way.” He laughs again, trying to make the sound more natural. Pretty much fails.

Taehyung seems grateful for the compliment, nonetheless. He bobs his head, flashing a boxy grin. “It’s not a fair trade. Making faces is easy; I think I’d have to be high to move like you were, if I ever could.”

His jaw abruptly tightens, tension arcing through his throat. So quick he wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t expecting it, Jungkook and Jimin exchange a glance. They know (almost) all of his history. Jimin reaches out, plucks at Taehyung’s shirt sleeve. “Come on,” he whines. “Didn’t you see me? Don’t you think I was cool, too?”

It’s a masterful attempt at distraction, though Taehyung seems inclined to dwell on Hoseok’s moves. “Well yeah, of course! But what hyung did was –”

Jimin interrupts him. “Anyways, I want to introduce you to one of our friends,” he says cheerfully. “Seokjin-hyung. He works as a bartender here.”

“Oh, but Hoseok-hyung already–”

“I’ll come too!” Jungkook chimes in, and together they drag the bewildered Taehyung into the crowd and away. A kindness, letting Hoseok have this moment of weakness. What had he done in another life to deserve these people in this one?

What had he done? For just a second, a memory enters his head, of a few colourful blue and red tablets sitting in an outstretched hand. A voice, achingly ironic and raspy, asking, “You ready to get ecstatic?”

He couldn’t have said if it was the pill or the voice that he longed more violently for after the sodden rush of dance-inspired euphoria was gone. Given the way his eyes cut to the DJ booth, Hoseok supposes he has his answer.

He has his answer, but he doesn’t have what he wants. The press of people has dispersed with the dance-off, the clubbers are more interested in crowding the square than swarming the DJ, leaving his view clear for the first time tonight. There’s a girl working the booth. Not someone he recognizes.

Not Yoongi.

A shaky exhale splits his clenched teeth, and Hoseok closes his eyes. He hasn’t been listening to the music since they stopped dancing – not really – but it sounds different now. No longer as intimate, the connection between him and the rhythm is broken. Had he just imagined that bond before the dance-off, made up that gut-wrenching familiarity? Given that he hasn’t taken any drugs tonight, he seriously doubts that he has the creativity to imagine something so vivid.

Maybe the girl DJing learned in the same style as Yoongi. Maybe that’s what set him off.

He hasn’t had any drugs tonight, but he’s still coming down from a high. That’s how it always is, after dancing. He told his friends, his family, that he got clean, but it was a lie. Hoseok just replaced ecstasy, his drug of choice, with something else. Movement instead of MDMA. Not a bad trade. He couldn’t have made a career off of being a chronic user, after all. Couldn’t have found happiness, either. Probably.

His mouth is bone dry, and he’s lost sight of his friends. They’re probably busy harassing Jin. For a while Hoseok watches the other dancers, fingers tapping out a pattern on his thighs in time to the beats, grateful for the chance to pull himself out of his despondency with a bit of friendly critique. From what he can see, the group that went after them is the most skilled so far.

The couple he’d recognized earlier haven’t gone yet, and they’ll shake up the ranking, but slowly Hoseok settles into the comfortable conclusion that his crew is the best one here. It doesn’t matter – there are no announced winners – but it’s promising for the actual competition coming up in a few weeks.

Things get better. He gets better. He always does. By the time the couple finishes their piece – with a flourish of partner flips that have him joining the raucous cheering – Hoseok is back to feeling energized by the sweat still slick on his skin. He’s back to being overjoyed by the music beating against his eardrums, back to savouring the crush of bodies and noise and life that scream nothing more than here you are, right now, isn’t it amazing!

Even stepping in a thick puddle of someone’s spilled drink isn’t enough to dampen his spirits.

With a grin and a lighthearted curse, Hoseok heads to the bathroom, intent on wiping off his shoes. Sticky sneakers are a fact of life at clubs, but given that it’d been a mini lake of beer and he hates the sensation of his feet peeling across the floor, this seems to be a justified trip. Even better, the dance-off is finishing; he won’t be missing anything.

