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justmaybee · 4 years ago

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Feather Sensitive

Summary: Oh, Yamaguchi’s really done it this time. He should just keep his mouth shut from now on. Unfortunately, that’s the exact opposite of what Hinata wants.

A/N: Y’ello! Another off-brand one, but hopefully a fandom peeps recognize. I haven’t seen Haikyuu in a lil, but I love Yamigoops and this has been 90% done for forever so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Based entirely off the second headcanon here, by @ticklishnonsense — absolutely loved it and you can tell cuz I wrote this ages ago for no other reason than having it written down for myself~

A big thank you to OP for letting me use her work as inspiration!!

———

This was a mistake. This was a mistake. This was a mistake.

Yamaguchi can’t will his mind into more elaborate thought, because it’s all just suddenly sunken in.

Hinata’s weight, heavy but not uncomfortable, resting snug on his hips. The loose tank top, just slightly too big on him, stolen out of Kageyama’s stuff at some point during one sleepover or another. And that ridiculously giant feather Hinata’s got poised between his fingers, like it’s a quill and Yamaguchi is a trembling, twitchy sheet of parchment about to be marked up.

When had he told Hinata? Why had he told Hinata?

Tsukki had figured it out, years and years ago; during one of their many one-sided tickle fights, Yamaguchi thinks. It’s been used against him for as long as he can remember, stray fluff from down pillows and blankets brushed over his neck or feet to pull a sudden and squeaky laugh. He’s never, ever told Tsukki just how much it really tickled though, and Tsukki never asked.

So why did he have to go and mention this to a person just as skilled and merciless in tickling people—often Yamaguchi people—into boneless puddles of teary, hysterical laughter?

It’s got to be Hinata’s charm. If Tsukishima has his cold, borderline apathetic, poise to lay base for his killer teasing method, then Hinata’s strength comes in his natural curiosity. Wide eyes, a light voice, and an openness that makes Yamaguchi feel like he can talk to him.

This, apparently, is not the case in a topic involving feathers. Because Yamaguchi will apparently lose all sense of self-preservation and voice his thoughts on how unbearably sensitive he is to a thing most people will flinch at and brush away like nothing.

But of course, it’s too late for him to realize his mistake now. It wasn’t until Hinata came barreling down the hall, shopping bag in hand, to tackle Yamaguchi to the living room carpet that things started rolling into motion.

Now Hinata’s got Yamaguchi pinned, arms under his knees and a big, big smile stretched over his face. It’s so genuine and excited that Yamaguchi finds himself getting a little lost in it, at least until the feather comes back into focus.

“I mean come on, Yamaguchi.” Hinata holds the quill of the feather and traces the soft end up his own arm, dusting it over his collarbone and getting just a hint of a twitch out of his lips before twirling it between his fingers. “I almost think that you’re lying to me.”

But his face must convince Hinata otherwise, because he doesn’t look like he thinks it’s a lie. The tracing of the feather, even along Hinata’s skin has Yamaguchi twitching, breathing funny. Goosebumps rise along his arms, and Hinata is so riled up with energy—so ready to take Yamaguchi apart—that it’s practically impossible for the brunette to even try and stop the wobbly smile making its way onto his face.

Hinata is the one to burst the bubble of anticipation building slowly in Yamaguchi’s gut. He laughs, a delighted little sound, commenting on the cute pink of Yamaguchi’s blush before he goes in for the kill. And Yamaguchi has never been that great at holding back his reactions, especially when he’s already a tense and flustered mess untouched, so the result is pretty immediate.

The first giggle slips hesitantly out of his throat but clears the way for many more as Hinata gently traces the base of his neck, skimming over his collarbones like even a feather could break them if used too harshly.

It’s a little timid, a little reserved, which is a major change of pace from Hinata’s usual quick and dirty way of fighting. He’s always had a ‘take no prisoners’ sort of approach to a tickle fight; either win outright or die trying, but the new method seems to slow him down a bit.

He’s thinking, watching. And luckily, for him and most certainly not Yamaguchi, the change seems to work really well with the soft touch of the feather. Pulling giggle after giggle from his victim and making him sputter at the attention when he realizes how closely he’s being observed.

The plume travels slowly up Yamaguchi’s neck, high enough that he’s able to jerk his head to block out either side as it passes. Unfortunately, that just causes Hinata to speed up the back and forth strokes, attempting to dodge Yamaguchi’s blocks. And it’s effective and so much more ticklish, Yamaguchi chokes on his sudden snort and tosses his head back on impulse, laughter getting louder and more desperate as Hinata takes advantage of the newly exposed skin.

He keeps at it until Yamaguchi feels light-headed, a little delirious with his laughter completely unchecked. The feather strays to flick up over his ear, and the whimpering laugh that comes out keeps Hinata there until Yamaguchi’s shoulder is twitching spastically of its own accord, desperately trying to stop the light, constant brush over his sensitive skin.

He gets a break—thank God—after a few minutes of this. Being dubbed most ticklish in the house (after many, many tests) has left him with pretty high stamina. But somehow a few minutes of Hinata and a feather has him panting for breath like he’d just finished a hundred laps around the gym.

Yamaguchi is so caught up in catching his breath (and trying to calm that tic in his shoulder) that he doesn’t really think about how breaks aren’t much of Hinata’s style either.

His floaty mind comes to bite him when he feels two soft points of contact touch down on his wrists.

His arms jolt on instinct. His elbows move a smidge in either direction but stick firm to the ground. Hinata’s smile takes on a wicked gleam and...oh boy.

If Yamaguchi gets out of this alive, the others will have some real competition for scariest tickler.

The feathers sweep back and forth, back and forth over his arms. They start at the wrist, and would almost feel nice if not for the impending sense of doom that has blood rushing through Yamaguchi’s ears right now.

The swaying movement drifts up, painfully slow. He doesn’t even think it tickles that much right now, but that doesn’t stop him from physically biting his lip to stop the snickers from making their way out.

It’s when the pair reach his inner elbow that first crack appears. Yamaguchi gasps and Hinata perks up, keeping the feathers there a moment longer, letting them sweep side to side a little faster.

From there the cracks spiderweb exponentially.

The gasp ends up turning into a snort. As Himata continues his path upward, it becomes a whine. And when he’s at the faint line where his skin darkens with a tan, from long summer days spent out in a t-shirt, he decides to flick the feathers in an alternating pattern over either arm.

It has Yamaguchi rocking back and forth in a way that he guesses might look kind of funny. Hinata starts laughing anyways. And of course, it’s enough to get Yamaguchi’s lips to loosen and let out the stream of bubbling giggles he’s been suppressing for far too long already.

His arms feel warm, almost as hot as his face, even though their air conditioning has been working pretty decently lately. There’s a faint tingly feeling still left where the feathers had once brushed his skin.

Everything already feels so sensitive, and Hinata isn’t even there yet.

There are butterflies having a—a mosh pit in his stomach right now. He can’t remember the last time he felt so wound up getting tickled. Then again, he can’t remember the last time Hinata put this much...care? Is that the right word for this situation? —into destroying him.

It makes Yamaguchi a little happy, for some reason.

And sometime about that moment seems to be the limit for Hinata’s concentration, because the change from gentle, teasing touches to his usual form of attack is both quick and excruciating.

The moment after, when Yamaguchi suddenly has two feathers sweeping fast little strokes under his arms, his brain completely short circuits.

What leaves his mouth can only be called a shriek and it’s quickly drowned out by the squeaky, panicked laughter that floods the room immediately.

His chest is jerking side to side in vain. There’s hair in his eyes and a little in his mouth from how violently he’s tossing his head around, but he can’t register a thing beyond the millions of wispy, light strands fluttering a fast track over and over and over the soft and sensitive skin beneath his restrained arms.

Hinata gets the bright idea to not try and jam the delicate things towards the floor anymore. He instead tries twirling them in a circular motion in the spaces underneath Yamaguchi’s arms.

Yamaguchi didn’t think his voice was high enough to screech like he used to, but ‘Hey, you learn something new everyday,’ he thinks, entirely delirious.

His back arches off the ground, head tossing back then pressing into his shoulder as if it’ll somehow smother his hysterical laughter.

It’s bright and desperate and so, so loud. Yamaguchi would typically only reach this point when someone’s feeling particularly ruthless with plenty of time to spare, but it could be hours since Hinata first got him pinned down; it sure feels like it.

There are weird little squeaks that pierce the air when he’s got the breath. His limbs are doing this constant squirm that’s got him feeling hot all over. His lashes feel wet and he knows it’s a matter of seconds before the tears start to fall.

But nothing is more prominent than the feeling of soft, soft, so very soft; and it tickles, it tickles, it really tickles.

———

When Yamaguchi’s brain finally starts rebuilding from the mush, hiccuping giggles making their way through his gasps for breath, he feels Hinata still sitting on top of him. Thankfully—mercifully—though, the feathers are nowhere to be seen, and his hands have been let free.

Seeing Hinata’s hand in his peripheral makes him flinch, but he just wipes at Yamaguchi’s cheek, brushing away the leftover moisture.

“I had to stop because you were starting to look like a strawberry,” Hinata grins. His skin is cool against Yamaguchi’s. He leans into the touch.

“So...was that awesome or what?” Hinata continues, voice energetic though he still rubs a soothing motion over Yamaguchi’s cheek.

Yamaguchi takes a second to reflect. On the dreamy tiredness seeping into his bones, the floaty high that fills up his head.

He nods, once or twice. Though from where Hinata’s sitting, it could just be Yamaguchi nuzzling into his hand. That’s fine. Yamaguchi could use the plausible deniability.

Once he’s been declared as officially ‘not a strawberry anymore,’ Hinata helps him up. He only stumbles a little bit, but of course Hinata has to poke fun.

“You know what that means?” Hinata throws out, arm linked with Yamaguchi’s as they make their way to a well-deserved seat on the couch.

Yamaguchi hums in response.

“We’ve gotta start building up your tolerance.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes widen, but he’s pushed onto the couch with a lap full of Hinata before he can say anything. He looks up at Yamaguchi all big eyes and a bigger smile. Yamaguchi swallows.

“We’re doing that again, soon.“

#bee stuffs #tickling #tickle fic #Hinata #Yamaguchi #based off the og post #there’s some college poly first year vibes #but it’s up for interpretation idk #ticklish!Yamaguchi #as he de-serves #Haikyuu

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letsgetusaghostfriend · 4 years ago

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A Green Day concert, a bloody nose and a coming out – Sunset Curve & Green Day I

Summary: Luke and Bobby got them tickets for the Green Day show in LA on November 2nd 1994, also known as the night Billie Joe punched a homophobe and Alex came out to the guys.

Friendship fic, super Alex & Bobby centred, Luke and Reggie are not straight but don’t know that yet. Also, I know most people think Alex came out way earlier, but he has to not be out for this story to work.

((warnings: homophobia, homophobic language (not fully written out except in the band name of the opening act), slight violence, mentioned: alcohol, underage drinking (I am german, so for me it’s not underage drinking but yeah), in general: swearing))

word count: 4.9k, read here on AO3 x

Luke and Bobby got four tickets for the Green Day show in LA on November 2nd in 1994, it was one of Green Day’s bigger shows at that time. The boys previously have been to other concerts of the band, but the last one was in a small club in ’92, of course, all four of them being way too young for that place. Luke and Reggie were the first ones out of their group to get fake ID’s, mainly to go to gigs and play gigs. In the beginning, Alex thought he would never do the same, too scared of possible consequences, but then Luke used his stupid puppy eyes. (They still work even after Alex crush died, dead and buried). And if he was being honest, it was really helpful for playing clubs if the owners can at least pretend that they believe the four boys are old enough to be there.

Alex was aware that Green Day’s opening act, Pansy Division, was an all-gay band. And he was excited and scared at the same time. He found out because this one kid in his English class, Josh, went to the San Diego show earlier that week and told one of his friends that he shouldn’t go to the LA show as Green Day was just a bunch of “f*g lovers” and not worth their time. So Alex was scared: what if his friends would say the same thing?

They arrive late and the line is massive, Alex anxiety pitches in and reminds him that if it takes too long for them to get inside, he might miss Pansy Divisions performance. Logically he knows that they wouldn’t start letting people in so late that the opening band already starts when most people are not inside yet, but his anxiety is not that into logical thinking. He can’t help being fidgety, at one point Luke noticed and asks him if the crowd is making him uncomfortable. “Yeah, a little bit” Alex responds, not wanting further questions about why he was so anxious. The boys keep close to the bar, staying in the back first, not too excited to get into the crowd just yet. Alex knows the others would be inside the first mosh pit if it wasn’t for his anxiety, but not once did they show any signs of annoyance about his hesitancy. They just patiently wait for Alex to get used to the crowd and atmosphere, never angry when he has a bad day and he never signals that it is okay for them to go into the more crowded areas. Sometimes, especially when Luke doesn’t know where to put his energy he and Reggie go, but they always make sure that at least one person stays with Alex. He probably should tell them how thankful he is for this more often (the others would disagree here since they feel like Alex thanks them too much).

When Pansy Division started playing Alex didn’t expect them to actually sing about hooking up with guys at rock concerts, loving men, having real, deep and meaningful relationships and just, in general, doing normal daily life stuff, living with a boyfriend and how it feels after a breakup. He feels so excited, almost jumping up and down to the beat, not able to put his excited energy out on the drums like he would if it was their own concert. Alex completely forgets to check the guys for any reactions, too involved in the music. He doesn’t see that the other three boys enjoy Pansy Divisions music just as much as he does. He doesn’t see Bobby eyeing him from the side, a knowing glint in his eye.

Alex doesn’t know that Bobby saw the way Alex would look at Luke when they were 14, at Brian from History when they were 15, and how he sometimes looks at pictures from Billie Joe Armstrong in magazines. Bobby also didn’t miss Alex’ obsession with the song Coming Clean. The other boys sometimes forget about how Bobby’s parents are genuine open-minded people, who introduce him to a lot more diverse people than his friends’ parents do. So yes, maybe Alex was discreet enough for Mr Luke Oblivious Patterson and Captain Reg Oblivious Peters, and his parents who anyway only see what they want to see, but not for Bobby. Bobby, who might from an outsider’s perspective looks like he is standing a bit outside this friendship group due to him being less loud and sociable than his friends, but Bobby who loves his friends with all his heart, Bobby who truly sees his friends and knows that this is where he belongs. Seeing the absolute bliss, happiness and excitement streaming from Alex like waves is contagious.

