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messwriting · 4 years ago

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Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Western AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

(i'm gonna make you) feel it

a.k.a. ✨ MAKKI’S ADVENTURE TIME ✨

Hanamaki “Big Tease” Takahiro x Female Reader

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: Porn With Plot. Corruption Kink. Reader’s engaged to be married - a bride. Cheating. Highly inappropriate touching and dancing moves (that’s their job tho). Alcohol. Completely unresearched strippers industry. Lowkey exhibitionism. Fucking in a public space (private room). Fingering. Oral sex. SMUT: Doggy style over a sofa. Makki’s a little shit. Overuse of the word “cute” (for real, so many times omg).

Word count: ~7.3k

Note: Saint Dymphna and poor little me would like to introduce you all to the: 🤠 LAWBREAKERS MULTIVERSE 🤠

So, @dymphnasprose basically came at me with: “what about we take cowboys and make them skskskskskssk like magic mike style strippers” and thus was born the wicked duo newest adventure. We had a lot of fun (and a lot of panic) but here it is! Anyone asks why I’m doing two once again it’s also dymph’s fault and my sheer love for Iwaizumi. Also, dymph I love u and I’ve had lots of fun doing this little group project together🥺💕

That being said I’d also like to thanks @mixedhell who once again is a mage of dialogue and helped me several times; Tay, my love @deathcab4daddy, who helped beta part of this and also @xmyshya who was kind enough to beta this too <3

Makki’s songs: Cowboy Casanova (dymph’s courtesy) + Feel it

You can also read: IWAIZUMI | MATTSUN

Hanamaki is focused.

He surveys the screaming crowd inside the packed nightclub, sees the different groups occupying the big booths, the pretty decorations that never fail to distinguish his targets inside the dimly lit room.

Makki likes the meaning behind the different outfits and colors; the details merging into the allegory of remarkability, crafting the idea of uniqueness in their special day where screams of freedom swimming inside intoxicated heads build a tendency into wildness. In building lasting memories of a singlehood that doesn’t really exist anymore, into falling prey of sexy, large men who could take them into a one-time intoxicating memory that they can savor into the end of times.

Marriages can end, Makki thinks, but memories like the ones he makes are forever.

And tonight he has already found the one.

You must be the prettiest little thing he has seen in months, all beautifully clad in a sparkling white party dress, a sexy slit that shows the classical frilly garter adorning your thigh, with a golden black banner that announces for the whole world that you’re taken, soon to be married and enjoying your bachelorette party. It’s almost a challenge, really.

Great. That’s exactly how he likes it.

A brilliant and ridiculous white cowboy hat decorated to leave a tacky gown falling from your head is perched on the table where your small group sits, about eight women dressed in black and a beautiful entourage of bridesmaids if he ever saw one, but it’s you; cute, happy little you who blushed at the very first look at his partially naked torso when all Hanamaki did was pass by your table in his low cut jeans and open flannel shirt, a tilt of his cowboy hat made with half a mind to compliment the ladies until his eyes laid on you.

Your bright eyes had shined with embarrassment at your interest, chest filling with a renewed pull of air at the mere sight of him, a burning in your face that he could notice even in the poorly lit room, flashing lights giving him just the best of peeks -- your plush lips punished by the row of white teeth that closed around the soft muscle and pulled.

That was all he needed, the smallest of sights and still, the biggest of hints.

You were going to be his tonight. He’ll taint that pristine white and you’ll beg for his every move, he knows it just as he knows the women will scream for him as soon as he steps on the stage.

And, in fact, that will be sooner rather than later.

He’ll make sure of it.

The loud music is pulsing through his body, like waves crashing against his skin, his heart seemingly beating alongside the bass in deep, sexy strokes of the R&B music echoing through the club. The youngsters are doing their dance, a coordinated thing between the six newbies of the Club, while Makki and Mattsun wait by the side of the backdoor of the stage, ready to take their places in the next performance.

“Anyone in your sights yet?” Issei asks him as he passes him the bottle of water, which Takahiro puts on top of one of the structures before sending a small grin at the dark-haired man. They’ve been here for four years now, and they have joined the place together, looking to make a good buck while going to College. Stripping is fun, easy, and profitable when you’re young and hot and Matsukawa and Hanamaki are nothing else but.

“The one by the left, the table with the tacky cowboy hat and the golden balloons.”

“A fan of the work, I see.” Matsukawa pulls the curtain to the side just an inch, his eyes quickly surveying the space and centering on the acquired target. Makki knows exactly what he’s seeing, a table filled with a group of beautiful women and you in white shining over them all, the balloons above the wall seeming way more ridiculous once he knows about Makki’s plan of action.

One dick for life. Ha.

“Poor little thing doesn’t know what she’s in for tonight.” Mattsun’s grin is mischievous and all-knowing. Hanamaki has a type, it’s a running joke, but every good joke starts from a glimmer of truth. And in Makki’s case, it may as well be the truth itself.

“And that’s a sexy little group.”

“Yeah, it is. But you already have plans for tonight, don’t you. I’ve heard about it from Oikawa.”

Mattsun doesn’t answer, only a chuckle and a lopsided grin marking his face as he keeps studying the crowd.

The group performance wraps up quickly, being one without public interaction and soon enough Oikawa is making a show, threading between the public with his mic, hyping the crew out with just the right few words.

The lights start going down, softly casting the audience in shadows while the stage is tinged in bright colors before becoming red and by the time people’s eyes are focusing at the center again, Hanamaki and Matsukawa have taken their places.

The music starts to play, soft and calm, pulsing through the bodies of everyone as their eyes focus on the attractive duo in center stage. They’re not supposed to end up naked yet, that’s saved for the end, but as the choreography flows, sharp hip movements, thrusting motions like ocean waves crashing on rocky shores, still get women screaming at the top of their lungs enough for it all to merge with the song as if it’s part of the original bass.

Makki’s wearing a half-opened plaid flannel shirt with nothing under it, and he pops every remaining button open along to the song, the screams getting louder. His jeans are tight enough that every plane of muscle is noticeable, and his belt is black and striking, with a big, bull-shaped buckle. Later he’ll change his outfit to leather chaps and a vest, but right now, he’s more laid back. He looks good, he knows it, but the appreciation in your eyes as you coily drink his from from across the room is like a fucking golden star on his pride.

On top of his head, locked tight, it’s his pinched front cowboy hat. As Makki throws it in the air and catches in the middle of dancing, the screams engulf him from all sides.

But everything else is fading to the back of his mind as his eyes find yours in the dark, the appreciative, enthralled shine in them not lost to Makki. Could never be lost to Makki, who holds onto it as if it’s a life-line; You’re interested.

Ok, that’s good. But it’s also the basics.

Makki twirls and fall on the floor, hips fucking into nothing as the crowd goes insane. He kneels on stage, his shirt flying to the spectators; two women take hold of it, pulling in contrary directions until it rips.

Makki throws you a wink, every woman in that direction claiming it as theirs. You, however, shrug into yourself, eyes looking away as your hands tight their hold around the champagne glass they’re holding. You’re so cute, hands in front of your face as if that would keep you from staring. Makki feels himself glowing, growing excited at the mere sight of your scurrying eyes as they choose the floor instead of his body.

So fucking pure.

Takahiro wants to force you to look up and revel in the guilty desire he’s bound to find there. There’s no need to avoid him if he doesn’t charm you, that’s the beauty of soon-to-be brides. There’s such a deep will inside them to be faithful to the allegory of a husband they do not have yet, lost in a daydream of happiness in finding the one when they haven’t even tasted anything but. Makki eyes the golden balloons floating around the table while he dances -- one dick forever.

Poor little thing. He can’t let that happen, can he?

When Makki hops off the stage and walks over to your table between deafening screamings and pleads for him to take them, instead, his hand closes around your dainty little one, adorned with pretty french nails and just a single golden ring and even the soft, smooth skin of your hand against his rugged palm is a thrill inside his veins.

Your eyes are shining, nervousness sweeping from them as they lock with his. Hanamaki tries to be lowkey, giving you a reassuring smile supposed to be nice, to be trusting -- a complete disconnect of the way his guts stirs in the excitement of your touch.

He lowers his lips to your ears, pretends the way his nose runs over the shell is a mere accident. “Let’s go for a ride, sweetheart.”

Your lips fall open by the side of his face and Makki can feel the way you suck a breath, a little gasp ruining your efforts when he lets his lips brush against your jaw. Another accident, whoops. He’s such a careless boy, isn’t he?

Your teeth punish your bottom lip as your eyes seem to look anywhere but him, trembling hands as you seem half-way into telling him no. Makki can't have that, though. He brings his face to look deep in your eyes, a lopsided smile he can manoeuvre into being just the right amount of kind by now.

"You're not gonna let me go up there alone, will you?" He almost pouts, big hands finding their way on your arms in up and down motions that drag just the right amount of trembles from you for him to know he's winning. "There's no fun without you, sweet girl."

He dips his lips onto the shell of your ear once again, just in time to hide his mischief. "You're the star of the show. I'm just your ride."

That seems to make you giggle and Makki uses that to bring his grin into your view, palms sliding down your arms to clasp your hands and - finally - guide you up with him.

One thing Makki knows is that he likes his brides sweet.

Pliant.

And as you get up and follow him quietly and sheepish, clumsy tripping over yourself when some of your bridesmaids erupt in cheers, he knows he is right once again -- you’re just his type.

Thing is, Makki doesn’t waste time. He makes you twirl in your high heels just to have you falling in his arms, he picks you up without effort, a little gasp breaching your lips as your hands plant against his chest.

Makki just has to grin at the way in which you close your palms and retreat them back to yourself, quick, burning up in a beautiful, delicious expression of shame. Fuck, he wants to make you beg.

When he’s at the stage, he drops you on your feet with enough aggression to get you to slide straight to the floor, unsteady knees opening under you until your ass is planted on the stage.

Makki thinks your open mouthed expression, little breaths breaking through your lips as your anxious eyes stare up at him, have to be the best thing he’s seen in a while. And he’s just starting.

He bends at the waist, his hands to reach your knees and push them open, your bright little white dress sliding up so much he can steal a peek at your fancy underwear.

Such a vixen, aren’t you? All wrapped in lace.

Makki lets himself fall on top of you and you gasp, even as he stays holding himself in a plank, not one bit of skin touching yours. The song is pumping, slow and sexy even if the screams sound louder in the close space. He twists his hips, the rolling motion has them right between your juicy thighs. You’re forced to keep them wide open and the way in which you look mortified just may be what ends him.

Makki drops his knees in the ground, lets the screams wash over him as he drags his hips against your center, soft, then hard. His hands by the side of your head, his toned chest right in front of your face. He knows by the way his skin burns that you’re staring at him -- good, he wants to be the center of all your attention tonight.

Your hands are in front of yourself as if you’re afraid at your own excitement, eager eyes looking for his in a wirlwind of emotions and it makes his fucking skin erupt with goosebumps that the most noticiable one is desire.

Oh, Makki’s going to wreck you. The song turns frantic just as he comes to slide over your body, nose trailing along your collarbone and chest, teeth nipping at your clothes as if he would prefer to be doing it to your skin instead, and he feels the way your shame almost consumes you, body shaking as he finally reaches destination: right above your beautiful open thighs, so close he can almost taste you.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last. And Makki is forced by the choreography to climb back up your body even as he lets his hands linger a bit too close to your clothed center, every woman around screaming as if they can read his mind.

He gets back up and kneels between your open legs, thrusting in time with the music as if he’s actually still thinking about choreography and not in doing this to you later. You’re growing more embarrassed by the moment, your whole body burning and tense, but responsive to his movements and, better yet, his smiles.

His body is used to the motions, to swirling and grinding and thrusting in a wave motion, crashing over your hips time and time again until your lips fall open, and he knows he hit the jackpot.

Makki holds himself in a plank again, his skin turning clammy with the exertion, but he angles his crotch just right and has you singing a groan for him again -- then turning bright with shame in sequence.

Such a precious little thing indeed.

The ground choreo ends way too soon for Makki’s wishes, but he’s soothed by the way in which you let yourself be picked up, hands clinging to his shoulders with such a fierce hold he almost wants to test it out. He throws you up for a moment, relishes in your nails at his back, and his forearms hold you by the underside of your knee, closing on your hips.

And that makes your pretty little clothed cunt roll right against his semi-hard on. There’s a ripping sound, probably your slit getting wider to acomodate your open legs and thus, him.

Lovely.

Makki rolls his hips, right against your center once, and the crowd erupts in screams just as he starts mimicking fucking you standing. A beautiful option he saves in the back of his mind for later.

You let out a yelp, then proceed to try and hide your head against his neck, your pretty mouth gliding against his skin gives him such a high he almost loses the tempo of the song. He tells you to hold on and plants his hands on your bare ass, lifting you until he can have you in front of his face, a bit uncomfortable move but one that has every single woman in the club wet -- it’s in the air by now, and he can smell it. The idea makes his skin prickle, your hands holding his hair for dear life as if you’re afraid to fall, but your clothed cunt is right there, and he can’t pass the opportunity to steal a little touch as he pretends your hold is what pushes his head flush against your pussy.

You let out a beautiful sound almost in time with the song, and he is letting you fall once again on his arms, the smile on his lips the last nail on your pure coffin.

And unfortunately that means time’s up.

Makki lets your legs fall but holds you by your waist, depositing you on your own two feet at the stage and snickering at how your legs falter to hold you up on the high heels. So, as a gentleman, he takes your hand in his, helps you down the few steps on the stage, almost groans at how your hand seems to not want to let him go.

Before he leaves you, he pulls your hand into his lips, absolutely glowing at how breathless you look from the little action after he literally ravished you on stage. It physically pains him that he needs to pick up another bride into his show.

“See you later, pretty one.”

Under you, your legs are faltering, knees trembling like a newborn deer as you’re left alone to fend for yourself in the long path back to your table. Women congratulate you, screaming on your sides at the men who was almost fucking you dumb on stage and his friend, as they continue their show.

Your heart is beating in your ears, leaving you stupid and lost as you’re finally - finally - rescued by your friend, who brings you back to the table with loud congratulations and happy cheers. You feel your body sweating and throbbing, weirdly pulsating for something you can’t name.

Recognizing it would make it real and you cannot believe that after five years in a nice relationship with your only boyfriend and soon-to-be-husband, this is the first time you feel this wet.

You plop down on the closest seat, hands pressing to your chest as you try to both fan yourself and hide behind them. It proves, as expected, a hard task.

Your childhood friend has arrived and you hug her sideways, the short conversation you two exchange somehow lost to your poor heated brain as your eyes keep sliding to center once again at the stage.

The way he dances on stage feels overwhelming, this bride-to-be suffering way less touching and grinding than you, as “Big Tease Makki” stays standing up, his hands groping everywhere in his sculpted body as he dances to the sensual song, including the considerable bulge in his pants.

Something flashes and he turns his head your way so sharply you feel the need to melt further on the sofa, poorly hiding away as everyone around you cheers once again.

His eyes on you were burning a hot trail that slithers over your warm skin even in the dark, the ghost of a feeling of touch, erupting goosebumps along their way as they circle your neck and dip down your side, strutting over your chest to end by your face. Even in the distance, you swear you can feel the way those lips slip into an easy grin, satisfied at the way they have you breathless and weak by thought alone.

The idle chatting of your friends, excited and drunk are dulled by the pounding of your heart inside your chest, and you feel constricted by their presence on your sides at the booth, both ways filled with testimony to your inner turmoils-- can they see your sinful thoughts while they stay that close to you? Can the pounding of your heart and the heat in your face be felt at such a short distance?

The mere idea that they can pry inside your skull and discover the sinful dreams unfolding is too much for you right now, your spine shooting up while you balance yourself in your pretty heels and ask in a meek, nervous voice for the girls to let you pass. Some ask if you need help or if you’re going to the bathroom, and in both options it feels like you’re going to be flanked immediately, so you deny it and say you have to make a quick phone call about something you forgot to confirm and they all nod away, drunkenly squealing for you to be quick.

You’re almost free when one of your bridesmaids, your childhood friend, looks up at you with puzzled eyes.

“Hey, everything's okay?” She’s not drunk, only happily buzzed with sparkling wine, but her eyes are attentive when they lay on your face, worry etched in her brow as she looks for hints hidden in your dolled up face.

“Yeah, just need to take a breather.” You give her what you hope is a reassuring smile even as sweat drips down your back, but the place is dark and loud and she lets you go without much prodding. The place is full and swarming with women, groups of men present but fewer, waiters clad in skimpy clothing as they work the tables full of drinks, shots and champagne. Some are flirtatious, charming smiles along with muscles as they sweep women off their feet and leave their wallets thinner; others are pretty serious, and the mysterious aura has their pull, the ecstasy of conquest working as an aphrodisiac.

You pull past the bodies, feeling a bit light headed as your chest pounds and the booze traverse your body, clumsy steps on too-high-heels you’re not used to, but your bridesmaids had pushed you to wear along with screams to live a little and say hello to the last night before you’re a proper married lady. You’ve never really felt the weight of those words as the last two days, tasting for the first time the sweetness of night as you’ve never before.

If brown, bored eyes make a appearance in your mind as you flee to the corridor leading to the private rooms and women’s bathroom, you’re quick to stop the train of thought before it leads down a muscular torso clad in a tight jeans with a firm ass and a hot, big cock that humped against you in every opportunity while he took you to the stage.

A drop makes it way past your cunt lips to stain your fancy underwear and you groan, ashamed. You’ve never felt this unbecoming need before, the arousal so thick your breasts seem to be heavy against your ribcage, dress feeling too tight on your heated, oversensitive skin.

You’re reaching the curve left that will take you to the bathroom when big hands engulf your frame, palm over your mouth and you’re pulled inside one of the private rooms, too breathless to even make a sound.

“Howdy,” his voice sounds right by your ear, as you’re caged against a burly body and the closed, probably sound-proof door. “Got a fugitive here.”

“Uhh, sir, I--”

“Sir?” He laughs, head thrown back prettily as you drink the arch of his throat. “Oh my god, call me Makki, pretty one.”

The petname makes you flush, tongue heavy and clumsy in your mouth around words. “Uh… Makki, I’m sorry but I, ah…” You fumble with your hands, avoiding touching him, eyes downcast as you try to also avoid even looking at him. It’s too much, he seems everywhere.

“You’re engaged? I can see that, love. You have a banner right there.” He sounds so nice, mischief and boyish glee as he stands way too close to you.

“Then you understand…”

“I understand this is your last night of freedom, right? The last chance for you to be bad,” He breathes against your jaw as he noses along your skin to your ear, his cowboy hat gliding softly against the side of your face, “To be wild.”

Your mouth opens and closes but not a single sound comes out, your brain completely lost to the science of mixing letters into words. All you can think about is how your blood seems to be galloping in your veins, the pounding of your heart so oppressingly loud the beat of the song seems to mimic it and not the contrary.

You are lost to everything but the unbelievable feeling of painful arousal, so sharp and deep your bones seem to be melting out of their places and dripping into the outside by your cunt.

“But,” Leaves your lips dumbly and Makki’s fingers silence you, his lips so close you can taste his every exhale, the flap of his hat managing to blind your vision to anything past his face.

“You’re going to be married to the exact same man forever, sweetheart. You can let go one night. One night for you to feel good.” Makki licks at your throat and your lips fall open with a shameless moan as you burn with shame. “Has he ever made you feel this hot, sweetie? Hm? Have you ever even felt like this? It’s your last chance tonight, right? Don’t lose it.”

Makki’s hands massage their way down your sides, grabbing at the flesh of your hips, brushing your ass, and you’re dead silent as you drool away in your panties. Unable to think, unable to speak, embarrassment clogging your throat together with an impossible, unacceptable yes.

“C’mon, sweetie, let me take care of you.” It’s a plea, and he knows your chest will hurt with the same need that is in his tone. “Just this one time, so you can know what it feels like… how great it can be.”

“One time.” He promises you, earnest eyes boring into yours and, dumbly, enchanted, you nod… and agree.

Well, Makki ain’t waiting around for you to change your mind.

His hands loop around your thighs immediately, pressing you against the door until he can press his body between your open legs. The slit of your dress gives in just the little bit needed to allow his hips to make their way against your core, his lips busying themselves with planting kisses along the arch of your neck, teeth nibbling at the lobe of your ear, tongue gliding over the shell.

His breathing is soft, but so close it feels like it engulfs the room, slithering inside your head and scrambling your thoughts. His crotch presses against your center enough to hold you high and open, one of his hands relieved of their place as it climbs your side and closes around your jaw, angling your head back until you’re trapped between his face and his chest.

You shudder, eyes fluttering closed as if you cannot hold them open, and Makki feels his skin prickling, warmth spreading from his limbs to his chest and down his hips to center themselves at his burning length. You’re such a little vixen, all big eyes and open mouthed staring at him while he has hardly done anything.

He can barely wait to see how you’ll burn when he buries his face in your pussy.

Right now, though, Makki reigns in his excitement, fingers caressing your cheeks until your pretty eyes open up again, dazed. There’s just something about getting pretty little things like you to yield, to breathe out as his lips plant themselves carefully, softly, against your cheek, then the line of your jaw, your chin and your nose.

Every little kiss has you getting restless, trembling in his arms while your hands close around his shoulders, painful little welts that he loves to see. Such desperation.

It’s really the best.

His lips press against the corner of your wobbling plush lips and you shudder, but they push it back, and when Makki finally decides to kiss you, you’re opening your mouth in your eagerness, tongue lapping awkwardly at his lips as he chuckles and decides it’s time to stop playing.

When he kisses you then, you gasp, precious little sound leaving you as if you had no idea you could even make it, and then you’re melting against him, pressing against his chest as his mouth works its wonders on yours, tongue circling, searching, sucking. He nips at your lips, steals all the short bits of breath from your lungs until you’re writing against him, pressing sinful hips against his crotch in such a desperate way it’s endearing.

The hand on your thigh dips further under your dress, finds the plush meat of your ass and engulf it in its palm, delighted at how inexistent is the small little thing you’re wearing and how fucking delicious it feels. His fingers dig into your bottom until you break the kiss to gasp at how easily he can slip his long indicator from your ass to your pussy.

It’s his time to lose his air at how fucking wet you are, ruined fancy panties and moist thighs.

“Oh god, look at that. Little bride is so wet for this cowboy.”

You make a face, lips pursing in an awkward turn and coily shifting to look down, appraising looks on his chiseled chest. “Okay this one was bad!” Makki offers with an easy smile, the hand on your neck dipping into your breasts, palms pressing on your chest as he turns his focus on circling the hard nipple through your clothes, closing around the plush meat until your offending honest little lips part once again to him. He can see in the turbilion of your eyes how you’re still swirling against guilt, holding back from him.

“But can you blame me? Look at me.” He makes a mention with his head towards the big bulge straining his tight jeans, which have you unconsciously looking down, his hand sliding over your jaw to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, charming, easy-going smile in his lips. “Look at you.”

He rolls his hips once against your sex, feels the blistering heat even through layers of clothes but he’s done this enough to know exactly where to aim, having a moan escaping through the tight cage of your lips before you can hold everything else in by the lock of your teeth.

He can’t have that, though. He thrives on applause after all.

“Now, beautiful, I’ll need you to stop that right there.” His fingers dip under you to slide against the soiled fabric clinging to your folds and you all but tense, melting after as if you cannot conceive how good is his mere touch. “I want to hear you, c’mon.” Your eyes drop on his in hurt, but you free your bottom lip, mouth imediatelly falling open around a groan as Makki presses aimless around the entrance of your sex. Damn, Makki likes this.

“Yes, like that. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” His cock is straining against his boxers already, length rolling in perfect aimed strokes over the apex of your sex as his fingers thread on the outline of your beautiful cunt and when he dips inside a single fingertip, your sex and hands cling to him, all the beautiful curves of your body against his and he just-- He wants to see.

“Ok, dinner time!” Makki chuckles as he brings his hands once again to hold you firmly by your thighs, fingers spread enough to keep rolling against the edges of your cunt.

“Wha-What?” You give a charming yelp at the way he holds you effortlessly while abandoning the door to walk over to the couch. It’s just a cheap upholstered thing in front of the circular stage with the pole hanging from the ceiling, but it’s just the perfect length for what he needs.

He lets you fall, open and disheveled over it, legs spread to show the lace he saw earlier, stained and soiled after just a bit of makeout.

“You’re so cute.” It’s mockingly, really; meant to be a jab at how you’re so hazed and undone by just a few moves of his, but the way in which your doe eyes thread up to him, shiny and unfocussed; your hands closing around your frame as a hand plants in front of your breasts is just… cute. There’s no other word. You’re just a cute little thing and he wants your demise.

Makki groans and pulls you to the edge of the sofa by your legs, easily dropping between your thighs in a wave move, face planting itself on your breasts to suck at sweaty clothes, teeth pulling the fabric down until your nipples peek through and he sucks them inside his mouth, too.

You tremble so easily, even worse when he abandons it to nose his way down your body tightly clad in the white dress, kisses over your belly until he’s nosing at your clothed cunt, open mouth kisses adding to the moistness in your poor underwear.

“Delicious.” Makki says for no reason other than to state his thoughts, tongue rolling over the clothed slit as if its skin, reveling in how your poor legs start to shake, needing the aid from his hands spreading them to finally stop. “Tell me, honey, have your fiancé ever fucked you good? Hm?”

The mention makes you stiff, head pressing to the side of the sofa as if you’re fighting a battle inside your own mind, triggered by the piece of trivia question.

“I bet he hasn’t,” Makki laughs, nosing at your pussy with such pressure his whole face gets smeared in your juices. “Is he your first boyfriend? Tell me more.”

“I--how do you--” You stutter through bitten lips, truth tipping out once he easily spreads you open with his thumbs on each side. “Yes.”

“What a waste, such a wet fucking pussy and not one single effort from your hubby to-” Makki pulls your underwear aside, tongue lolling out to lick a long strip from your entrance to your clit, “lick”, once, it”, twice, “clean.” and thrice.

You let out a cute little noise and he gets impatient, pulling the lace at the side with enough force it rips easily under his hand. Your indignant noise doesn’t even sound right, lost in a moan at the way he closes his lips around your clit and brings his tongue to play with it fast. His hand presses harder on the skin of your thighs, leaving you open as a present, ripe and wide.

If Makki says he eats pussy as a fucking meal, it’s not out of vanity. He doesn’t like to stroke his own ego, it’s just the plain truth. He works his tongue around your cunt, licks at your puffy lips, slither his way over the labia, gathers all the dripping …. and lets it drip over your pussy, just to suck it up and spit on it, after all he never understood the whole don’t spit on the plate you eat. If it’s pussy, he’s sure it’s the fucking other way around.

You’re writhing and moving around, a symphony of gasps and moans fighting their way past your tight lips. Makki doesn’t mind. As he brings his thumbs to stroke up and down the sides of your cunt, he knows you’ll be screaming in no time. It’s just too much. It’s clear you’ve never had anything like this just by the frantic way you’re humping his face, hands grabbing at anything and everything they can, unable to hold on. His only shame is how busy his mouth is, unable to tease his way into the pure debauchery you’re demonstrating.

He pauses a bit to angle himself back, eyes trained at your pussy, dripping fucking wet all over the dress and the sofa. His thumbs spread at the sides of your entrance, pull it open just to see it blink and gap, begging for his cock without a word leaving your lips. Shit. His cock is straining against the tight jeans in such a painful way he has to let one hand go, open his button and fly, let the poor warrior fight its way past the band of his calvin kleins.

Then he’s back at his work, one thumb keeping you open as his hand returns to plunge his indicator inside slowly. Makki’s mouth almost falls open at the bewitching way your walls give in, letting him sink inside the velvety wet inside with ease. You’re clenching around him, groaning above and begging below, so he lets a second one inside at the retreat and advance of his wrist.

“Have your little husband ever made you feel like this, huh? Have he eaten this little pussy so good you make a mess?”

“Jesus Christ!” You moan above and Makki laughs. He loves this. Loves the little religious bout he gets from tight little brides when they actually taste heaven amidst sin. You try to ride his fingers, but he presses the back of your knees higher, and you let out a breathless “God!” at the new angle.

Then he starts the real game, fingers moving around your heat in search of a specific spot he finds with little prodding and then abuses until you’re begging.

“Oh my god! I, fuck--Jesus!”

“Yes, just like that sweetheart. If you beg for me real pretty I’ll give you what you want.” He says as his fingers keep plunging in and out of your heat in an upwards motion, strong but slow, dragging the feeling of his thick digits inside your walls. It’s close, he can feel it in the way you’re swelling around him, restless kicking out legs and praying for God as if it isn’t Makki who’s giving you all this.