It’s as Hoseok is leaving the washroom, shoes squeaky clean, that someone grabs his arm from behind. Hard. He startles with a yelp that’s barely audible over the raucous noise of the club, his heart rate spiking. Moving jerkily with the admittedly excessive alarm pounding in his chest, Hobi turns to berate whichever of his friends thought it would be funny to sneak up on him.

Freezes. Stares. Doubts.

Hoarsely ironic, Yoongi observes, “Still as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks, huh?”

#yoongi x hoseok #yoongi #hoseok #yoonseok #sope #yoonseok smut #thebtswritersclub #networkbangtan #my fic

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honeypirate · 4 years ago

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Fighters to Lovers

Kyotani x Reader

Underground Fighter AU

The top two underground fighters fall for each other in the middle of their bout. Reader is a great fighter and kickboxer and fights anyone.

This is probably bad but I had fun writing it

Warning- it’s basically all a fight scene. Blood.

Another warning - its unedited haha

———————

You wrap your fingers methodically, a routine you have done hundreds of times before, with black tape to protect your knuckles. You bought your own black tape because you preferred the look better than the usual white. You pull on your black leggings and put a black zip up over your black sports bra. After putting on your, you guessed it, black tennis shoes, you grab your gym bag that has your spare clothes and water bottle in it, and leave your apartment to begin your jog.

No not to the normal gym, to the underground basement that you like to fight at. The anything goes fight club that you’ve been a part of for the past few months. Your usual gym where you go to train and box led you to meet a very creepy guy who gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Fighting with risk that also had a huge pay off if you win. You hadn’t had to worry about work anymore because of your winnings, you are unbeaten, undefeated, and tonight you’re fighting one of the best underground fighters known in your area. If you can beat him you’ll be #1.

“There’s my little money maker!” the creepy guy from your gym says when you walk through the door at the end of the stairwell. His name was Ken, he was a short, round man, who always smelled like a dog kennel. You had suspicions that he was also fighting dogs but you stayed out of business that wasn’t yours. “Is he here yet?” you say as you take off your jacket, walking through a door frame, the door had been ripped off by an angry man you beat once and still hasn’t been replaced, you doubt it would be, as Ken would say ‘it is unnecessary.’

“He’s in route” You nod going to unlock and open the locker on the left and put your jacket and bag inside, taking out your water bottle and headphones.

You sit and put on your headphones, playing your pumped up playlist, closing your eyes and letting out a long breath as you sit on the bench. You could hear muffled movement and talking around you, guessing that your opponent had arrived. You didn’t open your eyes and no one bothered you, this was your ritual and everyone was familiar with it. You didn’t like to see your opponent until the ring and everyone was okay with that, which meant that you haven’t even seen your opponent at all, you have no idea what he looks like, you just know his nickname is Mad Dog.

The familiar touch on your shoulder signals it’s time, you open your eyes and nod at Ken, who has a greasy smile on his lips. He doesn't have to tell you how much money is riding on you, you have a pretty good idea and when you win you’ll be in fat city, on the off chance you loose you’re pretty sure they’ll kill you. You stand and stretch out your arms, your body still warm from your jog and from the training you have done before this, you keep your headphones on as you follow Ken from the locker room and out the door that leads to the ring.

Once you pass through the door you can hear screaming and cheering through your music, the bare, humid and hot, concrete room was filled with people, most of them drunk, surrounding a square ring made out of wooden pallets and barely held together. You get to the ring and a pallet is moved out of the way, you take off your headphones and the loudness hits you. Handing them to Ken you silently kick off your shoes and walk through the pallet and it is slid back in place behind you.

You look at the back of your opponent in front of you, strong muscles across his shoulders, blonde hair dyed with dark stripes. You start to bounce on your toes, shaking out your muscles and popping your neck, you hear cheers all around, cheering your name slightly more than they are cheering for the so called Mad Dog.