After Pansy Division finished their set and there was a short break before Green Day would start theirs, Bobby slips from their group, mumbling that he would get another beer. Instead, he goes to buy Pansy Divisions EP, because the band was genuinely good but mostly because he knows Alex wouldn’t buy it, but he will definitely want it. On his way to the little corner where they sell the Green Day merch as well as Pansy Division stuff, Bobby realises that it was actually packed, but he soon saw that it was just a long long line for the Green Day merch. Actually, there are so many people he can’t even see the Green Day merch salesperson. He manages to get to the guy who took care of the Pansy Division stuff, he greets him with a head nod and a short “hey”, while scrambling his money out of his pant pockets to count it. He’ll have to nick a bit off of Luke’s beer later, not having enough money left to buy another one. When he reaches out to hand out the money for the CD somebody joins the guy who cared for the merch. Bobby recognises that it’s the singer of Pansy Division and he smiles at him. “Great performance, really enjoyed you guys’ music!”. The singer grins at that and holds out his left hand, which Bobby finds a bit strange, but takes it nonetheless.

“Jon, nice to meet you.”

“Bobby, pleasure is all mine.”

“Ah, you’re a musician yourself!” Jon says while checking out Bobby as if he could tell whether the kid in front of him was any good based on his appearance. It took the guitarist a second to realise that Jon must’ve felt his calloused fingers from playing the guitar during the handshake. “Yeah, I’m actually here with my bandmates.” A voice in his head, that sounds suspiciously like Reggie tunes in with “We’re Sunset Curve, tell your friends.” But Bobby pretty much felt like a child trying to play in the adults’ league, so he doesn’t say anything else. Jon grabs the CD he was about to buy and opens it while asking “So Bobby, is the CD for you or someone else?” Taken aback by that question Bobby tells him without thinking “We kind of always share records. Em, so maybe Sunset Curve?” Jon who was about to sign the inside of the CD case, pauses and looks up again “You’re in Sunset Curve?”

“Yeah, rhythm guitar.” He answers without much of a thought, it takes him two seconds then he adds: “You’ve heard of us?” Jon chuckles at Bobby’s shocked tone.

“Saw you play a few months ago. Didn’t remember your name till Mike mentioned one of your songs, always called you “the band with the cute drummer” actually.” Jon casually explained to a still shell-shocked Bobby. The comment about Alex makes him choke on his own spit though. Jon smirks, but before he can say more Bobby’s mouth starts talking before his brain gave its okay: “You saw us well enough to say that Alex is cute, but you didn’t recognise me?” After the words left his mouth, he feels his face heat up.

‘Way to embarrass yourself by having too much of an ego, Robert, great job’, he thought to himself. But Jon again laughs it off, as if he made a funny joke, smirks and asks if Alex was here tonight.

“He is,” Bobby says, voice cold, “he is also sixteen.”

Now it was Jon’s time to look embarrassed. “Oh shit, never mind then.” He pauses. “Sixteen is a bit young to play that club you played, isn’t it?” He pauses again. “You guys take this whole music thing seriously, I like that!”

More at ease again after Jon’s reaction to Alex’ age, Bobby’s brain finally catches up with everything Jon said before he called Alex cute.

“Wait, Mike as in Mike Dirnt? As in Mike Dirnt mentioned one of our songs?” he asks astounded. Jon laughs at the utter bewilderment that the younger one’s face was showing. But before he could say something about it a loud voice behind Bobby sneers: “Oh look at that, Bobby the f*g lover.” He turns around and sees Andrew from his math class. “Always knew at least one of you would be a shirt lifter!”

Bobby tries to take a deep breath before he answers but Jon beats him to it. “I would really think people were clever enough to listen to lyrics, but you still find the poser ones at these concerts, especially since Dookie got Green Day so popular outside of the scene!” Bobby needed a few seconds to realise that Jon wasn’t even talking to Andrew but instead just talked about him to Bobby and the guy selling the merch.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that you fucking fairy!” Andrew sneers, stepping closer to Jon. As soon as Andrews anger is directed towards Jon and not Bobby anymore, the guitarists fight instinct kicks in.

“Fairy? Really?” he asks Andrew with a snigger in his voice, “Didn’t know we live in the 50s, Andrew. Learned all these terms from your daddy?” Bobby tries to make his voice sound as degrading as possible. For a second it seems like Andrew might shut up and leave but then Jon starts laughing loudly about Bobby’s comments and before anyone can react Andrew takes a swing and hits Jon right on the mouth. Without thinking, Bobby copies his action and the next thing he knows is that his hand hurts and Andrew has a red square on the side of his face. He glares at the guitarist and strikes again. This time the fist hits Bobby’s nose and he sees black stars in front of his eyes for a few seconds. After that, all hell is breaking loose and Bobby is being pushed around for what feels like a few minutes before he gets pulled aside and finds himself behind the selling booth with Jon by his side who has a busted lip that is still bleeding. Jon has a hand on the teen's shoulder and looks worried at him. “Fuck your nose does not look too good!” he says. Hearing the words Bobby brings his hand up to his nose and winces when he feels a sharp pain as soon as his fingers touch his nose. “Fuuuuuuuuck, Alex is going to kill me!” he groans at the thought of how the blond will react to seeing Bobby like this.

“Hey man, good punch you got on the dickhead there!” an excited voice states beside Bobby, which makes him turn his head probably a bit too quick, considering he just got punched in the face a few minutes before. But the guitarists' instincts were right: standing beside him was no other than Green Days’ singer, Billie Joe Armstrong. The blond (with fading blue in his hair) is smiling at Bobby and continues with “but I think mine was even better” while pointing at something behind Bobby, who turns around just in time to see security carrying a half-conscious Andrew out of the venue.

“You know that guy?”

“He goes to my school!” Bobby answers, still in awe looking after Andrew.

“Oh, you need to tell me about how he looks tomorrow, man I don’t miss high school but I’d love to go to school just to see that!” Billie Joe tells him and Jon, still sounding way too excited. When Bobby turns around again to look at the two musicians in front of him, he catches Jon telling Billie Joe that Bobby is part of the band they talked about the other day. Somehow getting even more excited by the news he fully turns back to Bobby. “Love that! We need more good people in this scene so we can make sure the music stays clean of dudes like that! Well, it was lovely punching homophobes with you Bobby, but I actually have a concert to play!”

And with that Billie Joe is gone through the door leading to the backstage area and Bobby looks at Jon hoping that he can find answers with him (like is he hallucinating?) but he just chuckles at the teenagers in awe face and takes the CD Bobby wanted to buy all along, as well as the money he had already paid and hands both back at the teen with the words “I think you paid enough for this already, thanks for sticking up for me!” And adding, when Bobby tries to give the money back again, “You better go so your bandmates don’t worry and you don’t miss the Green Day show!” Bobby thanks him and with a smile he makes his way back to the other boys while putting the money and the CD into his pockets.

When Alex finally sees Bobby come back to them, he feels relief washing over him. Alex always hates it when they split especially if one of them is on their own and Bobby has been gone for way too long. The first thing Alex notices is that Bobby doesn’t carry any beer or anything else that he could’ve brought from a bar, the second thing is that Bobby’s nose is bleeding. The easing relief is instantly replaced by worry as Alex's brain catches up with his eyes. As soon as the guitarist reaches them Alex starts searching his fanny pack for tissues and anything else that can help with a bloody nose, all while berating Bobby about getting into a fight. Reggie and Luke excitedly ask Bobby about it, but when their bleeding bandmate tries to tell them about what happened Alex just shushes him and gestures for him to look up so that he can take a better look at his nose. While Alex is still cleaning up Bobby’s face the crowd starts cheering and Alex turns around quickly to confirm his suspicion that the main act finally made it on stage. He keeps on cleaning his friends face from now slightly dried blood when he hears Billie Joe's voice over the speakers.

“Sorry guys, I know we’re late, but I had to punch a homophobe…” The rest of the sentence does not reach Alex’ brain as he looks at one of his best friends, whose nose was bleeding after obviously being punched and all he can hear is white noise, while the realisation, that Bobby being the homophobe who was just punched by Green Days’ singer, sets in. He feels a sharp sting in his chest all while feeling overwhelmed by fear, cold naked fear. And his thoughts race through his brain, too fast to actually make any sense, all he knows is that his worst nightmare seems to be coming true: the people he trusts the most will eventually leave him. They will hate him. They will think he is disgusting, and they will leave him. Unconsciously he takes a step back from Bobby, taking both his hands off his friends face but before he can totally spiral into his thoughts, he is caught by Bobby who holds the drummer by his wrists and looks at him like Alex offended him deeply.

“Seriously?” Bobby’s voice comes out sharper than he probably intended, softening his tone as he sees Alex flinch at him, “You actually think I am homophobic? Fuck Alex do you really think that poorly of me?” The guitarists' words and face are both filled with what Alex can only describe as hurt. Bobby attempts to say more but he is cut off by Billie Joe's voice coming over the speakers saying his name.

“A special thanks to Bobby from Sunset Curve! Make sure you check them out they’re a local band that’ll make it big one day, I’ll promise you! I swear, give them less than a year and they’ll be playing here on this very stage! Thanks, Bobby, for helping me punch a dickhead!” And with that they start into their first song, leaving the boys standing completely mind blown in the back, each one trying to comprehend what just happened. After a few seconds, Reggie, Luke and Alex all turn to Bobby with questioning faces, but Bobby concentrates on Alex’ face. “Do you believe me now?” When Alex nods the, still bleeding, guitarist feels relief wash over him. “Good! Because I already have your Christmas present and I literally know no one else who has the same taste that you have!” He actually manages to make Alex smile with his stupid comment, feeling like they might be okay again, he holds onto Alex’ sleeve, needing something to ground him, knowing that Alex is uncomfortable with public affection. He turns to Luke and Reggie who as soon as they have his attention try to bombard him with questions, but he stops them and promises to tell them later.

___

After the concert:

When they leave the venue, a wave of, for L.A. unusually cold air, hits Bobby’s face and clears his head a little, making it easier to think about everything that had happened. As he was the first one out of the four to step out in the cold air, he takes a deep breath before turning around to see the other three boys walk up to him. He notices that Alex pulls his jean jacket tighter around his body, clearly not enjoying the cold air as Bobby does. He smiles at Bobby and then follows Reg and Luke who started walking towards the side street where they parked the van before the concert. The two boys talk animatedly about the Green Days show, analysing every detail. Seeing one of their favourite bands live did distract the two enough for them to not ask any further questions, right now. Alex smile tells Bobby that the same did not count for the blonde boy. Bobby jogs up to Alex to walk beside him, but when he tries to initiate a conversation with his bandmate, the blonde just shakes his head and mumbles, that he has things to think, but as if to calm Bobby down, Alex takes his hand and squeezes it before they reach their van. The van they brought because they actually started to be able to book enough gigs to pay for it (and to actually need it), they all paid for it, even though they don’t talk about the fact that Bobby paid the biggest part, with him having the only parents who actually support the band.

Bobby is driving, with Alex in the passenger seat lost in his thoughts and Luke and Reggie in the back, trying to get Bobby to finally tell them about what happened at the venue. The guitarist promises to tell them as soon as they arrive at the garage, but despite the impatience from Luke and Reggie to find out about everything they still have a quick stop at a small diner on their way home to get their after-concert food.

Alex, Reggie and Luke all go straight for the couch while bobby prefers sitting on the floor, facing them. For a few seconds they all munch happily but soon Luke starts bugging Bobby about what happened at the club, so he puts his sandwich aside and takes a short breath. He doesn’t know where to start, he kind of wants Alex to know that he got the CD for him, but he doesn’t want to put any pressure on Alex, nor does he want the other two to find out about Alex liking boys before Alex wants them to.

“So,” Bobby starts, “we all really liked Pansy Division, right?” he asks with a nervous laugh tinting his words. He looks at the three boys on the couch for confirmation and gets it from two of the boys while Alex looks like he gets scared by the simple indication that he might have really liked the queer band they all saw tonight. Bobby acts like he didn’t see it while deciding, that he won’t tell the blond that Jon was hitting on him. That might be a bit much information for one night. “Well, I thought,” he continues while pulling out the CD he brought earlier “I’ll get us their CD.” He waves the CD then places it on the table in front of the couch so the guys can look at it.

“And that’s where I met one of the band members, Jon, he is the singer.” He looks up at his friends who all stare at him with a mixture of shock and curiosity on their faces, even Alex nervousness seems replaced. ‘I didn’t even get to the really shocking parts yet’, Bobby thought to himself.

“Okay, so we got talking, he found out I play in a band and when he asks for a name to use to sign the CD I just said Sunset Curve, because we always share records, like I mean I don’t even know who owns what anymore!” Luke looks dead serious while nodding his head, Alex starts smiling slightly and Reggie looks like he is trying really hard to separate their shared music collection in his head.

“Anyway, it turns out he saw one of our shows earlier this year and apparently, he was talking about one of our songs with Mike, but before you get too excited, I couldn’t ask him about it because that dick Andrew from my math class interrupted us. He called me a – eh, never mind” he stops himself, giving Alex a short glance – “he started calling me and Jon names and I kind of started making fun of him for using really outdated terms and when Jon laughed about that, Andrew hit him and then I hit Andrew and he hit me back and suddenly everything got crazy. Next thing I know is that I am behind the merch booth with Jon and Billie Joe Armstrong, and Andrew is being carried outside by security.” He tries to rush the words out fast enough so that Luke doesn’t stop him because of the band being recognised and Alex doesn’t stop him because he hit someone.

“And then Billie Joe finds out I am in Sunset Curve and he says something about it being good that more good people will keep the scene going or something and then he pretty much left to play the show and Jon gave me the CD and I went back to you guys so you wouldn’t worry too much.” When he finally finishes his story, he is staring at three really shocked looking faces.

“Mike Dirnt and Billie Joe both know of Sunset Curve?”

“Who knew Bobby is such a badass!”

“You hit Andrew?”

All three started talking at the same time, but then Alex stands up and he looks real mad and everyone else shuts up. Bobby looks at him. “Alex, I didn’t plan to, it just happened. I got so mad when he started calling Jon these awful names and when he hit him, I just snapped.”

“What about our no fighting rule, huh?”

“So, when someone is being super homophobic, I am just supposed to do nothing?”

At that moment Bobby realises that Alex didn’t process until now that Andrew was using homophobic slurs against Bobby and Jon. He sees Alex anger vanish from him in mere seconds, replaced by fear and sadness settling in his eyes. Lips pressed into a thin line Alex sits down on the couch again. It breaks Bobby’s heart to see his friend like this. They all stay silent for a while.

“What did he say?” Alex asks with a voice so quiet Bobby almost misses it.