“My name, sweetie. Beg for it, c’mon. Say it out very loud, how you want my cock to fuck you nice and hard as you’ve never had before, huh? Just--”

“Fuck!”

“Just tell me more how you had no idea it could be so good and how you need me to show you how fucking good a man can actually fuck.”

“Oh my god,” you all but yelp, but then sighs a, “yes, please.”

“Hmmm? Couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh fuck, Makki please fuck me!” There’s a breathless, outstandly maniac laugh breaching your lips after that, a flow of quick words falling from your lips as a train of thought, “Jesus I’ve never felt like this, oh my god I think I’ll actually die without--”

“There we go!” Makki laughs, voice loud as he stops everything to get up and once again bends down to pick you up.

“Wha--Wait!” You squeak, body tense and trembling at the loss as Makki only kisses around your tearstained face and makes his way around the upholstered couch. “Makki!” That has to be the needier, whinier tone he has ever heard his name in.

And he loves it.

He lets you slide through his hands, bends you over the back of the couch, your ripped panties sliding to the floor by one of your legs. One of Makki’s hands descends hard on your ass with a loud slap, your lips opening around a beautiful moan. The other does the same, both circling and massing the plump flesh as your ass and pussy blinks seductively at him.

That does it. Makki curses as he pulls his pants and underwear down, his hard, bloody-red cock slapping up against his navel; he closes his hand around it to slap it between the crack of your pretty behind and feels everything in him tingling at how wanton you sound in your moan, angling your back so that your ass can climb higher, head against the seat cushions.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Makki praises you as he tilts his cockhead on your slit, up and down, up and down against your clit, labia and entrance. It’s absolutely delicious how you clench to try and hold his cockhead, but it slips up to bob against your ass. “Ops, let’s try again.”

He does the same thing a second time but then you groan and whine once again, “Makki, please!”

Well, fuck, who’s he to deny you, right?

He pats your ass and supports his weight at the back of his feet, cockhead right against the beautiful hole weeping for him and, carefully, slowly, deliciously starts dipping inside. Your pussy sucks him in as a vice, muscle clenching and releasing; loud, satisfacted moans in your lips. It’s almost choking to him that the loud noise in the room comes from him, too, mouth falling open in a growl.

When his hips are nested against your ass, Makki has the urge to kiss you but squatches it down in favor of holding you strongly and fucking you throughly. Motioning himself in waves as he had on the stage, his cock slides in and out of you with such delicious, timed precision he thinks you’ll come twice on him before he’s done.

Your tight heat is velvety wet around him, squelching sounds sinful in the room as he grinds his hips against your ass, cockhead nestled against the firm pressure of your cervix. There’s babbles tipping from your lips, as if your mind has broken and you have to pronounce your mess of thoughts out loud. It’s cute.

Maybe he'd appreciate it more if his mind wasn't falling him also; his whole body feels constricted, strained, hips rolling in long, deep, strong strokes that make his cock into a pleasure antena, broadcasting to his whole being, blistering heat spreading through his veins and turning sharp at his spine and to start pooling at his balls.

He is about to dip his hand to your clit and end you when your body seizes, legs kicking while dangling from the backrest of the couch and your pussy starts creaming hard like a vice around his cock.

“Fuck!” He groans, tensing his whole body before you bring him over with you, hand slithering to hold the base of his cock, hard. Then he laughs, no breath to spare. “Wow, baby, no heads up? Now you gonna have to give me one more, I’m not done with you yet.”

You let out an indignant groan, but rest boneless under him. Makki retreats his hips from your snug grip and starts pistoning his way inside your heat, unforgiving even as you yelp and whine, oversensitivity probably making you burn. Makki lets one of his hands let go of your hips and fall hard on your ass, in time to feel the way your pussy grips at him, yelp turning into a moan. Makki lets his hands slide down the side and curve his wrist so your fingers can find your clit, rubbing him frantically as he angles his hips just right, every wave of his body aimed against your precious spot.

“Yup,” Makki groans, growing exhausted. “Just like this.”

Your eyes snap open, hands frantically reaching to hold on anything by them as you look back at Makki with shiny, big, dazed eyes in absolute terror at the fact you are, indeed, going to keep cumming on his dick, second orgasm hitting you so hard and fast Makki actually tips over with you, the pressure in his balls releasing in one blissful climax at the incessant contracting of your cunt and the wave of your orgasm gushing out of your pussy in the closest thing to a squirt he could pull out of you amidst a unending orgasm.

Makki stays inside you as he rides his high, grinding his hips even as you cry from the oversensitivity. When he pulls out, he’s careful with the condom and also has half a mind to hold your body, throwing the used thing somewhere to be cleaned after. Almost as if perceiving the breach, his cellphone starts ringing somewhere, loud as fuck in the closed room.

“Damn, fuck,” Makki scrambles to the sound, his legs almost giving out under him and his fingers so numb it takes three tries to actually accept the call. Which he didn’t read who from.

“MAKKI! WHERE ARE YOU, WE’RE STARTING IN FIVE.” Iwaizumi nags at him, stern and loud, piercing through his haze enough to make his brain drop some adrenaline into his bloodstream, suddenly alert and kicking, muscles straining but holding as he pulls his underwear and jeans quick over his ass and searches for his cowboy hat in time to dip and run to the presentation.

“Sorry baby, gotta go.” He saunters to you, plants a kiss on your sweaty head and another at your swollen lips and smiles the same sinful smile that ended up bringing you here, along with a tilt of his cowboy hat. “Duty calls.”

#hanamaki x reader #hanamaki smut #hanamaki takahiro smut #haikyuu smut #thesmutpilecollab

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peachoony · 4 years ago

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dusted feelings

Genre: smut and kinda angsty but with a fluffy ending

Warning: oral (f. reciving), unprotected sex, overstimulation, multiply orgasm, mention of alcohol

Pairing: wonho x fem!reader

Word count: 2K

A/N: just wanted to quickly say that wonho was completely sober when he was driving so everyone, don’t drink and drive!

[requested]

The bass of the music made the walls vibrate slightly as you poured yourself another drink in the kitchen all by yourself. Your friend Olivia’s cousin Jihoon decided to throw a houseparty and you were ready to finally have some fun after exams, but the moment your eyes spotted him your brain stopped working.

“There you are,” your friend Olivias interrupted your thoughts.

You looked up as she stood at the other side of the kitchen island.

“I wanted to refill,” you said, taking a sip from your red cup, the strong liquor slipping down your throat leaving a burning sensation behind.

“For the past 20 minutes?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing exactly why you were here.

Okay maybe you took a little longer than you should’ve, but you were really not in the mood to see him again. All the feelings you tried to push away, that were in dust all these months crashed down on you the moment his warm eyes met yours. You wanted to hate him but when he shot you a smile, you could’ve crashed your lips on his.

You took another sip, stretching out the question.

“Is it because of Hoseok?” She asked and you almost chocked on your drink not expecting to hear his name.

“What? What does he have to do with me wanting a refill?” You mumbled.

“Y/n you were visibly having a great time, until we saw Hoseok and suddenly you went to the bathroom for 10 minutes and now the 20 minute refill. Seems weird if you ask me,” she stated, crossing her arms in front of her chest

You stayed silent, since she had a point.

“You’re right, I should just go home.”

“What? Y/n no! This is not what I meant.” She walked around the island, now standing in front of you. “Stop acting like a sulky toddler. You don’t wanna talk things out, even though he tried to approach you a bunch of times despite the fact that you guys were only friends with benefits, but you also don’t wanna be in the same room as him. Pick a side girl.”

You blinked at her words, before scoffing.

“Why don’t go be his best friends, since you wanna take his side anyways,” you said, making her roll her eyes.

“Here we go again. Y/n you either forget about it and we go out there and have a great night or you will go over to him and talk things out.”

You looked at her for a while before taking a deep breath.

“Let’s go, have some fun.”

Your eyes pierced into the back of the girl who was talking to Hoseok and surprisingly they seemed very close, just like you two used to be. You would be lying if you’d say she isn’t breathtakingly beautiful.

You gulped down the rest of your drink, before your eyes landed back on them.

“Olivia who is that with Hoseok?” You whispered, making sure no one would hear you on the table you were sitting at with a couple of other friends.

She followed your gaze, absorbing the both of them.

“That’s Yejin, I’ve seen her around a couple of times since she’s majoring in science, but she recently broke up with her boyfriend so no chance that they’re dating.” Olivia assured you.

A sigh left your lips after you looked away, not wanting to torture yourself more.

After a while you engaged yourself in the conversation to get your mind off him as you felt Olivia sit up next to.

“Hey Hoseok, long time no see.”

Your body froze and didn’t dare to even turn around. The person next to you switched seats, gesturing Hoseok to sit here. “Have a seat man.”

His cologne filled your senses, making your heart skip a beat and out of reflex you took a deep breath.

You turned your head and he gave you a little smile. “Hey,” he said and you awkwardly smiled back.

He was wearing his black pair of glasses and a leather jacket over hi swhite shirt.

The more time passed the more you felt your heartbeat fastened and it’s only been 5 minutes.

“I should get going, because I haven't really gotten sleep.” Your friends' eyes turned to you and Olivia raised an eyebrow knowing exactly what you were doing.

“Sure thing, thank you for coming y/n.” Jihoon smiled.

You grabbed your purse next to you wanting to leave as soon as possible.

“Isn’t it too late for an uber?” Olivia asked, frowning. “Someone should bring you home.” Olivia’s eyes darted to Hoseok who cleared his throat getting your friend’s silent message.

“I was actually thinking of leaving sooner or later, so I can drive you home.”

You blinked a couple of times, before speaking up. “No that’s not needed.”

“Yes, It’s needed. I’m not letting you leave alone this late.” Olivia gave you a warning glare.

You looked away from Hoseok, not wanting to argue in front of everyone and who were you fooling? You wanted his attention and being with him excited you more than you would have liked to admit.

The car blinked twice signaling you it’s unlocked now. The drive was silent and even breathing was hard. Scenarios from your last car ride flashed through your brain making you gulp.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok asked, breaking the silence in the car, making you turn your head. He looked down to your fingers digging into his seat, before looking back up to your face.

You placed your hands in your lap, after clearing your throat.

“Yeah why wouldn't it be?” You mumbled looking out of your window.

Silence took over as he drove through the empty streets in the dark, while the moon lit up the car enough. You took a deep breath as the car stopped in front of your apartment building.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, turning to the door, but when it didn’t open you saw the lock button.

“Can we talk?” He asked after a short silence and you nodded slowly.

“Do you...want to come in?” You asked hesitantly.

You rubbed your sweaty hands against your dress while his eyes scanned through your apartment.

“Everything is still the same,” he mumbled as his eyes met yours again. “Except for us.” You gulped at his words.

“You can’t avoid me forever.” He continued and you raised an eyebrow.

“Well, jokes on you Hoseok, I wasn’t avoiding you. I was busy with my exams.” You clarified yourself, scoffing at his words.

When he didn’t answer you turned your head into his direction just to see him staring at you with a challenging look.

“Oh really? Then why were you disappearing during the party, giving everyone excuses.” You blinked at him and when a small smile played over his lips you narrowed your eyes.

“Okay fine, I don’t wanted to see your stupid face. I dislike you.” You said in a boring tone, making him clearly angry.

“That wasn’t what you said a couple of months ago,” he said and you rolled your eyes.

“Feelings change. I don’t feel the same anymore,” you answered. “Now if that’s all, you can leave.”

You stood up, but he grabbed your wrist stopping you from leaving.

“If you don’t feel the same anymore then why did it affect you so much seeing me with Yejin?” You frowned at his question, clearly at the loss of words.

“I don’t even know who that is,” you scoffed pulling your wrist out of his grip. “You should leave Hoseok.” You sighed turning back around but his hands grabbed your shoulders pressing you against the nearest wall.

“Liar. You still love me.” His breath fanned over your lips and his cologne dominated your senses, making all the nights flash in front you where his cologne would fill your room. “You tried so hard to forget me, but look at you getting so weak for me,” he whispered into your hair, while his nose gazed over your neck, making you take a deep breath. “You don’t need any distraction, when I’m right here baby.”

When he started placing soft kisses down your neck you almost moaned out his name. His hands started wandering over your curves and a sigh left your lips moving your head to give him more room as your hands found his hair.

“Do you want me as much as I want you baby?” He asked you as his tongue gazed over your sensitive spot, making you moan out.

“Yes. Yes I want you so bad, Hoseok.” All that pride was gone and his touch made your brain shut off while setting your whole body on fire. This was all Hoseok needed and not even a minute later your back hit the mattress while his lips devoured yours in a passionate kiss as his tongue caressed yours. His hands lifted the edge of your dress softly rubbing your thigh before disappearing under the fabric as his mouth started traveling more south. His mouth placed wet kisses over the swell of your breast down to your hips and thighs. He looked up from between your thighs looking into your eyes as he slowly pulled your string down.

You grabbed the sheets when his tongue gazed over your swollen bud and you didn’t even notice how wet you have been until Hoseok pushed his finger into you.

“So wet and all we did was kiss, tctc!” He clicked his tongue, before he started lapping at your juices making you throw your head back into the pillow. Your chest was rising and falling so fast. You lifted your hips just for him to push them back down.

“Fuck d-don’t stop,” you stuttered when he added another finger, pumping them in and out of you while he sucked on your bud sending you to heaven.

You felt the knot build in your lower abdomen, after reaching for his hair pulling them as a moan left his lips sending vibrations through your body making the knot explode. You closed your legs around his head arching your back on the mattress.

“I missed seeing like this,” he said after placing a kiss on your inner thigh.

Piece by piece your clothes were thrown on your bedroom floor. He kissed down the alley between your breasts, before giving your nipple his attention. You felt his tip slide up and down your folds, coating his dick in your juices before he pushed himself in.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” he whispered against your lips, his dick pumping in and out of you. He grabbed your thigh pressing against his hip, his tip now hitting your g-spot making you whimper while your nails were digging into his biceps. He pressed his forehead against your.

“Look at me y/n,” he demanded and you obeyed, struggling to keep your eyes open while his dick was doing wonders.

“I missed ruining you like this so much.” He removed a couple of strands from your face while his eyes didn’t leave yours and you felt your heart skip a beat at the gesture.

“I love you,” he whispered and suddenly your eyes were wide open. You wanted to speak up but when his tip pressed against your g-spot again your eyes rolled back and a couple of thrust after you felt your high wash over you.

“S-stop.” You placed your hand against his chest signaling him to stop. “I’m almost there baby,” he breathed and you whimpered due to the overstimulation.

“Why do you look extra pretty today?” He asked more himself than you before he pumped his load into you.

You closed your eyes, calming down your breathing and racing heart before hissing when he pulled out. He cleaned you up and silence filled the room as he pulled you against his chest.

“Were you serious when you said it?” You asked after a while and he hummed. “I would never lie about something like that.” He sighed. “To be honest when you confessed I wasn’t sure about how I felt about you, but the moment you shut me out I realised how much it actually affected me, being away from you was horrible.” He continued. “I wanted us to do well on our exams so I thought it was better if we would concentrate on that and after that I could talk things out with you.”

You looked up to him as guilt started building up. “I shouldn’t have cut all contacts with you, I’m sorry. I couldn’t deal with the thought of getting rejected when you asked for more time, so I…” you trailed off and he pulled you closer giving you a short kiss.

“All that matters is that we resolved things,” he said and you hummed.

“So what do you wanna do for our first date?” He smirked.

#monsta x #monsta x fluff #monsta x imagines #monsta x scenarios #monsta x smut #monsta x x reader #lee hoseok #hoseok smut #wonho fluff #wonho imagines #wonho smut #wonho x reader #wonho #wonho scenarios

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invisibleraven · 3 years ago

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The Ghosts of Christmas Eve

@jatp-adventevent Day Twelve: Long Wishlist <-AO3 link

Pairing: Ralex (Reggie/Alex)

Reggie prided himself at being good at a lot of things; playing bass, photography, being able to eat an entire pizza in one sitting. Shopping was not one of those things however, which meant the holiday season totally sucked.

Every year he struggled to find decent gifts for his friends, usually resorting to gift cards for places he knew they liked, and throwing in some yummy treats to go with whatever sparkly card he'd picked that year. But this was different, this year he had an honest to god boyfriend to get a present for, so a gift card definitely wouldn't cut it.

The problem was that he still had no idea what to get for Alex, and whenever he tried probing for ideas, he always got the same response. "I don't need anything Reg, you're gift enough for me," Alex would say, punctuating it with a sweet kiss.

Reggie would always blush at that, but it still didn't help him decide on a present. He wanted to do this right, be a good boyfriend who could manage this simple task. Of course, he knew lots of things that Alex liked, but none of them seemed like an appropriate gift.

He asked his friends but none of their suggestions sparked anything in him. He scoured the local mall, the little Indies stores, getting frantic as the date grew closer and closer. He wished he was a crafter, he could make Alex something, anything would be better than the big fat nothing he has right now. He searches his room in desperation, hoping it will inspire him, but then gets caught up when he knocks over a box full of photos. Some of him, of his friends, but overwhelmingly, there are tons of Alex, some of them together, some alone. Alex smiling bright as the sun makes his hair golden and his eyes like the sea. Sweaty and hot as hell while wailing on the drums or dancing up a storm. Reggie thanks his lucky stars for landing such a handsome man, wondering, not for the first time, what on Earth Alex saw in him.

But the next picture shows the two of them; Reggie smiling wide, eyes scrunched up for the camera. Yet Alex isn’t looking at the camera; he’s looking at Reggie, love radiating from his eyes, the softest smile on his lips. Reggie loves this picture, has a copy of it on his nightstand in fact. Alex has another copy sitting on his desk. Then Reggie gets an idea, grabbing his wallet as he rushes off to the local craft store.

On Christmas, Reggie is thrilled to spend time with Alex in between family obligations. Even more thrilled that Alex gave him a day pass to a local dude ranch for the two of them in the new year, given he knows Reggie is a cowboy at heart, though he refuses to wear the hat. Reggie shakes his head with a grin, promising himself to get Alex in a cowboy hat one day. He shyly hands over his own present, biting his lip as Alex carefully peels back the paper. He stops when he takes in the scrapbook before him, Reggie had filled it with photos of their adventures together, little souvenirs he had kept, with plenty of blank pages in the back for them to grow on.

“Reg… this is beautiful. I love it. I love you,” Alex whispers, bringing their lips together for the sweetest kiss.

“I-I love you too,” Reggie stuttered as they pulled apart, and that present blew every other gift he got that year out of the water.

#JatPAdvent2021 #my stuff #writing #fanfic #ralex #julie and the phantoms

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aonesteddybear · 4 years ago

Text

Meet Me In The Middle

“It’s….my ex is over there. They’re coming over here, can you pretend to be my boyfriend?” You hiss back tense and Oikawa’s eyes flick up first to your ex before he looks back to you, a smirk on his face. “Oh yeah, I can do that.” He promises.

oikawa toru x gender neutral reader

warnings: alcohol mention (drinking), kissing, college party

word count: 1680

extra big thank to my betas requests are open

friend x iwaizumi is up here

The bass of the music was all you could feel as you laughed, body swaying without a care as top 20 Frat Hit Songs played. You could barely breathe with how warm the room was, sweat glistening on your skin as you sang your heart out, hands in the air as you looked back to your friend who looked vaguely comfortable, but was still enjoying the party.

You had long since forgotten about any worries, or any shyness by the lack of clothing you wore as you blended in with the other party goers. Or well, what you had considered less clothing but now amongst so many other bodies, you had to wonder if the corset bodysuit was practically prudish. Your eyes scanned the floor, searching for other familiar faces before you landed on two bodies who stuck out even in the party.

You let out an excited squeal, grabbing your friend by their wrist as you pulled them in the direction of the two boys. “Oikawa! Iwaizumi!” You tumbled forward, dropping your friend as you practically tackled the tall brunette, hugging him tightly as you pressed a kiss to his cheek in greeting. “Oh my gosh, Tooru! I didn’t think you were serious! You look amazing!” You promised, stepping back to admire his matching Playboy Bunny costume, the bunny ears on his head making him even taller than he already was.

He beamed, giving a playful twirl as he gestured towards his leg, showing off the fishnets which accented the muscular thighs of his. “Right? I didn’t think I would either, then I tried this on and I was like ‘Damn, I look good’!” He said with a laugh, his own eyes flickering over to your friend before darting over as he wrapped them into a hug also, gushing about how good they looked.

Your own attention flicked to the shorter black haired man, who looked uncomfortable with the whole setting and his lack of dress. You smirked, eyeing his lack of clothes, knowing Oikawa was behind it. “Surprised you have this much on,” You mused and he rolled his eyes, his lips parted to respond but Oikawa was already pulling him into him, rattling on about how he picked the costume for both of them and ‘Iwa-chan’ didn’t even want to come to the party.

A smirk crossed your lips in amusement as Oikawa drew attention to the fact Iwaizumi was dressed in only a pair of shorts. A laugh bubbled up from you as you watched your friends skin flush in color, avoiding eye contact with either of them. Before you could comment on their very clear interest, a new song started up which made you light up. You grabbed at Oikawa, separating him from Iwaizumi. “Oh my gosh! Come dance with me!” You coaxed and he was more than content to drag you after him, pulling you back into the mass of bodies.

Your hips swayed together, in sync to the music as his hands wandered down to cautiously rest on your waist. When you didn’t push his hands away, he took it as consent to continue, gently pulling you in as he pulled you flush against each other and you couldn’t help the breathless laughter that escaped as you two danced in rhythm.

The warmth of his body was almost uncomfortable, but you wouldn’t push him away for anything. Maybe it was the liquid courage giving you both the confidence to be so bold with one another, but neither of you could refute the excitement drumming through both of you at the close proximity. As the music faded out, you stepped back slightly breathless still as adrenaline bubbled in you.

As yet again a new song started up with a new round of excited voices surrounded you at the new song as recognition crossed your mind. So pull me closer, why don’t you pull me close? Why don’t you come on over? I just can’t just let you go.

“Oh baby,” you were singing it at him now, and you couldn’t help the giggles that filled you as he sang right back to you. “Why don’t you just meet me in the middle?”

The chorus of voices around you somehow amplified your own voices, while drowning it all out at once as you laughed along with the song and the swaying of the songs. As the next verse began to play you couldn’t help but giggle stepping closer to Oikawa as you were pushed forward by bodies bumping into you with half-hearted apologies.

“So pull me closer, why don’t you pull me close?-” your lyrics were cut off as he reached out, grabbing you by the waist pulling you flush against him again as you both giggled at the acting, opting to ignore the song for the time being as you just clutched to one another. Swaying against one another in time with the song.

As the song slowed down, entering the bridge you could feel his heart drumming against you as you looked up at him. “And it’s not about my pride, I need you on my skin. Just come over, pull me in, just-” his hands found your face, holding it ever so tightly as he continued to sing the lyrics to you and you couldn’t help but sing back to him, grabbing his face in response.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face, and even with the smell of alcohol on it you couldn’t help but realize he still smelled like mint. You felt the giggles bubbling up in your chest even as the song faded out, and as a new bass boosted song played over the speakers you realized just how very easy it would be to kiss Toru Oikawa.

It was that thought that had you pulling away with a nervous laugh, you weren’t exactly sure why you were thinking of your friend like that. Sure, he was attractive (you’d have to be blind to not acknowledge it) but he was your friend and that was it. (Right?)

“I need a new drink,” You shouted over the music and he was nodding, hand on your back as he guided you through the crowd careful not to be separated, but as you approached the makeshift bar someone had made your feet stop without permission as your eyes fell on the person currently at it. “Fuck,” somehow the idea that your ex may be present at the party half your school was at just didn’t occur to you.

Sensing your uncomfortableness, Oikawa was stepping into your back, leaning down to speak a soft “You ok?” into your ear and you forced yourself to nod. “Yeah….” you muse slowly, turning back to him. “I don’t need another drink.” You decided, “Come on.” Trying to pull him back into the crowd much to his confusion.

“Why? What’s wrong?” He repeats, and you’re shaking your head, trying to blend back into the bodies before your ex notices. Turns out, a six foot tall volleyball player in a Playboy Bunny Suit might gain attention, and you can feel the moment your ex turns to look at you curiously. You swallow nervously, looking at him as you watch your ex push off the table, heading over to you two.

You aren’t exactly sure what happens first, but then a hand is on your waist, pulling you flush against him and his other is cupping your jaw like he had been moments ago except only this time, his lips were flush against yours. The fact he tastes like mint also crosses your mind, as you dizzyingly try to process his mouth on yours, eyes fluttering shut as you relax into him.

Except then your hands are in his hair also and you’re pulling him into you as tightly as possible, and then your lips are parting against his and his tongue is there, pressing into your mouth and you are more than eager to allow it to happen. Your own tongue pressing against his, sucking on his tongue as it runs against your teeth.

His hands were firm, enveloping as he playfully squeezes your skin and then you both are pulling back, gasping into each other as you struggle to breathe. “Wow,” you speak first and he is grinning, his tongue running over his lips as he winks at you. “I don’t think your ex will bother you.” He suggests and you can’t help the laugh that spills out now.

“Oh I’m sure they won’t tonight,” You admit, “But I’m sure I’ll get questioned later.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow then, “Send them my way, I’ll take care of it.” He promises off-handedly, gesturing towards the bar, “Want a drink still?” He asks and you shrug, “Sure.”

He leads you over to the bartender, as you rattle off your preferred drink you can feel his warmth against the back of you. His arms wrap around your waist then, hips swaying with yours to the beat of the music, and then his nose is nuzzling into your neck, breath warm on your skin of your ear as he whispers his next sentence into your ear: “By the way, if you want to pretend I’m your boyfriend at any other point of the night...or after tonight, I’m more than willing to repeat that.”

As you turn your head towards his you can’t help but acknowledge how pretty he is once more, especially with how close the two of you are. His tongue flicks out, licking at his lips nervously awaiting your response and then it is you who is moving; Closing the distance once more as you press your lips against his. Because yes, you were definitely going to have to take him up on that offer. note: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMJfGqGf1/ ←- the scene that heavy inspired “The Middle” scene because my brain really wants to do that with pretty boy oikawa

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years ago

Text

Something Just Like This - CH05

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: Angst, doubt, sadness a little. But also fucking fluff.

WC: 3575

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Winchester! You got a cigarette?” Milligan’s voice was clear in his ear. “Please, I need one.”

“No, man.” Dean shook his head. “But hold on, Milligan. You’re going to be alright. We will get you out of here.”

Dean blinks.

He’s back.

He’s still driving. A single tear streaks down his face and he jerks himself more awake from his daydream. His hand comes up to brush the tear away from his cheek.

Dean thinks about calling Charlie as he drives towards the bunker. He needs to make a pitstop and clean himself from the dirt of having killed a man, and needs to shower off the guilt. It usually doesn’t work. It never did. But at least there will be no blood of a dead man on any part of him or on his clothes left.

When he kills people, he doesn’t think about them as humans. He can’t let himself go there. Dean can’t say that he enjoys it either though, can’t say that he’s not dying a little on the inside every time he takes out someone. Even if they are the lowest sort of scumbags.

He never could take it lightly.

Not when he was at war, where killing enemies was demanded from him.

Not now, when he does it to protect his business, his family, his pride.

He’ll never get used to it and honestly, he’d rather not do the dirty work but also he doesn’t want anyone to have to bear the burden. At least not someone he’s close to, like Cas or Sam. Cas did kill people for him, but mostly it was also for Cas himself. But Sam? Nah, Dean would rather die than let Sammy do that kind of dirty work.

Sometimes, when he’s plagued by subsequent nightmares and has a hard time to even take his mind off them in the times he’s awake, Dean often finds himself asking if this was all worth it. If the life he chose to live was worth the effort, worth the sleepless nights, worth the sacrifices, the blood, the sweat and the tears.

But the answer was always yes . Because Sam’s in it. Because Sam’s gonna open up a law firm. Because Sam’s going to get out of this life. Because Sammy deserves everything good, even if it meant that Dean has to give everything he has in order for Sam to be happy. And Dean is ready to do that for Sammy, always had, always will.

And who knows? Maybe, if Dean’s lucky, his whole plan will work out after all.

He didn’t tell Sam yet — in fact, he didn’t tell anyone about his plan. Dean sometimes wishes for nothing more than to go legal. Maybe go into shipping and trading. Not narcotic substances, not illegal arms. Legal things, like a normal person, a normal business owner of a fucking family business. Do something he doesn’t have to break the law for. It’s just a dream, though. He knows that there’s no escape from reality. Not for someone in his position. Because who would he be then? They’d think that he’s weak. A wimp. A goddamn failure. Nobody walks out of here, especially not after what his father went through to keep the organization going and growing.