Ken behind you holds up a megaphone and as he speaks the crowd gets even wilder, “we all know why we are here! So let’s get to it! Once the fight starts there will be no changes to the bets so make sure you have them in now!” people scramble to place their bets and five minutes later Ken is speaking again “Mad Dog against our resident Title holder Y/N/N! Only rule is no weapons! Fight until one of you is incompasitated. Are you ready Y/N/N?” you nod once and furrow your eyebrows, your body flooding with adrenaline and endorphins, your skin tingles in anticipation. “Are you ready Mad Dog?” he finally turns around and his pissed off expression makes you smirk, you take in his well cut body ashe nods as well, here we go, you get into your Southpaw fighting stance, your right leg in front of your left and a bounce in your step, bringing your fists up to guard, “FIGHT”

It’s like your world goes in slow motion once you hear that word, you see him charging in towards you but it seems slowed down, you dodge easily and hit him with a jab to his kidney as you step around him quickly, now standing behind him. He’s on you again in a second and instead of going round him you wait, wait until he goes to strike, he goes for an uppercut and you dodge, quickly jabbing him in the jaw, your first two knuckles connecting satisfyingly with a smack.

He growls and you chuckle as he tries to get you with a kick to your knee, you side step and punch him with your left, in the side of his right ear, he grabs you by your neck and you laugh out loud, blocking his other hand that tries to punch “are we flirting or fighting here?” you say and the fire in his eyes rages brighter “I literally have my hand across your neck” he spits out between his teeth “that didn’t answer my question, Mad Dog”

He jabs you in the ribs and you feel a few of them crack but the pain gives you more energy, you like the pain because it clears your head of anything else. You jump up, he gasps and his grip on your neck loosens, kneeing him as hard as you can in the chin causes him to fly backwards with a grunt, his face scrunched in pain and anger. You land on your feet, the crowd going wild but you don't even notice, your eyes on the man in front of you as he pops up quick, spitting out some blood before bringing his fists up in a guard again. You wink at him and he growls again, you’re beginning to realize why he’s called Mad Dog.

You wave him towards you, trying to provoke him more, the throbbing in your side fading away to the back of your mind as he closes the distance between you, you stand up straight, dropping your guard slightly on your right as he comes toward you, trying to bait him into going for your jaw. He does exactly what you want, his fist headed straight for your face, you chuckle and dodge last minute, hitting him with a swift uppercut to the left side of his jaw before jabbing him in his ribs. You block his attack and go to kick him but he grabs your ankle, pulling hard causing you to fall on your back, he kicks you hard in the stomach and you cough, the air rushing from your lungs.

You bait him into another kick and before it lands you grab his ankle, pulling him down to the ground with you and quickly mounting him you start firing off punches towards his ears and face. He guards his face pretty well and you let out a slight sigh before popping up off of him and backing away quickly “get up” you state and shake out your limbs as he gets back to his feet and charges you, you punch quickly, landing your fist to his cheek, taking the initial shock of his pain to reset, before bringing your elbow down to the opposite side of his face where his guard was down, his fist connecting to your nose as your elbow connects with his eyebrow. When you both pull away you’re both bleeding, you grin at him, your bloody nose filling your mouth as well, your teeth stained red.

His sight is blurred by the blood from his eyebrow but his grin is mirroring yours, you both laugh at the same time, both enjoying this fight immensely. You bring your guard up and rush him, dodging his attack and laughing as you slide behind him, kicking his knees and slipping your arm around his neck and locking it in place perfectly, squeezing as hard as you could as he struggled against you, he was no doubt stronger than you but you were not going to let go. He tried to punch back at you, connecting his fists to your ears and chin, the pain fueling your strength. You scream out, blood flying out with your spit as you pull harder and fall back, locking your legs around his middle, he lands a fist to your cheek but you can feel it isn’t as strong as his last ones, you start to laugh, the cheers from the crowd finally filling your senses as the man in your arms finally passes out, you hold it for just a few seconds longer, just in case he was faking you out before letting him go.

You lay him gently on the ground, staying kneeled by him as Ken comes into the arena, handing you a towel he raises your hand “Y/n IS STILL! UNDEFEATED!!!” you hear cheers and you nod once with a smile, holding the towel to your nose after using it to wipe off the sweat from your face. Ken leans down, “I’ll give you your money in the locker room, half of these people are pissed. I’m proud of you.” he pats your back and you nod again.