“Alex,” he sighs, “I am pretty sure you don’t want to know!”

With that Alex's eyes, which were glued to his hands before, snap up and meet Bobby’s. “You know, don’t you?” Alex asks Bobby, seemingly completely forgetting that the other boys are in the room.

Bobby does not know what to answer, not wanting to make Alex come out because he feels like he has to, or because Bobby figured it out already. “I only know what you want me to know, everything else is just a hunch.” He finally settles on.

Alex laughs. “So, you definitely know, and I actually thought I was being subtle.”

“I still love you, you know that, right?” Bobby just needs Alex to know that. Even if this is a weird one, Bobby wants this to be the reaction Alex gets for his first coming out.

It takes Alex a few seconds but finally, he looks up again, searching Bobby’s face for any trace of him lying. As Alex realises that the boy in front of him means what he said he feels like the biggest wave of relief washes over him. This, black-haired, awkward and quiet boy in front of him, who buys CD’s from queer bands, punches one of his classmates because he was being a homophobic bigot to a complete stranger and whose first reaction to Alex half-assed coming out is to tell him that he still loves him. This boy, who is so uncomfortable with most people touching him, who still wants to hold all of their hands all the time, calling them grounding. This boy, who would probably punch more people to protect them because he gets crazy protective about the people he cares about. And suddenly it’s difficult not to start crying and Alex feels like his voice will break if he tries to talk so he just nods.

And in that second, knowing he has Bobby on his side for this, he decides that he wants them all to know. So, he gets up from the couch and “gets on the runway” as Luke likes to call Alex’ nervous walking occasionally. After walking up and down three times, he suddenly stops, turns to Luke and Reg who look super confused by what is happening and he blurts out “Iamgay” so fast that there was no way that any of the guys could’ve understood a single word. So, he takes a deep breath and repeats: “I am gay” while standing there, eyes closed, and breath held.

“Oh, that…” Luke starts, but he gets interrupted by Reggie who says: “That makes so much sense, that is why you were staring at Brian so much last year! That really confused me, man!”

“I was... I was not staring at Brian Denver!” Alex sputters embarrassment creeping in his cheeks.

“You totally were, you even knew who Reg was talking about right away!” Luke laughs and gets up to pull Alex in a big hug, squeezing him tight. Reggie gets a hold of them and pulls them down on the couch where he squeezes between them, and wooshes through Alex’ hair affectionately. Alex, now half sitting on the couch and half lying on Reggie looks up to Bobby, who stands awkwardly in front of the couch. As the other two notice Bobby as well they all kind of freeze in their cuddle pile. Even as Bobby was more comfortable touching his bandmates than he was with touching his parents, or literally anyone else, he still never expressed any interest in being part of a cuddle pile before. Seeing how all of his friends stopped as he approached, the guitarist started taking a step back, but Alex stopped him by holding out his hand for Bobby to take. It takes him a few seconds but finally, he lets himself being pulled on top of Alex into the cuddle pile and even though it feels strange at first he likes the feeling of Alex’ soft t-shirt under his cheek, Reggie’s arm around his waist and the smell of Luke’s cologne.

Later that night Bobby snatches a picture of his best friends still cuddling on the couch hours later, now all fast asleep. He hasn’t shown that picture to anyone except for his daughter when she finds out about the band 25 years later and he decides to tell her about the loves of his life, even if most people wouldn’t recognise them as it since it was purely platonic love. And even though he got married, he never loved anyone as much, with the exception of his daughter, as he loved the three boys who left him when he was just 17 years old.

The next day Bobby snatches a picture of Andrews black eye. He shows that picture to Billie Joe, backstage at an event he attempts without his best friends after the man recognises him as the kid with whom he punched a homophobe. After that Bobby leaves the event early, not being able to hold up the image of Trevor, too consumed by grieve and guilt. Guilt over not being able to protect them. Guilt over not dying with them. Guilt over using their songs.

#julie and the phantoms #sunset curve #fantoms #jatp #alex mercer #bobby/trevor wilson #this is a bobby friendly blog #green day #sunset curve loves green day #that should be canon #reggie peters #luke patterson #friendship fanfic #julie and the phantoms before canon #before canon #set in the 90s #dookie tour #idk if i am missing hashtags

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wvttvk · 5 years ago

Text

are u up? — Jeff Wittek

a/n: just a random horny thing I wrote last night, idk lol. smut&language warning. lmk what ya think. 2.1k words. (( are u up? pt2 ))

Fuck.

Your eyes shot open, meeting only the darkness of the bedroom. You were definitely awake now. You sat up in the love sac, rubbing your eyes as they adjusted to the darkness of the room. You immediately noticed the layer of sweat coating your body. You felt uncomfortably flustered, a feeling you were familiar with. As you fought to get out of the blanket you had become entangled in, you climbed out from the giant bean bag you’d fallen asleep in.

Through a crack in the curtains you could just barely see the moonlight casting the fainted sliver of light into the bedroom. It was Natalie’s room, you remembered; memories of a long night flooding your brain. It had turned from a day of shooting for the vlog to a night of drinking at David’s house. The group was exhausted and therefore were drinking like monsters, a drunken mosh pit of hormonal friends grinding on each other. It was probably one of your favorite nights.

Through the darkness you saw Natalie and Corinna in the bed, their bodies forming a V, their legs intertwined to a point. You smiled from the cuteness but also in relief that you hadn’t gotten extremely horny in bed while next to your friends. You stood from the floor, and grabbed a pair of socks from the drawer next to you. You needed to get out of the room, you needed water and maybe some fresh air. You needed a release.

Adorned in a big t-shirt and cheeky underwear, you slid out the room, your phone in hand. Once out of the room you crept into the kitchen, seeing that none of the group were sleeping out on the main couch. You thought to yourself that Jeff, Zane, and Todd were most likely sleeping in the studio or in Dave’s room, so you continued to the kitchen. After making it to the sink with only one injury; a horribly painful stubbed toe, that you reacted to in what you had deemed an impressive manner—only whisper-yelling “fuck” at a moderate volume. As far as you were concerned you were successful in your escape to the kitchen undetected by your sleeping friends.

You leaned against the counter, turning on the cold water. The coolness of the water against your burning skin felt so nice, your hands rubbing against your forehead, cheeks and neck. What had you been dreaming? Even now, you shifted your thighs against each other in hopes to ease the pressure. Your screen lit up next to you.

A message from Jeff. You hated to admit it but damn at the sight of his name you felt the heat in your cheeks begin to bloom. He was sexy, everyone knew it. However, he knew as well as you did, that as a member of the friend group, sex among the friends has shown to be a true road to disaster. So when Todd had drunkenly exposed Jeff for admitting you were hot, you made a decision: you sure as hell didn’t want any drama. Therefore, he was a forbidden fruit. Something that you can look at all you want, but can’t touch. So you tried to steer clear of Jeff. Always keeping him at arm's length, friendly but not too personal. And that worked fine for you.

Opening the text, you felt your heart begin to race again.

are u up?

It was such a simple text but god were you excited to see his name on your phone at 4:34 in the morning. You responded a quick yes before you could talk yourself back to Natalie's room.

You leaned against the counter, your hands scooping your hair to pull into a ponytail. You could feel the hair at the base of your back that had been matted with sweat. The cold of the counter felt good on your lower back through the thin shirt and you let your head fall on your shoulders, the tiredness letting your eyelids flutter closed in resting.

“Hey.”

His voice sliced through the silence around us and my eyes shot open at the shock.

“Holy—What the fuck, Jeff.” You whisper-shouted across the kitchen island, you hand raising to rest on your heart. “You scared me. I didn’t even hear you...” you trailed off, watching as he casually walked through the kitchen grabbing two water bottles and continuing to stand adjacent to you. His arm reached across the empty space, a water in hand. You reached out to grab it, mumbling a thank you. From such a slight interaction you felt your body react to his proximity.

You hated how attracted you were to him, how his slightest move sparked such a chemical reaction from you. Your eyes were glued to his. The warm brown of his eyes looked so beautiful in the light of the moon. His lips were moving but you didn’t hear what they said, you were too locked in on how his eyes raced across your face, occasionally dropping to glance at your body so quickly, you had almost missed it completely.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm” you snapped back to reality, “what did you say?” He took a step closer and your heartbeat dropped to between your thighs. Your legs just slightly shifted tighter and as much as you hoped he hadn’t, Jeff noticed. His eyes dropped lower, rising again to land on your eyes. A smirk was just ghosting his lips and you knew he knew. You just hoped he wouldn’t talk about it.

“I asked, why are you up?” The words had tumbled so gracefully from his lips, the syllables dragging as he shifted in your space. He moved just slightly closer to where you were leaning. There was no way to create distance without noticeably running away from him.

“Oh, I couldn’t sleep, I needed to get some water. And you?” You countered trying to make innocent conversation but Jeff was feeling playful.

“You didn’t get water till I got here.” His face no longer trying to hide the smirk spreading across his lips.

“I was just—whatever,” you rolled your eyes, your cheeks were warm and you knew he was teasing you now. “Why are you up Jeff?” You asked, your arms crossing in front of you.

“Same as you…” he began. When his eyes dropped from yours again, you realized your clothes—or lack of clothes you were wearing. You released your arms trying to remain nonchalant as Jeff visibly checked you out. You cleared your throat again. Your mouth was dry and you know that you were wet, you needed to get out of this damn kitchen.

With the silence and the intensity of Jeff’s stare, you needed a quick escape. So you straightened yourself to Jeff, “Alright well I’m going back to bed...”

You had just barely taken a step into your escape when Jeff’s hand reached out to touch your side. The heat of his palm was against your stomach and his long fingers just skimmed the curb of your waist, he just slightly moved you back to your prior position leaning against the counter, only now his hand was against the thin fabric of your shirt.

He stepped closer, he was completely in your space, his right hand against the left side of your abdomen, trapping you against the counter. He felt so much taller now, his shoulders turning down for him to move his face next to yours.

Your breathing was noticeably uneven as his nose brushed against your jaw, his hot breath rushing along your neck and collar bones. You took in a sharp inhale as you felt the tips of his fingers toy with the bottom of your t-shirt, his fingers skimming across the skin above your underwear.

“I thought you couldn’t sleep.” His lips were at the shell of your ears as he questioned you, his index finger tracing back and forth against the lining of your underwear. It was so hard for you to fight a moan as well as fight the urge to move your hand between your thighs. You couldn’t speak, really. This all was becoming so much, you were horny and you couldn’t sleep, this is not what you had in mind as a way to calm down.

Before you could muster an answer he moved his hand to cup you through your panties. He finally was able to conjure a vocal gasp from you, your hand rising to hold on to his bicep. His face pulled back to look at you, his eyes now dark and filled with something new. “Hmm?” He asked again, the playfulness in his tone clear as he knew you were quite literally putty in his hands.

“I-“ you didn’t even know what to say. He had begun using his middle finger to apply pressure to your center through the thin fabric of your underwear, his teasing was too much. He felt how wet you were, he knew he won, but he needed to hear you say it. You let out what sounded like frustrated whine as you caved. “Please, Jeff.”

He didn’t tease you much longer, with a victorious smile his lips pressed hungrily against yours. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth, brushing against yours in the most delicious way. But you needed more, and you caught his lip between your teeth. Just enough for him to hiss in shock, his eyes reigniting with a fire that matched yours.

His hand that had been cupping you rose to your face, his thumb brushing your lips before pushing into your mouth. Your lips closed around his thumb and your tongue grazed it as he retracted it from your mouth, a raspy and quiet moan sneaking out from Jeff’s mouth.

His smile was dark and confident as he let his hand fall to its previous spot, this time skillfully slipping into the fabric and feeling you for the first time. You let out a moan as his fingers traced against your slit, his thumb finding its way to your clit.

Your moans were muffled into his free hand as he thrusted his digits in and out of you. It was an alteration of lazily connecting your lips and Jeff kissing against your neck, his voice coming out in pants against your skin, sending shockwaves running through you. As his beard pricked your neck in the most beautiful way, and you dug your fingers into his arm, you were euphoric.

“S’good, Y/N.” He spoke against the skin of your collarbones. “C’mon, babe.” You knew you were close, your body was needing a release. With Jeff’s free hand sneaking under your shirt to your hardened nipples, you couldn’t hold out any longer. You came undone with his fingers still inside of you. He was holding most of your weight against the counter and your lips found his. He swallowed your moans and his thumb continued circling your clit as you rode the high.

Your forehead rested on his chest. It was rising and falling beneath you; you could feel his fingers still in you. You leaned off of him as his hand snakes out of your underwear. Looking at his face now, you were bright red. His eyes stayed locked on yours as he lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them. You were shocked at how forward he was and it made the pressure begin to rebuild in the pit of your stomach.

His eyes closed if only for a moment, and you heard him hum from behind his closed mouth. He pulled his fingers from his mouth, his dark eyes burning into yours again. You didn’t know what to say. You were beyond flustered. Before you could do anything, Jeff looped his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a final kiss. Jeff took control of the kiss, making sure that you could taste yourself on his tongue.

He pulled away and you noticed his erection. You stepped forward, your lips pulling into a smirk, ready and almost excited to return the favor but Jeff stopped you. His hand wrapping around your wrist before you could feel his toned chest. Before your insecurities could question why, he spoke, letting his hand rest along your jaw, his thumb brushing against your swollen lips.

“Next time. Now you owe me one.” He said it with a smirk, walking around you. His hand quickly smacked your butt as he passed you, and you let out an airy gasp. Your whole body felt electric. His head turned back to you and he was already smiling, “Goodnight, Y/N.” He rounded the corner with a wink, and he was gone.

“Fuck.”