Before Dean went to Afghanistan, he actually quite enjoyed the life he had. Fast cars, frisky women, being respected. He had everything. He was cocky and narcissistic back then, thought that he could have it all and so much more. He signed up to be deployed because he thought that he has got something to prove. Proving to himself that nothing could bring him down. Proving to all the others, that he can come back unscattered and reign over them. He thought that once he’s back, people would respect him more because back then, they thought that he would never be able to take over.

Life changed drastically after a couple of days at COP Keating. He was being the one to get shot at and not the other way around. He was the one to take orders and not the other way around. He didn’t get along with his mates, didn’t want to join in and distanced himself. He never really had any friends because they all thought that he was stuck up. They weren’t really wrong, he guesses.

Dean never thought he’d get to come back with all his limbs still attached to him — let alone coming back alive.

War changed him. Changed his view of life and he often asked himself what he did it for, sometimes wished that he was the one dead and not his friends. But when he got out of the plane as they arrived back, he saw Sam waiting with a bright smile on his face and waving at him, Dean knew that he did it all for Sam. And yes, it was all worth it. Sam wailed like a baby when the President placed the medal around his neck, which Dean still thinks that he didn’t deserve at all. He just did his duty, really.

So yeah, this life sucks you in and will spit you out when you’re dead. Sometimes the dead part happens sooner rather than later. You never know.

Dean knows that he probably — most definitely — can’t win in this life. Maybe in the next.

He dials Charlie’s number and waits.

Charlie picks up at the second ring.

“Hey, my favorite Winchester,” She says and Dean smiles at the sound of Charlie’s voice. She’s always so cheerful.

“I bet you say that to Sammy, too.” Dean chuckles lightly.

“Me? Naaaah,” Charlie laughs now, loud and bright.

“I don’t believe you,”

“Yeah, yeah. You saw it?” She’s changing the subject quickly, knowing that Dean called her up to ask about the things he asked her to pick up for him.

“I haven’t been to the bunker yet. Just wanna ask if you did get it.”

“Got everything. How did you get the shoe size?”

“Ash,” Dean breathes out.

“Oh my god, I don’t even wanna know,” Charlie groans.

“Nope, I don’t wanna know either.” Dean feels second hand embarrassment when he thinks of it. Knowing Ash, he probably didn’t ask for it smoothly.

“Anyway, it’s in the bunker. Let me know if it fits.”

“I will. Thanks, Charlie.”

“You’re welcome, big guy.”

Dean hangs up and pushes his phone back into his pants pocket. He flips his wrist to be able to look at his watch. It’s not yet 10PM. If he hurries, he could make it there before her shift ends.

Y/N taps a beer when strong hands grab at her arm and pull her away swiftly, but the pressure on her arm is still gentle, which is weird and she didn’t spill a single drop.

She turns to look who it is, thinks about throwing the beer in the face of whoever thought that pulling her away from her work would be such a good idea when she can club them over the head with a full pint.

Her eyes meet a chest. She looks up from the neat dress shirt, trails her eyes past the scruff, almost freezes at the plump lips that’s widened by a smirk, but she wills herself to go on because she has a great idea who it is. Her eyes meet his green ones and the crinkles around them are deep and — not going to lie — mesmerizing.

“Hi,” It rumbles from his chest and she could literally feel the bass of his voice vibrating in her bones. It was loud in the bar but she could hear him clearly.

“Hi,” Y/N says, shy all of a sudden. Thinks that she’s blushing, but how could she not.

He leans down, the tip of his nose brushes against her temple and it makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up while goosebumps spread on her arm. “Think you can take a break?”

She looks at the line of people surrounding the bar, shakes her head no, “I don’t think so,”

Dean chuckles before he produces a bag which he probably had hidden behind his back. Y/N doesn’t know, but she can’t explain how a bag materializes in front of him. “Don’t worry, me and Ash will take over. You go back and see if this is alright.”

“What?”

“You remember the opening party?” He raises an eyebrow, and she sees the doubt in his eyes.

She pretends to think hard, the creases on her forehead deepening. She let the clock tick, thinks of stretching the moment out, just for good measure, before she answers. “Yeah?”

He relaxes, and she thinks it’s funny how she could wind him up.

“It’s in two days. Got you something.”

“You did what? I didn’t even ask Ellen yet if I could get the night off,” Y/N begins to say, because it’s true. She didn’t expect it to be so soon. He just asked her what? Two days ago? And said that they’re still figuring out the date?

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to Ellen.” He’s still holding out the bag for her to take.

She looks at the people who are still waiting on being served. “But—”

“—Jesus, Y/N, just go, alright? I asked Ash. You can use his room.” He points his chin towards the back door and she sees Ash walking behind the bar too now, with a stupid grin on his face.

“Oh, okay.” Y/N nods, and places the pint onto the counter top before taking the bag from Dean’s hand. Their fingers brush for a brief moment and there’s a flutter in her chest.

Damn her chest. It has no business to be fluttering right now.

She searches for Dean’s eyes before she goes, as if she needs reassurance. He winks at her as he takes off his suit jacket, folding the sleeves of his dress shirt back. “Go! Trust us. You can take your time.”

Y/N can already see Ash taking orders before she nods again and slips through the door.

Y/N closes the door to Ash’s room. Locking it up, just in case. She takes a look around before she drops the bag on the floor and walks over to Ash’s laptop. She can’t make it too obvious, doesn’t want to try to type in a password, fearing Ash has some tracking device on his laptop and would notice someone logging in when he’s not around.

She opts to take out her phone instead, taking pictures of Ash’s room, especially his desk, and of the many scribbles of loose sheets of paper scattered around. That way she won’t be gone too long too, and she won’t raise any suspicions. It’s not her job to decipher or to dig too deep anyway, they have great people in the bureau. Her job is to deliver new intel while their job is to dig deeper from the bits and pieces she sends them.

After she’s done her other ‘work’, she takes the bag and peeks in. There are two more bags in the big one and she reaches for the first one. She takes it out and smiles when she sees what it is.

Y/N takes the item out and holds it up in front of her. It’s a red sleeveless couture cocktail dress, with mesh worked into it, a little see through but covered by red flower patterns. She holds it to her chest, and walks to the mirror, lets her hand skim over the fabric. She’s never seen a dress more beautiful and that’s not even a lie.

It’s red. Red. Y/N never wore red. Doesn’t think that red suits her at all. Red is for someone who likes to make a bold statement. Someone who likes to be noticed and seen and if anything, she’s the contrary. In fact, she doesn’t own a piece of clothing in red. She always opted for black, grey, white or navy, something not eye catching. She never felt comfortable being the center of attention.

She smiles to herself through the mirror because she never knew that red would suit her. Nonetheless, she can’t help but wonder how expensive the dress must be. She probably wouldn’t be able to afford it. What the fuck was Dean thinking? She can’t possibly take the dress. Can’t possibly wear it because it’s out of her fucking league.

There’s a note fluttering to the floor. It probably was laid out on the dress and she missed it as she took it out.

Y/N bends down to pick it up.

“I hope it fits. I thought red would look great on you. There are some shoes at the bottom of the bag. If you feel confident enough you could let me see? If not, it’s okay too. — Dean”

She bites on her bottom lip before they spread into a grin.

Y/N shimmies herself out of her jeans and takes off her shirt. The bra too, since it’s see through. She needs to find some nude strapless bra, makes a mental note to go shopping tomorrow before she meets with Linda.

She’s glad she shaved her legs today, that would have been really embarrassing. Not that she should care. Or should she?

She really doesn’t know but decides not to dwell on that super weird feeling in her guts. Instead, she laughs to herself as she pulls the dress over her head and looks into her mirror image.

Wow.

She rubs along the dress, flattens it on her body, still mesmerized and amazed at how great and beautiful it feels on her skin.

It fits her like a glove. How could he know her size?

She stands on her tiptoes, twists and turns, inspecting herself from every possible angle.

Shoes. The notes said something about shoes , she thinks and takes a couple of steps to reach into the bag. Y/N pulls out the other bag and opens up the box.

Red heels, the same color as her dress. Not just a similar color. The exact fucking same.

How?

She places one hand on the desk to keep her balance as she slips into the heels. Her legs feel wobbly in them, she rarely wears heels and these are super high.

Y/N takes a step closer to the mirror, turning herself in front of it. She bites on her bottom lip, suddenly very anxious of wearing it anywhere at all.

She takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

In and out.

“Okay,” she sighs, “okay.”

It’s more a way to reassure herself because Dean asked if he could see it, and a part of her really wants to show him. It's just that the part that doesn’t want to show him really, really needs convincing.

She closes her eyes, her heart beating fast at the thought of walking out into the bar.

“Here goes nothing,” She murmurs and unlocks the door to Ash’s room.

Dean’s having a conversation going on with one of the patrons and pours himself another whiskey, laughing when the dude told him something funny. He didn’t even notice that the bar went silent, only notices it when all he could hear is some murmuring and his own laughter next to the usual songs playing in the background from the jukebox, and there’s someone whistling.

He looks around, wondering what’s going on and then he sees it.

He sees her.

Standing by the door, the red dress clings to her frame and Dean’s speechless for a moment.

The prettiest fucking thing he ever did see. There’s no other way to describe her.

Not that he didn’t think that she wasn’t cute before but Jesus, she’s beautiful and it’s a pity she doesn’t even know how lovely she is.

She looks around, all flustered and shy like a deer caught in the headlight and Dean almost feels guilty for wanting to have a taste of it. Almost feels guilty for wanting to corrupt her, wanting to feel her legs wrap around him, wants to fucking mark her as his, wonders sometimes, if she blushes as sweetly when he eats her out and makes her come on his cock alone.

Someone was yelling from the back, “Hey, baby, you wanna take a ride—”

“—Shut up!” Dean’s deep voice cuts the dude off and he throws in a malicious look, for good measure.

The one guy at the bar is still whistling and then he licks his lips, “Baby, are you a drill sergeant? Because you have my privates standing at attention.”

The bar erupts with laughter and she looks down to her shoes.

Dean didn’t hesitate to drive his fist into the man’s face. He hears a crack, grins because the dude deserved it.

“Anyone else?” Dean asks and looks around the room before he turns his attention to her.

He walks over, sees her blushing a little, “Come on, let’s go to the back.”

The guy who’s standing next to her opens his mouth to say something. Dean thinks the guy probably has a death wish or way too much to drink because he doesn’t know when to stop, “Those clothes would look great in a crumpled heap on my bedroom floor, baby.”

Dean’s about to strike out when she places her hand on his arm.

“I got this.” She whispers with a smirk and then she does. Y/N takes a step towards the guy and drives her elbow into the man’s jaw.

The guy drops to the floor, wincing and spitting blood.

“Anybody else wants to try their pick up line on me?” She asks the now silent bar and Dean has a really hard time to hold back the laugh that wants to burst out of him.

“No? Good. Because they all suck.” She says and just stands there and waits and Dean thinks she’s ready for anyone who would want to come forward with a stupid remark. When the bar stays silent, she turns around and storms through the door in the back.

Dean only shrugs at the people who were still speechless, before he follows her.

“Winchester’s whipped.” Ash could be heard under his breath before the door closes completely.

“I heard that.” Dean shouts back.

“Good.” Came loudly from the other side, followed by laughter.

Normally, Dean would go out there and probably rip Ash a new hole but she’s walking swiftly down the corridor and he follows, almost bumping into her when she turns around abruptly to face him, her hands are braced on her hips.

“How much was all this?” Y/N asks, gestures with her hands up and down her body.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, really, Dean. How much? I’ll pay you back.” She says, and Dean knows that she means it. Had known from the start when she wouldn’t even take the tip he wanted to leave for her.

“I don’t know.” Dean says and it’s the truth.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Her forehead creases.

“I really don’t know, alright?” Dean chuckles, brushing a hand through the scruff on his jaw. “I just went into the store and told them what I want. They said they needed time to get the right shoes and I had someone pick it up for me. I never asked how much it was, because I didn’t really care!” He runs his hand through his hair.

Dean sees her face softening, there’s even a smirk that’s tugging away at her lips.

“You actually went into a store for this?” She’s grinning now and Dean thinks it’s fucking adorable.

“Yeah?”

“You went into a store.” Y/N’s chuckling, “A women’s store. And bought a dress?”

“Yes?” His eyebrow raises on his forehead.

She laughs. Loud, clear. It’s a beautiful sound.

“Were you embarrassed?”

“Uh,” He’s laughing too, tries to search for the right word, “It was awkward. But it was worth it. You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thanks.” Her face flushes, and she quickly turns away. “Alright, I guess it fits. Do I look decent enough for you to take me to the opening like this?”

She walks the couple of steps to Ash’s room, stalling at the door and turns to look back to him.

“I’d take you anywhere, Y/N. Even if you’re dressed in your normal clothes, or a trash bag.” He says truthfully, and now it’s his turn to feel his cheeks heating up.

He doesn’t know why he said it. Doesn’t really know what’s up with him because he feels like he just poured his heart out to her by saying it. Thinks, that if she knew who he really was, how he really was, she wouldn’t let him take her anywhere at all, and he wouldn’t blame her one bit.

“Not— not saying that you’re a bag of trash or anything,” He squints because he’s an idiot and would love to smash his head against the wall right now. Dean clears his throat, “Alright, I need to go help Ash. You take your time.”

“Alright.” She smiles and takes a step into Ash’s room, stops to look back at him. “Thank you, Dean.”

He nods and smiles back, bright and wide, before he turns around and walks through the door to the front.

CH06

#something just like this #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #mobster!dean #nathalie writes

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calumcest · 4 years ago

Text

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter four

[ao3]

is it technically tuesday? yes. are we going to talk about that? no. everybody lives in at least gmt-1 now suck it up

@tirednotflirting yet again...i cannot sing your praises enough for reading this ENTIRE fucking thing!! although it looks a bit different here to how it looks on the google doc because its not in bold and theres no ‘finishh’ in sight nor my insane random words that i write down when i know exactly the words i want to say but i’m too lazy to write them. am i the worst writer known to man? possibly

we are getting to the juicy stuff now...its quarter to fucking malum o’clock...

also if you saw the title of this chapter before i went to check you didn’t see it. close your eyes

By the time Calum wakes up the next afternoon, they’re already halfway back to Manchester, somewhere on the M40. Predictably, Liam's up, vibrating with that impatient energy he’s always got when he can’t snort or drink it away, and Calum’s the second one to rise, padding into the lounge area sleepily, yawning loudly and rubbing his eyes. His head’s fucking pounding, and his mouth is dry and disgusting, but Liam, because he sometimes is the angel his doe eyes and full lips make him out to be, has already put out a cup of water and two paracetamols for him.

“How the fuck are you never hungover?” Calum grumbles, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Liam and nestling into his side as he downs the paracetamol.

“Luck of the Irish,” Liam tells him, resting his cheek on Calum’s head. Calum makes a noise of discontent and turns to press his face into Liam’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut like it’s going to stop his head from hurting.

“You deserve a hangover,” he mumbles. “You were off your fucking head last night.”

“And you weren’t?”

“Never said that.” Liam huffs out a soft laugh.

“Nearly fainted in the fucking toilets, you did.” Calum scowls.

“Fuck off,” he says, as his memory flashes back to last night - yeah, he did almost fucking faint in the toilets, but that was only because- and then his eyes fly open, because fuck. Jesus fucking Christ.

Michael.

“Our kid barely even made it back to the bus last night,” Liam says, and it’s just meant to be casual conversation, maybe a little contemptuous, but it makes Calum’s lungs collapse in on themselves with guilt.

He’d spoken to Michael. He’d come to some sort of a fucking understanding with Michael, something he can’t quite remember and doesn’t quite understand. Fuck, he might have even called Michael pretty. Jesus Christ. He’s fairly certain any and all of that goes against his promise to Noel.

“Oh?” he says, when he remembers to speak. Liam just hums, and Calum tries not to exhale too shakily as his mind races.

It’s not his fault, he tells himself. Not really. He’d been there first, hadn’t he? Michael had been the one to walk up to him, and the one who hadn’t walked away. And sure, maybe Calum had been the one to strike up conversation, but it hadn’t exactly been friendly, had it? And Michael had been the one to ask questions, to change the topic, and to level the playing field when Calum had accidentally let something slip. Plus, Calum had been drunk and high, so he can’t really be held accountable for his actions, can he?

Liam’s still talking, but Calum’s not listening, and it doesn’t even matter because Liam cuts himself off when Tony stumbles into the lounge area, bleary-eyed and yawning. There’s no paracetamol set out for him, and Liam makes no move to get any.

“I’m looking forward to a fucking break,” Tony says a little hoarsely, and flops down on the sofa opposite Liam and Calum.

“Fucking when?” Liam says. “We’ve got Top of the Pops in two days.” Tony groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Fucking Top of the Pops,” he mumbles. “Why the fuck did we agree to that?”

“For the money,” Liam says.

“Don’t even get to play the fucking drums,” Tony says, muffled by his palms.

“Thank fuck for that,” Liam mutters.

-------

Top of the Pops is exactly the bland, boring nightmare Calum expects it to be.

They’re shepherded into some kind of studio for a rehearsal and informed that they’ll be recording a live track then and there which will be mixed together with the album version, and none of them will actually be playing live. Liam’s having absolutely fucking none of it, and for once neither is Noel, and Calum, Bonehead and Tony all decide to step back and enjoy the show that is both Gallaghers on the same team for once.

After a lot of shouting, swearing and a few threats of violence, it’s decided that they’ll go ahead with recording the backing track but Liam will sing live. Noel’s absolutely fucking furious about not being allowed to play live, but it’s almost entirely forgotten when he sees the setup for the stage - Tony on drums in the front, Calum and Bonehead on a step behind him, and Liam and Noel on another step right at the back. The BBC aren’t budging on that, though, despite Calum, Bonehead, and Alan all weighing in to agree that it’s fucking stupid to have the stars of the band stood right at the back, and a nasty row breaks out between the Gallaghers and the production team, ending in Calum having to move at the speed of fucking light when he sees Liam tense into the all-too-familiar I’m going to fucking deck you stance. A lawsuit with the BBC is still well beyond their budget, no matter how well the singles have been doing.

Calum manages to talk Liam down, and Liam manages to talk Noel down, and they’re only ten minutes behind schedule by the time that the brothers have reluctantly agreed to do the show, which is pretty good going for them. They trail to the stage to the sound of screaming and cheering, which makes Calum’s head spin a little bit as he picks up his unplugged bass. They’re really fucking making it now, he thinks in awe, as he looks out at the sea of excited faces and spots a few white Oasis shirts. They’re really fucking doing this.

They get set up and pretend to play Shakermaker, and Liam sounds fucking gorgeous, like he’s making a point to the producers, and Noel slings his arm around Liam as they walk off, a protective, proud gesture that Liam grins at and leans into. They’re fucking unstoppable, Calum thinks, as he trails after them, Noel’s arm tight around Liam and Liam stumbling over his own feet as he tries to press as close to Noel as possible. The two of them on the same side is a fucking sight to behold.

They’re at a hotel that night, and Liam and Bonehead decide they want to go out but Tony and Noel want to stay in, and Calum decides he’s too tired to stay up for the length of time it’s going to take him to find someone willing to fuck him.

(“What d’you think coke’s for?” Liam says to him, and Calum rolls his eyes.)

Calum falls asleep almost as soon as his head touches the pillow, and he wakes up early to the sound of Liam stumbling into the room, high and drunk and probably something else, bruises blooming all over his throat and grinning giddily.

“Good night?” Calum says.

“The best,” Liam declares, and then passes out on his bed.

They have to drive back to Manchester that day, though, because they’ve got a show in Leeds tomorrow, so Liam only gets about four hours of rest before Alan’s banging on the door and yelling at them to get the fuck up, lazy fuckers, didn’t I fucking tell you bus call’s at twelve? To his credit, though, he only complains about a hundred times, and stops when Noel rolls his eyes, holds his arms open and lets Liam snuggle into him and have a nap while Noel chats to Alan about the setlist for America.

Calum tunes most of it out, because he’s not fussed about what’s on the setlist and he trusts Noel to pick the best of his own songs, and spends two hours getting absolutely thrashed at chess by Tony. By the time they’re back in Manchester, Calum’s lost a game of chess to literally everybody on the bus, including Liam, who's being taught the rules of chess by Noel and Bonehead as they play, and Calum decides he’s never fucking playing chess ever again.

(“We’re fucking buying some new games,” he says moodily, when Liam flicks his king over nonchalantly.

“No need to get so mardy,” Bonehead says, stretching out and grinning at Calum.

“Fuck you,” Calum grumbles, sweeping all the pieces off the chess board. “We’re getting a game that I can fucking win.”

“Alright,” Noel says, grinning. “How about Frustration?”)

Calum’s mum has dinner ready for him when he drags himself up the path and into the house, and she fusses over the state of his hair and his clothes and says really, Calum in a disapproving voice whenever Calum uses colourful language to describe exactly what he thinks about the production team of Top of the Pops. Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling when she tuts at him for fondly calling Liam a silly cunt for the fourth time that evening, because it’s nice. It makes him feel like a kid again, but in the best possible way; warm, protected, like someone’s still looking out for him.

His dad gets back from work around seven, and they sit down to watch the Top of the Pops performance together. Calum’s heart swells with pride when it’s their turn to play, because they look fucking cool. The staging’s still shite, granted, but Liam looks every inch the rock ‘n’ roll star he claims to be, and the rest of them look lazily and effortlessly cool, helped enormously by the fact they’re half in the shadows, lights focused on the Gallaghers.

Calum’s parents are polite about the song, and he can see they’re beaming with pride, but he can also tell they don’t really get it. It’s okay, he thinks, unable to help the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches his parents watch him on TV. They like jazz. It’s probably for the best that they don’t think it’s good music.

Calum’s mum switches to some soap opera after Top of the Pops, and his dad grumbles not this again and pulls out his newspaper, but Calum can see his face popping over the top of the paper every two seconds. After three minutes he comments wasn’t Sheila dating Mark last week? She’s not having an affair with Bertie, is she? Calum snorts, and his dad glares at him, opening his mouth to make a defensive remark about how he doesn’t follow this show, it’s absolute rubbish, but then the phone rings.

“I’ll get it,” Calum says, before anyone has the chance to say anything, mostly to avoid having to listen to his dad’s I’m not watching this, Calum, don’t be cheeky spiel, and his mum just nods absent-mindedly, waving a dismissive hand at him, eyes glued to the TV. Calum heads for the phone in the kitchen, just because it’s the closest, jogging to get there before it rings out.

“Hello?” he says, when he picks up. There’s silence at the other end of the line, and he frowns. “Hello?” he tries again.

“Hi.” Calum’s stomach drops.

“ Michael? ”

“Yeah.”

“What the f- how the- what? What? ” Calum’s heart is beating out of his fucking chest, almost covering the embarrassment that’s flaring up as foggy memories of their last conversation drag themselves to the forefront of his mind.

“Sorry,” Michael says, and he sighs, and Calum can just imagine him running his fingers through his hair, a small crease between his brows. “Fuck, I- sorry. I shouldn’t’ve-”

“No,” Calum says abruptly, clutching the receiver, dreading the fucking dial tone. “No, I just- how did you get this number?” There’s a moment of silence.

“Only so many Joy Hoods in the book,” Michael says, and Calum exhales, hoping the crackling static of the phone line will hide how shaky it is.

“Oh,” he says. Michael had sought him out. Michael wants to talk. Michael still remembers his mum’s name.

“I saw you,” Michael says suddenly, into the uncomfortable silence that’s blossomed between them, neither of them knowing what to say next. “On Top of the Pops.”

“Yeah?” Calum doesn’t trust himself to say any more, but the question on the tip of his tongue is evident in the eagerness in his tone, anyway.

“Yeah.” There’s a pause. “Sounded good.”

“That’s because it’s a backing track.” Michael huffs out a laugh, sounding a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting it to come out.

“I guess,” he allows. They lapse into silence again, loud and uncomfortable, before Michael sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds a little regretful. “I shouldn’t’ve called.”

“No,” Calum blurts. “I’m glad you did.” The phone’s warm against his fingers, slippery from his hot, sweaty hands, and he’s clasping it so hard he thinks it might break. He tries to focus on that rather than on what he’s just said, on the knife-edge he feels like they’re poised on, each word a weight that could unbalance them.

“Are you?” Michael sounds a little doubtful, and a little sceptical.

“Yeah.” Michael hums, like he’s mulling something over.

“Do your bandmates know?” Calum’s heart skips a beat.

“Know what?”

“That we talked.” At Glastonbury, while you were drunk and high and out of your fucking mind. You called me pretty, by the way. He doesn’t say any of that, but Calum’s mind tacks it on helpfully anyway.

“Do yours?” Calum says, deflecting, because his stomach’s bottoming out with the sheer weight of the guilt, of the broken promise. Or was it broken? Calum barely remembers, just remembers the look on Michael’s face, the tiny microexpressions, the glassiness of his eyes.

“No.” Calum inhales sharply, can’t fucking help himself - Michael’s talking to Calum, and the rest of Blur don’t know. That's got to mean something, even if Calum isn't entirely sure what.

“Oh.”

“Do they know?” Michael asks again. Calum stares at the hob opposite him, weighing up his answer.

If he says yes, he’ll be lying, and whatever the fuck him and Michael have going on right now is so fragile that one lie like that will send it all crumbling down, pulverise it so thoroughly that it’ll never be able to be built back up again. If he says no, though, he’ll be doing the same to Oasis, to his best mates, to his career. There's no right answer.

“Not yet,” he settles on eventually, straddling the line between Oasis and Michael. It’s the truth - he hasn’t told them, but they might find out at some point.

“Are you going to tell them?” Fucking hell. Trust Michael to pick at the loose thread.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” It’s true, and that’s the best Calum can offer him.

There’s a moment of silence, neither of them really knowing what to say, and it’s fucking gut-wrenching because Calum’s never had that with Michael. He’d never even had to think about what to say with Michael - he’d just existed, just been, and that was always enough.

“Luke and Ashton asked about you,” Michael says, and Calum’s breath hitches.

“Oh?” he says. “How are they?”

“Good,” Michael says. “They’re good.” He pauses for a moment, and then adds: “Luke’s a pilot, now. Or training to be, I think. I don’t know. Ashton’s a teacher.”

“Oh,” Calum says, voice small. Two of his best mates, in an earlier life; two spotty blonde teenage boys laughing on the beach at Calum splashing Michael in the water, shooting each other furtive glances across crowded rooms, getting high just for an excuse to shotgun. A fucking pilot and a teacher.

“Yeah,” Michael says.

“Did they ever get their shit together?” Calum asks.

“What? Oh, yeah. Fuck, has it been that long?” Michael exhales heavily. “They’ve been together for years.”

“Oh.” Calum doesn’t know what else to say to that. He’s trying to imagine it; a pilot and a teacher, fucking hell. Maybe Luke brings Ashton little gifts from his trips abroad. Maybe Ashton writes Luke postcards while his pupils work. Who does the cooking? Luke definitely doesn’t clean. Or maybe he does. If Michael’s changed this much, maybe Luke has, too.

“What about you?” Michael asks.

“What about me?” Calum’s not sure what Michael’s asking. Michael knows what he’s up to - he’s in Oasis, spending all his money on intoxicants, trying to exist alongside the supernova that’s the Gallagher brothers.

“Y’know.” Calum doesn’t know.

“I have no id-”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Michael says it all in a rush, like it’s taken a lot of courage to say it. It probably has, Calum thinks. He wouldn’t have asked Michael. It’s sort of reassuring, actually, makes something a little warm blossom in his chest, because that’s still so Michael . Michael always blurted out questions, always demanded answers, always kept social etiquette and politeness as an afterthought.

“No,” Calum says. He swallows, and then adds: “Are you?”

“No.” Good, Calum wants to say, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have Michael like that anymore; he doesn’t have the right.

“Why did you call?” he says instead. Michael hesitates.

“I saw you on TV,” he says eventually. That’s not a reason.

“Why did you call?” Calum presses. Michael inhales, and doesn’t exhale for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he admits eventually, on a long, heavy exhale. Calum doesn’t blame him. None of this really makes sense to him either; the fact he feels like this after five years of not seeing Michael, after four years of not speaking to him, after three years of not thinking about him. He’s not sure why he wants this, whatever this is, not sure why he wants more of Michael, not sure why his heart feels drawn to Michael like it’s north and Michael’s south.

“Yeah,” Calum says, hoping it conveys I understand.

“I almost reached out,” Michael says suddenly. “A few times. Over the past year, I mean.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t want to.”

“Why didn’t you tell your band?”