You sit back on your butt as the crowd begins to disperse, several of them being thrown out by the security, but you always stay in the ring until they are all gone, safer this way. You stare at Mad Dog, when your nose stops bleeding you fold the towel and hold the clean side to his eyebrow. ‘He’s quite handsome’ you thought, and then you smiled softly as he began to stir. His eyes open and he looks at you for a few seconds before he slowly sits up, taking the towel from your hand and keeping it against his face. “I lost then” he says and you nod “let me buy you a drink” you say and he looks at you with shock before he grins “i'll meet you outside in ten minutes?” he asks before standing and helping you up,”sounds good” you both head to different locker rooms, to clean up and assess the damage.

You grab another hand towel, running it under cool water and wiping down your body before changing your pants and pulling on a t-shirt, putting on some deodorant and throwing your bag over your shoulder, you wince from the pain in your ribs returning from lack of adrenaline. Ken comes through the door and hands you a fat envelope. “We will plan your next fight when those ribs of yours heal up. Text me when that is. No rush for the champion” you shove the envelope into your bag “thanks Ken” nothing more is said as you walk past him out of the basement to the stairs.

When you reach the street Mad Dog pushes off the wall and falls in step by you “that was actually fun” he says and you chuckle “yeah fun until I can feel my injuries” he laughs as well and you speak again “it was fun though. Finally fighting someone on my level. It was nice. You’re really good” he laughs “thank you y/n” the door to the bar opens and he reaches up, wincing from the pain in his body, and grabs the top of the door, holding it open as you walk inside “thank you” you say in passing and he follows you inside.

You get a couple drinks and then sit at a table in the back, far away from the speakers and crowd, luckily hiding from anyone who saw you both fight.

After a few drinks your muscles relax, your nose barely throbbing but you can feel the beginning of your black eye blooming. The more the conversation flows the closer you guys scoot towards the middle of the round booth. You learned about his days as a volleyball player in high school, how he did underground fighting to pay for college but still fights anyway because he likes it. It’s easy money for him. You tell him about what got you into underground fighting, how Ken creeps you out but you know if you ran from him he wouldn’t be able to run after you. It wasn’t that funny of a joke but you both laughed anyway, ignoring the scream in your ribs by every laugh, chuckle, and inhale of breath. His arm was above the back of the booth, his body facing yours, your hand was against his on the table, avoiding his bruising knuckles with your fingertips, and you leaned your head against his forearm as you caught your breath, smiling as you looked at him.

His eyebrow was bruising but his cut had closed pretty well, he had a butterfly bandage against it that was pinched between the swollen skin above his eyes. He had a bruise forming under his jaw and on his cheek. You really did a number on him. The alcohol in your system didn’t add anything to your confidence or guts, you would have done this even if you were sober.

You reach up and gently cup his face “I feel bad for the number I’ve done on your handsome face” you whisper and he gasps at how sweet and gentle you are “I’m sorry for cracking your ribs, I didn’t want to hurt such a beautiful person but I figured you wouldn’t respect me if I didn’t give my all” you grin and chuckle “you’re right. I’m glad you gave it your all” he scoots as close as he can towards you, cupping your cheek gently as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours, taking care to not bump your nose or hurt you at all. You kiss him back as gentle as he kisses you, making sure to not hurt his injuries. But after a few seconds something snaps, the desire in your bones flowing freely as he pulls you into his lap, kissing you increasingly harder and more passionately. You moan quietly into his mouth and then gasp, pulling away when a flash catches your attention. A drunk group of men talking about how they just saw you both fight and it was amazing, he moves his head to look around you, sending a menacing glare at the group who all go silent before running back to the other side of the bar.