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katewaliss · 4 years ago

Text

! write with me or fight with me!

you either die by my sword or the most painful head canons imaginable! *merida vc* choose yer fate

just kidding!

hey there gaymers, i am crissy! i am 22, live in pst, go by she/her pronouns and honestly would very much like a distraction from life -- preferably in the form of 1x1 and rp in general. i am currently doing online school plus trying/failing at adulting, being a crazy pink haired college student living on microwave dimsum with my crazy fluffy demon cat, but that still leaves me with a lot of time and what better way to spend that time then crying and dying, am i right, boys?

so without further ado ( adieu? idk gusundheit ) here are a list of discomboblulated plot things that have been floating around in my head that i might be fun to do ( plot fragments, ideas, ocs, fcs i like, settings, genres etc )! i’d prefer a message if u liked any of these in the inbox or dm form, my tumblr ims are open and my discord user is mr. worldwide#2918 ( pitbull supremacy ) but if ur shy i will message u and be annoying!

lastly: i prefer hcing in the dms to replies, however i will do replies/ask memes slowly, i don’t really like making blogs and prefer google docs/discord and i ask ( gently and respectfully ) that minors do not interact.

thank u and happy hunger games! xx

COLLEGE TOTALLY SPIES -- i was really obsessed with this picture right here and i thought that the picture would be a good premise for a little four person group based on totally spies. i was thinking that these three college students/young adults some friends maybe not some enemies or just on completely different ends of the social agenda get bonded together when they accidentally end up roped in a top secret spy organization that is fronted by a record store. the details and flesh of the plot i think would be cute to figure out all together maybe in a google doc or a big discord so we can make the rp to perfect world building specifications. right now i have two spots open!

my friend lexi over at comradc has taken the cool goth asian girl and is using lyrica okano

i am playing the freckly backwards hat lesbian in the red polo named aj mccallis and i think im using diana silvers ( not sure might switch to tati rodriguez )

we also have the cute blond girl w the dyed hair who is giving me kind of like sydney sweeney energies, blonde girl maybe like lalisa manoban/jinsoul,

and we have the rad black girl with the bandids who i would only accept black fcs for for such as diamond white, ryan destiny, salem mitchell,

i’d prefer if this stayed kind of sapphic and female and enby friendly. we can def make make npcs and characters but i’d prefer if the characters looked like they do in the picture ( minus the white girls who can be racebent as long as there are vibes ) mostly bc i want the poc people to stay the correct poc! but yeah! if u like this message me specifically!!!!! seperately and hit me w a role ud like maybe an fc an idea anything < 3 im working on a google doc and discord sever

- i really want to play a himbo skater boy evan mock like its my dream i know nothing abt him other than he probably goes by something like mouth or juice or tris or dex or dante but !!!! he has buzzed hair he buzzes designs into, does stick n pokes, hates cops, will kiss anyone, likes to mosh at house shows, smokes a lot and sounds like crush from finding nemo, probably ur parents worst nightmare if im honest rodrick heffley energy -- adopt him for any plot

- i also really am obsessed with simay barlas who is my mascot rn -- i want to play her in some sort of dark academia setting with like gossip girl blair waldorf energies lu from elite and have her be really mean and cold and pretentious and play the cello and probably have secrets and be uptight idk the name mallory is resonating hard w me ( we could even do a gossip girl the secret history type group if people liked that )

-ok i also really really want to play streak aka silas montgomery who is like very like sidekick best friend to the golden boy main character, does a kick ass goat impression, class clown, relentlessly hits on like the most difficult person in school, does crazy things for laughs and attention, just wants to make people happy, only wears hawaiian shirts, finger guns, is going nowhere in life, his dad is probably the dean at whatever prestigious school also he is very very depressed and drinks often! love u! a I Feel Like Im The Worst So I Always Act Like Im The Best electra heart baby PINTEREST

also yes his hair is pink reg verse he did it on a dare but hp verse he did a potion wrong and it never came out

SOMEONE DO A LADY HANNIBAL WILL GRAHAM RP KILLING EVE RP W ME! i made this will graham adjacent gal for a genderbent hannigram rp her name is bisexual disaster enida johnson and sometimes goes by needy or will bc her middle name is willamena! has basically all the will things wears flannels is a mess but has a bunch of cats instead of dogs in her woods log cabin and im using crystal reed bc it fits perfect in my head idk if u like her hmu hit me w a lady hannibal PINTEREST

other stuff

ok i really want to do a princess and knight plot but with knight zendaya and princess anya taylor joy ???? ALKHALKSHALK LITERALLY HELLO literally modern or like dnd style i do not care but know i love dnd! we could make it like them goin on some skyrim quests like hi

speaking of dnd and skyrim if anyone wants to do like anything based in dnd stuff or skyrim stuff i am DOWN

jennifers body plot!!!! maybe set in college!!!!! sounds spicy i will do a f/f or m/m version leggo leggo

UNTIL DAWN UNTIL DAWN!!!! i wanted to do a little like 6 person or mumu until dawn thing where everyone either makes new characters or characters based on the existing six! i made a girl adjacent josh character named riley PINTEREST who i love very much ( fc might change im thinking maybe medallion rahimi ) pls hmu if ur down

i looooooove breakfast at tiffanys!!!! like i really love breakfast at tiffanys we love a call girl broody author ship and i want to play a mishti rahman holly golightly type character so so bad

pygmalion plot!!! basically like an author and the main character of their book comes to life and the book character is probably from a different period of time or realm so doesnt know how to do modern 2020 stuff like microwaves and the tv! and then maybe they get sucked into the characters book world thats written by the author and have to navigate that! enchanted! w the kdrama! energy!

GOSSIP GIRL PLOT ENERGIES

any sort of the secret history murder society until dawn ahs horror type setting i am on a kick rn

i still really want a deaf sailor and siren plot bc that is so spicy or even like anything involving sirens like maybe one thats like vegetarian and doesnt like to eat humans so it ariel rescues one and keeps it safe!! or like only men are susceptible to the sirens song but aha! i am a woman! Romance!

anything in the realm of percy jackson i love mythology lets go i kind of want a echo narcisuss plot and i want it to hurt me so bad

i will do harry potter stuff but only if its completely removed from the current canon like years in the future no existing families also maybe beauxbatons salem and drumstrang plots bc thats what matters

iiiiiiiii really like anime so i will do anything kakegurui, soul eater, ohshc

i kind of like grew up on the hunger games so i will gladly take any hunger games plots like young effie and haymitch is spicy or like a career tribute and one of the weaker poorer distracts enemies to lovers leggo

i have a kind of oc that had their parents die in a factory gas leak that was the governments fault and it turned them into a vigilante assasin that is slowly picking off bootlicker government people one by one pretending to be one of them until bam! gets attached to the rich asshole son or daughter of the head hauncho or one of the higher ups ... drama

rich little celebrity fussy wussy being held captive by the mafia and the tired stoic mafia guard but they fall in love

i kind of like any plot that involves one person that is really loud or angry or dramatic or whiny and the other one is kind of sweet and gentle or does not talk much idk make brain happy

speaking of!

no nonsense law student studying abroad in a european country and an artist there falls in love w them and is all romantic and gush and is like ur my muse!!! and they are like Go awAy and they explore the city together and themelseves its nice!

i want to be an avan jogia super villain idk why i need to but i do

not to be a disney adult bc i am not but anastasia princesses dont kiss kitchen boys

rival cheer captians? best friends brother? pop princess celebrity singer and like antiestablishment really angry rockstar in a publicity relationship? broody detective and sunshiney diner person that works at the diner they eat at everyday?

idk i will think of more hmu these can all be made f/f or m/m if they arent

#1x1 #1x1 rp #1x1 roleplay #plots #this is so long and messy and weird idk it repeats a lot hit me up im emabrrassed already

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starkatana · 4 years ago

Text

The Meet Cute

Jason Todd x Female Reader

Summary: Jason meets you for the first time and is smitten by you. It’s your first day of school at Gotham Academy and when Jason sees you at school for the first time everything that can go wrong in front of your crush does.

Author’s note: So, here begins my various one-shots of Jason Todd/Red Hood x Reader//y/n AKA my current obsession. I may compile all of them into chronological order once everything is done. I just really wanted to write and post something. I just have too many WIP’s right now that I need to focus on.

Before Reading: You and Jason meet as seniors in high school.

They aren’t exact ages. This is just a world that I made using these characters because I can. Meaning Jason hasn’t died yet, in this AU (not that it matters for this story – he won’t die and become Red Hood until age 22/23)

Selina is your godmother. You are the child of Selina’s childhood friends. There is no family relationship between you and Jason even though you will be living in Wayne Manor and occasionally call Selina, Auntie.

Sorry if its a little out of character, this is just based on my knowledge that tumblr has given me.

“Are we allowed to be here?” Dick asked as he pulled up the car to the music venue.

“Yeah!” Jason said giddily with excitement. “The venue said, shows are open to those 18+ and I just turned 18!”

“I guess. I feel like we fought crime here before.” Dick looked around the area.

“Where haven’t we fought crime in Gotham.” Jason shrugged, “Let’s go!”

Jason and Dick wait in line for the rock show. The venue marks Jason’s hands with a big stamp that showed he was underage to drink and without Dick, he ran into the venue. Letting the sound of the music envelope him, he moved his way through the crowd when he got caught in a mosh pit and someone much bigger than him grabbed him in and threw him down.

“C‘mon dude!” You effortlessly help Jason up off the floor.

Jason, even though he was 18 and still in high school, he was not a small dude he was Robin at night, and during the day between homework and theatre, he was fighting with the Titans. He was not small. Compared to you, he was a giant, even though, when he stood up he was only a head taller than you. The way you swooped in from the mosh pit to help him up, took his breath away.

“You okay?” you yell over the sound of the music.

Your y/h/c was in a high ponytail and you had the perfect cat-eye eyeliner wing. You looked breathtaking. Sweaty and beautiful you were wearing a black t-shirt that was tied in the front, with ripped black skinny jeans, a red flannel, and black converse high tops. He never loved the color red so much than this moment.

“Hey!” you snap him back to reality as he nods still speechless looking into your y/e/c eyes with the lights and moving in the background.

“Good!” you give him a half-smile, followed by a wink, before going back into the mosh pit.

“There you are!” Dick grabbed Jason’s arm and pulled himself towards Jason “I thought I lost you back there.”

Jason doesn’t move and doesn’t pay attention to Dick as he’s watching your petite form in the crowd. How well you handle yourself as you throw down with the other people in the mosh pit.

“Dick, I think I’m in love.”

“What?” Dick yells over the music “I! Can’t! Hear!”

Jason grabs this brother’s shirt collar and points him over to you “Girl. High pony! Headbanging!” Jason couldn’t take his eyes off you as you headbang to the music. “I. Love. Her.”

Dick looks back and forth between her and him.

“WHAT?!”

He wanted to hang out with you all night, there was one time during the show where you were crowd surfing and you got on stage with the band and jammed out with them. He ran into you often that night and you two shared some laughs and some dance sessions. It was a night he would remember.

Then his alarm went off. It was the next morning and Jason couldn’t get you out of his head. He got up and got ready for the first day of his senior year. In the kitchen he made himself a bowl of cereal but walking to put the milk back he almost trips on the cat, spilling the milk.

“Do be careful Master Todd.”

“It was the cat!”

Alfred gave him a nod and continued cooking breakfast when Jason sat at the island and when he put his hand down the spoon went flying out of the bowl. “Ah! I’ll clean it.”

“Seems like today just isn’t your day.”

“I’m not superstitious and black cats aren’t bad luck.” Jason shrugged.

“You might not be superstitious but it might just be some bad luck.” and Alfred slid him a salt shaker and pointed over his left shoulder, “don’t forget the family dinner tonight. Now, please excuse me, I have to go wake up Master Drake so you two aren’t late to your first day.”

“Yeah.” Jason sighs and takes the salt and throws some over his left shoulder. Not for him, but for Alfred.

At school, you’re walking through the halls with your coffee, class schedule, and other paperwork in your arms. You’re on your phone when Jason is walking towards you and does a double-take unsure if you were the girl from last night. He jogs over to you and doing so he slips on a banana peel like in the cartoons and crashes into you. Causing you to spill coffee all over yourself.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Jason says quickly getting up and offering a hand to help you up. You take his hand and when he saw your face, he couldn’t believe his eyes. You were the girl from the show last night.

“I’m good it was just iced.” You wipe off your uniform best you can, but your white blouse was now stained. You looked up at Jason who was quietly staring at you. A cat had run away with his tongue.

“Excuse me.” You use your jacket to cover up your chest, begining to walk away.

“No!”

You stop and furrow your brows at him.

“Fuck, I mean, I’m sorry about your uniform.”

You still have your chest covered. “It’s whatever.”

“I’ll buy you a replacement coffee later.”

“It’s fine.” Then the warning bell for class rang. “I have to go.” You walk past him and throw away the cup and continue with your day. Jason watched you walk away and slapped himself in the forehead. How did he fuck something up as easy as that?!

Ironically enough, for the rest of the day, you keep running into each other. Literally. After the first incident and before lunch he waves to you. As he walks over to you he trips and falls into you. Knocking all your stuff out of your arms.

“Hi.” Jason sheepishly greets from on top of you.

“Hi.” You shove him off of you and start picking up your things.

“I’m so sorry, I’m usually not this clumsy.” He responds helping you pick things up.

“I’m sure.” You respond with a slightly annoyed tone.

“I’m going to make this all up to you.”

“It’s fine.” You go to reach for your pencil and he does the same and you two bang heads.

“Shit.”

“Fuck.”

You two swore, grabbing your foreheads. You quickly snatch your pencil and get as far away from him as possible.

“I’m sorry!”

At lunch, he sees you at a table outside, and a little bit over behind you he sees a coffee cart. A lightbulb goes off in his head and he buys you a coffee and one for himself. He’s minding his own business and at the same time keeping an eye on you to make sure you haven’t disappeared. Once he gets the coffee, he begins walking over to you. He’s rehearsing what he’s going to say to you once he gets to your table.

Hey, I’m Jason. Sorry about today. No. Hey, were you at the Favorite Places show last night?

But getting caught up in his thoughts he trips over his own feet and spills the iced coffees all over you from behind.

You jump at the sudden burst of cold liquid all over you. “Oh my god!” You get up and turn around you see the same boy from earlier.

“Are you fucking SORRY?!”

Your jaw drops even further than it had already. Jason’s face goes super red. You shake your head and start gathering up your things.

“That’s not,” he gets up from the ground, “What I wanted to say.” He squeaked.

You roll your eyes and continue to ignore him. With your stuff barely packed away, you grab your jacket uniform, the only dry clothing item you now have on you, and walk away from him.

“Fuck.” Jason grabbed his head. Today was going great.

On your way to the last period of the day, you two make eye contact across the courtyard. There was something about you that took Jason off guard. When you saw him, you turned around going back inside the building to avoid walking near him. He was devastated.

Later that evening in Wayne Manor:

“Hey Little Wing,“ Dick walked into Jason’s room “ooooo....” he leaned against the door frame. The room is dark and Jason is slumped over his bed, “is this a bad time?”

“Pretty sure the girl from last night was at school today and everything went WRONG.”

“Ouch.” Dick flicked on the light, “What happened?”

“What didn’t happen?!” Jason sat up in bed. “I spilled coffee on her twice, but not just two cups of coffee. Three. She was drenched in ice coffee by lunch.”

“Oh, that sounds like a bad day for her and you.”