“Didn’t know how,” Michael says. Calum gets that too; he’d thought about it as well, entertained the idea, turned it over and over in his mind, but he’d never known what to say. I fucked the guitarist from Blur - I was in love with him actually - and I don’t know why I can’t get him off my mind would probably have sparked even worse reactions than the way it had come out did.

“They seem really protective of you,” Calum says.

“They are,” Michael says, and there’s a small smile evident in his tone. “Not like yours, though. I don’t think all the money in the world could get Graham to start a fight on my behalf.” Calum can’t help the startled laugh that escapes him.

“I don’t think all the money in the would could get Liam not to start a fight on my behalf,” Calum says, and Michael huffs out a soft laugh.

"I'm glad you found such good friends," he says, and the smile is ripped off Calum's face at the jarring reminder that they don't know each other anymore. It sounds so distant, like Michael's content with this arm's-length distance between them, two people who used to know everything about each other and are now making polite small talk.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “I’m glad, too.” He can’t bring himself to say what he really means - I’m sorry it was good enough to take me from you. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to say it.

“I should go,” Michael says after a minute. Calum wants to say no, don’t, stay, but he forces the words back down and nods, still staring blankly at the hob.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Me too.”

“It was-”

“Don’t,” Calum says abruptly, as his stomach twists. It was nice talking to you. It was nice catching up. He doesn’t want to hear the finality of the words, the forced politeness, the jarring dissonance that is the boy he’d known and loved for so long and the man he is now.

Michael doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he sighs.

“Look,” he says. “I- you don’t-” he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, and starts again. “D’you want my number?”

“Do I- uh, yeah,” Calum says, a little stupidly, glancing around wildly for something to write on.

“I’m on tour for the next few months,” Michael says, as Calum snatches up a recipe his mum had left lying out, and an incredibly unsharpened pencil. “But I’ll- y’know. When I’m home.” I’ll call you. He can’t bring himself to say it, and Calum doesn’t blame him.

“Okay,” Calum says.

“You got a pen?”

“Yeah.” Michael rattles off a number, some area code Calum doesn’t recognise, something starting 071. He writes it down hastily, hoping he’s heard it right because he doesn’t want to ask is that five like hive or nine like fine , and then rips the corner of the recipe off and tucks it into his pocket.

“Got it,” Calum says, dropping the pencil onto the counter with a clatter. “071, where’s that?”

“London.”

“Oh. Uh. Cool,” Calum says.

“Well,” Michael says, a touch awkwardly. “See you around, then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Calum echoes. There’s one more moment, the two of them listening to each other breathing, a second suspended in time, and then it’s broken by a click and a dial tone.

Calum puts the phone down a little dazedly, just as his mum wanders into the kitchen.

“Who was it?” she asks. Calum hesitates, and she raises an eyebrow, which means he’s lost the opportunity to say oh, just a cold call.

“Michael,” he says, and her eyes widen.

“Clifford?” she says. He nods. Who the fuck else is it going to be, Michael the sound engineer that had mixed two fucking tracks in Cornwall? “I didn’t know you two still spoke.”

“We don’t.” Her face softens.

“Oh, honey,” she says gently, and Calum swallows. He hasn’t told her yet, hasn’t told her about the awards ceremony and Glastonbury, and somehow, he doesn’t quite want to. She seems to sense it, though, because she just sighs and pulls him into a warm, tight hug. Calum wraps his arms around her, closes his eyes and buries his face in her shoulder. Even though he’s half a foot taller than her, even though she only comes up to his collarbone, it still feels like she’s the one protecting him, like he’s small and cocooned in her arms.

She lets go after a minute, fussing over him messing up his hair, and he groans at her and ducks out of the way of her meddling fingers, but the warm feeling stays, and when she smiles at him and tells him she’s going to bake him his favourite biscuits tomorrow, he feels seventeen again.

(Or maybe that’s just Michael.)

-------

July and August pass in the blink of an eye.

After Leeds, they have three weeks off. Calum finally fixes the garden wall, and for the first few days, he finds himself jumping every time the phone rings. It’s never Michael though - most of the time it’s one of the brothers, asking whether Calum wants to go to the pub or get high or go out on the pull, and sometimes it’s Alan, reminding him that he’s got to be here on this day at this time and there on that day at that time and is he writing all this down because he’s going to be responsible for getting Liam there too since Noel’s going ahead this time.

They go down to London for a few days, record a few new versions of songs and one demo of a new song that Noel’s written but isn’t sure about yet. As soon as he’s heard Liam’s vocals on it, though, his eyes light up, and Calum files the bassline away, because he knows it’s going to be on the next album now, no matter how much Noel’s pretending to hum and haw about it. He can’t fucking let Liam have anything, though, so when Liam comes out of the live room, bright-eyed and desperate for Noel’s affirmation, Noel curls his lip and tells him that sounded fucking shite, Christ, you’re almost as useless as Tony. It culminates in a huge fight that Calum and Bonehead manage to duck out of before it begins, only finding out about it when they get woken by a sombre-looking Alan in the middle of the night and informed they’re all being kicked out of the hotel because Liam’s trashed the bar and Noel’s chucked a TV out of the window of his room that landed on the hotel manager’s car.

They play their first show in America on the 21st - their first show outside of Europe - and it goes well. Noel’s not impressed by the country, having toured there with the Inspirals half a decade earlier, but the rest of them are in fucking awe, and Calum catches tiny, fond smiles playing on Noel’s lips when he sees Liam staring at the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building, lips parted and eyes wide.

Noel’s finally managed to get his way on Live Forever too, it seems, because they’re shepherded into Central Park a few days later, half of them hungover and half of them still blind drunk, to film a video. The director seems to be even fucking higher than they are, because he comes up with ideas like Liam singing while sitting on a chair nailed to a wall, and the band take it upon themselves to start suggesting ever more ludicrous ideas, just to see what sticks. Liam throws in chucking a bucket of water over Bonehead, and Calum suggests burying the drum kit, and Noel goes why don’t we just bury the fucking drummer? The director thinks that’s a fucking brilliant idea, inspired, creative, and Noel shoots Calum a look and says wow, is that how easy this is? You just fucking randomly suggest nonsense and people just go and film it?

(He doesn’t bother showing up for most of the second day of filming, and Calum can’t really blame him.)

They fly back to the UK and play another festival on the 31st of July, and as Calum passes by one of the posters on the way to the stage he does a double take, because Blur are on there. Liam sees him looking, though, and taps the top of the poster wordlessly as he walks past - Sat 30th July. Calum can’t help the way his stomach sinks at that. Michael was here yesterday, and Calum’s here today. Maybe that’s a sign, he thinks. Maybe fate is trying to tell him something.

Live Forever comes out in early August, and people fucking love it. Calum’s getting stopped in the street in fucking Wolverhampton - Wolverhampton - and asked to sign autographs, which makes his head spin. They’re really fucking making it now, he thinks, when he calls his mum from a payphone and she tells him that they’ve had people turning up at the door asking for interviews. This is what the rise to the top feels like, powered by coke and booze and Noel's guitar.

They play a festival in Sweden which sees Noel, Liam and Bonehead smashing up a hotel bar with the guys from Primal Scream, who they’d met at T in the Park, and Richard Ashcroft, who they’ve known for years, and once again Calum’s woken up in the middle of the night and informed that they’ve been asked to leave - not just the hotel this time, but the country. He’s driven to the police station where Bonehead, Liam and Noel are being held, and has to stand with the harsh lights hurting his eyes while Alan tries to hash things out with the Swedish police, and then the three fucking delinquents come stumbling out, grinning and reeking of alcohol.

("Are you trying to get arrested in every single fucking country we visit?" Calum asks Liam, as they make their way to the car.

"No," Liam says, "but that's a fucking mega idea, that."

Shit.)

They have to film another music video in August, but since it’s for Cigarettes & Alcohol Marcus at the record label lets them bargain the video down from a full on shoot to the filming of a live gig at the Borderline in London and hiring a few pretty faces to mingle with them backstage. It’s not bad, Calum thinks, as Liam hands him a beer and grins drunkenly for the cameras. Slap a fucking black and white filter on it and it’ll look almost intentionally dingy.

A week after that, the album comes out.

Calum hadn’t really realised what album releases would entail, but apparently, it’s a lot of fucking interviews. The first few are quite exciting - they’re still not that used to interviews; a few radio shows, a few TV shows, the odd magazine - but after days on end of answering the same questions hour after hour, Calum starts joining Liam for his hourly smoke breaks, just for something to liven the mood.

They play a show in London the day the album comes out, and Calum finds himself scanning the screaming crowd for blonde hair, pale skin, sea-green eyes, a pretty smile, but Michael’s not there. Calum hadn’t really expected him to be - it’s a small venue, and apparently it’s been sold out for weeks - but it doesn’t stop him feeling disappointed all the same, having to turn to the back of the stage for a minute to collect himself. Tony shoots him a strange look over his hi-hat, but doesn’t say anything, and Calum sends up a quick prayer of thanks that it was Tony and not Noel that had noticed.

The album goes gold in three days - the fastest-selling debut album in British history - but they barely even have time to celebrate because they’re heading to Sweden again the next day and Alan tells them with an unusually stern expression that he’s had to twist a lot of arms to get them back in and they’re absolutely fucking not allowed to get drunk or high or fight anybody until they’ve been in and out of Sweden. Liam moans and bitches about it but accepts reluctantly, spending the entire journey to Sweden yawning and rubbing his eyes and making sleepy conversation until he falls asleep on Noel’s shoulder.

The show in Sweden goes off without a hitch, and they’re in Dublin the next day - their first Irish show - and the brothers go fucking mental. Calum joins in for a bit but can’t keep up; two Irish Mancunians in Dublin is far too much for his Australian stomach to handle. Belfast is no better, and the day after that they play the Haçienda in Manchester - one of the most famous clubs in their hometown - and after the three-day-binge even the Gallaghers are worn out and sleep for the majority of the two days they have off before heading to Europe and then to Japan.

Japan is fucking insane. Fans are swarming around them the minute they step off the plane, drunk off the free little bottles of booze, and the crowd sings their songs back at them louder than any English fans ever have done. Calum’s glad he’s not singing, because he gets choked up when Liam steps away from the microphone for a second during Live Forever and the crowd scream did you ever feel the pain in the morning rain as it soaks you to the bone? He sees Liam’s eyes widen, sees the way he swallows before starting the chorus, sees the way his gaze flits to Noel and they hold each other’s gazes for a split second, something that only the two of them can read in it, and his heart swells with pride and love. God, he fucking loves his job, he loves the music, he loves his band, he loves the fans, he fucking loves it all.

They’re riding off the high of Japan when they get to America again, due to play a whole host of shows throughout the rest of September until the end of October, when it all goes wrong.

They’re not made for America, Calum thinks. They gets thrown out of a radio show for swearing live on-air; they get in a fight with the bouncers at some famous club in Hollywood; and one night in LA they even get a visit from the police, who arrive with their guns drawn, because Bonehead won’t stop playing Supersonic with his amp on full volume at six in the morning. Noel cackles when he sees them and tells them to fucking go ahead, shoot the cunt, and Maggie, their poor, overworked, underpaid tour manager, rushes out in her pyjamas and bargains with the police, tries to smooth things over. Calum thinks that’ll be it, that’ll be the big story of the tour, but it’s all overshadowed when they get to the Whisky a Go Go, some famous club that they’re told repeatedly it’s an honour to be playing.

Oasis being Oasis, they’re looking for coke. Someone procures a bag of white powder at soundcheck, and Liam grabs it greedily and starts cutting it into lines as the rest of the band circle around it like vultures, and as it goes up Calum’s nose he thinks fucking hell, this feels a bit fucking different. He shrugs it off, though, and hands the rolled up dollar bill to Bonehead - maybe American coke’s just stronger.

It hits him like a fucking train. He’s buzzing with the kind of energy that he’s never had from coke before, higher than he’s ever been before, more euphoric, feels fucking unstoppable, but there’s a dirty edge to it, something gritty and nasty that he just doesn’t like. It’s too late, though, because it’s gone down, and he thinks fucking hell - well, at least it’ll wear off in about half an hour.

It doesn’t.

He’s sweating, heart pounding in his chest, vision sharp and blurry at the same time when they get on stage. Everyone else seems to be in a similar situation - Bonehead’s eyes are wide and flitting left to right, right to left, and Liam’s jittery and bouncing on his heels. Noel’s somewhere else completely - he starts playing fucking Bring It On Down when the rest of them start up with Fade Away, and he plays the solo of Supersonic during Cigarettes & Alcohol. They have to play Roll With It one-and-a-half times, because Calum’s bass amp explodes a minute in, and Liam starts shouting at the audience after a crowdsurfer knocks his mic stand over, and then starts shouting at Noel for fucking God knows what, yelling at him to fuck off, until he launches his tambourine at Noel, hitting him on the shoulder, and storms offstage as the set ends.

Calum heads off dazedly, trying to slow his pounding heart and thinking fucking hell, what the fuck was in that coke? The brothers are still yelling at each other backstage, pupils dilated and faces red, and don’t stop yelling as they’re herded into a car to get back to the hotel, are still screaming at each other as Maggie ushers them up the stairs and into their separate hotel rooms. They each shout a venomous fuck you, you fucking cunt at each other before slamming their doors, and Calum, who’s due to room with Liam that night, decides he’d rather sleep on Bonehead and Tony’s floor than brave that.

He can’t fucking sleep, though. The high just doesn’t stop. He’s so wired, feels so fucking strung out and awful, barely cognisant of what’s going on around him but hyperaware at the same time and he just wants to fucking sleep, just wants to rest. He can’t, though, and neither can Bonehead or Tony, and they just pace around the room, vibrating with energy, muttering what the fuck do they do to the coke over here, eh? every few minutes.

Time passes so fucking slowly, every minute inching by painfully, and by the time it’s morning Calum’s starting to finally, finally come down. He feels semi-human by the time the knock on their door for breakfast comes, and wrenches it open, still dressed in last night’s clothes, to find a serious-looking Maggie, a crease between her brows.

“What?” he says, because he knows, he just knows something’s happened.

“Noel’s left,” she says. Oh. Well. That’s hardly grounds for a face like that.

“Will he be back for soundcheck?” Calum asks.

“He’s gone, Calum.”

“What d’you mean, he’s gone?” Calum’s not quite getting it.

“He asked for his passport and some money,” Maggie says. “And he’s gone.” Calum stares at her. Noel can’t be gone. He might have left, sure, but he can’t have gone.

“Wha’s tha’?” Bonehead calls groggily, from across the room. He’d come down a few hours ago, managed to force himself to sleep, and he sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Noel’s gone,” Maggie repeats, a little louder. Tony turns from where he’s sat in the corner of the room, twisting his fingers this way and that, eyes wide.

“Gone where?” Bonehead asks.

“I don’t know,” Maggie says.

“What d’you mean, you don’t know?”

“He’s gone, Bonehead. Took his passport, took some money, and left.” There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“Does Liam know?” Tony asks. Maggie bites her lip, and shakes her head.

“I thought I’d tell you first.”

“Shit,” Bonehead breathes. “He’s gone? ” Maggie nods.

“Yeah,” she says. “Suitcase and all.”

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” Calum mutters, and sits down on the bed. “He’ll come back, though, won’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie admits. “He sounded pretty certain about it.”

“Why the fuck did you let him go?” Bonehead demands.

“I can’t hold him hostage, can I?” Maggie says. “He’s fucking twenty-seven years old.”

“Shit,” Tony says. “Oh, God. Shit. ”

“I’m going to tell Liam,” Maggie says, sounding a little nervous about it. She probably should be, Calum thinks distantly, staring unblinkingly at the carpet. Noel’s gone.

“I’ll come with you,” he finds himself saying, more for Liam’s sake than Maggie’s. He stands up robotically, completely on autopilot, and follows her out of the room, leaving Bonehead and Tony in shocked silence.

Liam answers his door on the first knock, already awake and showered, and his face falls when he sees it’s not Noel. Oh, God. The kid’s going to be fucking beside himself.

“Can we come in?” Maggie says, aiming for sweet. Liam’s eyes narrow.

“What’s happened?” he says. Maggie hesitates.

“Noel’s gone,” she says softly, after a moment.

“Where to?”

“He’s gone, Liam,” Calum says. The words feel strange on his lips. Noel can’t be gone, not now, not when they’re finally getting somewhere. Not without fucking saying anything to them.

“Where?”

“We don’t know,” Maggie says, still gentle, still kind, still trying to soften the blow. Liam looks about five years old, damp hair plastered to his face, eyes wide and shining with something that looks like fear, maybe, or loss, or rejection. Or maybe all of them with a sheen of anxiety.

“Fuck,” he says, but he doesn’t sound angry. “Is he going to be okay? Is he alright? Did you speak to him?”

“He just asked for his passport and some money,” Maggie says.

“But he’s okay?”

“I- he seemed okay, yeah, but-”

“Okay,” Liam says, like he’s trying to steady himself. “When’s he coming back?”

“I-” Maggie cuts herself off, and takes a deep breath. “I think he’s gone for good, Liam.”

Calum can see it, the moment it registers in Liam’s mind, sees it in the way his eyes widen and his lips part, in the panic that rises in his eyes.

“He’s not,” Liam says, like he’s trying to convince himself. “He wouldn’t fucking do that.”

“He’s gone,” Maggie says again, softer than before, and then reaches inside her coat pocket. “He left you a letter.” Liam stares down at the folded envelope in her hand, and then snatches it and shuts the door in both of their faces.

They stand there for a moment, and then Maggie turns to Calum.

“Well,” she says, like she’s bracing herself. “That could’ve gone worse.”

“Yeah,” Calum says vaguely, still staring at the door.

It couldn’t be worse, though.

-------

Alan tells them not to worry, for the first few days. Noel’s disappeared before, and he’s quit before, and he always comes back.

So they try not to worry. Bonehead starts drinking at eleven in the morning, and Calum tries not to worry. Tony and Maggie have hushed conversations under their breath, and Calum tries not to worry. Liam doesn’t leave his room, and Calum tries not to worry.

They get a fucking bollocking about the gig from Alan, from Marcus, from fucking Maggie, even, but it feels hollow because they all know they’re not going to get the only bollocking that really matters - the one from Noel. They sit there silently while Alan rages about how embarrassing it was, while Marcus runs through numbers and statistics about sales and how they’re going to be affected, while Maggie gives them disappointed looks and says really, snorting meth hours before a concert, what were you thinking?

Yeah. They’d snorted fucking meth. Some absolute fucking idiot - William John Paul Gallagher - had mistaken meth for coke. It’s why they were absolutely out of their fucking minds, why Calum hadn’t been able to sleep that night, and why Liam and Noel’s argument had been more ferocious than usual. It might also explain why all of this feels even more overwhelming than usual, why the comedown feels like it’s just not going away, why whenever Calum walks past Noel’s empty hotel room he feels like he’s suffocating.

By the third day, even Calum’s at a loss. He’s been getting out of the hotel, going for long walks and getting lost and having to ask for directions to get back, standing by the sea and breathing in the salty air to try and clear his mind. He’s worried about Noel, more than anything - Noel doesn’t usually leave without saying anything, without getting the last word in, which is what makes this feel all the more real, like this is the time it’s going to stick.

Although, Calum thinks, maybe Noel did get the last word. He’d written a letter to Liam, after all; maybe he’d said something in there about where he was going, what he was doing, something that makes this whole situation make any sort of sense. Maybe Liam knows something the rest of them don’t.

He knocks on Liam’s door after he doesn’t show up for lunch again, and Liam answers, looking a little dishevelled, and a lot drunk.

“What?” he says dully.

“What did the letter say?” Calum asks. Liam stares at him for a minute, and then opens the door enough to let Calum walk in.

The room’s a fucking tip. Liam’s clothes are strewn all over the floor - which, granted, isn’t exactly new - and Calum can see white powder residue on the coffee table, the desk, even the fucking bedside table. Next to the smudges of powder on the bedside table is the letter Noel had left, rolled up tightly, but creased all over. Liam’s been reading it, using it to snort drugs, smoothing it out and reading it again, rinse and repeat.

Calum sighs, and sits down on the chair next to Liam’s bed, throwing him a doleful look. Noel’s Calum’s best friend, sure, and Calum’s not got a clue what to do without him, but he’s Liam’s brother. His flesh and blood, the boy who held Liam’s hand while he crossed the road, who nursed him through his first black eye, who writes songs with lyrics like please, brother, let it be, after a fight. Liam's never not had Noel looking out for him - through exasperation and curses and fists connecting with jaws, but there nonetheless. Liam hasn’t got a chance without Noel.

Liam throws himself down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, and Calum puts his hand on Liam’s shin, fingers resting lightly against rough denim. I’m here, he’s trying to say, but it feels hollow to the both of them, because he’s not Noel.

“What did he say?” Calum asks again. Liam stares up at the ceiling, blinks once, and then opens his mouth.

“He told me he loved me,” he says. Calum’s stomach twists. That’s not a good thing, not from Noel. He’d never say that, least of all to Liam, unless what he was trying to say was goodbye.

“Oh,” Calum says, and tries not to let the panic seep into his voice. “Did he say where he was going?” Liam shakes his head.

“Just a bunch of shite about how can we be brothers anymore, blah blah blah,” he says, voice rising mockingly on Noel’s words. Anger works for Liam, especially where Noel’s concerned. It’s the only way he knows how to feel about Noel. “Can’t do this anymore, it’s not me it’s you, all that breakup bullshit.”

“What about your mum?” Calum says, even though he knows the answer to that, because Alan’s been calling Peggy pretty much every hour. Liam shakes his head.

“She’s fucking beside herself,” he says, fury licking at the edges of his tone. “I get doing it to me, up and leaving like that, because that’s us, innit, but to mam? I’ll fucking kill the prick myself if I ever see him again.” He doesn’t mean it, but Calum lets him pretend that they both believe it.

“You should eat,” Calum says, after a moment of silence.

“Probably,” Liam says, to the ceiling. He blinks up at it one more time, and then rolls onto his side.

“He’s a fucking cunt,” he announces, but he doesn’t sound convinced, and his voice wavers a little. Calum sighs and reaches his hand out, and Liam extends his own to lace his fingers with Calum’s, blinking at him with glassy, tired eyes.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, and his voice is definitely wobbly now. “I didn’t mean to push him away. I love him.”

“I know,” Calum says, and squeezes Liam’s hand in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “He knows, too.”

“I wouldn’t’ve said it if I knew,” Liam says, swallowing hard. “I wouldn’t’ve been such a cunt.”

“Yeah, you would’ve,” Calum says, but it’s not unkind. “That’s how you two are.”

“Cain and Abel.”

“Doesn’t Cain kill Abel?”

“Isn’t Noel killing me?” Calum’s not really sure what to say to that. He supposes, in a way, Liam’s right. One of them’s got to fall off the tightrope at some point, and Liam’s never going to push Noel. And Liam would be all too happy to fall off, if it were for Noel.

“He needs you,” he says eventually. “He’s always needed you.”

“Does he fuck,” Liam says flatly.

“He’d never let anyone but you sing his songs,” Calum says. “That’s the highest praise you can get from Noel.” Liam’s silent for a moment, because he knows Calum’s right, and then he sighs again, loud and heavy.

“I’m hungry,” he says, and Calum closes his eyes in relief. "I want fish and chips."

“Order room service,” Calum suggests. Liam blinks at him.

"Do they do fish and chips?"

"They will if you offer them enough money." Liam hums, like he's thinking about it.

“Will you stay?” he asks lowly. Calum hesitates, and then nods.

“‘Course I will,” he says, and gives Liam’s hand another squeeze. Liam smiles at him, small but genuine.

“Love you,” he says. Calum smiles back, soft and fond.

“Love you too,” he says.

“Enough to find me good fish and chips in LA?” Liam says hopefully, and Calum laughs.

“Nowhere near enough for that,” he says, and Liam sighs dramatically, but he’s smiling too, which is the best Calum can hope for.

-------

A few hours later, while searching for a pack of cigarettes, Calum comes across the spare room key to Noel’s room that Noel had pressed in his hand wordlessly on their first night. Calum hadn’t really been sure what to make of it - was it an invitation for late-night songwriting, or the first acknowledgement of that night a few years ago either of them have ever made? - but it hadn’t even mattered, because Noel had left so soon anyway.

He’s heading to the room before he’s even really thought about it, unlocking the door and taking in the too-empty, too-clean room. The bed’s been perfectly made by the staff, nothing like the slapdash job Noel usually does, and there’s no suitcase with clothes spilling out of it kicked in the corner of the room, no shoes strewn across the floor as Noel had kicked them off on his way to the bed. It’s almost overwhelming, to know that this room housed the decision that could end Calum’s career, and that this is the last connection he could ever have to Noel. It feels almost suffocating, like the walls are too big and too white for Calum, and he finds himself sitting down on the bed and reaching for the phone before he’s really thought through what he’s doing.

He’d memorised the number, of course. He hadn’t really meant to; he’d just read the little scrap of paper so often that it had stuck. He barely even hesitates as he dials, chest so heavy with the crushing weight of the empty room, of the silence Noel's left in his wake.

The phone rings four times and Calum doesn’t even realise his fist is clenched until there’s a click and a shuffling sound, and his fingers relax.

“Hello?” Michael sounds casual, relaxed, a little sleepy. Calum clutches the receiver to his ear. “Hello?” Michael repeats.

“Michael.” He hears a sharp intake of breath.

“Calum?” Michael says. “Aren’t you in America?”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking hell. You’d better make this quick, then.” He doesn’t hang up, though, which is something. Calum just listens to him breathing for a minute, not really sure what he actually wants to say, or if he wants to say anything at all.

“Calum?” Michael says, jolting him back to reality.

“Noel’s gone,” Calum says.

“What d’you mean, he’s gone? Where?”

“Dunno.” There’s a pause.

“You lost your songwriter?”

“He’s gone. Left.” Michael inhales deeply.

“Where? Where’d he go?”

“We don’t know.” Michael exhales.

“Oh, Calum,” he says, and he sounds sorry and sad. Calum’s eyes flutter shut, trying to soak in the sound of his voice.

“I-” Calum cuts himself off, because he doesn’t actually know what he’s trying to say.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, and he sounds like he means it.

“Are you?” Calum can’t help but ask, a little bitterly. If Michael rang him and said Damon had left Blur, Calum would probably feel honour-bound to tell Noel. Or, he wouldn’t, now. Fuck.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Michael says, tone a little hard. Calum puts his head in his hands.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“Why did you call me if you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Calum says again, hearing the hopelessness in his own voice. “I just- I don’t know.” Michael sighs.

“How’s Liam taking it?” he says. He’s trying, Calum can tell. He’s trying, for Calum’s sake.

“Fucking terribly,” Calum admits. “Noel wrote him a letter.”

“A letter?”

“Yeah. A- a fucking, like, goodbye note, I don’t know. He’s a mess.”

“Jesus.” Michael hesitates for a moment, and then adds: “What happened?”

“Him and Liam had a fight,” Calum says. “And we played a fucking awful gig in LA.”

“Don’t they fight all the time?”

“Yeah.”

“Why this time, then?” Calum shrugs.

“We did meth,” he says.

“You- you did meth? ” Michael sounds horrified. “ Calum, fucking-”

“We thought it was coke,” Calum says.

“How the fuck- ”

“I don’t fucking know, Liam’s a fucking idiot,” Calum says, even though he’d put the stuff up his nose too.

“Fucking hell,” Michael breathes. “Alright. Jesus. And Noel just- just, what, took off?”

“Yeah,” Calum says, gut twisting at the words. “Took his passport and some money and left.”

“Passport?” Michael says. “Did he go home?”

“No.” There’s a pause.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Calum agrees, and it sounds listless, but he means it with every fibre of his fucking being.

“I’m sorry, Calum,” Michael says softly. Calum blinks at the wall.

“Yeah,” he says again. “Thanks.” Michael sighs.

“What are you going to do now?” he says.

“I have no fucking idea,” Calum says, the words acrid in his mouth. What the fuck are they going to do now? None of the rest of them can fucking write, can they? Not like Noel, at least.

“Are you going to finish the tour?”

“I don’t know, Michael,” Calum says. All the questions are making his head hurt. He hasn’t even thought that far ahead, hasn’t really considered anything beyond where the fuck is Noel, I hope Noel’s alright, I’m going to fucking kill Noel. He doesn’t even know if they’d be allowed to play Noel’s songs - there’s got to be some kind of legal bullshit about royalties involved, hasn’t there? God, Noel’s always handled that stuff. Calum’s never read a fucking contract in his life, just signed where Noel told him to sign. Noel had been the one to sort out their management, to negotiate the record deal, to get the contracts for the tours. Who the fuck are Oasis without him?

“Hey,” Michael says gently. “It’ll be alright.”

“Will it?”