You laugh and lay your head on his shoulder “i realized I don’t know your real name” you whisper breathlessly and he chuckles, his hands tickling up and down your back softly over your shirt. “Kentaro Kyotani. It’s very nice to meet you” he says and turns his head, kissing your forehead as you lay on his shoulder. “Do you wanna go on a real date sometime?” You ask and he laughs “oh god yes”

#kyotani x y/n #kyotani x reader #haikyuu kyoutani #hq kyoutani #kyotani imagine #kyoutani kentarou #kyotani kentaro #mad dog #kyotani x you #kyotani fighter #underground fighter au

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eddieeatsass · 3 years ago

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♡♡♡ hi! if you have the time, just a short lil' something of fluffy teen stenbrough? ♡♡♡

Ask and you shall receive! <3 ---------------------------------

For as long as Stan can remember, Bill has always been his right hand man.

Of course Eddie and Richie were important to him too, and once Ben, Beverly, and eventually Mike came along, they became just as integral to Stan’s life. But Bill had always been his best best friend.

That's why when things began to shift between them, it just felt natural.

Stan barely noticed the change when Bill began to sit closer during movies, or linger his touches when they were playing board games. They were subtle differences that would have gone completely unnoticed if it weren't for the way Stan's skin would light up every time Bill brushed against him.

The stutter that had gotten progressively better over time seemed to come back with a fury, but only when Bill spoke to Stan. The other Losers picked up on it, but were too polite to say anything. All except for Richie, of course, who had to draw attention to Bill's new inability to string more than two words together whenever Stan was around. It made them both blush and earned Richie a smack from Bev.

Stan had been aware of his growing feelings for Bill for a couple years now. It was hard not to fall for the guy who made everything seem so simple. Life wasn't quite as daunting when Bill was around, and Stan was addicted to the ease with which he carried himself.

Stan knew nothing was actually easy for Bill. They'd spent countless nights sat up in bed, pulling their phone cords taught as they spoke in hushed tones for hours on end. Night time seemed to bring with it a sense of safety that allowed them to spill their inner most secrets to one another. Stan would wager he knew Bill better than his own family by this point, so he could say with honesty that he knew Bill didn't have it easy.

And yet, somehow, Bill managed to make everything seem manageable. Stan wasn't afraid when he was around.

So, despite his still kept secret that he was actually terrified of fireworks, he’d agreed to attend Bill’s 4th of July get-together.

This would be the Losers first 4th of July spent together. They were finally at the age where their parents allowed them to spend holidays with their friends instead of their families, and they’d taken advantage of that ten-fold.

Bill had organized for them to meet up at the Quarry where they’d have a perfect view of the fireworks from the top of the cliff, which he had decorated with blankets, little lanterns, and a cooler filled with drinks and snacks ready for consumption.

It made Stan wonder what lengths Bill would go to for a date, if this was what he did merely for his friends.

"D-d-do you want something t-to drink?" Bill asked, settling in beside Stan and disrupting him from his spiraling thoughts.

"Yes please, Billiam! Watcha got in that magic cooler of yours?" Richie chimed in from the other side of Stan.

"I wasn't asking you, trashmouth." Bill pouted but opening the cooler regardless. "Here." He grabbed a root beer and stretched his arm across Stan, handing the can to Richie aggressively.

"Geez, no need to be so violent about it." Richie mumbled, popping the tab on the can and taking a generous swig.

"I brought grape s-s-soda, i-i-if that's still your f-favorite." Bill looked back to Stan shyly, his eyes reflecting the stars and making Stan all but swoon right before him.

Stan could do nothing but nod, struck silent. Bill passed him a can and he let his fingers linger on Bill’s for a moment longer than necessary, allowing himself to indulge in the flutter in his stomach.

Time moved like molasses when Stan was around Bill, unable to focus properly on what was going on around him. Richie told a joke and Stan smiled at Bill’s laugh, Mike pulled out his radio and Stan listened to Bill humming along; the rest of the world was merely background to Bill’s show.

That was, until a loud boom perforated Stan’s eardrums and time suddenly sped up like it was being fast-forwarded at a nauseating pace. Stan remembered exactly why they were there, having long since forgotten his reluctance to attend tonight’s activities at the first sign of Bill.

The Losers cheered up at the sky as if the fireworks could hear them, and began settling down in preparation to watch the show.