“Young masters, please report to the main dining hall, dinner is ready,” Alfred announced over the intercoms.

“You can talk more along the way.”

Jason explained everything that happened at school today to Dick and when they got into the dining room Bruce and Selina were there along with Tim and Damien and the last person that Jason laid his eyes on was you.

Jason’s jaw dropped.

Your eyes narrowed.

“Jason! Dick! Take a seat this is my goddaughter, y/n.” Selina introduced, “She’ll be staying with us and going to Gotham Academy with you and Tim.”

“Hi, I’m Dick.” he reached out his hand and shook hands with you, “Pleasure meeting you.”

You shakes his hand and gives him a smile in return and Dick takes a seat one away from you, leaving the only space at the table next to you for Jason.

You then turn your attention to Jason. “And you must be Jason.”

Hi.” Jason said sheepishly avoiding eye contact and quickly taking a seat at the table next to you.

“Wow, this is a first.” Selina said, “I have never seen Jason so quiet.”

Jason grows furiously red.

This was the worse karma.

---

My boyfriend said I need to stop sitting on all my stories and that I need to share them with the world. I’m embarrassed and I don’t like people knowing what I’m into.So, better share with all the strangers on the internet!

Hope you enjoyed it! I’ll be back soon!

#jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x oc #red hood x you #red hood x oc #jason peter todd #bat brothers #batfamily imagine #batfam

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wastelandcrown · 4 years ago

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logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 1: anybody have a map?

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warning: Potential ooc behavior, Roman is a theatre brat to the highest degree (Sorry Roman stans)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight who very graciously let me use it! I’ve made a couple changes, mostly surrounding Virgil’s involvement and I gave Logan performance anxiety because I thought it would be neat. There will be warnings on the chapters that have potentially triggering talk.

Pairings: Eventual Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, Eventual One-Sided Logicality, Platonic Analogical, Platonic DRLAMP

Word Count: 2584

There he stands, at the precipice of his own destruction. By all accounts, it is fair to say that Logan is blowing this out of proportion. Wildly. Though he was doing much more than adequately in school, had a fairly stable mental health, and was better than most teenagers in regards to his physical well-being and room upkeep, it apparently wasn’t enough. Don’t misunderstand, his parents were in no way vindictive or cruel. Just...positive. Overtly so. In a way that made Logan cringe. How he, a man of logic and science, was ever made from these two extremely lovey-dovey saps, we will never know. Despite all his successes his parents still encouraged him to partake in activities with his peers. ‘Oh Logan, why don’t you join the school football team?’ ‘Logan, wouldn’t it be nice to make some friends at the local animal shelter?’ ‘Why are you always by yourself? Wouldn’t it be nice to make some friends?’ No, it would not. Not for him. Other people are stupid, especially teenagers. His whole life was planned on the cork board above his desk, and there was nothing important enough to make him deviate from his goal.

To him, at least. To his parents, his social life being active was figuratively their number one priority. He’s been hoping for a calm dinner with his mother and father, he even enjoyed it most nights. He and his mother would discuss new things going on at the schools they respectively learnt and taught at. His father would discuss his work managing the popular local theatre. Discussing his father’s work tonight was a mistake.

“You know, Logan,” His father begins, and he knows where this is going, “The youth production is going to be starting up again soon.”

His mother smiles, taking his father's hand, “Loganberry, we think it would be good for you to join. You’re in your second year of high school and you don’t even talk to the kids in your class!”

“Mother, please try and understand, I really don’t think it’s necessary for me to find friends. I don’t enjoy having acquaintances, let alone having close personal friends.”

“Logan-” His father starts again but his mother pats his hand, and he quiets.

She smiles at him and reaches across the table to put a hand on his cheek in a caring motherly gesture.

“I know you don’t like other kids dear, but...think about it this way! It could be a fun experiment!”

Logan pauses, leaning into his mother’s touch, and nodding to show he’s listening.

His mother started again, “You can gather data on a lot of different kinds of people, and then find out who you most enjoy hanging out with so that...in your...career…”

Even though she’s trying, she stumbles, and his father picks up the slack, “So that in your career, you can find the people who you think are easiest to work with and be more efficient that way!”

He knows what they’re doing. They’re buttering him up with some flimsy science experiment and explaining their position with a strange metaphor. But when both his parents are smiling at him like that...he can’t bring himself to say no to them. When he looks at them like this, he suddenly remembers how similar he looks to each of them. His mother’s dark brown hair, His father’s icy blue eyes, the glasses that sit snugly on both their faces...They smile at him so brightly that he just can’t say no to them.

“Fine. I will do it, just this once.”

His parents erupt into literal cheers. He finds it a tad too much, but as long as they are happy he supposes he can put up with socialization and scheduling conflicts for a few months.

That’s how he ended up at the theatre with his father at eight in the morning, on a Sunday in July. If it were his choice, he would be eating Crofter’s by the spoonful and reading some classic literature. Instead, he’s here. His father did get them both coffee, however. So he stands there awkwardly, nursing the cup that’s gone lukewarm, and he starts to feel nauseous. As he follows his father, he can hear the other kids. They’re loud. Too loud. Logan is going to hate this, he already hates this. He’s overthinking a bit, eyes trained to the floor when he accidentally trips. He’s bracing to be smacked in the face by the floor and his coffee when someone taller than him places a hand on his chest and props him back up.

“Hi there!” Says the smiling man, who is tall with brown hair and brown eyes. He looks very kind and is wearing a Steven Universe t-shirt.

“I-I apologize for that, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Logan manages to stammer out. Had he been this nervous the whole time? He takes a deep breath and tries to get a grip.

“Oh, no problem!” The man nods to his dad, “Hey, Edward! This is Logan?”

“Yes, he is! He’s usually a little more focused, though.” Edward nudges Logan with a smirk, and Logan has to nod and concede. He’s right, of course. He is usually more focused.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Logan! I’m Thomas Sanders, I’m the head on the performance department here! Your dad’s been talking you up for weeks, you’re going to fit right in.”

With these words, Logan feels himself flush a little. Leave it to his father to talk him up for no good reason. He had never even been in a performance before!

“Uhm-Yes. Thank you-” Logan begins and is cut off by a large crash.

Thomas lets out a deep sigh and turns, motioning for Logan to follow. His dad gives him a big smile and a double thumbs-up, Logan gives him a small and tired smile in return. He wishes desperately he had refused his parents the second he enters the auditorium. On stage, an adult in an orange beanie is reprimanding a boy dressed like he just crawled out of the mosh pit of a rave. The boy is laughing maniacally as off to his side, a nearly identical boy in a strangely put together outfit is pouting and crying crocodile tears. Logan makes a note to steer clear of the neon-garbage-rave kid.

“What did you do now, Remus?” Thomas asks with a sigh, as the kid points off stage and cackles.

“Remus started this year off by glue-and-feathering Roman’s make-up bag.” The adult in the beanie says, and Logan looks shocked. They’re certainly going to kick this guy out, right? Right!?

“Remus...Dude…” Thomas grimaces, making his way over to who Logan assumes is Roman and supportively patting his shoulder.

“What!?” Remus nearly shouts through his laughing, “It was funny!”

“It was not!” Roman cries with such an intense amount of drama.

This only makes Remus laugh more.

He’s watching so intently that he doesn’t notice that someone has entered and is standing next to him.

“Oh, Hello.” He politely mutters, turning to look at the person. He’s shorter than he is, and definitely a lot bouncier. Even at eight am, he looks joyful. His eyes are a lighter blue than his, and his head is a mess of blonde curls. He also has round-ish tortoiseshell glasses. He isn’t unpleasant to look at, aside from the fact that he’s wearing cargo shorts and socks with sandals.

“Hi! Don’t worry about them, Remus does something like that every year! He likes a-uh...fun start!” The kid starts talking, and even his voice is joyful and bubbly.

“I’m Patton Foster, it’s nice to meet you!” Patton offers Logan a hand, which he takes and gives a firm shake.

“Logan Lark. Is it typically this rambunctious, or does it calm over time?”

Patton looks down, a little sheepish, then offers Logan a smile, “It’s always like this. Sorry!”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll just need to adapt to my circumstances.” As he says this he knows that it is going to be an especially arduous task.

Pointing to his cup, Patton starts speaking again, “Is your coffee getting cold? We have a microwave backstage if you want me to warm it up for you!”

The offer is sweet and genuine, so he lets Patton take the cup and run off behind the curtains. If he’s going to be here, he should start on that experiment, so he thinks. Patton seems sweet, potentially too sweet. It may be a ruse, but if his behavior is genuine Logan thinks he might be able to get by in his interactions with him. At least he’ll be able to send him off to do polite tasks if he ever needs to.

Returning with his coffee reheated, Patton is nearly bouncing on his heels. Throughout the early morning, Patton drags Logan around and Logan realizes the bouncing is just how Patton is. He scoots by as Thomas introduces the staff. The person in the orange beanie, Joan, is the stage manager. Stood quietly beside them is a darkly dressed kid who only acknowledges the audience with a nod, his name is apparently Virgil Storm and he is running lights and sound for the show. Logan wishes desperately he could be up there on that stage. Not because he’s decided he wants to be here, but because he wishes he had known tech was an option. Damn his father for making him act. There are only about twenty kids in the audience, and by the time Thomas is done explaining the rules and conduct, the time is reaching noon. When Thomas announces that the production they will be putting on is called “Hamilton” and is a musical, the others begin to cheer wildly. Now, Logan has no clue what Hamilton sounds like, but he knows it is about the Founding Fathers. Musicals have never interested him, and especially not one about men who owned slaves and were all hoity-toity. He’s heard of it, of course. His father talks about how it revolutionized musical theatre, but Logan has never been interested enough to ask any further questions. As everyone is buzzing, he turns to Patton and taps him on the shoulder.

“Is that a good thing?” Patton looks a little puzzled and goes to answer before he hears an offended gasp from behind him.

“A good thing!? Is Lin-Manuel Miranda’s pride and joy, the musical that revolutionized musical theatre, the Emmy Award-Winning show Hamilton any good!?” Roman gawks at him and sputters like he’s never heard something so blasphemous in his life.

“I have no interest in musical theatre, therefore I was asking to gain clarity.” Perhaps saying this is a mistake because there are many gasps from other students, and Logan is pretty sure someone yells ‘Sexy!’

Roman snaps at him loudly and rises from his seat, “Why are you even here then!? You look like a nerd!”

“Roman!” Patton stands up and now Logan is cornered between them, “Don’t be rude!”

“Wha-Well I’m sorry that I’m confused as to why he’s here if he doesn’t even know about Hamilton!” He steps closer, cornering Logan even more.

Then he stands, “My father enjoys musical theatre and asked me to join, I don’t see what the issue is with my joining but if it truly perturbs you I suppose I will take my leave.”

He’s really grateful for this opportunity to abandon the theatre, and he turns to try and leave and ends up nearly chest to chest with Patton.

“Hey now! There’s room enough for everyone here Logan!” Patton says brightly, and from the stage, Thomas nods.

“Patton is right, Roman. We welcome everyone to try their hand at theatre, so please sit down so I can let you all go have lunch.” Thomas looks exasperated as Roman sits with a huff, followed by Patton and Logan.

On the stage, Thomas continues to explain what they will be doing, and then they’re being released to lunch with the goal of listening to the musical and beginning to practice their audition material.

Logan manages to slink away from Patton, who had started talking to Roman about being nicer to the newbies or something. He had forgotten to bring lunch, which was probably fine. He’d just have to go and find his father and ask for some money. Pushing the auditorium door open, Logan finally notices he has attracted someone’s gaze. He makes eye contact with a glaring boy in a bright yellow hoodie, and he nods. The guy looks away and Logan shrugs him off. The front desk happily calls his father, who comes and brings him some money for the lobby vending machines and promises to buy him something more filling on the way home. This would severely throw off his new healthier diet, but he caves. After this day he would probably need some disgustingly greasy fast food to make him feel a little better. After the stunt with Roman, he’s not sure he’s going to go unnoticed. He buys a bottle of water and a granola bar from the vending machine and decides to sit at one of the lobby chairs to avoid the others. As he turns to find a space to sit, a voice from beside the vending machine makes him jump.

“You’re not going to fuck up the show, are you?” The voice says, and Logan turns to find the same kid who was glaring at him before. From up close, he’s around the same size as Logan. His eyes are green-brown heterochromic, his hair is messy and brown, and one side of his face has vitiligo in a pattern that looks eerily similar to a reptile’s scales. He is glaring Logan down and he can’t help but feel a little intimidated.

“I don’t plan on it, no. Just because I am here against my will does not mean that I am going to attempt to make the show disreputable in any way.” He tries to say this confidently and he thinks he succeeds when the boy grins and offers him a hand.

“Janus Devine.”

“Logan Lark.” And then he stops, and realizes he recognizes the origins of that name,“Are you by any chance named after the Greek god of doorways?”

Janus blinks, seemingly not expecting that reaction, “Shit-Yeah-How did you even know that?”

“I pride myself on being well-read.” Logan adjusts his tie as he says it and Janus gives a little chuckle.

“Very good to know.” Someone yells from down the hall, and Janus rolls his eyes at the noise, “How would you like to come to join me and my...friends this afternoon?”

“It would probably be of good use to me.” He replies with a small shrug of his shoulders. Hopefully, these friends are nicer than that Roman fellow, but not as nice as Patton.

“Oh no, it’s going to be totally useless. We aren’t going to get anything done.” Deadpans Janus and Logan just stares at him a little confused.

“That was sarcasm, specks.” His counterpart tacks on when he sees the confusion on his face.

“Oh, right”

All he can do now is follow Janus as he walks down the hallway towards the loud group of people. Logan follows behind and watches Janus’ movement. He walks so confidently that it’s almost like sauntering, but it’s too slow. Too smooth. It’s like slithering.

Taking a deep breath, he prepares himself for whatever horrible experiences await.

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septicfag · 4 years ago

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GETTING INTO PUNK MASTERPOST

Want to get into the punk subculture, but a bit intimidated by it?? Here's a little list of tips and tricks for getting into the scene!!! [especially if you don't know any punks in real life, or aren't particularly close friends with any punks online either]

THINK FOR YOURSELF!!!! this is so important, you cannot be punk and NOT think for yourself, before accepting anything you have to think it through for yourself!!!!