“Yeah.” Michael has nothing to back his words up, no events or facts he can point to and say see, it’ll be fine, but somehow, Calum believes him. Maybe because he wants to believe him, with every scrap of his soul, or maybe just because it’s Michael.

“Thanks,” Calum says, and it comes out tired. Michael just hums in response, and they lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable, though, not like the last time Michael had been at the other end of a phone line. They’re existing in tandem, and it feels like something slotting into a place that Calum didn’t know was empty.

“I can’t believe you did meth ,” Michael says after a while, in disbelief, and Calum can’t help the way his lips hitch up in a faint smile.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says.

“Y’know, the tabloids aren’t wrong about you,” Michael says, and there’s a smile in his voice too. He’s teasing Calum. “Always calling you a bunch of hooligans. Taking meth because you think it’s coke, fucking hell.”

Calum huffs out a laugh, fingers curling around the receiver as his heart flips in his chest. Michael reads about him in the papers.

“That’s just Liam,” he says.

“So you weren’t deported from Sweden?”

“Well-”

“Exactly,” Michael says, and Calum can hear him grinning.

“That was because of Liam,” Calum says. He pauses, and then adds: “And Noel. And Bonehead.” Michael laughs, soft and melodic, and for one split, giddy second Calum thinks fuck, I want to spend the rest of my life hearing you laugh. He’s sure he doesn’t mean it, though. It’s probably the fucking days-long comedown, and the fact he’s feeling Noel’s absence like nothing else. It's the first time he's heard someone laugh since Noel left, after all.

“I can’t believe that’s what I’m up against,” Michael says, and it’s still soft and amused, but Calum can hear the slight tinge of sadness to it.

“Yeah,” Calum says, smile fading. “That’s your competition.” Michael exhales heavily, and Calum thinks they might be thinking the same thing. How did we go from us to competition?

“Why did you call me?” Michael asks. Calum’s fingers twitch against the phone.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just- I don’t know.” He hesitates, and then adds: “Why did you call me? After Top of the Pops, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Michael says. He’d said the same thing two months ago. But, two months ago he hadn’t added what he does this time: “D’you really want to do this now?”

“Do what?” Calum says.

“Talk about this. Us. Now.” Calum swallows.

“No,” he says. He never wants to talk about it. He wants to walk the edge of this precipice forever, doesn’t ever want Michael to say c’mon, let’s jump, because he doesn’t know what he’ll find at the bottom. He doesn’t know whether Michael’s just biding his time, waiting until they can have their big what happened to us? talk to say everything that he’s thought for the past five years, get it all off his chest, and then fuck off and leave. He’d be well within his rights to, Calum thinks, but that doesn’t stop the mere thought of it from making his heart ache.

“Okay,” Michael says. “But we-” he’s interrupted by Calum and Liam’s door slamming open. Calum starts in surprise, phone slipping out of his fingers, and whips around to see Bonehead standing in the doorway.

“We’ve found him,” Bonehead says breathlessly. “He’s in San Diego.”

“You’ve found him?” Calum repeats. “What? How?”

“Maggie got his phone bills and traced all the numbers,” Bonehead says. “Found one in San Diego. Remember that girl, whatsherface, Leah? Dunno, doesn’t matter, we’ve found him. ”

“And?” Calum says, heart in his mouth. “Did you talk to him? Is he okay? Is he coming back?”

“Yeah,” Bonehead says, grinning widely. “He’s coming back.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Calum mutters, stomach somersaulting. “Does Liam know?” Bonehead’s smile falters.

“Yeah,” he says. Oh. Noel’s going to have fucking hell to pay.

“Oh,” Calum says. Bonehead looks at him for a moment, both of them thinking the same thing - there’s going to be fucking fireworks - and then he grins again.

“Well,” he says, “at least we’ve got our fucking songwriter back, eh?”

“Yeah,” Calum says, and laughs, a little lightheaded. Fucking hell. Noel’s coming back.

“Bonehead!” he hears someone yell - Liam, he thinks - and Bonehead sticks his head back out of the door.

“Aye?”

“...go out...fish and chips...you ask Calum?” is all he can make out. Bonehead casts a glance over at Calum.

“Fancy going out for tea?” he says. “Liam reckons he’s found a chippy.” Calum raises his eyebrows. Fucking hell. Might as well have one last supper before Noel gets back and all hell breaks loose.

“Alright,” he says, and gets up to leave, making the phone clatter to the floor. He picks it up hastily, and Bonehead frowns at him.

“Who’ve you been talking to?” he says. Calum clutches the receiver to his chest.

“No one,” he says. “Was going to ring my mum.” Bonehead’s face doesn’t clear, and his eyes narrow, like he’s trying to work something out. Shit, it’s fucking three in the morning in England, isn’t it? Fuck.

“Bonehead!” Calum hears Liam yell again, sounding more aggravated this time, and Bonehead sighs in exasperation and turns back around.

“Fucking hell, who the fuck are you, my missus?” Bonehead yells back. “I”m fucking coming, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“I’ll just-” Calum motions at the bed vaguely, hoping it’ll come across like he’s got some final organising to do - fucking make the already-pristine bed, or something, anything to make Bonehead leave so he can hang up on Michael - and Bonehead just nods, already halfway out of the door and on his way to Liam.

Calum brings the receiver back up to his ear, ready to make some excuse to Michael, but all he hears is a dial tone.

Michael’s already gone.

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chapter five

#malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sos slash #god do you know how long it takes to format fic on ao3 because of how i write it in google docs #a solid 15 minutes of deleting line breaks #anyway i hope everyone is well i have been busy but i will be back on my bullshit #imminently might i add #might even write some more of soulmate au but don't hold me to that #odds on i put some cheeky britpop references in #everyone will hate me but you know what! its my fic! i can make them hear dlbia in costa if i want!#anyway now that i'm safely at least 8 tags down i can mention noel gallagher #i can't even tell you how much i fancy this man its actually uncouth #like yall thought richard madden was bad this is richard madden but x834273472349234 #and its NOEL FUCKING GALLAGHER #can my brain make a SINGLE good decision please i'm BEGGING you #this is going to be my quarantine memory #like in years to come when people are like what did you do during quarantine!#oh just thirsted over a 53 year old man wbu :)#anyway off topic i have missed being here #im signing off for the night now but i'll be back tomorrow #please leave inane shit in my inbox and especially comments about noel gallagher #although if i see ONE submission of that picture of his feet this blog is getting deleted

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years ago

Text

The Sins We Wear

Crowley and Aziraphale are in love. Tremendously in love. And that love deserves to be expressed, be explored, in all ways possible that they can conceive. The biggest fear in both their minds is, if they do this, will Aziraphale fall? ... But that's not the fear that stops Crowley's hand when the time comes. (2989 words)

(AO3)

Electricity gathers inside Aziraphale’s shop, building with every shot of Devil’s Cut he pours down his throat. It heralds a storm a long time coming, with warning signs and red flags crackling through his head. But every time he comes across one, he fills his shot glass and passes it by. As soon as his glass is empty again, Crowley shakes the bottle his way.

“Top you up, sergeant?”

“I--I don’t know.” Aziraphale considers his glass for less than a second before holding it out for a refill. “I’m afraid if I have too much more, I might forget myself entirely.”

“To be honest, that’s what I’m hoping for,” Crowley admits, throwing back his own shot, then abandoning his glass and the bottle to sit beside his friend.

“Oh?” Aziraphale laughs nervously. “Why’s that?”

“Because, you might say, I’m curious about a few things. There’re some questions I’d like to ask, but I think you might be too skittish sober to give me a proper answer.”

“And what questions are those?” Aziraphale sets his undrunk whiskey down on a nearby table. He’s maybe had a drink too many, but he feels it’s just enough. He needed to be a little looser than he was when they started to brave this storm. He needed to give himself permission to stop thinking too much.

But now he finds himself sobering up, the bottle on the table slowly filling as he pushes the alcohol out of his system.

Crowley does, too, privately coming to a similar conclusion.

If he does what’s he’s been planning drunk, or Aziraphale acquiesces drunk, it’s not going to mean a thing. In fact, it’ll turn wrong. Evil. Which might earn him a few points downstairs, but would ruin his relationship up here.

“I was just wondering - what would you say if I did this?” Crowley rolls onto his hip and leans in, kissing Aziraphale on the cheek. It’s quick and light, barely more than a glorified peck, but Aziraphale sucks in a sharp breath all the same.

“Oh! Well, I think I would say … thank you?” Aziraphale’s eyes flutter shut, his self-esteem speared by his own naiveté. But Crowley adores it. He adores Aziraphale’s innocence in pretty much everything from his themed crossword puzzles to the apps on his cell phone. He has no idea what most of them do, but he refuses to remove them in case they become useful to him one of these days.

To the lover and the demon, consummating this relationship has the potential to be decadent.

“And what if I did this?”

Crowley reaches across his body and puts a hand to the angel’s other cheek, kisses his neck from the thrumming pulse below his jaw to the collar of his dress shirt.

“Oh …” Aziraphale’s hands clamp down on the cushion beneath him, grabbing the material and anchoring himself to it. “Oh, I … um …” Crowley loosens Aziraphale’s tie and unbuttons the first button of his shirt to reveal a section of skin usually hidden - the junction of his neck and his shoulder. He undoes more buttons until he can loosen the collar enough to fit his mouth over that skin. Aziraphale shivers when he does, shivers when he swipes his tongue over it and bites down gently.

The slip of a moan that escapes his lips smells like whiskey and rings in Crowley’s ears like the bells of heaven.

Crowley climbs over the angel’s legs and settles himself in Aziraphale’s lap, kneeling on either side so as not to make Aziraphale uncomfortable.

“Is this all right with you, angel?” he whispers, toying with the next button on Aziraphale’s shirt but not moving an inch to undo it. “Are you okay if I keep going? Or do you want me to stop?”

“I …” Aziraphale’s eyes find Crowley’s lips, a touch too flustered to meet his gaze. Those yellow serpent eyes staring down at him are full of desire, lust, and sin. And as much as he loves Crowley, as much as he wants him, he’s never had those temptations aimed at him in such full force before. It makes him feel weak and nervous, strong and powerful, all at the same time. But he can’t fear Crowley and be with him. He’s already resolved inside himself that doing this, that making love even to a demon, won’t cause him to fall, as long as it truly is making love. Angels are love. As a Principality, Aziraphale’s whole existence hinges on him inspiring love in others. If he is love, if he inspires love, he should be allowed to partake in love.

It made perfect sense to him.

It took longer to convince Crowley than it did for Aziraphale to convince himself.

So, he needs to be a willing participant in this or not at all.

After a beat, his eyes travel up Crowley’s face. He holds his breath, finding it difficult to respond with his body so close, his smell all around him, his heat seeping through his clothes and his skin until he feels like he might burst into flames from the inside. The longer the silence drags, Crowley’s cocky grin starts to fade. He backs slowly away, looking more than hurt. Looking disgusted with himself, and that forces Aziraphale to react. He reaches out and grabs for any part of his demon, his hand latching on to his hip and clutching tight.

“No! Please, d-don’t go. D-don’t stop. I … I … don’t know what to do right now. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never …”

Crowley’s grin returns, fonder and a bit more bashful than before. “You don’t have to do anything,” he whispers, moving back into place on his angel’s lap, lips brushing Aziraphale’s neck. “Just sit back and enjoy how I make you feel. All right?”

Aziraphale nods, his voice going conspicuously missing when Crowley’s lips touch his skin.

Crowley feels his angel swallow hard, attempting to shove down every fear in his head and banish it to his feet.

It’s exciting.

Crowley’s entire existence on this planet has been spent coercing, manipulating, tempting, corrupting. But Aziraphale, technically his adversary, could not be swayed from his course. When they met, bedding this angel was the last thing on his mind but, as a demon, it would have been a triumph. 6000 years they spent playing off one another, conspiring with each other.

Fraternizing.

But look at them now. Thwart one Armageddon, and here he is, serpent of Paradise, corrupting the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, not because he’s been commanded to.

But because they’re in love.

Crowley’s hands begin to travel, foregoing the light massage of his angel’s cheeks, gently stroking down his neck, nails running over his chest to his soft belly, further down to the waist of his slacks. He sighs softly against Aziraphale’s skin and behind the angel’s eyes aimed upward, the stars align.

“Oh, G--god--“ he moans.

“Shhh. God’s not here, angel. But I am. Say my name, if you don’t mind.”

“B--but … God’s everywhere.”

“Not if you don’t want me to leave off and take a cold shower she’s not.”

Aziraphale gulps. “Qu--quite right. Not here. Not at all. Who is this God person of whom you speak of …?”

Crowley returns to the light stroking of Aziraphale’s sensitive flesh, teasing at the insinuation that he’s about to undo the button and fly to his slacks, but then returning to other areas already exposed. He’d said Aziraphale needn’t do anything, but he feels like a heel sitting there, breathing heavily like a bass stranded on the shore. If this is the start of taking their relationship in a new direction, then he wants to participate, not simply let it wash over him like the rising tide. With trembling hands, he reaches for the buttons to Crowley’s shirt. He opens them slowly, careful not to pull the fabric. His fingertips brush Crowley’s smooth skin, and his kisses stutter.

“Oh, angel,” he whispers. “Yes. Whatever you’re doing, the answer is yes …”

Those words make Aziraphale bolder, more confident. He undoes more buttons, pushing fabric aside. Crowley responds by cradling the back of his head and kissing his neck harder, sucking and biting in equal measure until Aziraphale feels his demon’s lips everywhere at once, straight down to his toes. Aziraphale rolls his head to the side to give Crowley room to work with, rescuing his tie and stowing it off to the side so it doesn’t get too wrinkled. The change in position gives Aziraphale a much better view of Crowley’s exposed neck and part of his chest.

And in that view, the angel spots something he’s never seen before.

He’s never rightly seen Crowley shirtless before. All he wears are long sleeves and long trousers – in black, of course. Aziraphale never questioned it. He thought it was a demon thing and besides, Aziraphale doesn’t fancy short sleeves or short trousers himself, so they have that in common. Crowley does have a stable of shirts that reveal a V-shaped portion of his chest to about mid-sternum. But on this area of skin, his collarbone closer to his shoulder that’s never exposed, there’s a dark mark – longer than the snake on his face. A mark that looks like a handful of words scrawled in black pen.

The angel squints to get a closer look.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“What’s this on your collarbone?”

“Hmmm?”

“I thought it was your mark, but it looks like a name.”

Crowley’s lips, his hands, his body goes rigid, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to notice.

“Whose name is this? Heather … Manson-Pride?”

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Crowley straightens, grabs the opened halves of his shirt and holds them closed, on the beveled edge of hyperventilating. He climbs backwards off Aziraphale’s lap, fumbling to close the buttons, nearly yanking them off in the process.

He’d forgotten. How could he have forgotten!? How the fuck could this have slipped his fucking mind!?

For one, because he’d stopped looking at his body in the mirror about a thousand or so years ago. There were so many of them – too many of them. They had become too hard to ignore. And he wanted to ignore them. Now that he had his angel, he wanted to forget they were there.

He wanted to turn back time, start again from the beginning.

Wash the stains away.

A ridiculous, impossible, stupid, and unattainable goal, he knows, because he’s a demon. He did what demons do. Turning back time wouldn’t change that.

There’s no fixing this.

“Crowley? Are you all right? What … what happened?” Aziraphale sits up and does the same, pulling his shirt ends together and hugging himself tight to keep them closed. The expression on his face is one of concern … and embarrassment. An embarrassment so deep, it’s painted brick red splotches on the pale skin of his angel’s cheeks. Crowley didn’t want that for Aziraphale. Not now, of all times. Not when he’s risking so damned much to be with him. But Crowley needs to take a step back and decide how he’s going to deal with this.

“I can’t … I can’t tell you yet.” Crowley inches towards the door. In the depths of Aziraphale’s sky blue eyes, he sees his angel’s heart shatter. “I will! I swear I will! But I can’t ... I can’t do this right now.”

“What’s wrong? Is it … is it me?”

Guilt floods Crowley’s heart at the look of his angel, sitting primly on the sofa, back straight, confused and hurt by a rejection Crowley had no right to lob at him, not when he had started this.

“No, it’s not you, love,” Crowley says softly. “I just … I need to go. But only for now. I need a little time before I … before we …”

Aziraphale puts up a hand to stop Crowley’s rambling. “It’s okay. I understand.”

But he doesn’t understand. He’s lying. The Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate is lying. He’s trying to understand why the demon he’s finally given his heart to after 6000 years is rushing out the door like a married man making the biggest mistake of his life. He’s hurt and humiliated, and he’s doing his best to save face.

Worse – he’s doing his best to make Crowley feel better about leaving him in the dark.

Crowley reaches the door and opens it, taking one last look at his angel. He realizes as he backs out the door that he might be throwing away an opportunity he won’t be able to earn again for another 6000 years, but he doesn’t know what the right thing is.

Occupational hazard maybe.

Or maybe he’s just a tremendous knob.

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale,” he says, and shuts the door behind him.

Out on the empty sidewalk, he races to his car parked across the street. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder to see if Aziraphale is watching. He can’t bring himself to. He climbs inside and turns the engine over, but he doesn’t put the car into gear. He lets it idle, the radio picking up where it left off over an hour before when Crowley first got here, so sure of what he’d wanted he didn’t switch the radio off before he turned off the car. He puts his hands on the steering wheel, listening to the song playing, paying attention to the words for the first time since he’d glossed over them on his way here.

You will remember When this is blown over And everything's all by the way When I grow older I will be there at your side To remind you how I still love you I still love you

He reaches out and changes the channel, searching for something a little more upbeat to start him on his way, but he ends up with more of the same.

There's no chance for us. It's all decided for us. This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us. Who wants to live forever? Who wants to live forever? Who dares to love forever When love must die?

If his Bentley has a mind of its own, which he’s often suspected it does, its sense of theatrical timing is truly unmatched.

“Shit, shit, motherfucking, shit, shit, shit!”

He slaps himself on the forehead, hands grabbing chunks of hair and pulling because he needs pain to focus, needs it to remind himself that he’s not the only one involved here. He’s not the only one that matters. In fact, this bullshit he’s pressed about? It couldn’t matter less.

Him fornicating with an angel does come with risks, but it also has the potential to improve his stock ten-fold. It wouldn’t matter why he’d corrupted an angel. He’d have corrupted an angel! For the folks downstairs, that would be considered a huge win.

If Aziraphale’s notions about love are wrong, making love to a demon could destroy him.

Yup. Tremendous knob. That’s what Crowley is.

Either way, what the fuck is he doing!?

He reaches for the gear shift but his hand moves away. He tries it again, but it happens again, like the damned thing’s repelling him.

That’s the power of guilt for you.

Or he’s right - sentient car.

But he can’t do this, not to Aziraphale. He deserves to know what’s up, and not in a week, not at a time more convenient for Crowley.

He needs to know now, if he’s willing to listen.

Crowley turns off the engine. He climbs back out of his car, not bothering with the buttons of his shirt. He leaves the ends hanging. He no longer cares. If he’s going to come clean, he can’t let it matter any longer.

He walks up to Aziraphale’s door. In the time he’s been gone, Aziraphale has turned the lights off, probably to give the appearance that he’s gone to bed. But Crowley can feel him beyond the door, drinking in the dark.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Aziraphale!”

He waits, but he’s met with silence. He feels a long, drawn-out sigh from inside that swirls inside his ribcage, lassos his bones, and pulls tight.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Aziraphale!”

Go away, Crowley.

It’s not spoken, but he hears it all the same.

It doesn’t hit his ears.

It hits his heart.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Aziraphale! Please! I’m so sorry! Let me in! I need to talk to you!”

Another sigh, but this time it’s accompanied by the padding of feet coming towards him. The locks on the door unlatch and the doorknob clicks. Aziraphale appears, completely put back together – shirt buttoned, hair combed, tie straight and in place.

His face bereft of that beautiful aroused flush he’d worn not minutes before.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale clears his throat, speaking with all the enthusiasm of greeting an Amway solicitor. “What’s wrong? I thought you needed some time to think.”

“No, I don’t need time. I need you,” he says, longing to touch his angel, but the crack in the door is too narrow for him to reach through.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so. But before we do anything, I need to show you something first.”

Aziraphale doesn’t move from his spot, doesn’t open the door, and Crowley deflates, close to dropping on his knees and begging.

“Aziraphale, please? I love you. And I want to make this right by you. I just need you to hear me out.”

“Crowley, I’m done for the night. I …”

“Five minutes?” he pleads. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

“Five minutes?” Aziraphale sounds exhausted so he’ll probably hold him to it, down to the second. But if he’s willing to listen, Crowley will take it.

“Yes. Five minutes.”

Aziraphale nods. “Five minutes.” He steps to the side, opening the door wider for the demon to enter and then locking it behind him.

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes

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death---dealer · 6 years ago

Note

can you do roger with the relationship meme?

Oh my gosh this ended up a lot longer than I intended. I hope you guys like it!

Who initiated the relationship? (Who asked who out, how they did it, etc).

That cheeky man, Roger, is the one to initiate the relationship and got the ball rolling. Though, it had started off very casual, you were a friend of John’s coming to see them perform a local gig and the blond drummer caught your eye.

You felt nervous. Not that normal heart beating wildly sort of nerves, more of the ‘oh my god, my hands are so sweaty and there are a lot of people here. More than I thought’ sort of nerves. But, this was one of the first gigs for your friend, John, in a new band and you had promised to come and support him. Clutching your drink close to your chest, you took a glance over at the crowd. There were people from anywhere and everywhere here, just to show their support for the band. Something like pride swelled in your chest. You were best friends with the bassist of the band all of these people were here to enjoy. The lights suddenly dimmed; the show was about to start. With a wide smile and your utmost attention, you looked at the stage and found your gaze locked with John’s for a moment, a smile beaming onto his cheeks at the sight of you in the very front row.

But, with a rush of sound, your eyes fell to the drummer who you had been told was always the ‘heartbeat’ of the band. It was hard to see him through the haze of cigarette smoke in the room and passed the cymbals blocking some parts of his face, but, from the glimpses of doe like eyes, hooded with the ecstasy of just playing his instrument of choice, the little bounce he did on his seat while he tapped out a beat, the seemingly bush of blond hair that encapsulated around his head being set off by the stage lights and making him look angelic… He was fun to watch. He was more than fun to watch, in fact. He was thrilling, exhilarating and brought his own sort of energy to the music.

Once the show was over, you found yourself perched on the stage with John standing in front of you, now leaning in to kiss your cheek in a typical Deaky greeting. He was sweaty and smelled salty, but you accepted the friendly affection with open arms, resting your hands on his biceps for a moment. “I’m so glad you were able to come,” He smiled brightly at you, taking his bass of his shoulders and resting it to the side. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the guys. This is (Name)!” He said loud enough for the others to hear while gesturing to you lightly, “This is Freddie, our lead singer.”

You grinned at the sharp young man in front of you. His jawline could cut the strongest of diamonds, you thought as he leaned forward and gave you a kiss to your cheek. “Always a pleasure to meet Deaky’s other friends. Well, if he had any.” You laughed at that. John continued.

“Brian, the guitarist.” Tall, dark and handsome, your train of thoughts continued as you shook hands with Brian. He seemed to be the most down-to-earth and gentle of the bunch.

“And this,” John gestured to the blond at the drumset, sitting there and fiddling with one of his cymbals. “Is Roger. And if he looked up from his drum set long enough, he might actually be willing to greet you.”

“Oh, haha.” Roger said sarcastically, twirling a drumstick in his hand. He finally looked up from what he was doing and caught eyes with you. The was a spark of electricity or at least that’s how you described it when your eyes locked. “Oh, Deaky didn’t tell me you were so pretty.”

“She’ll out-beat you in a pretty contest any day, Rog.” Brian said playfully, before turning to you, “he thinks he is the most precious thing in the world. Be careful, that flirting will give you a headache. I know it does when I have to hear it.”

He stood up and circled the drumset so he was standing in front of you now. Roger was taller than you had thought as you glanced up at him with curious eyes. He was still holding his drumsticks, a cheeky smirk riding onto his beautiful features. It rounded the corners of his lips and his eyes, a full face expression. “It’s not that bad.”

John groaned and made one of his faces, as if to say ‘did you really just say that?’

“What’s the point of making it nice and simple? I am a man of taste, I like to embellish a little bit unlike you uncultured men.” He held out his arms in defense to the others who just laughed, murmuring about Roger’s ‘lack of taste, rather.’. Clearing his throat, he looked at you and smiled charmingly. If he was nervous, he wasn’t showing it at all. Confidence ran through his entire body like a circuit. “I suppose I could try being straight to the point. I’ve never tried before. Let’s hope it works. The guys and I were going to the pub down the street. Would you like to come as my date?”

“I thought it was just going to be us!” Brian said.

“Oh, Brian.” John said and rubbed his face.

“Do you want Roger to be angry?” Freddie chimed in, “Because denying him the opportunity to have sex tonight with (Name) is a sure fire way to make him pissed and he’s broken enough drumsticks as it is.”

“Will you all please just shut up and stop embarrassing me!?” Roger groaned and put a hand to his forehead.

Who makes Mixtapes for their significant other?

You tend to make mixtapes for Roger with really cheesy love songs before he goes on tour, and while he denies ever listening to those sorts of songs, he finds himself clinging to them when he’s out on tour with Queen because they remind him of you. He probably snuggles up in his bed at a hotel, talking to you on the phone with your mixtape playing gently in the background.

And you know he listens to them because Brian has joked around and has told you to pick less romantic songs next time.

Who kissed who first?

Roger kissed you first.

“It’s like this…” Roger said, leaning forward in his chair to the point that you were certain he was going to fall flat on his face in a drunken state. You helped, raising a hand up and pressing it to his chest where you felt his heart racing under the thing fabric of his t-shirt. He was dazed, red faced from the few beers that he had so easily chugged down, licking his lips when he felt your hands on his body as he continued and tapped a beat out on the side of the bar the two of you were so tenderly perched at. You watched his fingers move skillfully, a laugh finally tumbling from your lips as he accompanied his makeshift drumming with a small ‘rat-a-tata’ noise. You had meet a few times before, mainly with the rest of the band hovering but this evening was different. You had come to the bar alone with Roger while the rest of the guys opted to go to the flat and drink there. You were thankful, wanting some sort of privacy with the drummer you so delectably fancied.

“You’re really talented.” You whispered and shifted towards him in your seat with a rather soft grin. He swallowed and looked straight at you, unsure if he was getting mixed signals from drinking too much too fast or if you were actually hitting on him. For playing as confident as he did, he was afraid of moving forward with you due to the fact that you were such good friends with John and that Roger was considered to be quite a lady killer.

“I know I am.” He said cockily, raising his eyebrows playfully and moving towards you as you rested your elbow on the bar next to you, the lights above almost giving you an angelic glow. “You should see how I bang in bed.”

“Why don’t you show me first hand?” You teased back, that response being one of the things that he didn’t expect you to say off the bat. He seemed stunned at that, sitting back for a second and picking up his beer. He looked straight at you though, his blue eyes shining happily as he tilted his head back and chugged the last bit of his drink, maintaining eye contact the entire time. You found yourself fixated on the way his adams apple bobbed as he swigged the last bit of beer, resting the glass back down with a grin. Stumbling forward a small bit, Roger grasped the side of your face and made haste.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours rather sloppily in an attempt to hold his own against your teases. You sucked a deep breath in, not expecting the kiss at all as you once again put your hands on his chest, this time, letting your fingers linger on the heated skin you could feel under the thin fabric. He tasted like his drink, bitter but it was mixed with a small sense of his cigarettes and something sweet. You weren’t sure what that was, but you wanted the entire glass and even more if he would let you. From the endearing nature of how he held your face in his hands made you doubt that he was so notorious with women compared to the other guys in the band. He was gentle, considerate… And you found yourself sinking into the affection regardless. It felt surprisingly… Natural to be kissing him.

Who said ‘I love you’ first?

Roger, but it was initially an accident.

You could feel his heartbeat against your own as you laid snug on his chest. This was what you loved most about your relationship with the drummer. He was so easy to just lounge around with, especially on days when they didn’t have shows to play and when he could manage to get away from the band and the rigorous recording sessions. You could do it in both silence and it was just as comfortable as if you were having a full blown conversation. Many of these snuggles took place after sex– the two of you lazing in bed, naked and pressed against one another as you just soaked in the time to be alone. People rarely ever saw Roger like this; peaceful, serene, gentle. He was known for being a bit of a flirt, rough around the edges and sarcastic off the charts. You felt blessed that he loved you enough to see both sides, and you loved to see the difference in which he carried himself in private.