Stan couldn’t sit still, his nerves alight in a completely different way than when Bill ignited them. He longed for that invigorating feeling to come back and replace the nervous energy that had washed over him, for Bill to make things simple like he always did.

And as if on queue, there he was, leaning into Stan’s space and commanding attention.

“You ok-k-kay?”

Stan thought about lying, but he’d never been able to lie to Bill, and he wasn’t gonna start now.

“No.” Stan admitted quietly, peering down at his hands which he was wringing together in his lap. “I’m scared of fireworks.” He said it quietly enough for only Bill to hear, wincing as another loud boom punctuated the end of his sentence as if to prove his point.

“Why didn’t you t-t-tell me?” Bill moved closer, their thighs pressing together and offering Stan a momentary distraction. “I w-wouldn’t have made you c-c-come.”

Stan knew that. In fact, he’d grappled with the idea of telling Bill all week, but in his love-sick mind he’d convinced himself that the opportunity to spend time with Bill was worth the discomfort.

And he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier as fireworks began to roll out in a steady pattern.

“Do you want to l-leave?” Bill asked, having to lean in closer to be heard over the rumbling above.

Stan suppressed a shiver as Bill’s lips grazed the shell of his ear. He shook his head stubbornly, screwing his eyes shut to try and center himself.

That’s when he felt warm fingers snaking themselves in between his clasped hands, weaving through Stan’s own fingers and connecting them. His heart was beating erratically, and only partially because of the anxiety bursting above him.

“I’ve got you.” Bill managed to whisper in his ear between explosions, no stutter present to break up the sentiment. He squeezed Stan’s hand and Stan’s heart squeezed in response.

And just like that, Stan’s anxiety began to ebb away. Not completely, he still jumped every time there was an especially loud explosion, but he was able to let it melt into the background once again, his main focus returning to Bill.

Because Bill made things simple.

#stenbrough #stenbrough fanfic #stenbrough drabble #stanley uris #bill denbrough #my posts #my writing

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scarletwinterxx · 4 years ago

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why, oh why does god keep bringing me back to you?

So I was just watching the new preview for Ariana Grande’s docu film and it happens to be a performance of one of fave track of hers then this scenario popped up in my head. Next thing I know I was typing away😂 i know i just wrote a scenario also using an Ari song for inspo but i just really really like her songs okay hahah I hope you enjoy reading this one!

Also I’m thinking about opening for requests maybe? or just scenarios you guys would like to read about. Send me a message then I’ll see what I can do😉

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

The last time you saw Mark was when you broke up, With tears in your eyes, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes and a half hearted goodbye.

It would be a lie if you say you didn’t miss him, these past six months have been hell for you. How do you go from having the most wonderful boy in your life then not? It’s was a struggle to say the least.

The first week was hell. You didn’t even leave your room. Food tray abandoned that your bestfriend courteously left in hopes that you would eat, boxes and boxes of tissues littered around the trashbin, You made no effort in making yourself feel better, you spent that time just wallowing in pain and self pity. After the first month, you finally were trying to get back to normal. You tried not to cry so much, tried cleaning your place and even made plans with your bestfriend in hopes that it will cheer you up.

There are moments of course when you can’t help but wonder what he’s doing right now. Mark was a busy guy, if he wasn’t halfway across the world he would be too busy to come and see you. To an extent you understood that. You knew that it was going to be the tough but you still chose him anyways.

Loving him might have been complicated but he was worth all of it.

Until one day you realized that you haven’t seen your boyfriend, well now ex boyfriend, in a good six months. Given that he wasn’t even in the same country as you half the time but still, you sent a total of 9 messages back and forth over the past three weeks. NINE.

Mark was beyond tired, if there was anyone who knew this it would be you. There were far too many nights when he came to you, crashing straight into your arms and saying only a few words because he just didn’t have the energy in him. You just hugged him a bit tighter because you know he’ll understand what you were trying to say without using any words.

You should’ve never let it get to that point, the point where it felt like you didn’t know how to talk to each other anymore. You were angry at yourself and Mark too.