DON’T BE RACIST, XENOPHOBIC, SEXIST, HOMOPHOBIC, TRANSPHOBIC, FASCIST. ETC. you cannot be part of a group of radical free thinkers as a bigot. If you are a bigot you are not and will not be welcome in the punk community

INFORM YOURSELF ON CURRENT ISSUES. Work to figure out what you think about current issues because (as stated before) its punk as hell to have your own opinions

LISTEN TO PUNK MUSIC. You don't have to listen to anything you don't vibe with, but trying out different genres of punk and listening to some of the big names will help you understand and share something in common with more “seasoned” punks.

TALK TO OTHER PUNKS. most of us are really nice, especially if we know you're trying to get into the scene! You can always interact/talk to us! most of us know how it can be a little scary to break into the scene and are willing to talk about our experiences!

TAKE YOUR SELF EXPRESSION INTO YOUR OWN HANDS. to whatever extent you can make/modify clothes for yourself. add patches and pins or paint on clothes [use fabric paint or acrylic mixed with fabric base for a cheaper alternative] ITS 100% OKAY TO WEAR YOUR MODIFIED CLOTHES EVEN IF THEY'RE NOT "DONE" YET! FUCK FAST FASHION!!

LOOK AT PUNK FASHION. there have been around 50 years of punk fashion, so find some you dig and base some of your modified clothes off of it (I'm really into 80s punk looks so I normally look like I crawled out of CBGB [famous punk bar in NY] during its peak years). Staples of a punk look are clunky boots or skate shoes (converse or knockoffs), band shirts, and battle jackets! Punk “fashion” is based on DIY and practicality. (it should be noted punk clothing also has an emphasis on being safe for moshing/protests, so normally no HUGE spikes and impractical shoes and super loose clothes)

GO TO SHOWS! ESPECIALLY LOCAL SHOWS!! going to shows in your local area is a good way to get into the scene. if you're underage or live in assfuck nowhere it's completely fine to not travel hours or get kicked out of a venue halfway through the show, so feel free to wait until you have a good chance to go to one. If you're in an area with a local scene, going out to local shows is a great way to meet and support other punks! [suggestion by @juggernaut-is-a-metalhead]

Some other notes

YOU CAN BE ANY RACE OR GENDER OR SEXUALITY AND BE PUNK, PUNK IS NOT JUST FOR WHITE CISHET MEN! PUNK HAS ALWAYS AND WILL ALWAYS BE AN INCLUSIVE SPACE FOR EVERYONE WHO’S SICK AND TIRED OF BEING KICKED AROUND BY ANY/EVERYONE!!!

YOU CAN BE PUNK AND MENTALLY ILL, YOUR MENTAL ILLNESS DOES NOT CONTROL YOU AND WHAT YOU WANT AND WHAT YOU BELIEVE EVEN IF SOMETIMES IT FEELS THAT WAY! It’s also completely fine and valid to not want to go to shows/protests or be confrontational if you have a mental illness or honestly just don’t feel comfortable or safe doing so.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO HAVE PIERCINGS OR TATTOOS TO BE PUNK! If you’re underage or just don’t want to or don’t have the money, it’s okay to not have body mods and it doesn’t make you any less punk.

we really don’t like bootlickers (basically people kowtowing to authority and authority figures)

we're anti-authority

a lot of us are atheists or at least have a distaste for formalized institutionalized religion

we kind of mind our own fucking business as long as the business isn't hurting us or others

there're a lot of anarchists in punk but you don't have to be one, there are also a lot of social democrats

we DO NOT hurt or harass people who don't deserve it (ie. kids, people who have nothing to do with whatever we're fighting against)

there're not really hard and fast rules that’s a big thing with punk, only you have power over yourself (”no authority but yourself” is a popular quote coined by anarcho-punk band, Crass)

Quick and basic punk genre breakdown

proto-punk- the punk before punk, this genre is comprised of 60s and 70s bands with a less refined sound than mainstream bands at the time, however, they normally didn’t have much in common. Bands like The Velvet Underground fall into this genre.

70's - punk begins to emerge as a genre people argue about who was actually the first punk band a popular choice is Ramones

80's- LOTS of punk potential here, 69.69% of "classic punk" bands are 80's punk

90's- ska started to emerge and punk was seen as skater music a lot of "classic punk" was also 90's

ska punk- based more on reggae, seen as skater music, normally has fun trumpets!

riot grrrl- feminist punk (just being an all female punk band doesn't make you a riot grrrl band, there’s a sound to it as well)

folk punk- punk but with different instruments and less 3 chord riffs

post-punk- punk but more modern, normally is a bit softer than "classic punk"

hardcore punk- punk with screaming, kind of sounds like black metal, but with anarchy

pop punk- punk but it sounds more pop-y (hotly debated what is and isn't, its kind of a dumpster fire)

garage punk- punk but EVEN less polished [this is my favorite genre]

THERE ARE MORE GENRES THAN THIS, THIS IS JUST A VERY FAST OVER-VIEW. Punk has about 1000000 different sub-genres so only the most popular and well known are included here!

(note about early punk: 70s and 80s punk sometimes included slurs in music or wearing hate symbols such as swastikas, this was because at the time a lot of punk forerunners subscribed to the idea that wearing/saying things employed by bigots would take power away from them, this idea was largely abandoned by the punk community as they made their way into the 90s. Now in the 20s punks wear lots of anti-hate symbols either coined by the punk community or lifted from other sources)

(2nd note, concerning inflammatory or ironic statements: a big part of punk culture and lyrics is using purposely inflammatory or heavily ironic statements, one way to figure out if the sentiment in a song is actually meant to be harmful or angry and not ironic is to look up the lyrics/band. As a rule of thumb if they’re an actual punk band that’s listened to by actual punks, it’s irony 99.8% of the time)

Some bands (almost) every punk has at least heard of:

Bad Brains, Bad Religion, Black Flag, Blink 182, Choking Victim, The Clash, Dead Kennedys, Descendents, Green Day, Leftover Crack, Minor Threat, Misfits, NOFX, The Offspring, Operation Ivy, Pennywise, Ramones, Rancid, Sex Pistols, Social Distortion

[lifted off r/punk on reddit]

Some ending tips:

don’t feel embarrassed to look up lyrics or the sub-genre of a punk song/band, it's a way of learning! also don’t feel embarrassed to look into punk history, it shows you’re genuinely interested in the message and culture!

listen to punk compilation albums! they have some amount of fame in the scene in and of themselves (such as GIVE 'EM THE BOOT [VOLUMES 1-5], PUNK ROCK HALLOWEEN [VOLUMES 1-2], and BARRICADES AND BROKEN DREAMS)

check out entire record labels! you can find a lot of cool bands that don't get a lot of attention. here's a good masterlist of punk record labels, but if that's too daunting, Fat Wreck Cords, Epitaph Records, and Discord Records are very well known. [suggestion by @juggernaut-is-a-metalhead]

It’s completely fine to not have a lot of money to spend on records or supplies for DIY clothes. Punk has an emphasis that your clothes and shit don’t have to be “pretty” they have to be functional.

for DIY patches/pins you can put ANYTHING you want on them, song lyrics, rallying cries, dates, sayings, literally anything you want, every punk has some weird shit on their patches.

don't feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to do, there is/was a group of punks who are "straight edge" meaning they didn’t drink or do drugs or stuff like that (more common in the 90s/00s)

seriously don’t be afraid to interact with other punks!! we're a bit rough but generally harmless if you don’t suck!!

it’s 100% normal to also have nonpunk interests, don’t feel like you have to give up anything you love to be punk.

You don’t have to listen to any of this to be punk, being punk is doing what you want to do because you want to!! This is just a compiled list of tips for anyone not sure where to start!

PUNKS NOT DEAD

[feel free to correct me if I’ve gotten something wrong! my DMs and asks are always open if you want to hear more of my punk hot takes or want to talk to someone about punk or punk adjacent shit!]

#punk #young punk #punx #young punx #wholesome punk #getting into punk #punk tips

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m00nlitknight · 5 years ago

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wherever i may roam. ( 1 of 2 )

fandom: IT (2017) pairing: patrick hockstetter / female reader word count: 2.1k+ warnings: underage drinking. loud scenes. men being creepy. patrick being patrick. extra: based heavily off one of these prompts. part two in the works! i hope you all enjoy this, and have a fantastic day c:

Having parties wasn’t a known rarity within the ranks of Derry, but they weren’t a known phenomenon on a superficial level, either. Within the ranks of upper class high schoolers, they were typically done in the fashion of a small circle of friends rather than anything colossal. Those instances and occasions of plenty were saved for the rare event of a musical guest. While the quality of the music wasn't considered a static variable, the fun and energy that ensued from the crowd - teens and college students, usually - was. For that, many found themselves grateful for the bands, even if they were bad metal covers of pop songs, cover bands for hot acts that didn’t make tour stops in Maine, or just song-writers who were trying to make it in the world of music.

You couldn’t complain -- you shouldn’t, really. Being the daughter of a well-off lawyer whose business was usually taken out of town, and a girl with a reputation to upkeep; these events didn’t just fly under your radar, they were on a completely different radar altogether. It sucked, really, to be thrust into expectations you didn’t care to uphold, but not having the might to fight back. So, you did what you could and lived with it.

However, living with it meant blatantly going against the rule of social rules, society, and your father all the while being directly under their nose. It was a needle-thin line to walk, but one you felt you walked with confidence and care.

Which, is how you managed to sneak out of the house undetected and attend the concert that had been whispered within the school the previous week. Spoken from under the bleachers, overheard from the bathroom by those who smoked and considered themselves too cool for the joint; who knew your keen sense of hearing would become so useful?

From the moment your father bid you a sterile adieu, composed of a hollow embrace and chaste kiss to the head, you had begun putting your plans in motion. Wherever he went, likely to a hotel for whatever trial was taking place early the next morning, or whatever, you couldn’t find it in yourself to particularly care.

Looking the part of a ‘typical’ metalhead wasn’t something you were truly infatuated with to any degree. Sure, putting on the guise of torn jeans, fishnets, boots, and whatever decimated t-shirt you could find was a great bound of comfort compared to the typical stuffy outfits you had, but it felt tiring to have not just one, but two kinds of social guises to keep up. Polar opposites, at that. Surely, you deserve an award for it.

You ease the vehicle into park, a full street away from the actual event, to ensure the protection of the metallic body of your car. Next, you lean to look yourself in the eye -- eyes rimmed with a sharp black, smudged with burgundy eyeshadow, and lips done with a simple gloss. Had you any actual lip colors, you would’ve reached for them instead. You stare for a moment longer, admiring the well-pointed wing extending your likely bored resting face.

Stud earrings and a lazily done ponytail completed your look, the rest of your outfit accented with bits of silver jewelry you couldn’t find it in yourself to truly care about. Several rings were on your fingers, simple silver bands you had bought from thrift stores recently. In the frosty, night air you wore a black cardigan over a simple black tank top. Nondescript, you hope, and would allow you to simply blend into the background. A simple, forgettable face in the crowd. Exhaling, you prepare yourself for the night to come and push the car open.

The music, likely booming from the basement, lilts through the air with jagged electricity, and it manages to translate into your veins with a faint tingle in your fingers. You grin to yourself, already feeling the exhilaration to come. Around the premises of the home a multitude of cars appear parked, which has you thanking your mind for avoiding the mess of it. Multiple parked on the curbside, in the driveway, and also on the lawn. The image of the destroyed grass and streaky soil has you cringing internally, for the remembrance of the hard work that likely went into the landscaping.

The open, and partially wrecked, door frame is but a glance into the chaos that took place shortly after the sun laid itself to daily rest. Broken electronics, a lamp, a shattered glass coffee table, and a bloody and unconscious stranger lying all in view. Suddenly, you felt thankful for the thick and hard soles of your boots, and preyed your balance wouldn’t be giving out on you anytime soon.

As you draw closer you hear the music increase in volume, and can only imagine the ear-shattering havoc occurring just down the stairs. A sudden shriek to your left rips you from your foot hitting the entryway of the door, instead whipping to a sudden figure being body slammed through what you assumed was the living room window. You felt a wave of relief wash over you at the fact that this wasn’t your home, but a resounding ripple of pity for whoever actually owned the place.

You quickly stepped past and shuffled through the living room, leaving the unnamed duo to brawl, the more coherent shouting briefly as a greeting. Quickly you found the kitchen, from the trail of empty and shredded beer cans, to the demolished and alarming amount of disposable cups, you snickered to yourself quietly. The volume increased as you moved more into the building, most of the partygoers sticking to their own groups and remaining calm. Wherever the violent action was, it was bound to be nearer to the actual band.

In the corner do you find one of the kegs, swiftly making yourself a drink and turning back to the face of a stranger. Ebony hair, gel-slicked to perfection, deep brown eyes, and a teetering stance; he eyes you with curiosity and an underlying sense of something else. You shift uncomfortably when he registers your attention on him.

“Y’from here?” he slurs, prodding your shoulder aggressively.

“Nope,” a bold-faced lie, coupled with nonchalant disinterest. “You?”

“Nah, from, uh...Place a’ways from here,” he gestures with both hands, drink-filled cup sloshing with the movement and liquid threatening to spill from the open top. He leans down to your level. “Where y’from, doll?”

“Don’t quite think I’ll share where I’m from with a guy who won’t even tell me his name before getting my address,” you cringe at the stench of beer heavy on his breath and lean back.

“Oh, uhhh...Name’s, fuckin’...Michael, y’can call me Mike, though,” a grin overtakes his features while your frown deepens.

“Alright, Mike, I’ll see’ya around,” you attempt to shift around him, to shuffle out from the keg-corner only to be blocked.

“N’awww, c’mon? I was polite, or whatever, ain’t’cha gonna tell me your name, dollface?”

“No, now let me through.”

“Or what, kitten?”

Outwardly you groan at the intrusion of your space, and also the blatant annoyance of him. His turns nearly primal while the music gets louder, a crescendo you knew you would likely have trouble yelling over.

A thin, pale finger with several rings taps itself on his shoulder, from a form you were unable to see. Michael turns around, aggravation apparent while he begins, “Can’t’cha see we’re busy h--”

He’s cut off by a jarring and strength-filled punch, falling awkward and stone-cold out on your shoulder and kegs. You watch him fall, as though it happens in slow motion, eyes wide and nearly dropping your drink. Upon turning your head you come eye-to-eye with someone who could put you in an even worse position and you feel a faint sliver of fear scurry up your spine. Patrick Hockstetter.

“Kitten,” he starts, with a deadly vocal tone which could only be described as velvet draped over gravel. You want to cringe. “That your boyfriend or somethin’?”

“Ew, no,” No gentle care is taken into shoving the unconscious boy’s body from yours and onto the matted, once shaggy carpeting. “Just a fuckin’ creep who didn’t know where or when to stop.”