Gazing down at Roger, there was a goofy smile on your face, you were absolutely sure of it at this point. It felt like your face was in that expression permanently whenever you were with Roger but that was okay. He evoked such emotions and stirred them inside of you. “I could write a song to the beat of your heart.” You said rather cheesily and hearing Roger laugh below you, as well as feeling his chuckle resonate against your own chest made you smile and laugh along with him when you realized how silly it must have sounded. “Don’t laugh at me!” You chuckled and pressed your forehead against Roger’s slowly.

“I swear I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you.” He explained in a small defense and pecked your lips gently. “It should be me saying that, love. I’ll write a song to the beat of your heart and when Freddie hears it, it’ll make him cry.”

You pouted. “I don’t want Freddie to cry. Make Brian cry, he’s much more of a stone cold man than Freddie.”

“At this point, I may as well make Deaky cry too.” Roger rolled his blue eyes playfully and threw his head back onto the pillow which made you laugh even harder, your lips pressing to his chin. “Make the whole band cry because I’m so absolutely in love with you.”

Silence.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you replayed what he had said in your mind over and over until it finally sunk in. You sat up sharply in bed, holding the blanket up so you weren’t completely naked. “Rog?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What did you just say?”

“Oh, just that I’ll make the entire band cry because I’m so absolutely in love with you?”

“You love me?”

Roger’s blue eyes peeped open. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. Well, maybe, deep down he had. He’d never felt like this before! it was all new and exhilarating and he didn’t want it to ever end. He had been high and drunk, sometimes at the same time, but this… Being in love was something completely different. “I really planned on saying it in a much more romantic setting, I promise.”

“You love me.” You didn’t ask, but stated it this time before jumping onto him, resting in his lap. “You.” You bounced on his lap, “love!!!!” Another bounce accompanied by a small grunt from the blond, “Me!!!“

Reaching up, he grasped your hips and kept you still, “I love you.” He reassured with a dopey grin. “You looooooove me.” You craned your head down and pecked his nose which earned you another cute smile from Roger.

“I looooooove you.”

Who takes pictures of the other when they’re not paying attention?

You take pics of Roger.

“Smile, babe!” You said cheerfully, lifting the Polaroid to your eye as it was aimed at your boyfriend, sitting snug behind his drumset at home. He tickles his drumsticks against a cymbal and gives you a really wide, cheesy smile as you snap a picture.

Super candid pictures of him behind stage at music videos, concerts. Brian likes to photobomb these pictures.

Pictures of him laying in bed with a guitar, plucking a few strings as he tries to figure out a new song. He’ll notice you’re taking a picture and he’ll give you either a smolder or a funny smile.

Pictures of him all dressed up and posing for the camera, usually in one of his fur coats. He’ll put his hand on his hip and cock it to the side, blowing a kiss to the camera.

He takes picture sitting on his car hood, sitting in the car itself. Anything with his cars. Favorite pose with the car is leaning over the hood with his ass out, usually wearing very tight jeans and the most orgasmic look on his face.

Pictures of him dressed up as Rogerina. Both from a private photoshoot at your flat and some from behind the scene at the music video.

There’s ton of pictures you have of him and the rest of Queen in the recording studio while they’re lounging about. Roger always has a glow around him in these pictures.

Who needs to be touching their significant other at all possible moments?

Depends on the situation. Could swing either way.

Roger is very hands on whenever the two of you are out at a social event. Likes to keep his hand on the small of your back or to hold your hand in his when he’s doing interviews, almost as if he’s afraid of losing you in the crowd of people.

He’ll always have his arm wrapped around you when the two of you are sitting. Loves it when you lean in and snuggle into his side.

If he’s not physically touching you, he’s got his eye on you no matter what.

Roger was build for fame, he had the personality for it but it made you nervous. You clutch his arm whenever you’re walking around. If he senses you’re nervous, he’ll kiss your forehead to remind you that he’s always there for you.

Who asks strange questions late at night when they can’t sleep?

Absolutely Roger. Especially when he’s drunk.

“Babe.” “Rog.” “Babe, are you awake?” “No.”“Are you sure?” Your boyfriend laughed and rolled onto the bed without any lights on. He risked falling onto the floor. “You’re talking ta me so I think you’re awake…~”You knew he was drunk the moment you heard him come stumbling into the bedroom, murmuring a small ‘oh, shit’ to himself as you assumed he was trying to take off his shoes in the pitch black. He had been out with Deaky and Brian, so you weren’t surprised he came home smashed. So long as he was in one piece. “I’m sleep talking.”“Wow, you are really good at that! You need ta teach me, please.” He whispered, leaning towards you so he could press a sloppy kiss to your neck. “Oh my god, babe.”“Roger, please.”“Babe, babe. You’re not goin’ ta believe this, but I’ve seen an alien tonight.” He laughed wildly, falling face down onto the pillows next to him. What he said next was completely muffled. “It had all this hair, it was crazy… WAIT!!!” He wheezed, “that was BRIAN!!! Can yo believe I’ve thought Brian was an alien!?”“Rog?”“Yes, my babe or the babiest babes?”“Shut up. I’m trying to sleep.”“Okay, I can do that.”Silence.“Babe, babe, babe, babe, babe.” He popped his lips, “Speakin’ of hair, have you ever noticed how soft Deaky’s is? Like, how does he get it like thaT? It’s the perfect…” He swallowed and hummed, “Balance! That’s the word I’m lookin’ for. It’s very balanced!!”“I don’t know, Rog. I’ll ask him next time I see him.”“I can call him right now!”“Babe,” You whined, which oddly earned you a beer smelling kiss from Roger, “please shut up and go to bed.”“Okay.”Silence.”“Babe, do you like me, like me or just like me?”“Oh, my god, Roger.”

Which one is really excited to put up the Holiday decoration, and which one is dreading it?

You love to decorate, especially if Roger is busy that holiday season with recording or a tour. It makes you feel less lonely without him there. You’ve got all the tree decorations he made when he was a kid hanging on your tree, and though they’re rather shitty, both you and Roger love them and the old time aesthetic they give off.

Roger just sits back and watches, sipping on a cup of tea, waiting for you to ask for help. Your plea always comes when you pull out the lights. They’re always tangled to complete madness and somehow you managed to get them even worse as you sit on the floor, trying to get then undone. Roger usually comes and sits next to you without you even having to ask and tries to help you, often ending in some bickering between the two of you.“You’re making it worse!”“No, YOU’RE making it worse!”

Totally ends up with the two of you making out in the middle of the living room with lights all around you.

Who spends more money on (Useless) things?

ROGER AND HIS CARS BABY.

“Really, babe?” You smiled forcefully as he pulled his hands away from your face to reveal the big ‘surprise’ that he had been waiting to show you. “Another car? Do we really need another car?”“What sort of question is that?” Roger replied sassily and help up the keys as he made his way towards the shiny new vehicle. “Just think, we get to christen this bad boy if you really want to.” Sex. He meant have sex in the backseat, which, in all honestly, sounded too delicious to pass up. You tilted your head to the side and hummed, imagining your two bodies crammed together in the small back seat. “You ever going to let me drive this one?” You asked, reaching for the keys but Roger pulled back before you could grasp them.“Maybe.” He smiled.“Really now?”“Maybe in I dunno… A thousand years.” He joked, pulling you in for a kiss as you tried to reach for the keys once again.

Who likes to cuddle more? (Who’s the little spoon? What positions?)

I would say both of you love to cuddle each other.

Roger, surprisingly, likes to be the little spoon. Thinks it’s very endearing when he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and you wrap your arms and legs around him, pressing your face into his back. He’s quite larger than you, but being held like that always makes him feel smaller and secure.

He’s a very sprawled out sleeper and when he is the big spoon, he tends to fall asleep on top of you.

The two of you are always very snuggled up next to each other when on the couch in the studio. He loves to have his arm around you, holding you close and nuzzling his face into your hair.

Cuddling in the bath together, you between his open legs. It’s not sexual unless one of you turn it that way, otherwise you just lean your head back against his chest and enjoy being so intimately close. He’ll rest his hands on your knees and tap beats on your skin.

Who cooks the best? (best meal? Who burns everything they cook?)

You tend to cook more, but not because you’re forced to do so, but because you want to. Roger does so much for you that you had been teaching yourself how to make more meals. Luckily, for him, baking is included in that and Roger does have a serious sweet tooth.

You show up to the studio every so often with a plate of cookies, brownies, anything sweet for the boys and it always earns you the widest smiles because they feel like they hadn’t eaten in such a long time. Always earns you the biggest cookie kiss from Roger as he tugs you into a kiss with a cookie in his mouth.

Listen, Roger could probably burn water because he forgets he’d put a pot on the stove to boil. But, he can cook if the situation ever arises. Mainly, pastas because that’s what he lived on for so long, being single and busy in a band. But, you still appreciate his meals and he’s always happy to cook for you when he has the time.

Who is most likely to sleep in?

Roger, and he would continue sleeping if you didn’t wake him up.

Especially the week after he comes home from recording at Rockfield / coming home from another tour. He is sleeping all the time, trying to catch up on what he had missed out on while gone.

Trying to wake him up is always a fun time and often involves you having to climb on him, taking all the blankets away, sometimes even the pillows and even offering to have morning sex. He contemplates that last one with a sleepy smile before pressing his face back into the pillow while shaking his head.

The mornings he absolutely has to get up are the worst because face it, he wakes up in a grumpy mood until he’s had a cup of tea or something to eat. Hair is sticking to his face in all sorts of places, probably sticking up in the back, a scowl is on his face as he has to drag himself out of bed.“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”“I feel like I’ve died. This is how I go.” He moaned loudly and made his way to the bathroom.“Stop being so dramatic.”“I’ll stop once the sun stops rising.”“So?”“Never.” Was his response.

Who is the clean freak?

You both do your share to keep the house clean and tidy. Though, Roger has a thing about not being able to hand up his jackets or put his shoes away; he’ll just throw them aimlessly on the couch or on the floor when he comes home.

But there are some parts of it you don’t dare try to clean. Mainly, Roger’s drum room. He is very particular about how things are set up with his drums and he does have some sort of sixth sense when someone else had been messing with them. You’ve always found it amazing how he can tell

You also don’t clean the cars because he will spend hours and hours doing that himself, down to the smallest details. They’re his babies and they get his attention when he feels they need them.

Long kisses or short kisses?

Why not both, I scream!

Those long kisses when he refuses to let you go, especially when he’s about to leave on tour. His arms around around your waist, keeping you close to him, lips meshing against yours tenderly, his hands placing themselves on the sides of your face. You can feel everything that he’s expressing through a kiss that you never wanted to end. “I’m going to miss you.” He finally said, pulling away with a small pout. You glanced up at him, resting your hands on his arms and rubbing lightly. “You know, I love you.”You gave him a look that said ‘no shit’ as he dipped down and pressed his lips to yours once again.

Short kisses right after sex and he’s still hovering above you, his hips still rocking against yours gently. He’s murmuring gently under his breath between kisses and your fingers are tangled into his blond hair, holding him to the ground. The two of your bodies are sweaty, pressed against one another as his kisses drop down to pepper against your neck and then back to your lips before he mumbles a small, “I love you.”

Long kisses where you’re the one refusing to let him go. Usually in a more playful way, you’ll nip his lips while kissing, hold the back of his head, letting your fingers run through his thick hair. He loves these sorts of kisses.

Short kisses when one of you is running late(Usually Roger). He’ll dart out of the room in the early morning, grabbing his shoes and jacket, but then run back in and give you the fastest kiss you had ever experienced, leaving you rather confused as you were still in bed, half asleep.

Who’s the first to apologize after a fight?

Roger is stubborn. Very, very stubborn and most likely doesn’t like the idea of having to apologize after a fight, even when he consciously knows that he was being a jerk and started said fight. He’ll stomp around the house instead, waiting for you to simmer down after a fight before curling up next to you and just… Staying there until you say something to him. He’ll look up at you occasionally through his puppy dog blue eyes but won’t admit defeat.

He’ll only apologize straight out if the fight was terrible, which, face it, happens ever so often. As much as you wanted the perfect relationship, Roger was a part of a famous band and that came with sacrifices on both ends. He knows when it upsets you and tends to cradle your head in his hands as he mumbles an apology. It still makes you weak to the knees seeing him so emotional and taking the blame for a fight that could have been your fault as well. You’ll turn to mush and tell him that he doesn’t have to apologize and that you were overreacting and it often times ends up with you crying into his arms because you loved him and hated fighting.

Who is the flirt? (And who is the romantic?)

Roger is most definitely the flirt. He’s got pickup lines, he’s got the ability to make any woman or man swoon with just one glance and with a very gentle sounding voice too just to top it off. He’s a very cheeky flirt too, very hands on with you, even later on in your relationship when things become much more mundane.

He’ll playfully slap your ass as you’re walking by, giving you a smile and a wink.

He’ll put his hands in your back pockets when you’re standing in front of him.

You’ll catch him looking at you from across the room when you’re at one of Freddie’s parties and the look in his face is that of a schoolboy eyeing his crush from across the school yard. You just smile at him, a small beam of pride hitting your chest at the thought that he only had eyes for you. He’ll come walking up with chuckle and whisper into your ear, “You look almost delicious enough to eat. Want to get out of here?”

He’s always up for teasing you, whether it be with actions or with words. He’ll have his hand on the small of your back sometimes, but without a word or warning, he’ll drop it so he’s holding your ass instead. You gasp, looking up at him but all he’s got is the biggest grin on his face.

Roger totally uses pet names such as ‘Babygirl’ or even ‘babydoll’.

You tend to be much more romantic, which, Roger has been growing to love ever since your relationship started. He sees more value in smaller aspects of relationships, like, kissing your cheek rather than your lips all the time, he’ll leave you small love notes on the fridge if he’s gone before you wake up, he’ll always bring you home your favorite food whenever you’re feeling under the weather and he’ll take care of you when you’re sick.

You’ll fill the bath tub with warm water and bubbles for him when he’s had a long day at the recording studio. It’s always a bonus for Roger when you wash his hair as well, or even when you join him in the tub.

Who comforts who more often?

Roger is surprisingly comforting when you’ve been having a rough day. He’s always willing to hold you or just listen to what you’ve got to say. It’s hardest when he’s out on tour and can’t physically be with you and has to comfort you through the phone, but he always assures you that things will be alright, and that he loves you and that he’ll be home soon enough. It breaks his heart having to hear you cry when he’s unable to be there to wipe the tears away.

When he is home he’ll brush his fingers through your hair, make you a cup of tea and wrap you in your favorite blanket. He’s catering to your wants and your needs rather than it being the other way around and you find it amazingly sweet.

You do comfort him when he needs it. Mainly on the days when he comes home from the studio in a piss-ass mood and wants nothing more than to lay down with no words and hold you until he feels better.

Comfort also takes place in the ability to be so intimate with one another when things are going crappy in your lives. Roger tends to keep things inside and lets them boil out rather than talk about them, and you had learned that pushing him to talk about them causes him to lash out so you tend to let him bubble and wait until he himself is ready to talk. This is a very mutual aspect of your relationship, something that had taken years to learn about one another.

Who is the most protective over the other?

Most definitely Roger.

He is the jealous type, though he often times tries to play it cool by acting like he doesn’t care. It’s a fun thing to watch because it’s written all over his face, but he doesn’t want to deny you the opportunity to be friends with others so he’s trying to be supportive.

Does get protective if another guy is flirting with you and he’s right there. Subtly will wrap his arm around your shoulders or your waist to remind the other person that you’re his.

Girls do get touchy with him every so often, especially behind the scenes at music videos. No doubt, you’re ready to throw hands if one of them gets too close to Roger and Brian always jokes around with you when that happens. “You look bloody ready to rip someone’s face off.”

Who kills spiders?

You’re a babbling mess, holding onto Roger’s arm as the small spider is making its way towards you. “BABE, OH MY GOD KILL IT BEFORE IT BITES MEEEEEE.”

Roger is no doubt shrieking at this point as he throws a shoe at it, and then another shoe and it somehow ends with the two of you huddled in the corner of the room while the spider is in the middle. Eventually, one of the shoes he throws hits it and kills it, but, he’s still shrieking and you’re asking him, “is it dead? Like, really dead?”

Who wants kids more?

Roger had never given much thought to being a parent before, he sort of just flew by what he was feeling that day and having a child was a life-long commitment. It wasn’t until Deaky had his first baby, a boy, did he really start thinking about it more and more. You were growing up, blossoming from just kids into actual adults and holding his friend’s baby for the first time really solidified it for him. Seeing you curl up with Deaky’s baby made his heart soar.

He was one of the baby’s uncles, along with Freddie and Brian, and always strove to be the funnest of the bunch.

You’d baby sit whenever Deaky and Veronica needed time alone and Roger loved to watch you interact with the baby.

Roger finally brings it up a few months later, watching you feed Deaky’s baby a mixture of mashed potatoes and peas as they cooed at you lightly. “I never imagined Deaky would be the first one. He’s so… Young.”You smiled at the sweet child in front of you and made a face at them, one that mimicked eating, “Well, they’ve been together for a long time.”“Have you uh…” Roger tilted his head and hummed, fingers pattering against the dinner table. He was nervous about bringing it up because it would imply that he wanted a family with you. Which, he absolutely did. He wanted it more than anything, but with Queen and with fame, he wasn’t sure how things would work out in the end and that’s what was so nerve-wreaking. “Have you thought about having little ones?”Your movement ceased as those words flooded over you before you continued feeding the baby, “Having a baby?” “Yeah, havin’ a baby…” He gestured nonsensically, “With me.”“Who else would I want to have a baby with, Rog?” You said gently and gave your love a small smile of assurance. That’s all he needed.

How many kids?

Two or three, but, you’d be okay with more and you know Roger would be as well for he always wanted a big family.

Who proposed? (How did they do it?)

Roger totally brings it up (seemingly) unintentionally one day.The sun was peaking into the kitchen through the window to the right as you sat down a cup of tea in front of your boyfriend, pressing a kiss to his forehead before sitting down across from him in your pajamas. It was a slow morning; Roger didn’t have to leave for another hour so you could just enjoy each others company. “You know, we’re basically a married couple without the marriage. A lot of our friends are already married, like Deaky... Brian...” You nod and agree with him, “Are you implying you want to get married?” You laughed quietly and picked up your cup of tea. You were only joking, thinking that this was another conversation that Roger was aimlessly having, wanting to break the quietness around the two of you.“Why not?” He said seriously and bit onto his bottom lip while his blue eyes looked straight at you. You weren’t expecting that sort of answer at all. “Rog, are you being serious?” You chuckled nervously.“Dead serious, (Name).” He sat up and kneeled next to your seat. Grasping your hand, he smiled nervously. “just think.... I love you and you love me... It makes sense to want to get married, right?”Your heart skipped a beat. As mundane as it was, everything felt romantic at the same time. You were just having your morning cup of tea, Roger stirred the pot a bit and here you were. “Yeah, it makes sense.”“I don’t have a ring right now, but if I promise to get one soon, will you promise to marry me?”“Rog,” You swallowed hard, reaching up to wipe your eye so he didn’t see you cry. That seemed futile; you were certain you would burst into tears at any moment. “You don’t even need to ask me. My answer is always going to be yes.”

LISTEN IM SORRY THESE ARE A LITTLE LATE !!! I ended up re-writing a lot of it bc i wanted more detail in it! Thanks for reading and for waiting!! reblogs and likes are appreciated, thanks!!! Requests for the Bohemian Rhapsody men are still open!

#Anonymous #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy #queen #bohemian rhapsody #queen imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #freddie mercury #john deacon #brian may #fanfic #fanfiction

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broke-n-bitchy · 6 years ago

Text

Wicked Dreams

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Nikki Sixx x OC

Part Five

Warnings; drinking, cursing, smoking, drugs use, angst, lil smutty

-Lucy’s POV-

August 9th. Today was already a particularly hard day for me. Today marked the ninth year of my mother’s death, it was still hard for me to believe that I’ve spent almost an entire decade without the only person I could ever truly rely on in this fucked up world.

Back at home, I would usually spend this day with a six pack next to her grave. Sitting there, peeling off the flower petals off of the bouquet that I’ve gotten to lay in front of her headstone. I would cry, laugh, and talk to her like she was right there with me. I don’t know if it was the booze, but it felt like she was. And before I’d leave, I would make sure to remind her that I’m doing alright.

This is the first time I haven’t been home for this day and honestly, it was hitting me like a fucking brick. Staring at myself in the mirror of the dressing room, I heard a knock on the door, “Lucy, you guys are on in ten!” Doc explained through the door, “I’ll be right there!” I responded, I was ready but for some reason, I couldn’t find my boots. Did I leave them back at the hotel? No, I don’t think I did.

Looking around frantically, I began tearing apart the dressing room.

That’s when I heard another knock on the door. “I said I’ll be right there Doc!” I yelled I knew he was impatient but damn. I was running around barefooted.

Most girls’ get necklaces, bracelets or whatever else from their mother, but my mom was a field medic and of all her belongings, I always loved her combat boots. I was so happy the day I could finally fit into them without shoving socks in the toes.

They were extremely beaten up, writing all over them, being held together with duct tape but I didn’t care. I’d wear those until I couldn’t anymore.

Those boots and my guitar were the only two things that actually made me feel like she was right there with me, every single night on stage.

“Actually, it’s Nikki. I uh- I have something for you.” I quickly came back from losing my train of thought, “Oh, come on in! I’m dressed.”

The door opened and he stepped inside, he was holding a medium sized white box in his hands,

“Not now, Sixx, I can’t find my boots anywhere.”

“Oh, that’s what I have, here they are.” He handed me the box with a small, awkward smile. He wasn’t used to doing nice things for other people, as a matter of fact, he sucked at it.

“Uh.” I didn’t know how to respond but I took the box and pulled the lid off. Looking at the pair of brand new, studded leather boots that could reach up to my knees. These weren’t it. These weren’t the army green boots being held together by a thread.

“Where are my old ones?” I asked him, trying my best to make sense of the situation.

“Oh, yeah, those. I threw them away.” Without any hesitation, I threw both new boots at him, “What is wrong with you?!” I yelled, not even holding back. I have been on my best behavior all day, I haven’t cried or anything. I was honestly saving up all of my anger and sadness for the stage so I could let it out in a positive way but Nikki just happened to push me to my last limit.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He yelled back, moving a bit closer, “They have torn the fuck up and honestly, making the entire bus smell like fuckin’ death! I thought maybe you needed a new pair! Why are you being such a fucking bitch! I do something nice for you and this is how you thank me!?” At this point, he was hovering over me, his normal tone dropped to a low bass sound and honestly, it scared me a little but I wasn’t going to let him know that.

“They were my mother’s, Nikki! My dead mother’s! Today is the anniversary of her death and I wanted to wear them tonight! I didn’t want new boots, I just wanted those! And I don’t have to thank you because I didn’t ask for them!” Pressing my finger against his chest, I paused but wasn’t going to stop there.

“I know you don’t know what it’s like to have anything of sentimental value or know what it’s like to feel closer through an object that was from someone you loved, but just because you grew up in a shitty home doesn’t mean you can go around disrespecting the rest of us and our fucking shit! Keep your hands off of my shit from now on!”

I honestly couldn’t believe he did this. I know it sounded stupid, I know to anyone else it was ridiculous that I was getting hyped up over a pair of shoes but right now I didn’t care.

He stared at me and the expression on his face was unreadable, but there was a small glimpse of sadness in his eye from what I said. It disappeared faster than it came.

“You know what? FUCK YOU! Fuck your shitty attitude, and fuck your dead mom! I don’t give a fuck!”

“You don’t give a fuck, because you only think about yourself! It’s suffocating with how fucking self-absorbed you are!” I know I was being way too harsh but this was just years of anger finally bubbling to the surface.

The craziest part about all of this was that last night, we were taking turns snorting coke out of this groupies belly button, laughing, and having the time of our fucking lives. I’ve become such a good wingman that at this point, even Vince and Tommy turned to me for help.

He stared at me for a moment before getting extremely close, hovering over until I could feel his breath against my cheeks. He smelled like liquor, blow, and sweat, but the mixture with his cologne had me drawn to it.

His voice was so low that it sends a shiver down my spine, “You and your fucking band were nothing but nobodies, barely getting gigs back in Texas, and if it wasn’t for us answering your call, and if it wasn’t for us, you wouldn’t even be drawing a crowd bigger than it is now. You play good, you look good, and your band has brought in a lot of new fans. And if it wasn’t for us, you’d be living in a shitty apartment with three guys working some dead-end fucking job, getting nowhere in life. So if I were you, I would watch your fucking mouth on who you’re talking to. Because I can easily take this away as easily as I gave it to you.”

No one, not even my mother, has ever spoken to me like this. Ever. It was just my mom, cousin, and I for most of my life. I didn’t know my dad so she always tried to be more gentle than firm. I guess that’s why what he said was turning me on. He never broke eye contact, didn’t even blink. I felt a lump in the back of my throat. He was right, I should be more grateful for what I have. I also shouldn’t have said what I did to him.

But I wasn’t about to let him know that.

There was someone who cleared his throat at the doorway, “Sorry to interrupt, but Lucy, you’re on.”

I nodded, shoulder checking Nikki while I grabbed the boots, sliding them up to my legs and zipping them. He got the size right. I had my converse, but I wasn’t about to wear those with studded jeans and a leather crop top.

“We’re not done talking,” Nikki said before I bolted out of the door.

-Nikki’s POV-

Standing on the side stage next to Vince and Tommy, I watched as our opening act performed. Normally, I’d be in the back drinking and fucking whatever girl gave me the first glance but I was too pissed off.

Why did Lucy have to be so fucking stubborn? I tried doing something nice for her and she goes off. But, fuck, how was I supposed to know that today was her mom’s death anniversary? We weren’t exactly good at deep conversations.

I hate that she’s so damn stubborn and prideful. You know what else I hate? The fact that she’s fucking talented, because now I can’t fire her.

Her with her laid back attitude, being my wingman. Her fucking soft hair and how does she always smell like cherries? It was obnoxious, like even after getting off stage drenched in sweat.

Watching as her little hips shook to the beat, her head banging while sliding down onto her knees during her solo, I couldn’t help but crack a small smile. In spite of everything that annoyed me about her, she was a natural on stage. They all were.

“Nikki!” Tommy yelled in my ear, shoving me over, “What?” I asked I didn’t realize I was thinking so hard. I don’t think, like ever. I just do.

“I said here, have a bump. Were you not listening?”

“No,” Responding, I grabbed the small dish, quickly snorting up two fat lines, proceeding to scoop some up with my finger and lick it then passing it along to Vince.

Snagging the bottle of Jack from Vince, I took a swig and nearly spat it out and what I saw Lucy do next. She slid across the stage then proceeded to hold her guitar up in the air while dry humping the stage during Ryder’s drum solo. Holy shit.

It drove the crowd insane, she stood up and reached her hand out to some of the fans, running towards the center of the stage next to Alex, they sang the last bridge of their final song for the night together.

I’m not going to lie, during their audition, I didn’t really pay attention. Not until I heard her voice. Alex was a damn good singer but there was a part of me that felt like Lucy should take over as lead, just the way she was so natural at it and in spite of our fight earlier, I had to respect her for everything she goes through and still pushes to be her best every night.

Once their song was over, the crowd roared through the venue, Alex spoke up, “Thank you! We’re System Insomniac, but it’s time for the main event! Motley fuckin’ Crue!”

The crowd roared even louder.

We were about to go on in about fifteen minutes, roadies had to set up props and replace the instruments.

“That was gnarly dudes’!” Tommy yelled in excitement once they came off the stage, he lifted Lucy up and twirled her in his arms while giving Sami a high five,

“That was hot Lucy,” Vince told her as soon as Tommy sat her down, “Thanks, yeah I wanted to try something new.”

“Well, it worked,” Alex laughed while draping his arms over Lucy and Ryder.

“Lucy, can I talk to you for a minute?” I spoke up after realizing I was being quiet.

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Stepping off to the side to leave everyone else to speak amongst themselves.

I never did this but I was about to apologize, but instead, her arms reached up and engulfed me in a huge hug. “I’m so sorry I was a bitch to you earlier, I am. It’s just been a shitty day for me today and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.” She mumbled in my ear before pulling back, her bright blue eyes meeting mine. But tonight, they were a little more grey. Her hands still rested on my shoulders, and goddamnit, how does she still smell so fucking good?

“You were right, I really should be more grateful for everything. And I am, I really am. This, this is my dream and you helped make it come true, Nik. Thank you, and I’m sorry about the whole boot situation. It was actually really thoughtful of you to go get me a new pair, and I appreciate it. As much as I loved my mother, and I loved those boots, you have to let go of the past sometimes. Right?”

I didn’t really know how to respond, “Right.” Was all I could really say, her touch had this odd effect on me. A part of it felt soothing. In some sort of way.