As your gaze fall on him from across the room, you can see the usual smile he had on. The look in his eyes as if they hold all the stars in the universe.

You try not to stare too long but you were a second too late before his gaze was on you.

Quickly you looked away, pretending to be interested at the cup in your hand before making your way out of the room and into the second story of the house you were in.

You found yourself at an empty balcony, the booming bass from downstairs could be felt through the floor. You set your cup down on the bannister, just taking this moment to take a deep breath and collect your thoughts.

“You okay?” the sudden voice from behind you made you jump in surprise, looking back to see Mark holding up both of his hands “Sorry sorry I didn’t mean to scare you” he said

You just looked at him for a few seconds, he feels nervous under your gaze he didn’t even know why is that. Maybe because it’s the first time he’s seen you in months. Or maybe because you looked as beautiful as ever and he wanted nothing but to tell you this. Or maybe because he just missed you too much.

Of course he didn’t say any of those things, instead he felt awkward around you. Rethinking his choice of following you up here, but in his defense he just wanted to check if you were okay

“It’s okay, I was just trying to get some fresh air” you answered, Mark had one hand on the back of his neck. Something he did when he’s nervous.

Why was he nervous? you thought

“Uhm.. well... okay. I was just checking to see if you were okay” he mumbled, not sure what to say next

“I’m alright, thanks” you shoot him a quick smile before turning your back to him, too afraid that he might see you’re just as nervous as him.

You hear his footsteps get closer then he was standing next to you, looking over at the view infront of you.

“You used to hate going to parties” Mark remembered you telling him how you really didn’t like large crowds after he invited to a party that one of his friends threw, you only said yes because he looked like he really wanted you to come with him so you did. But after an hour, you admitted to him just how much you disliked it.

At that time you thought he was going to be mad ad you but it was Mark, so instead he just smiled down at you before saying a quick goodbye to his friends. You found yourselves at a 24 hour diner sharing a plate of cheese fries and two chocolate milkshakes.

“I still do” your answer made him look over at you, confused as to why you were here tonight. He was glad he saw you again but also baffled at what you just meant by that

“I go out to forget, hoping the drink would help me get over it” you mumbled, you can’t but give him the honest answer

“it?”

you chuckled before speaking, “Think of it as a way of me self-destructing, I don’t like being here but I also hate being at home wallowing in my loneliness every night”

Your answer broke his heart. He knew he was the reason why you were hurting so much and he hate himself for it. He promised he would never ever do anything to make you feel that way, he clearly broke that promise.

“Sorry” him suddenly apologizing made you look over at him, a sullen expression taking over his face

“Don’t be, you don’t have to be sorry anymore”

“But I am, it was my fault why we ended up like this” Mark said, frustration, anger and sadness lacing his voice. He so badly wish he could go back and change how things turned out.

“It was bullshit when I said I was over it” he mumbled under his breath, not having the strength to look at you anymore

“Me too”

“Why did we ever break up again?” he asks, this time looking over at side to you. You can get lost in his stare forever but you know you don’t have that luxury anymore.

“Because we’re tired, the no-shows, few text, no calls. That’s not how we want to be together” you answered, a sad smile making its way on your lips

“And yet fate keeps bringing us back together” he mumbled, you don’t miss the quick gaze he had on your lips before looking back up into your eyes

“Maybe because I’m such a headcase and I don’t want to get over you no matter how many times people say I should” your admission made Mark’s heart beat faster than it already was. Hearing how you were still not over him made him want to jump over to the moon because he felt the exact same way about you.

“You don’t have to say anything, Mark. I don’t want to get my hopes up for nothing. It was nice seeing you tonight” you said before he could even utter another word, then you stepped closer to him.

Putting a hand on his arm, you stood on your tippy toe then landing a quick kiss on his cheek.

You shoot him one last smile before walking away without another word.

Just like the time you two broke up, Mark was rendered speechless. The feeling of your lips on his cheek still lingering.

He shook his head then took a quick breath, steadying the pace of his heart before going back downstairs.

You both knew this isn’t the last time, there’s never a last time for the two of you know you’ll always come back to each other everytime.

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