Recognition flashes in his eyes, momentary, and he grins to himself while grabbing something to drink. It makes you uneasy, to see someone who knows everyone at your school. Your arms cross as you move to leave, until his voice speaks over the music once again.

“What brings a girl like you to a place like this?” It makes you realize just how close he’s managed to get to you, lips near your ear as though his presence engulfs you. “Careful, princess, or you just might get devoured.”

“I--” a short-lived stammer as he turns and throws an arm over your shoulders, causing you to tense.

“S’okay! I’ll be but a chaperone so you aren’t found dead by sunrise.”

“Wait,” just barely croaked out, and obviously no hindrance as he begins dragging you from the corner and into the rest of the party.

He takes you down the stairs, a bouncy lack of care going into his lengthened strides and whether or not you were able to keep up. You hold onto him, sliding an arm around his waist to try and keep balance while staring down at the floor to make sure you weren’t about to fall over.

At the bottom level is what managed to always ignite a feeling of excitement in you, set ablaze the adrenaline and flames of hardy teenage violence. A mosh pit had formed and the destruction stopped just shy of the stairs. In the air is the heavy scent of leather, sweat, and iron; all of which attacking with the force of animalistic glee. The air feels heavy, like it’s weighing down on your shoulders. Timidly, you steal a glance up at Patrick, who’s managed to get a lit cigarette betwixt his fingers and discard his drink in the time you’d been adhered to his side. He takes a long drag and licks his lips, smoke emulating the carnage of a dragon, if you could compare him to such a beast.

He looks down at you and says something you’re unable to hear over the music, and had it not been for the sheer volume, you’d likely find it to be one of the more enjoyable acts to grace Derry with its presence. His arm unwinds from around your shoulder and he plants a kiss on your forehead, to which has you reeling, before stepping into the pit and leaving you alone.

It feels unnerving, to suddenly be rid of the boy who’d claimed himself the role of your ‘evening security blanket,’ but to suddenly fear the repercussions. Eyes you know are locked on opponents or the evening’s stand feel locked on you, and you feel socially naked at the foot of the basement’s stairs with both hands wrapped around a red solo cup.

You gulp after losing sight of him among the dim room and other black-haired aggressors, taking to maneuvering yourself to a couch sat beside a grandfather clock on the outskirts of the fighting and staring into the lukewarm cup. Sips are taken from it, carefully, while a couple does what you can only describe as practically eating one another’s faces.

As time passes you begin to feel more cramped, not so much that eyes are on you any longer, but more so that the time to leave is rapidly approaching. A brief glance at the clock registers it as 11:50 p.m., and you feel a slight pang in your gut that the time to move is now.

You set the plastic cup on the coffee table in front of you and start off, without much of a care for who would be the poor soul to clean it up. The stairs are ascended quickly, and alarms in your mind begin to go off fervently. Wherever your evening’s chaperone had gone, he wasn’t worth getting potentially arrested for. The kitchen and living room are passed briskly, and while the quick removal of such loud noises is nothing short of disorienting, the sound of approaching sirens is enough to sober you completely.

The yard is left in the dust as you take to a full-sprint down the street, mentally cursing yourself for even coming in the first place. Wherever the authorities were, you knew that potentially crossing paths with them would be a death wish.

You only slow down and exhale when you’re in your car seat, key jammed in the ignition and letting the engine roar to life. Speeding home probably wouldn’t be the best course of action, but you can’t help the lead foot and lady luck allowing you to swing into the driveway with no detection.

Is this true nirvana, you wonder, narrowly escaping the law after a gut feeling in a place you weren’t even meant to be? Whatever the case, you knew sleep would either be impossible to grasp, or come the moment it hit your pillow.

#writing.txt #work: wherever i may roam #patrick hockstetter #patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter imagine #it 2017 #it 2017 fanfiction #bowers gang fanfiction #reader insert

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copias-thrall · 4 years ago

Text

The Stars Are Fire

One more romp before NYE

⬅️ Previous

New Year’s Eve Eve, and Mary is back at your place. You kind of feel like you need to eat bags of carrots, but he’s pumped, gesticulating wildly as he explains what an honor it is that the main band contacted him and asked him to attend their first debut after being signed.

“I get a plus one, Suey. Please.”

And even though all you’d like to do is lie on the couch and drink water—oh, would carrot juice be the best answer to both your problems?—you agree to beautify yourself and accompany him to this pre-party of sorts at one of the bigger local venues.

The music is loud, and the guitars are screeching. Lights are flashing, and the room is moist with sweat.

Mary is jumping around in the mosh pit, and every now and then you can see his head emerge. You’re on the outer limit, holding the too-soft plastic cup full of piss beer you guys are sharing—you gave up your moshing days after some dude punched you in the ear, which ripped out your tragus; your piecer had said he’s redo it for free … but one look at your ear and he advised against it because of the scar tissue.

The crowd is being particularly frantic to the current song, so you’re surprised when Mary emerges from the hive—he usually loves a good mosh. His neck and bare arms are glistening with sweat, and his t-shirt is sticking to him; his paint runs in streaks down his face, and his forelock is matted to his forehead.

His grin is feral as he yanks the cup from you and begins to chug. The sides dimple, and some of the liquid sloshes down his neck to join the other moisture there. He throws the now-empty cup in the direction of a trash can, and it disappears amongst the bodies.

“Thanks for sharing, asshole,” you quip.

“Oh. My bad—did you want some?” Mary shakes himself like a dog, and the sweat and beer fly off him, splattering you.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, MARE!” you screech as you try to distance him with a hand to his chest. His grin only widens as he easily buckles your arm at the elbow, and then he’s on you, smearing his hair and face all over you.

You’re laughing as you grip his hair to tug his head away from you, but he just starts growling and nipping at your neck.

“I’m the Mary monster … and I’ve come to eat you!” he rumbles in your ear right before you feel his arms go round your waist—and then you’re being spun in circles. You yelp and wrap your arms around his neck, the two of you bumping into other people who cheer and goodnaturedly bump you back.

He finally sets you down with an Oof, wincing exaggeratedly as he presses his hand to his back.

You slap his shoulder, the smack landing wetly. “Well, that’s your own fucking fault.”

“Yeah, I know. Worth it, though,” he says grinning before he’s leaning down to kiss you. He tastes like beer and sweat and bitter makeup—but that’s just Mary.

You’re just about to deepen the kiss, when he breaks away with a whoop, shouting,

“Fuck, I love this part!”

He grabs your hand, and you jump along with him and the rest of the audience as the myriad disparate voices join together to form the bridge of the song.

“You can go back in the pit, Mare Bear,” you say into his ear as soon as he stops flailing around like a bunch of wet noodles stuck together.

But he just turns and pulls you into his sweat-damp body. His hands slide down your body—shoving your skirt out of the way—to grab handfuls of your leggings-covered ass.

“Mmm, I’d rather bump and grind with you.”

To punctuate his statement, he rubs his crotch into you. You grab him by the belt loops to pull him further into you.

“Uh oh—is it that time again? Do I need to milk my boyfriend before he explodes?”

Mary backs you into the rough, concrete wall, his body a firm line against you as his lips brush yours.

“Are you offering?”

You run your hands up under his shirt, fingers sliding through his sweat.

“How can I resist this?”

He nips at your ear.

“Stay here,” he says as he scampers off.

You lose him as he delves further into the crowd, but you busy yourself with yanking your skirt back down and tugging at your fishnet top until the seams line up correctly (you’re wearing it over a black, patent-leather bra, and Mary nearly derailed the whole evening when he first saw you in it).

He finally reappears, his face open but determined. You don’t have time to question him before he’s grabbing your hand with a firm C’mon and yanking toward the back hall with the bathrooms. You think that that’s where he’s taking you, but he doesn’t even pause when you pass by the lines.

Mary takes you practically to the back door—which has been inconspicuously propped open with a small stone so the smokers can come and go as they please—and hisses at you to keep watch.

Before you can ask for what, he has a set of keys out. He fumbles with the lock of a door you have overlooked initially.

“Mare …” you begin, but are cut off when the door clicks open and he yells Ah-ha! before yanking you into the room.

He quickly slams the door behind you, which leaves you in darkness.

“Uh, there should be …”

You hear him fumbling around for something, so you fish your phone out of your bra and turn on the flashlight app.

“Ah! Good call.” He goes for the table lamp your tiny light has illuminated.

“It’s why you keep me around.”

“And the blow jobs.” He clicks it on with the pull chain.

“And the blow jobs,” you echo.

With the light now on, you see that you’re in a closet of an office—a small desk, a wooden office chair, a file cabinet, and a lost & found box. When you turn back to face Mary, he’s beaming at you. He twirls the key ring around his finger as he advances on you.

“I know a guy.” He reaches out a hand to thumb at your cheekbone. “Only the best fuck locations for my baby doll.”

You smack his hand away, but you’re grinning.

“Kiss me,” you say, and then Mary’s lips are on yours, your tongues tangling as you grip his ass and he runs his hands all over you; one finally settles in between your legs to press in pulses at your clit. He works you up so good that you hadn’t noticed you were rocking him into you by the meat of his butt.

He pulls away from you, eyes dark and predatory; he brings the hand that had been touching you up to his nose to smell and then down to his mouth to taste.

“Fuck. I want you.”

“Get on the chair,” you say. Mary blinks at you, but then hurries to obey. “Take your dick out,” you order as you fumble to divest yourself of your leggings. You’re not wearing underwear, and a sticky line of your slick clings to the crotch before landing against your thigh. Mary’s eyes track it, and he lets out another Fuck as he gives his hard cock a loose stroke.

When you’re good, he holds his cock out in invitation, and you clamber onto the chair. There’s a horrifying moment with the whole thing tips back—you tumbling into Mary with a small cry as his arms fly out to grab anything—before the two of you realize the chair is built to do that. You both let out a relieved laugh, and Mary bitches at you to stop squashing his dick.

He once again steadies it at the base, and you ease the tip inside you. It goes in easy, but you still slide down slowly, reveling in the stretch. Mary moans and grips the armrests. Using his shoulders for leverage, you slide up and down his cock—slowly at first, just to get your bearings. Mary’s hands fly down to grip at your hips; his eyes are already glazed, and his bottom lip is white from how hard he’s biting it.

After a few recalibrations, you start to bounce on his cock in earnest. Every time you slam down into his lap, you try to angle it so his cockhead punches into your G-spot before mashing your clit into his curls. You’re definitely using him, only bouncing and mashing insofar to chase your orgasm.

Mary just lets you—his hands only slightly trying to move you up and down, and his hips only giving shallow thrusts up into you—his tongue practically lolling out of his mouth watching you take your pleasure from him.

He babbles at you. “Yeah, fuck. C’mon, baby. Ride my cock. That’s right—use me. Use my cock. Fuck—look at you all flushed. Cum on me. Can you cum on me?”

One of your hands flies down to play with your clit, but Mary bats it away.

“Keep fucking riding me,” he says before he licks a thumb and then presses at your nub.

You were worked up before you even sat on his dick, and it’s been a simmer ever since. When the pad of his thumb makes contact with your clit, it’s like it unlocks a dam of pleasure. You stutter to a stop to moan and clench around him.

“Fuck, Suey. Don’t stop,” whines Mary.

The need to cum now is imperative, and you start frantically bouncing in his lap—arms wound round his neck—while he lets the motion of your body help to swipe your throbbing clit.

You know how he gets about you crying out his name, so you’re chanting MaryMaryMary as you pant against his cheek. The wood of the chair is hard on your knees, but you keep riding him until you’re oh so close. Your mouth drops open as you feel your impending orgasm—and you’re pretty sure you drool all over him—and you gasp out Uh uh uh uh as you feel yourself hover. That’s when Mary’s thumb goes to town, and you lock up.

You’ve hardly gotten “Oh fuck” out of your mouth, when Mary’s suctions on to yours. Your orgasm is crashing over you in waves—you clenching in pulses around his hard cock—and you’re riding him in languid rocks while you grunt into his mouth. At some point you broke his kiss and your head lolled back, your movements ceasing as Mary started to thrust up into you as you rode the aftershocks.

As you feel the calm wash over you, you’re prepared for Mary to plant his feet and fuck up into you. But instead he stands up—forcing you to yelp as you hastily wrap your legs around him. There’s a bit of fumbling, but eventually your back hits the small square of carpet before Mary starts wailing into you.

His lips smear down your cheek and neck and shoulder as he babbles at you. “You fucking tease. I’m going to fuck the shit out of you. Your cunt is here to please me. I’m gonna fill it up so good, I wanna see my jizz dripping down your legs.”

“I want to feel you empty inside me, wanna feel your cock throbbing.”

His hips are working into you double time when he starts to scream his song of release. You wrap your legs tighter around him and say, “I want your hot cum spilling out of me.”

Mary bites down hard at your shoulder—and you stifle a surprised scream—his cries muffled in your skin as he gives one long, hard thrust, followed by a few staccato jolts. Finished, he lifts himself up on his forearms a bit and rests his head on your sternum as he pants, and you run your hands up and down his moist back.

He finally rolls off you and sprawls on his back, one arm draped over his eyes, the other strewn to the side. When you flop onto his chest, he seems surprised, and both arms come around you—which is why he can’t immediately defend himself when your hand shoots out to stroke his softening cock.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Suey,” he says as he stiffens. “Sensitive,” he whines as his one hand reaches down to remove yours from his cock. You laugh at him as he jerks and gasps until he manages to pry your fist free.

He’s still got your wrist in his grip when you wiggle on top of him and press your face to his.

“But would you let me, though?” you say as your lips touch his. “If I wanted to keep going, would you be a good boy and let me tease you?”

The grip on your wrist tightens and the hand you hadn’t realized had clamped onto your thigh digs in.

“Fuck, Suey,” Mary says in an exhaled breath. “I’d let you do almost anything.”

Biting his bottom lip, you pull it out before letting it go to snap back. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You shift to rise, but one of Mary’s hands sinks into your hair and presses your head down. He kisses you hard, but in a slow, sated way. You grind down into him, rubbing into his chest and his clothes.

“Jesus … again?”

“I’m still horny,” you whine, as you mash into him.

“When are you fucking not horny?”

“Mary …”

“Ok, ok. Christ, you’re greedy. Here—roll over …”

Rolling off him, you lie onto your back; Mary shifts onto his side, his one hand working between your legs to press at your clit.

You grab his wrist to ground yourself. “Yes, Mare.”

You let yourself get lost in the ministrations of his index finger; it circles your sensitive clit before flicking over it. Then it dips down to tap at your hole before stroking up and down between both sweet spots—only to repeat the process.