She nodded, her chest still heaving from her compelling performance. “So, are we good, Sixx?”

A smirk played at my lips whilst I took the chance to snake my arms around her waist, tugging her a bit closer to me, “Yeah, we’re good.” Her grin grew wide and she pulled me into another hug. Burying my face into her neck, my hand slid down her ass and gave it a small squeeze.

“Nikki!” She squealed, letting out a laugh, “Sorry, a force of habit.” I removed my hand and let go of her embrace even though a part of me didn’t want to. “I’ll see you after the show, doll,” I told her before turning around and bolting off towards the stage.

Later that night

Once we were done with our show, we hopped off the stage and went to meet everyone else in the back.

They were all sitting in the small lounging area, Lucy had changed from her stage outfit into a pair of cut off shorts and a tank top, but she was still wearing her new boots. She was twirling a pen in her mouth while staring down at her journal, Ryder was sitting in the back where Mick at joined to drink.

Alex and Sami were talking to us about going to a party, and Tommy and Vince were on board. “Coming, Nikki?” Alex asked, “Hang on a minute,” I told him before going and plopping down next to Lucy, draping an arm over her shoulder.

“What is it with you and cut off jeans?” I questioned while my other hand played with a loose string of fabric that hung off of her thighs, “We country girls love our Daisy Duke’s.” She responded without looking up, placing a cigarette between her lips and lighting it.

“Interesting. So, you coming along to the party tonight?” Pulling the cigarette from her mouth after she took a drag, and taking a few drags myself before handing it back to her.

“Um, I was actually just going to go back to the hotel. Maybe spend some time in the jacuzzi and have some alone time.” She told me while glancing over at me.

Looking up towards the guys’, “I’m just going to go back to the hotel tonight.” I told them which was rare. Nikki Sixx never missed out on a good party.

Tommy gave me a weird look but quickly shrugged it off. Sami walked over to us, pulling Lucy up off of the couch and into a tight hug, “I miss her too.” I heard him say while he squeezed her tightly. She nodded, and I watched a small tear escaped and slid down her cheek, “Yeah, I know. I love you, man,” She patted him on the back before withdrawing her arms, I could tell she was trying her best to console her tears. “But you go have fun tonight, okay?” She smacked him on the arm and he nodded before heading out the door with the rest.

“Better make sure they don’t end up dead, see you guys’ later,” Mick told us before heading out with Ryder.

Back at the hotel, I headed back to my room and waited for about twenty minutes, and after changing, I went and knocked on Lucy’s door. I heard her say hang on, and a few seconds later she opened the door. She was wearing a red bikini and had a bottle of wine in her hand along with a few towels, I smiled a little at the sight. I know we’re just friends and that’s all we will ever be but that doesn’t mean I can’t stare at her smokin’ hot body.

“Where’s your usual scotch or bourbon?” I asked her, eyeing the bottle in her hand.

“I’m in the mood for something sweet tonight.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a little clear baggy of white powder, “I’ll join ya,” She smiled, giving me a small nod before stepping outside of her room and shutting the door.

We started walking down the hallway, and once we reached the elevator, she turned to me, “Okay, what gives? Why aren’t you at the party, doing body shots with one groupie while another one sucks you off?”

I shouldn’t have laughed but that was a pretty damn good assumption of what would probably be happening at the party if I was there.

“Well, I thought maybe you’d want some company tonight.” I shrugged. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it.

-Lucy’s POV-

Sliding into the jacuzzi, I let out a groan in pure bliss. My knees were killing from tonight's performance. Popping the lid off of the bottle, I took a drink before leaning against the ball of the tub. Looking over, Nikki was sitting in the chair next to me, he was staring.

“What?” I questioned, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

“When’s the last time you got laid?” He asked me out of the blue. I don’t even remember, it’s been so long. I leaned back, trying to remember.

“That’s sad,” He laughed at me while starting to sort lines of blow on the table he was sitting in front of, I rolled my eyes and shrugged.

“Sorry, I’m a disappointment,” I told him while taking another drink, he snorted up a line real quick before leaning down and pulling the bottle from my hands, taking a drink.

“I meant that’s sad for you, I mean, you’re always getting us laid but never worry about yourself?” I shrugged, I never thought of it that way.

“I guess I’m one of those people that needs to have a whole lot of sex,” I told him, stepping out of the tub and standing over the table, I took the straw off of the table and snorted the next line, sniffling a little bit before dipping back in.

Glancing up, I watched Nikki start kicking off his shoes and unbuckling his pants, “What are you doing?” I asked him while he stripped down to his boxers. My eyes scanned his thighs up towards his torso before reaching his jawline, I bit my lip before glancing away.

“The fuck does it look like?” He slid in next to me, putting an arm behind me while leaning back, “Mm, taking a night off was a good call,” He said while staring up towards the night sky. “Yeah, it was. Until you joined me,” My wit was going to get me in trouble one day. He seemed to just ignore me while he kept his gaze upwards, and mine was on his facial features. He hadn’t wiped his stage makeup off yet and it was smudged at this point. But for some reason, it suited him.

I don’t know if it was the high or what but my fingers started dancing mindlessly across his chest, “You were really good on stage tonight,” I told him as I placed my hand onto his cheek so he could meet my gaze. He gave me a smug smirk.

“So were you, doll.” I felt his hand dip into the hot water and tug me closer by my hip. He had the bottle of wine in his other hand, and I reached for it, taking another drink before passing it back to him.

I know what he’s like, I know what he does. Hell, I help him pick up women almost every night. So, why was I feeling like this? What he said to me earlier, about taking everything away from me; it just changed my perspective on all of this. It was seriously bothering me that the way he looked at me earlier, with such intensity, and what he said, it turned me on. No guy has ever spoken to me like that before.

We sat there, in silence. Just listening to the jets in the hot tub, staring up at the sky while passing the sweet wine back and forth to each other. It was weird, to see him like this. Relaxed and unwinded, not having Tommy or some groupie latched to his side.

“Hm,” I hummed while stepping out of the jacuzzi, drying my hands off and picking up his little baggy and the straw, I dipped back down into the tub. “‘Nother bump?” I asked, pft, like I needed to.

His head perked up and watched while I distributed two even lines on the ground above the hot tub. Handing him the straw, he snorted up the first one before passing it back.

After snorting up mine, I tilted my head back with a small giggle before looking back towards him. He had a little blow on his lip.

“Hey, you have a little-” He met my gaze, his green orbs poured into mine while I swiped the little bit of coke off his lip with my thumb. I didn’t break eye contact, nor did I realize what I was doing. Placing my thumb between my lips, I sucked the rest of the residue off before letting go with a loud ‘pop’ noise. Biting my lower lip afterward while I tried to suppress a giggle but failed.

“Fuck,” He breathed while he swallowed harshly. He leaned back, letting out a breath and taking a long drink from the bottle, I grabbed it from him and finished off the rest of it before leaning over and pushing it off to the side, my back facing him because I was trying to aim it in the trash can a few feet away from us, but failed miserably.

I felt a pair of rough fingers start tracing the tattoo next to my shoulder blade on my back, “What does S-L-R stand for?” He questioned, I turned to face him halfway so he could still see my tattoo, “Suzanne Lynn Rollins,” I responded. Lovelace was just my stage name. Rollins was my maiden.

“Oh, okay, it’s a badass tattoo,” He complimented, turning around, I moved closer until I was standing between his legs. Sadly it was the only one I had, but I looked forward to getting more in the future. Tracing my fingers across the ones on his biceps, moving my fingers along his arms soothingly, “I like yours, too,” I told him, he moved his hands to my waist, pulling me closer until I was propped up onto his lap.

“Mhmm,” He mumbled, my hands were planted on his chest while one of his on my waist, guiding down towards my ass, this time I let it slide. The other one coming up to move the small hairs that were starting to cover my forehead, he slicked them back for me. Thinking nothing of it, because I’m a little fucked up; my hands moved up from his chest to the sides of his face, moving his hair away from his eyes so I could see them better. Scooting up a little closer, I straddled his waist. His hands rested firmly on my hips to stop me from moving, “Knock that off, damn,” He grunted, and I started laughing, “What, why?” I questioned, raising my eyebrows.

He leaned upwards until he wasn't propped against the wall of the hot tub anymore, his face a few centimeters from mine. “Because,” He mumbled. The breath in my throat hitched, what was happening right now? And how could it be so wrong if it just felt so good?

My eyes glanced from his down towards his lips, licking my own. I couldn’t fucking take this anymore. Leaning in, my lips smashed against his in a needy type of way, and he didn’t hesitate to return the kiss. It just felt so fucking good, his lips tasted like sweet wine and cigarettes.

His hands went from holding me firmly in his lap back towards my ass, giving it a firm squeeze, mine went flying to his hair, tugging and pulling at it like I wanted to do since the first time I’ve laid eyes on him. He nipped at my lower lip and I gladly opened my mouth up to the invitation, our tongue swirled together in sync in a very heated kiss. He grunted into my mouth, and it sent a vibration down my spine. He stood up and I took the opportunity to snake my legs around his waist, he backed me up against the wall, his hands squeezing and groping my ass one moment, the next running them up to the curves of my hips before back down again.

My own went from pulling at his hair to running them along his back as I tugged his lower lip between my teeth.

He groaned in what seemed like frustration, pulling away from our kiss, we were both breathing heavily, and he looked at me like he was asking if he could keep going. I was quite literally breathless, all I could do give a nod. He grinned, burying his face in the crook of my neck, nipping and biting at the skin. Letting out soft whimpers, trying my best to keep as quiet as I could, he moved downwards to my cleavage and he immediately found a soft spot that I didn’t even know I had. Right above my right tit, he gave it a little nip and I let out a moan instead of a whimper this time. He smirked against my skin before he kept suckling at that same spot. I could feel the heating sensation between my thighs and I knew there was going to be a hickey there later.

“Oh my god,” I breathed, tilting my head back while my mouth fell open, he reached around behind me and began fumbling with the strings of my bikini. He was about to untie it until we heard a very loud voice followed by someone pushing the gate open that led to the pool area.

“We’re back!” Tommy yelled and Nikki quickly pulled back from me and moved to the other side of the jacuzzi, “Oh, hey!” I exclaimed in false excitement. What a cockblock.

“Where’s everyone else?” I asked, he was walking around with some blonde on his arm, “Went up to their rooms, mind if we join ya?” He asked but he was already taking his clothes off.

“Sure man,” Nikki said while keeping his eyes fixated on me, “Yeah, but I’m actually headed to bed. Night guys.” I quickly withdrew myself from the jacuzzi, grabbing one of the towels from the chair and wrapping around my body before heading back inside. I was mentally cursing Tommy right now.

I know what I said but Nikki just had this way about him. Shit, I was going to need a cold fucking shower after this.

@triplehaitches @knightwhosaysnii @lovesick-heart0 @carmineharry @slowandangry @rxsesinjune @fandomshit6000

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darley1101 · 5 years ago

Text

July 15 Friendship (Jake x Bailey/MC ES)

Title: Shut Up And Kiss Me

Book: Endless Summer

Pairing: Jake x Bailey/F!MC with mention of others

Rating: PG-13

Warning/Triggers: Teasing from friend, kiss that happens because of a bet

Summary: 'We could die tomorrow.' The severity of what they're about to face has Bailey stepping out of her comfort zone.

Request: July 15 Friendship from @endlessly-searching-for-you , “Just shut up and kiss me already” from @endlessly-searching-for-you's February challenge, and 'Kissing because of a bet.' Both made by @brightpinkpeppercorn

A/N: I know this isn't exactly the whole gang but this is what I've got. I hope you enjoy! Tags are at the end of the story. If you would like to be added, moved, or removed please let me know. If you enjoyed the story please consider giving it a like, comment, or a re-blog so others might enjoy it as well.

Less Talk, More Action

Curling her body into one of the mod patterned club chairs that dotted The Celestial lobby, Bailey laid her head in the crook of her arm and tried to focus on anything but the turmoil brewing outside the hotel's gates. She'd let Diego talk her into this trip because it was supposed to be a 'once in a lifetime experience in paradise'. He'd been right about the once in a lifetime experience but she was still waiting for paradise. The image of a shaggy haired pilot with laughing blue eyes and a dimpled grin flashed before her but quickly faded. Guys like Jake Mackenzie, who coined nicknames at the drop of a hat and drank like a proverbial sailor, were seldom interested in girls like her; smart girls who were more comfortable coding a new app or researching the best way to build an eco friendly tiny house than they were with flirting. He was a good time guy looking for a good time girl, which Bailey was decidedly not.

“We could die tomorrow,” Diego announced before dropping into the chair adjacent to hers. “Bailey...” She looked up when he nudged her with his knee, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. “Did you hear what I said?”

“We could die tomorrow,” she parroted, her voice void of emotion.

“Exactly. We could die tomorrow. Which means...this could be our last night on earth.”

Bailey sat up, her long hair spilling over her shoulder like liquid sunshine. “You're not going to confess your secret love are you because...no offense...you're not my type.” She tried to smile, to keep things light despite the heaviness that hung in the air. It didn't work. The smile twisted into a grimace that fell flat and then faded.

“What?” Diego's eyes widened in horror. “Ew! No! You're sporting a few things that are kind of a big turn off for me.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting lightly on his knees while he worried his lower lips between his teeth. “No, I was thinking...this could be our last night on earth and maybe you should, I don't know, live a little...just in case.”

“I've lived.” Bailey scowled, her mind scrambling for at least one example that would knock the knowing smirk off her best friend's face. “I helped that football player write his paper last week,” she reminded him. “And I bought that purple bikini for this trip...which I wore to the pool last night thank you very much.”

“You're a tutor Bai, it's sort of in your job description to help other students with their homework.”

“Yes, but I wrote most of the report for him,” Bailey interjected.

“Doesn't count.” Diego rolled his eyes and held up his hand when she started to push the matter of that teeny, tiny purple bikini she'd bought on a whim. “And...the bikini doesn't really count either because you wore a t shirt over it.”

“It was cold.” Dropping her feet to the floor, Bailey let out a shaky breath before letting her gaze sweep across the spacious lobby. Quinn sat on the floor, her back propped against the front desk, while Estela and Sean engaged in what looked to be a heated discussion, and Jake slumped in one of the chairs nursing a bottle of rum. The rest of their group was no where to be found. 'They're just hanging out elsewhere,' she reminded herself before any sort of panic could set in. Before she could stop herself, her gaze wandered back to Jake. Stubble covered his chiseled jaw and his sandy colored hair kept flopping in his eyes, making her fingers itch with the need to brush it off his face.

“The pool is heated.”

Jerking her attention back to Diego, Bailey opened her mouth to counter his remark only to snap her lips into a thin line when she realized he was right. “You don't always have to be right, you know, it's not attractive.”

“Being right is one of the few things I have going for me Bai, let me have it.”

“Don't say that,” Bailey scowled. “You have a lot going for you Diego. Anyone would be lucky to call you theirs.”

“You're my best friend, you have to say that.” Diego glanced in the direction of the others, his gaze lingering on Jake. “He keeps looking over here you know.”

“Wha...no....who...” Blood rushed to Bailey's cheeks, staining them the same crimson shade as the spaghetti strapped tank top she wore. She'd been so careful not to let anyone see or know about the ridiculous little crush she'd developed on their pilot. If Jake had somehow figured it out...well it was for the best they were all probably going to die tomorrow because she didn't think she could stomach him looking at her with pity or outright rejecting her.

“The hottie pilot, that's who...” Diego narrowed his eyes, a telling smirk tweaking the corners of his lips. “Which I think you already know because you keep looking at him too.”

“I do not!”

A snort past Diego's lips. “Sell that lie to someone who doesn't know you so well.”

Bailey opened her mouth to defend her actions only to snap it shut again. What was the point in arguing the details? Diego wasn't blind and Bailey wasn't subtle. “What does it matter, guys like that never notice girls like me.”

“Please,” Diego scoffed. “If you were to walk over there right now and lay one on him I seriously doubt he'd complain. In fact,” he paused, a suspicious glimmer brightening his dark eyes, “I dare you to go over there and kiss him.”

Sucking in her breathe, Bailey stared at her best friend in horror. “You're insane!” There was no way in hell she was going to walk over there and try to kiss a guy who had zero interest in her. They might die tomorrow but damn it she would die with her pride in tact. 'Your virginity too,' an inner voice teased. It sounded oddly like Diego, damn it. “That would be like me daring you to...to...” her mind reeled, trying to think of some off the wall dare for Diego but nothing came to mind. “No. Just...no.”

“Chicken.”

Bailey narrowed her eyes. “I am not a chicken.”

The teasing dimmed in Diego's eyes and his face grew serious. “All kidding aside...you kind of are. You never take any risks. You always play it safe. I know you're scared of getting hurt but being cautious all the time...you're not really living. You're just existing. This could be our last night on earth. You like the guy. I'm serving up a reason to kiss him on a silver platter. If he freaks you can laugh it off as a dare. If he doesn't...well...there are worse ways of spending your potentially last night on earth than making out with a hot pilot. You never know,” he winked, “you might finally cash in that v card.”

Was Diego right? Was she merely existing and not really living? The fact that she couldn't answer the question left her a bit unsettled. That wasn't how she meant to be. She couldn't even explain why she was that way. Inhaling deeply, she darted her gaze between Diego and Jake. “You've only got one life to live,” she muttered, rising from her chair. “And by golly if it ends tomorrow you're going to be able to say you took a chance.” Heart pounding like a bass drum she slowly walked across the lobby. Her palms felt clammy and sweat was starting to bead across her upper lip. Shit. Fuck. What was she doing? Her feet faltered. She should turn around; just turn around and high tail it back to the semi-comfortable chair she'd left. “No,” she whispered furiously. “You're going to do this.” Squaring her shoulders, chin raised high, she forced herself to close the distance between herself and Jake. “Uh..hi.”

Jake glanced up, one eye squinted. “Hey Princess.”

Princess. The silly nickname sent shivers of warmth and excitement through her body. “So...we could die tomorrow and...well...Diego...he...well...he dared me to kiss you...he called me a chicken, see...and if we really are going to die tomorrow I don't want to die a chicken...so-” Her words cut off in a squeak when Jake tugged her down on to his lap.

“Anyone tell you that you talk too much, Princess?” Wide eyed, Bailey shook her head and then nodded. She parted her lips, ready to launch into an explanation of why when he rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “So how about you shut up and kiss me.”

#choices #choices endless summer #jake x mc #mc x jake #darley1101 writes

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stormtrprinstilettos · 6 years ago

Text

Chameleon - Ch. 3, part 1

Summary: Reader (that's you!) moves to London, hoping to leave her past behind and find happiness. She makes friends with her new neighbors. (Guess who?) I can’t summarize the whole story because it’s going places I don’t even know. It’s like it has a mind of its own.

**Note: Have to split this chapter into two posts because I’ve apparently hit a limit. Or you can read the whole thing in one swoop at the AO3 link below**

A/N: [insert scream here] I battled hard with where I was going to send this story but I’ve made my decision and I can’t turn back now. I know, I know, there’s still no relationship established, but, trust me. Next chapter? *phew* You’ll get it. You’ll get it… We’ll be doing a time warp soon. Just go with the flow. I wasn’t going to post until Saturday, but if I don’t do this now, I’ll end up driving myself crazy.

Language and angst about, as usual, but you, Y/N – you’re a strong ass female… and no man is gonna bring you down!

Tagging @chocolatealmondmilkshake and thanking my beta tester & cheerleader @clogwearingspacepoodle (and everyone else who is actually reading this, too!)

Ch 1 | Ch 2 || AO3 link here

(Enjoy this gif of our main players that separates all of this dribble from the story because the formatting sucks balls and because Angry Brian is how I felt when Tumblr wouldn’t let me post the whole thing, or when I try to post from the Tumblr app.)

You insisted on paying for dinner since you felt like you owed them from rescuing you from madness your first night in London, but the guys didn't want you to. You assumed it was some macho pride thing, so you shoved a wad of money into Freddie's pocket and told him to pretend like he was paying if it made them feel better. You guided them to a small, quiet Italian restaurant you loved and walked in before any of them could stop you.

You were all seated in a circular booth, Brian to your left and Roger to your right. Freddie was quite amused by the unspoken, minor rivalry between Brian and Roger when it came to deciding who would get to sit next to you, so he made sure you ended up in between them, just to see if anything would happen, purely for his own entertainment. He knew what was going on in your head. You vented about it to him many times.

There’s Roger, who you knew you’d have fun with, and you knew without any doubt would help satisfy the need that you didn't even know was pent up inside until your little episode earlier in the day. But then there’s Brian. You know he would bring so much more to your world, but he was just so seemingly unattainable – which made him even more attractive to you.

You convinced yourself that it was nothing more than choosing between the sprint or the marathon. The only thing that you were absolutely certain of was that you had to tread carefully. You’d never been able to forgive yourself if you came in between friends. When you’d talk about this internal conundrum of yours with Freddie, all he would tell you was that it was your decision and that he couldn’t make up your mind for you. He knew who he would rather see you with, and you knew who as well, but it just wasn’t happening, for whatever reason.

You stayed quiet most of the dinner, listening to the three guys talk about the band mostly. You’d smile and laugh and nod along with their conversation, pretending to pay attention to most of it when your mind was preoccupied.

The most you spoke was to nag them about letting you hear them play, and they promised you’d be the first person to hear them as soon as they found their new bass player. You had heard Freddie sing many times. You were completely entranced by his voice and would often ask him to play a song on the piano and sing to you, to which he would happily oblige. You’d hear Brian sometimes singing and playing his guitar from the other side of the apartment wall but wouldn't dare let him know, given how he was easily embarrassed. He had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, but you didn't want to risk it.

Your group was interrupted by a tiny redhead who ventured over to the table. She was cute, lightly freckled with green eyes. "Hey, Roger," she screeched when she spoke. You find her voice incredibly annoying, and her personality is way too bubbly for your liking. You, Brian, and Freddie all turn to Roger who is looking quite shocked.

"Oh, hey… you. How are you?" He doesn't remember her name and is struggling to not let it show.

"Are you coming to The Troubadour tonight? A friend's band is playing. I'd love to see you again." She flirtatiously bats her eyes and smiles a flashy smile in his direction, completely ignoring the fact that he is sitting at a table, in the middle of dinner, with three other people. You don't know if you want to shoo the girl away or if you are enjoying watching Roger squirm.

"Oh, well, umm, you see..." He doesn’t know what to say. He’s still trying to remember her name.

You decide right then and there that squirmy Roger was entertaining. You always found it funny when the usually quick-witted guy was left speechless. So, you decide to play your own little game and ask the redhead, "what kind of band are they?"

It seems like she just realized there were more people in the room, and she skittishly answers, "rock and roll, of course. Roger wouldn't enjoy anything else. That's why I'm inviting him."

"We were going to head to The 606 after we finished here..." he hastily states before you cut him off.

"Oh, Roger, we can go there any time. How many chances will we get to hear your friend's band?" You pat him on the shoulder.

"Not my band. My friend's band," she snaps at you while rolling her eyes.

"That’s what I meant…” You try to explain, but she’s not even paying you attention. Her eyes are fixated on Roger. You look over at Freddie. He knows exactly what’s going on and shrugs with his hands letting you know he’s okay with going. You then look to Brian who had covered mouth to hide his smile as he nods that he’s also okay with going. Then you look at Roger, who has a look of absolute betrayal on his face. You put your right hand on his thigh, underneath the table so no one could see, and give him a gentle squeeze as you look him in the eye. "So, what do you think?"

He gulped, wondering why you’re doing this. "Whatever you want," he answers quietly.

You turn back to face the redhead. "What's your name, sweetie?"

Roger leans into your ear and begs you, “please, Y/N, don’t…” Freddie and Brian try not to make noise when they start to chuckle. You ignore them all.

"I'm Lyla. Nice to meet you....?"

"I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Lyla. Have you met these two?" pointing to Freddie and Brian.

"Oh, yes, I met them..."

Roger clears his throat and interrupts. "Yeah, she's met them. Lyla, we're going to finish our dinner and we'll see you later. Alright?"

“Would you like to sit with us, Lyla?” You wave your hand for everyone to scoot over to make room for her at the table. She happily takes a seat next to Brian, her face beaming as she stares at Roger. Freddie keeps looking around and fiddling with his napkin. Brian is doing his best to control his amusement, but failing miserably. You pat Roger on his thigh as you clear your throat.

“So, Lyla, how’s it you know these guys?”

“Well, I met Roger after one of their shows a while back…”

“She’s his biggest fan,” Brian says with a chuckle.

“Yeah, she thinks he’s just spectacular,” Freddie pipes up, clearly making a joke you aren’t keen to. .

“No, Fred,” Brian corrects him. “Impressive.” He and Freddie are obviously more amused by all of this than you are.

“Alright, alright, I think she gets it.” You look at Roger and he’s still squirming in his seat, silently pleading with you to stop. You, of course, cannot.

You look back to Lyla, who how has her chin resting in her hands, still looking at Roger. “I haven’t experienced Roger’s drumming. Is he really that good?” you ask her, quite suggestively, but she doesn’t pick up on the innuendo.

Roger grits his teeth and leans over to whisper in your ear. “What are you doing? Stop it.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s really good.”

Brian chokes on the water he’s trying to drink. “Impressive.”

“Spectacular,” Freddie chimes in.

“Hmm.” You look back at Roger. “Really. That good, huh?” You smirk and this time he smirks back.

“Roger?” Lyla tries to get his attention, completely oblivious to the looks the two of you are sharing. “So, you’re coming tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah…” he replies, never taking his eyes off of you.

Freddie throws his napkin on the table and takes the last sip of his wine. “We’re all done here?”

“I think we are,” you say, still smirking at Roger before you look back at everyone else. “Shall we pay the bill and go?” Everyone agrees.

As you are walking in a group to the next stop of the evening, Roger pulls you back behind the group.

“Impressive, huh? Spectacular?” You joke.

He leans down to talk to you so no one else will hear. “The last time I saw her it took me three days to get rid of her, Y/N.”

“Then I guess she’ll be easy for you to get.” You give him a wink and a nudge on his arm.

“Maybe I don’t want to get her,” he whispers in an aggressive tone.

“Calm down, tiger,” you chuckle. “You need to get someone or you’re going to hurt yourself.” You make sure he follows your eyes down to his crotch so he knows that you notice what’s going on under his pants. You leave him with a smirk, joining Freddie and Brian for the rest of the walk.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"They have a good sound." Freddie nudged Brian as he pointed to the stage. "I wonder if they're serious about all of this, because if they are, they'll need better lyrics." He walked off with a laugh and headed to the bar.

It was the truth. The tunes had a descent vibe but the lyrics were absolutely terrible. Every line made you cringe. The guys seemed to be enjoying the sound and were either not paying attention to the lyrics, with the exception of Freddie, or they were more focused on the sounds and the beats coming through the speakers.

You lean over to Lyla to ask her more about the band. "Do these guys play much?"

"Not really. They just like having fun with it. Gives them something to do with their spare time." She chuckled. "It does help them get laid. Do you know how many girls will do anything to be with a guy in a band?" Lyla winked before she continued. "Especially if he's a drummer."

You give Lyla a blank smile as you watch her start move her body against Roger. "I have a feeling there's a lot of them," you mumble.

Roger didn't seem to mind the attention he was getting. Of course, the amount of alcohol he had consumed up to this point may have caused him to forget all about the annoyance he felt about Lyla earlier at dinner, and the moment the two of you shared earlier.

You quickly turn your attention over to Brian, not wanting to watch the public display going on between the two over to the other side. You watch his head bobbing to the beat, with his mind intently focused on what he was hearing. He must have felt you looking at him, because he looked down to you and a warm smile came across his face. "That bass player needs a better band," he told you, and it was like a lightbulb went on in his head.

"Roger! Come on!" He grabbed Roger by the arm and pulled him away. "We need to find Freddie!" As the two walked over to the bar and started chatting with their friend, Lyla leaned up against you, pouting.

"Is he going to come back?" The stench of whatever she was drinking almost knocked you for a loop.

Rolling your eyes, you give Lyla's head a pat. "Don't worry. You'll get him back." They better not leave me with this girl for the rest of the night, you mumble to yourself.

After the band's set was complete and most of the patrons had left, you were sitting on one of the torn and ratty sofas at the back of the room with Lyla. She was leaning on you, drunk rambling about Roger and how much she hoped he would take her home tonight. Becoming increasingly frustrated, you start staring down Brian and Freddie, hoping they’ll sense your annoyance and leave. They, along with Roger, were in a deep conversation with the band's bass player, and soon they all shook hands with him and turned around to see you and Lyla at the back of the room.

"Up you go. Roger's waiting for you." You didn't know if he really was, but she became his problem once he started handing her shots. You lift a beaming Lyla from the sofa and guide her in the proper direction. "Go on. He's right in front of you."

After seeing the two lovebirds, or whatever they were, reunited, you walk over to Freddie and Brian. "Oh, young love. Isn't it..."

"Disgusting. It's disgusting, Freddie," you pop back. "She's disgusting." The guys laugh hysterically. "Did you ever hear about the time she sucked his dick in the shower? With graphic details?" They cringe. "No? Well I have."

Freddie rubs on the top of your head. "Well what do you know. Princess here is a prude." You knock his arm away.

"No, I am NOT a prude, but if I want to know how it feels to deep throat, I'll do it myself to find out!" Brian took a hard gulp and Freddie howled with laughter.

"Hey, what's so funny? What am I missing out on?" Roger comes stumbling over with Lyla wrapped around the shoulders in his arm.

“Y/N was just telling us about de…” Freddie tried to answer."

"Fuck off, Freddie!" you snap. Brian is standing next to you with his hand grabbing the back of his neck. "Are we leaving or staying here until they kick us out?"

The group assembles to start the walk home as Freddie bids you all a goodbye. "I've got someone to go see. I'll see you all later." He leans over and whispers to you, "it's my friend from the college." He winks and kisses you on the cheek before walking away.

On the walk home, you and Brian walk behind Roger and Lyla, part in order to make sure they didn't fall on their asses, part in order to make sure the two of you could hold a conversation without the other two butting in.

The night air was giving you the chills, and Brian, noticing you started walking with your arms crossed, took off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders. "So, we'll be auditioning that bass player tomorrow afternoon," he tells you as he covers you with the jacket. "He seemed pretty excited. He's seen some of our shows and feels like he could fit right in."

"Oh yeah? That's great! He was really good up there tonight.” You start to bite the left corner of your bottom lip. Neither one of you know what to talk about. Usually your conversations flowed, but tonight it’s struggling for some reason. You don’t want to blurt out something stupid, so you try staying quiet to see if he would talk, but he doesn’t. You had never been at a loss for words with anyone before, but for some reason, he makes you… nervous.

“You know… I hear you playing sometimes." You cringed as the words left your mouth, because the last thing you wanted to to was embarrass him into even more silence.

Brian stutters, "You... you do?"

"Yeah, through the wall.” Jesus, you sound like a stalker, Y/N, you tell yourself. “I can't make out everything, but the things I do hear sound really good."

The smile on his face lets you know that he’s not embarrassed at all. If anything, he’s quite proud of himself. "I could always play you something when we get home… maybe… if you want me to."

"I'd really like that." You wrap your arm in his. You don’t know why you did that, but it felt nice, and he doesn't seem to mind.

After a few minutes, you look up at Brian and tease him, because he’s adorable when he gets embarrassed, and it happens so easily. "So, is this a date now? We had dinner together at a fancy restaurant. We had some drinks. You gave me your jacket and now you're walking me home," you joked. "Yeah, I think this is a date." He freed the hand that was attached to his free arm from his pocket and grabbed the back of his neck while an embarrassed smile came to his face. "Oh, silly, stop that. I'm just picking on you," you say to him as you tap him on his chest.

"Stop what?" he laughs, not realizing what he’s doing.

"You get embarrassed so easy. It's cute,” you say with a nervous giggle.

"I am not embarrassed." He tries to protest, but you know better.

"Yes, you are. You grab the back of your neck every time you get embarrassed."

"Oh, you mean like how you smile and bite the left corner of your bottom lip when you get embarrassed?"

You nudge him and he pretends to stumble. "Yeah, something like that.”

"Home at last!" Roger yells, snapping the two of you out of your haze. "Come on, girl," he commanded Lyla as he slapped her butt. She laughs loudly and runs up the steps.

Brian takes a deep breath as he watched Roger chasing after the redhead. "It's going to be a long, long night."

"Nah. Let's go get your guitar and come play me one of your songs." You jokingly slap Brian on his butt. "Come on, boy." You mimic Lyla's laugh and run up the steps and turn to look at Brian, who’s just standing there, shell-shocked. "Well?" You cross your arms and start tapping one of your feet. "Are you just going to stand there all night?" He shakes his head and laughs before following you.

[Keep going to Part 2]

#Brian May fic #Brian May fanfic #Brian May fanfiction #Brian May x Reader #Roger Taylor fic #Roger Taylor fanfic #Roger Taylor fanfiction #Roger Taylor x Reader #Queen fandom #Queen fic #Queen fanfic #Queen fanfiction #chameleon story

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rkchwev-blog · 5 years ago

Photo

awake - jbj95 outfit | line distribution dance: ( 00:00 - 00:18 ); ( 00:56 - 01:05 ); ( 01:09 - 01:12 )

this was not a situation he thought he would even make it to. perhaps it was the residual lack of self confidence that still stormed its way through his mind at the most inopportune of moments that made him think this way but each week that passed where his name was not called during eliminations felt far too surreal for him to simply acknowledge his presence on the MGAs as a solidified fact. nothing was for sure in this show nor was it in this business and so he made it a point to not take his continued chance for granted. he’d have to come back stronger each time.

he was aware of his position when compared to the other contestants. or rather… his lack of position. when it came to rappers he was competing against a former idol of a group he was actually a fan of and a fan favorite that everyone seemed to love in their interviews. he’d gotten a few commendations but he was never really suited for variety and so his screen time when compared to others was lacking as well. he had what he had going for himself and he needed to make that work else he would be buried alive by the others.

this was something he was sure he had foreseen happening when the next challenge was announced. duos. pairs. a partner.

it rendered him speechless at first. who was she? oh she had been commended by the judges. so she had to be really good. what kind of music would she like? would their images match well? would they be able to keep up with each other? would they even get along? so many thoughts were running through his head and they’d not even had the proper chance to greet one another before they were directed back to their seats.

surely this was going to be a fucking disaster.

however he couldn’t have been more wrong. all of the nerves he went into their collaboration with were soon melted away after their first practice. he would have to adjust to working with others in that regard and sia definitely put him to work. her anxiety inwardly made him anxious. it was written all over her face just how nervous she was, how worried she was about everything. that instability rattled him… but he could empathize with it. he knew firsthand how crippling anxiety could be and not even for the sake of the show but simply for her own peace of mind, he did everything he could to assuage her worries and fears.

he brought food for them from work to eat and get energy for their practices. she seemed at ease when talking about her cat and so many fun stories were exchanged along with promised playdates. she grew comfortable and song suggestions began to enter the conversation and from her observations, she made brilliant suggestions that when he looked at and listened to them, he could see himself within the performance. his music was taking an upward turn. happier. able to connect with others without drawing on the negative. the lyrics of awake especially drew him as he imagined yeji and what she meant to him. the love he felt for the song was instant.

things were progressing smoothly.

they grew closer as they practiced and the more they interacted in the studio and in messages sent back and forth, the more it became easier to be comfortable as they established a natural chemistry to translate into their performance. a week was a short amount of time to fully know someone but they were at ease with each other and there was a mutual trust that their futures were in each others hands and that they were truly in this together. he was the better dancer of the two – a truly relative position to have when they were both beginners – and though they only selected short snippets of the choreography, they wanted it as perfect as possible. the moves would brighten the song – the entire atmosphere they were going for – and they wanted to make sure it remained an asset and not something detrimental.

there was an adjustment period for him that he couldn’t ignore though. to rap someone else’s lyrics as though they were his own. it was odd. having to follow someone else’s flow when his own flow switched up and changed on his own whim was something he had to find comfort in to be able to find confidence in someone else’s lyrics. he had to suspend his own creative difference from the original lyrics and instead find himself within them and when he approached it differently – as though he were looking at a script – pieces began to fall into place. yeji. this was for her.

they went shopping to agree on outfits for the stage and though his hair was such a hassle in his eyes, they were able to agree on a look that would be comfortable for them both and keep the youthfulness and playfulness of the song alive. it was different than what he was used to but when they wore their outfits in the store and stood with one another in the mirror, he could really see the picture come together. the loving atmosphere of the song. their skills. their stage presence.

this would work. he could feel it.

—–

the day had finally come.

he’d woken up that morning feeling really good and though he was nervous about performing with someone else in a genre that he was beginning to adventure into, he was glad that he was getting the chance to do it with sia. they both had a quiet kind of charisma and it seemed like it would be hard for them to burst out of their shells but when they were on stage it was an entirely different concept. what was practiced was performed with natural execution and what was improvised was received and reciprocated with comfortable chemistry. her greeting made him smile, the trademarked words of hers followed up with his own casual introduction that he’d adjusted to since joining the MGA’s. “hey, i’m vernon.” they interchanged as they spoke about the song, a smile rising to his eyes as he spoke into the microphone before they took their spots. “hopefully this gets you thinking about your first love in the best of ways.”

they circle round each other in the beginning of the choreography and each snap is achieved with practiced rhythmic accuracy. not a beat was missed. sia’s voice lifted up from behind him with their backs pressed to one another and he used the opportunity to use what his former pr agent said was one of his best assets: his face. he smiled a charming smile that colored his salted caramel hued eyes a playful happiness that when he thought of the lyrics shone just a bit brighter as he knew his own first love was right there in the room with him, the look directed back towards sia appropriately. the way the bass of the song underneath the building dance beat kept him entranced energized him and the confidence he had on stage kept him easy. he was thankful for his continued dance lessons that removed the stiffness from his moves in the little bits of choreography they’d decided to use so as the spotlight was turned over to him with a gracious smile from the lovely sia, the weighted microphone was brought to his lips to give the listeners a deep contrast to the bright lightness in sia’s voice as he had a mischievous warmth that would suck them into the bass drop.

Ay 깊은 안갯속에 난 길을 잃어가 너란 빛을 따라가 네게 닿을지 몰라 I’m falling down 끝이 없는 걸 어서 Baby 나를 깨워 줘

he kept the fun in the delivery as the entire song radiated an addictive energy, his hand coming over his cheek as though he were asleep, his eyes closing, with a light shake of his head before he opened them as though surprised, a smile beaming across his features at the cute act. not a single word was missed, his clear and audible delivery something he prided himself on with each syllable tended to in order to keep the freshness of love in each word. he gives sia the stage with an exit as though being pulled away towards her, the tug on his sleeve turning his effervescence her way with a hand naturally coming up to affectionately rest at the hair at the crown of her head as his lines begin again, bringing himself to separate away from her as he clutches his chest as though separating was driving him crazy to find his spot for the highlight of their performance.

매일 봐도 모르겠어 Baby 니가 보고 싶어 Oh crazy

as the chorus began and their voices fell into sync – a harmony they worked hard together to achieve with sia’s singing abilities coming in handy to find a tone they could fit together with his very minimal experience – they fell into the choreography that embodied the bouncy exhilaration the song was composed of, his smile sincerely one that showed his enjoyment of what he was doing. they had perfected the parts they were able to do as a craft and seamlessly transitioned the parts they were unable to do out for different moves that would instead express their overjoy. they moved together, one after the other, to form the heart they had worked into the chorus, his radiant smile tamed as the bass dropped and he sucked the audience back into his words. because every word had importance and he gave them attention to give them meaning that he could feel and that those who were feeling a really strong love could feel.

you wake me up with your mind you wake me up with your mind you wake me up with your

You wake me up with your You wake me up with your mind

I’m on your side, you’ll be my sign 조금씩 빠져들 거야 더 흐릿하�� 날들은 너로 선명해져 I got you now 널 보면 Lose my mind

너의 향기로 차올라 Eh 나의 맘은 벅차올라 Eh 잡은 두 손 꼭 놓지 마 Eh

he rode the bass of his rap, his body naturally bobbing to the rhythm as the mix of english and korean dispatched from him showed his deep affinity for hip-hop in the emphasis he put on the rhymes exuding a charisma that he felt in his confidence as a rapper and that was something he never doubted. but he kept it spirited to match the lively dynamic of the song, his hand coming out before him to gesture as he looked directly towards sia as though rapping to her, his smile playfully smitten and mischievous with all the tenacity in his shining caramel brown eyes of a man 100% sure of the woman that he wanted. he dropped the mic as he looked at her, her lines taking over his eyes on her forming deep set crescents as she hit her notes as though he were proud, his eyes still set on her even as he delivered his next lines, lightly taking her hand for the second line before breaking free from her again to find his position for the chorus once more.

매일 봐도 모르겠어 Baby 니가 보고 싶어 Oh crazy

you wake me up with your mind you wake me up with your mind you wake me up with your

You wake me up with your You wake me up with your mind

their choreography for the chorus burst through refreshingly once more, his adlibs in the back filled with energy as he released a happy ‘whoo’ and ‘come on’ in the empty space between their synchronized lines until they were made to come together once again, their heads coming to rest together instead of a heart to end off the song. her finger hearts go up and his hands form a circle over his mouth that he bites into a heart, the exhilaration of the stage still very strong for him even as he bows before they take their exit.

for all of the doubts that he had going into the stage, he performed at his utmost confident state, allowing himself to really feel the song and get into it while syncing with his partner to create a fun, playful and innocent stage depicting all the wonders of a first love. the entire time all he could think about was yeji. he’d performed it with her in his heart and he hoped that she could feel it and he hoped that everybody who watched could feel their love in their hearts too.

#rkmga5 #rkmga5duos #rksihyeon #rkyeji #wc: 2158

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inkofamethyst · 3 years ago

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May 11, 2022

You know what? I’ll say it: floral wallpaper deserves to come back into style. I do, in fact, want my walls and my dresses to look like my grandmother’s couches, thank you very much.

also, by the way, I!!!!! HATE!!!!!! STUDYING!!!!!! and finals suck.

Of the many things that I love my orchestra for, one of those is that there is no shortage of pride in our work. We livestream our concerts and after every single one there are multiple days of watch parties and gushing about how good they went. We are not bashful; we are proud, and we have things to be proud of! We put together a banger of a concert in basically two months since last fall’s was delayed. I haven’t watched through them yet, but I definitely want to and will at some point. So many people coming together to be excited about music.

At this point I’ve seen a few clips of the concert and we sounded really great from the audience’s perspective for sure. But even with our loud-as-all-get-out choir director super-tenor singing the alto part half the time, I still can’t hear the alto parts. Three to four of us up in the front row, three more in the back, and we’re still the silent section??? HELLO?

I promise I haven’t been like, entirely ignoring the Roe v Wade overturn leak thing, I just don’t feel like I have novel thoughts about it? This is upsetting. And I don’t know where to go after that. An attack on women’s bodies, on their sexualities? Absolutely yes. Interesting how Democrats in Washington have been sitting in safety over this issue, not really considering it an issue, as Republican candidates at all levels of government for at least as long as I’ve been paying attention to politics have targeted this as The Issue and they’ve made this known. I think I’m experiencing a weird dissociative anger, the same type I feel when I hear about certain racial injustices (the volume of black and native women who go missing and are literally never found, police brutality, etc). Where all of my thinking turns to static because it reminds me that I don’t actually live in a world where things I take for granted (and just my own safety in general) are guaranteed.

Also speaking of women’s issues... this whooooole Amanda Heard/Johnny Depp trial feels weird. And people’s reactions to it feel weird to me. I’m not going to say anything more on it than that because people have some really strong opinions and I feel like it’d be really really really easy to watch “highlights” that are clearly favored for one side or the other and completely neglect what the other side brings to the table since I’ve certainly got better things to do than watch the whole thing.

Completely switching gears, consider this: A jukebox musical based on songs by The Crane Wives. Currently thinking, like, it’s a story of two women. One (A) who’s reaching a breaking point with her partner (I’m thinking the engagement was arranged or something like that) and will run off west and another (B) who’s living on her own out west after her partner left her. Wild West era, homestead act n all or whatever. I think A will run into B, B takes a liking to her and decides that it might be time to start living again. I have not a single clue as to what the plot would be exactly.

[edit: I wrote out a lot of it here but moved it to my GDrive just in case I go through with it lol.. had I known about TCW only a year earlier I could’ve done this for my honors capstone but alas]

Today I’m thankful for Darren Korb and Ashley Barret because the two of them just pull out banger after banger after banger. In The Blood, In The Flame, The Spine, whew. Makes my lil Evanescence-lovin heart tear up.

This summer I’m going to see if I can find songs with bass solos in them bc saxophone-guy sounds so forlorn when he talks about how our orchestra never really does songs where he could even be featured. ...y’all please help I think I got it bad. For a gamer of all the types of men oh my god

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nayutai · 7 years ago

Text

Lips & Hips

Word Count: 2,893

A/N: I’m Park Jimin trash and so is this

The music is alive. You can feel the sound waves crashing into you as the heavy bass thumps through your veins. The crowd of sweaty people dancing around you seem to melt away as you sway slowly to the beat. Sweat beads and rolls down your ample cleavage but you don’t care. You can’t recall a time when you felt this good. Your best friend, and worst influence, Alex breaks your reverie to pass you yet another shot. This one is hot pink and bound to be named after some lewd sexual act. With a quick tilt of your head, the bright alcohol disappears down your throat. It’s fruity and burns going down but you don’t even care. Alex disappears again with the empty glass as you return to your dancing with renewed vigor.

“Whoooo!” You yell out over the music, earning several resounding excited shouts in return.

Someone’s steely grip on your waist suddenly halts your movements. Your impending protest dies on your lips as you turn to glare at whoever dared to interrupt your good time. He’s a devil of a man with jet black hair and lips so full you want to scream. Fuck is it even legal to be that hot? He smirks as you blatantly check him out, taking the opportunity to do the same to you. He must like what he sees as he rakes his eyes down your curvy frame, biting his bottom lip. You’re overwhelmed with the urge to bite them yourself as he spins you back around.

“Let’s dance, beautiful” he whispers into your ear before nipping at your ear lobe.

You slowly move your hips to the beat of some random Jacquees song and it’s not long before something, a very large something, pokes at your back side. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck as you grind into him. A shiver runs through you as this beautiful stranger nudges your head to the side with his own and places open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Sober you wouldn’t be caught dead doing this. You’re an accountant for crying out loud and yet here you are drunk, grinding your ass into a stranger’s crotch, and enjoying every second of it. The hands that had been gripping your hips wander to the cut outs of the body con dress you’d borrowed from Alex. The way his fingers brush against the exposed skin along your rib cage is almost as intoxicating as the shot you’d taken a few minutes before.

A whispered plea for you to open your eyes from your dance partner has you blinking up at the ceiling wondering when you had ever closed them in the first place. You lift your head from its spot on his shoulder to look around and realize that the two of you had conveniently danced yourselves into a dark corner of the club. The closest person is at least 10 feet away and most definitely out of ear shot with all the noise. Before you know if your back is pressed against the wall and it, you’re face to face with Mr. GQ himself. His hands find purchase on the wall on either side of your head, effectively trapping you with his body. He pushes a single muscular thigh in between your own and dips his head towards yours. Oh my god is he going to kiss me? My mouth probably tastes like a liquor store! You turn your head at the last second and his deliciously full lips make contact with your cheek instead. He playfully nips and kisses along your jaw until once again his hot breath is felt on your ear.

“Are you getting shy on me, baby girl?” He questions in a voice so beautiful you’re sure that angels are real.

“I-I don’t even know your name” you reply and he chuckles in response before moving back to your lips.

“Jimin. Park Jimin” he answers, “and yours” I bet he likes his drinks shaken not stirred.

“_____. _____ ______” you say in your best James Bond voice which isn’t very good but he laughs so it isn’t a total waste.

“You’re cute” he taps you on the nose with a smile, “Can I kiss you now?” he asks eagerly. Please!

You nod in response and he wastes no time capturing your lips with his own. His mouth is soft yet insistent as he slips his tongue between your lips to wrestle with yours. You soon find that he kisses just as well as he dances. You break away with a groan as he grips your ass. He roughly kneads your backside, pulling you ever closer. At this angle the rock hard muscles in Jimin’s thigh are pressing against your clit perfectly. The sensations set off fireworks in your brain.

Your nails dig into the black fabric covering his shoulders as you fight to to hold in the sounds of your pleasure. The probability of anyone hearing you over the music is slim but it’s the principle of the matter. Jimin’s nose bumps yours as he whines cutely in a bid to get you to kiss him again. Normally that sound would annoy you but Jimin’s version sends a fresh wave of arousal flooding over you. His lips are on yours in an instant but he pulls away right as you’re really starting to get into it. A disgruntled whimper nearly escapes your throat but you manage to choke it down.

“How about we go somewhere a little more private? If you’re okay with continuing this that is.”he asks seductively and you consent to leaving with him without a moment’s hesitation. If he fucks as well as he kisses and dances, you’re in for a wild ride and you can’t wait to get on.

It takes you all of five minutes to find your friend Alex and let her know where you’re going. She gives you a double thumbs in approval of Jimin who is waiting by the door fiddling with his phone and reminds you that she’s tracking your location if he turns out to be an axe murderer.

You snake your way through the mass of gyrating bodies till you’re next to Jimin once more. He pulls you into his side, informing that he’d called an Uber while leaving his hand to rest none to subtly on your ass. You flex the muscles back there for his benefit. The strangled groan that leaves him has your chest swelling in a weird mix of pride and arousal. You can practically see him willing your uber driver to hurry up.

Three lifetimes seem to have passed before your uber driver finally pulls up in front of the club. His name is Andy, a retired lawyer with three grandchildren that he’s immensely proud of. As a matter of fact he’s so proud of his grandchildren that he talks about them all the way to Jimin’s apartment which thankfully isn’t that far from the club.

Hallelujah thank you Jesus

“I’m sure Amanda, Jared, and Greg are great kids but Jesus that was such a boner killer” you can’t help but laugh at the frustrated expression on Jimin’s face as gripes.

“Don’t worry, Jimin. I was raised on a farm so I know a thing or two about raising cocks” you reply with a wink as Jimin mashes the call button for the elevator. He nearly chokes before asking you to marry him as you laugh at your own joke.

You playfully push Jimin into the elevator when the door opens pushing the button for the eighth floor as he directs. The doors slide shut with a click and the two of you collide in a mess of tongues, teeth, and hands. You moan into his mouth as he grinds against your clothed center. His hands are everywhere as he can’t seem to decide what part of you he wants to get his hands on. The two of you split apart long enough to get out of the elevator and down the hall to Jimin’s apartment.

Your arms wrap around him from behind, hands slipping under his shirt to skim across the muscular expanse of his abdomen. Your mouth is busy placing wet kisses along his neck while he struggles to unlock the door. It’s almost comical to watch him fumble with his keys. He flings the door open once he manages to slot the key into the lock. You follow him inside and suddenly the world tips upside down as you find yourself folded over his shoulder, face to face with his perky butt.

“It’s not nice to tease people, babe. I guess you’re going to have to learn the hard way” he teases with a smack to your ass as he walks to what you assume is his bedroom.

“You have a great ass” you muse as your hands form a rhythm against the beautiful specimen directly in front of you to his amusement.

It’s not long before you’re being dropped on the greatest mattress to ever grace the Earth. You bounce once and then Jimin is on top of you, mouth attached to the sensitive spot on your neck that you didn’t even know existed. His hands slide along your rib cage until they reach the zipper at your back. He pulls back a little to make sure you’re okay with this before easing it down and removing the constricting garment from your body. He sucks in a gasp before letting out a groan as he discovers nothing but a black lace thong underneath.

“You’re going to be the death of me” his gravelly voice makes the burning knot of desire in your stomach tighten that much more.

You reach for the buttons on his shirt and quickly get to work on them in a bid to even the playing field as he is still fully clothed while you’re practically naked. With Jimin’s help you soon rid him of everything accept the tight black boxers that are straining to keep his erection in check. You tuck your fingers into the waistband, snapping it against his skin. The sound that falls from his lips has you reaching for him to do it again but he stops you by wrapping his hands around your wrists, pinning them to the mattress as he leans over you.

He makes room for himself between your legs as he takes one of your hardened nipples into his mouth. He sucks it harshly between his full lips and pulls his head back before releasing your nipple with a pop. His eyes never leave yours as he carefully watch your reaction. Your mouth falls open at the sight and you squirm against the hold he still has on your wrists, desperate to touch him. He smirks at your frustration but simply continues his ministrations. As he moves lower towards your nether regions, he releases your hands.

Your eyes widen as he kisses along the edge of your lacy thong. You lift your hips for him to take it off and he quickly obliges. He places your legs on his shoulders as he settles in between your legs. Your hands fly to his hair as he licks a long stripe up your dripping core.

Fuck.

Your back arches obscenely as Jimin works you over with his skilled tongue. He adds his fingers into the mix, expertly curling them to brush against your g-spot as he continues to suck on your clit. His name rolls off your lips like a prayer as you race towards what is sure to be an earth-shattering orgasm. He groans around your clit and that’s enough to send you flying into the abyss. For a second you’re afraid that your might give out as black spots dance across your vision. Your chest is heaving as he kisses his way back to your mouth. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it’s a rush.

You tug at his boxers, indicating that you want them gone. Jimin ignores you as he chooses to go the teasing route instead by grinding his covered erection against your sensitive center. You can’t help the moan that breaches your lips when he does it again and again. You wrap yourself around him, taking him by surprise as you flip the two of you over so that you’re now straddling his waist. Taking matters into your own hands is how you get shit done at work and now it looks like you’ll have to do the same in bed now if you plan to get what you want.

“Oooh feisty! I like it” he smacks at your hips before you move to rid him of his boxers.

His erection springs forth and he hisses as the cool air in the room hits him. The tip is angry, red, and dripping precum as you grip him in your fist. Unlike Jimin you don’t feel it necessary to tease him as you lean down and ease your mouth along his engorged cock until he hits the back of your throat. You swallow around him and he shouts your name like it’s both a prayer and a curse. His fingers pull on your hair so hard that you won’t be surprised if you have a bald spot tomorrow. This nice ass apartment suggests that he can afford a pretty nice wig so you’re not too concerned.

You lift your mouth off of him to suck in a deep breath but he stops you as you move to descend again. “I’m going to cum if you do that again and I’d rather be inside that sweet your pussy of yours when that happens”

Your insides clench around nothing as his words send waves of pride and arousal rolling across your body. He blindly reaching into the drawer of his nightstand to retrieve a condom. In seconds his erection is covered and he moves to flip you on your back once more but it’s your turn to stop him this time. You wrap your hand around him, sliding him along your slit to cover him in your juices before you slowly begin to sink down on him. Halfway down you have to pause as you feel like you’re being ripped in half.

“You can do it, baby. I know you can take this dick” his words of encouragement spur you to action. Your ass finally meet his thighs as you take him to the hilt and you’ve never felt so full.

The stretch burns a bit as you’ve never been with anyone as well endowed as Jimin is but you quickly adjust. You rock your hips against him experimentally, head tilted back towards the ceiling as he drags against your walls in a way that has you seeing stars. Jimin’s hands are soft but the grip he has on your hips is brutal as thrusts up to counter the rise and fall of your hips. You claw at his chest as the sensations start to overwhelm you. Your thighs are shaking and you’re not too sure that you’ll be able to hold yourself up much longer. Sensing your predicament, Jimin rolls you over onto your back, never pulling out of you.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck as he snaps his hips into your. The filthy words spilling from his lips fuel your desire that much more as you meet each thrust with a purposeful grind of your hips. His mouth finds yours as he swallows the noises you make. He wraps one of your legs around his waist, allowing to reach even deeper and it’s as though he’s pushed all of the air out of your lungs.

“I’m g-fuck Jimin I’m gonna cum” his thumb quickly rubs figure eights on your clit and that’s all it takes. He fucks you through your orgasm before finally reaching his own with a strangled groan.

He collapses on top of you as you both struggle to catch your breath. You run your fingers through his sweaty hair and he moans appreciatively. After a while he slowly pulls out of you, disposing of the condom before cleaning you up. You know you should get up to leave now but you’re not entirely sure that you’d even be able to stand if you did. You tense up as Jimin covers you in a blanket before pulling you into his chest, nuzzling your neck.

“I know this is kinda backwards but will you go on a date with me?” You spin around to face him to check if he’s being serious and there’s not a hint of deceit anywhere on his beautiful face.

“You really want to go on a date? With me?” You’re in a state of pure shock as he bites his lip and nods. The heavens have truly opened up and blessed you tonight. First you get great dick and now the owner of said dick wants to take you on a date? God is good.

“Well yeah but if you don’t want to I totally get it. I just thought we had chemistry and I-” you shut him up with a kiss and you can feel him smile against your lips.

“A date there shall be” you settle back into his arms with a shit-eating grin and sleep quickly overtakes you.

Best. Night. Ever.

#jimin smut #park jimin #jimin #bts jimin smut #bts park jimin #bts jimin #i nearly died writing this

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