It’s a great process even if Mary’s being matter of fact about it due to circumstance, and you writhe unabashedly—moaning and grunting—as your next orgasm draws closer. Your pussy pulsates in warning, and you curl a little towards Mary, your hands flying to grip into his shirt as you let out an Ugn, Mary. His finger speeds up, and you feel your eyes roll back. You let out a wet Ffffff right before your walls clench … and then you’re juttering and moaning as you cum to the tempo of Mary tapping at your engorged clit.

Even as you’re slumping and Mary is slowing his motions, he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“You’re so fucking hot. Another?”

And you could—you really could. Mary’s got the fit fingers, and your clit throbs at the suggestion—but you’re very aware that you’re also on the dirty floor in a bustling venue. So you roll into him, mouth half missing his before you suck his tongue down. Mary goes with it, and soon enough you’re once again in his lap. His hands ruck up your top and sneak under your bra to fondle your tits.

“Fuck,” he slurs, “I just wanna get you back to your place and fuck you again.”

You tilt your head back to give him access to your neck.

“Don’t you need to say ‘hi’ to the band or something?”

“Or something,” he mutters into your clavicle. You let him follow the slope of your shoulder, flinching slightly when he makes contact with his bite mark.

“You bit me again,” you grumble, rolling your shoulders.

“Sorry.” His tongue traces the livid red though the fishnet.

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

“C’mon,” you say as you squirm on him. “We should go.”

He plants his face into your chest, one hand moving up to rest on your neck.

“Do we have to?”

“Sucks, I know. But we can’t sit here all night with our dicks out. I at least need to pee.”

Mary tilts his head to grin up at you, and you quickly cover his mouth with your hand.

“Mare! Do not.”

When he gives your palm a long, slobbery lick, you just make a sound of disgust and wipe it off on his shirt.

The two of you get up and start to put yourselves back in order. You cast about for your leggings only to find Mary trying to stuff them in his pocket, and you notice that there are sticky wet spots on his jeans.

“Mare. You can’t use my pants as cover up.”

“Cover up?” He squints at you and then follows your line of sight down to his crotch. “Oh. This?” He swipes his index finger through a patch, then rubs it against his thumb before seeming to inspect it. His tongue darts out to lick it off his digits. “Mmm, maybe I’m saving this as a snack for later.”

“Gross, Mary!” You’re 90% sure he did it just to squick you out, but you never know.

He smiles, pleased with himself.

You step toward him, hand outstretched. “Give me my pants!”

He steps away from you. “Nuh-uh.”

“C’mon, Mary!” You reach forward with a grabby hand, but he swipes them out of his pocket and holds them above his head. “What the fuck?!” you gripe.

His eyes dart to your bare, exposed thighs. “Maybe I really do wanna see my jizz trickle down your legs.”

You make a mean lemon face at him, and when he throws his head back to laugh, you playfully punch him in the gut. Still laughing, he doubles over with an Uff, and you take the opportunity to snatch your leggings from his grasp.

“Come on, fuckhead,” you grumble as you ball up the fabric as much as you can in your hands.

The two for you sneak out of the office—only to run into a smoker sneaking back in through the back door. There’s moment when the 3 over you all stare at each in other in a cursed tableau, until Mary says,

“None of us were ever here.”

Smoker glances down at the pants in your hands, smirks, and gives you both a salute before making an “after you” gesture. You break off to wait in the line for the Ladies’ Room, and Mary honks your ass.

“See you on the floor, baby doll.”

You turn to glare at him, but he’s already walking away.

Between waiting in line; cleaning between your legs with moistened, paper hand towels; and cleaning Mary’s make up off the rest of you after you see yourself in the mirror—a few women smirking, a few judging—it takes you a good 30min to get your situation in order. When you get back to the pit, you don’t see Mary anywhere in sight. He’s not on the outskirts either, or at the bar. Texting him would be useless because even if he hadn’t let his phone go dead, he always keeps it on silent.

The only place else you can think of is that he’s made his way into the Green Room. Even though your wrists bands are the same color as everyone else who is of age, you did notice that the bouncer grabbed yours from a different bunch, so you hope maybe you can get backstage without Mary.

You approach the bored-looking bouncer who’s guarding the hall, ready to explain, but he just asks for your wrist in a monotone. You stick out your arm, which he takes in a professional manner so he can twist and turn it; he has a little black light that eventually illuminates an “x” on your wrist band.

Huh.

“All right,” he says, his eyes already off you and back to scanning the room before he even drops your arm.

You can hear the guffawing down the hall, so you just follow the noise. You poke your head around the corner of the doorframe; the room is filled with mostly skinny boys in various states of ripped shirts (if they’re wearing shirts), denim pants, and big hair from teasing or glue. You squint, trying to find Mary like this is a Where’s Waldo? picture.

“Can we help you, sweetheart?” says a voice, and a handful of heads turn your way.

“Mine,” says Mary, and you turn toward his voice. He’s straddling what looks like an amp, or maybe a table shaped like an amp, and holding his arms out to you and making grabby hands. There’s a chorus of “hoorays” as you walk over.

“I told you dudes she was smart.”

He pulls you down onto one leg—and you hope he can feel the cold dampness of your crotch through his rips, because honestly you should both suffer that indignity—and wraps both arms around your middle.

“Why am I smart?” you ask as you turn your head to his and hook your arm over his shoulder.

“They didn’t think you’d find me.”

You lean back into him. “Well, it was either here or you left, and I didn’t think you’d be that stupid.”

There’s a chorus of chuckles and a few shouted insults about Mary’s intelligence, which he graciously meets with his middle finger.

“Can you really know what a wild Goore will do? Seems like a lucky guess.” shouts someone.

“Yeah! He’s pretty feral!” shouts another, which is met with some snickering.

Mary just gives it back in different plays of flipping the bird. You wind your fingers into his greasy, sweaty hair so he has to look at you.

“Mary knows his place.”

You hear someone choke on something and someone else say “Jesus”. Mary’s eyes widen, and you swear that if he had a tail, he'd be wagging it. There’s a bit of nervous laughter before the conversation veers off around the two of you. Mary tilts his head so that he can whisper in your ear.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Grinning, you nod.

Mary takes the leave for the both of you amidst playful chiding and some cat calls. He just drapes his arm around your shoulder.

“What can I say? The lady isn’t wrong.” He gives you a leering once over. “I know exactly where my place is.”

As you roll your eyes at him, the whole corner of the room erupts—with empty soda cans and balled up napkins being thrown at you.

“Get the fuck outta here, Goore!”

Laughing, the two of you hightail it out of the room. Mary immediately pushes you against the wall.

“You’re a fucking menace, you know that?” He leans down to nip at your neck. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

You giggle. “I don’t give a shit.”

There’s groan, and the two of you jump apart.

“Fuck’s sake, Goore—get the hell out of here!”

“All right, all right! We’re leaving.”

***

It’s a cold walk back to your place, Mary shivering despite his leather jacket as his sweat cools.

“Wanna get a slice?” you ask him.

You can always eat pizza, but a little warm up might be good for your dumbass boyfriend and his allergy to wearing his winter coat.

“Yeah, sure. You’re kinda a bitch when you’re hangry. Fuck, ow.”

There's a place on your walk home that makes bank by doing only pizza slices after hours, and if you get there before the 2 o’clock show, there’s even space to sit down. When you and Mary get there, there’s a line to order, but a free table, which Mary hens you to go save while he gets the slices.

He arrives like a conquering hero, smirking as he saunters lazily, plates in hand … until he realizes that the way he’s stacked them has made the cheese of your one plain slice stick to the bottom of his plate.

“Shit, sorry,” he says and he fumbles to scrape it off.

You shake your head in mock disapproval. “You’re fucking useless, you know that?”

“Quiet, you,” he says as he licks the grease from his finger. “I even got you that disgusting trash you like.”

He’s referring to the other slice (Hawaiian) that you’re now blowing on.

“Whatever, salami boy,” you respond as you tilt your chin at his paper plate—now translucent with grease—covered in slices of pepperoni.

He peels off a piece of the meat and flicks it at you; it lands with a splat on the top of one tit, and you make a disgruntled noise at him.

Mary just wiggles his tongue. “Want me to get that for you?”

You only glare at him and put down your slice so that you can peel off the circle, dabbing at the sauce on your top with a napkin. Mary picks up his own to eat—which gives you the opportunity to flick it right back. It hits the lapel of his jacket, and he flails in horror. You smack your hand over your mouth to block your cackle, and shove some napkins over to him.

“Suey,” he whines as he begins to rub at it.

“Wait wait wait—blot, don’t rub!”

Mary just whines again as he begins to dab violently at it. You grab a few napkins and scamper over to the end of the counter where an Asian woman is switching out trays. When she looks up at you, you give her an imploring look.

“Can I get some dish soap?” you ask as you wave the napkins.

She blinks at you and says, “One moment,” before she’s yelling to someone in the back. “Hēi, Zhāng Wēi, nǐ néng zài zhǐ to shàng fàng xiē xǐ wǎn jīng ma?”

A moment later, a man comes out from the back holding a soapy paper towel. The woman points at you, and the exchange is made.

“Thanks!” you chirp as you spin on your heel back to Mary. He’s pouting up at you. You tsk as you half straddle his one leg. “Don’t be a baby, it’s fine.” You blot gently at the small slick of grease, the soap resting in white crests atop the black of his leather as you press.

It takes a few passes with drying in between, but it finally comes out ok.

“There you go, Mare. All better.” You plant a wet kiss on the affected area.

When you move to climb off him, Mary grabs your wrist.

“What about my kiss?”

You scoff at him. “You aren’t the injured party.”

“Not the—it’s my fucking jacket!”

You spin out of his grasp so you can reclaim your seat and eat your pizza.

“And who fired the first shot?”

He exaggerates his pout. “Whatever.”

You listen to him as he waxes poetic about the bands the two of you saw tonight and interject when you can about the attractiveness of the members just get him in a lather. Even while doing most of the talking, Mary eats all 3 of his slices in the time it takes you to finish your two, and then he eats the crusts you leave.

You quirk your eyebrow. “Hungry much?”

He leans back and pats his food baby.

“If I’m gonna fuck your greedy ass all night, I need some fuel.”

“Ok, bot-thario.”

***

As you walk home, Mary grabs your hand and stuffs it into his pocket, interlocking your finger together like you might fly away. He looks up at the sky and huffs out a puff of breath that mists in the air in front of him.

“You ever wish you could see all the stars? Like, some out of the city shit?”

“You mean without the light noise?”

“Yeah. My middle school always took the 7th graders to the Poconos at the end of the year. One night they took us out to a field where we chomped on those lifesavers, you know? The mint ones? They spark in the dark.”

“Wint-o-green?”

He looks over at you. “Yeah. They also had us lay down in the grass and talked about the constellations. I think we were more impressed with being allowed to be up so late … but I do remember thinking that the stars were so bright and so … prolific.”

There’s a moment before you respond.

“We took a yearly camping trip most years. More glamping than anything, but I liked to go exploring and climb up the rocks.” You grin at him. “Always covered in scrapes and dirt.”

“The scandal!”

“It kind of was, though. But we also did our fair share of star gazing, especially if there was a meteor shower.”

Mary bumps you. “Aww, Suey. Did you wish upon a star?” He leans down to your ear. “What did ya wish for?”

You scoff and lean away from him. “Everyone knows you can’t tell or it won’t come true, Goore.”

“Tell meee,” he hisses as he gets closer.

“Stop!” you laugh as you pull your hand free to keep him at bay.

He wraps his arms around you even as you try to squirm free. “Tell me your seeecreets!”

“It won’t come true!” you squeal.

He nips at your ear before giving the shell a lick.

“Well, I’ll tell you one of mine because I’m not fucking stingy.”

Mary slips one hand to rest against your cheek.

“I’ve always kinda wanted to do that again.” He pulls back to look at you. “I mean, maybe not that exactly … but see the stars like that again, yeah?” He searches your face.

“If you say something about my eyes right now, I will spit in your face.”

Mary rolls his eyes and pushes you away from him with a palm to your face and begins to walk on.

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

You catch up with him and shove a hand into his back pocket before giving it a squeeze. “Only sometimes.” You leer up at him.

He looks down at you through slitted eyes.

“Don’t distract me with sex.”

You rub yourself into his side, your other hand traveling down to his crotch.

“You love being distracted with sex.”

Mary suddenly grabs you, and you find yourself pressed against the brick wall of a building. He presses himself into you, a hand winding into your hair to tip your head up so his face can meet yours.

“Yeah, ok. Maybe.”

His other hand fumbles to unhook the first few button toggles on your coat.

"You’ve brought this on yourself, little girl.”

Mary scrambles to get his arms under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his slight waist and your arms around his corded neck so that he doesn’t drop you. His head comes down to worry at your neck as his pelvis squirms to find a good angle to press in between your legs. He gets a few good ruts into you before you feel his arms begin to tremble.

You’re about to suggest to him that he should put you down when someone across the street whistles. Mary growls, but lets you slide down him. When the two of you turn toward the callout, you see two alternative boys giving the thumbs up. Mary salutes. You lick your middle finger.

They whoop back, and you watch Mary watch them until they’re small on the horizon. When he turns back to you, his gaze is full of intent. He reaches into his pants to adjust himself, then he grabs your wrist.

“Let’s go.”

The causal saunter back to your apartment has turned into a forced march with Mary at the helm. His legs are longer, so you stumble after him until he finally lets go of you—but you still have to do double time to keep up.

When you reach your building, Mary is impatient—his body draped on you and his mouth sucking at your neck as you struggle to unlock the building door. Once inside, you push him away with a laugh before you break out into a run. You have the advantage of a surprise head start, but Mary’s in better shape, and he catches you before you even make it off the second floor landing.

“You’re in so much fucking trouble,” he snarls before he tosses you over his shoulder.

“OH MY GOD, MARE! PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN!”

He just slaps your ass through your coat a few times. You beat ineffectually at his back—cursing—as he totters up the next two flights, but Mary doesn’t put you down.

When he gets to your door, he’s panting. You squirm, but he’s not moved.

“Stop wiggling unless you want me to drop your ass. Gimme your keys.”

Because you’re an asshole, you drop the keys on the floor instead of into his hand. There’s a long pause during which you try to hold in your laughter even as the jiggle of your body gives you away.

“Well played—but don’t think this gets you out of the trouble you’re in.”

He sets you down so that you’re boxed in between him and the door while he squats to grab the keys. You reach down to grab his hair, but he bats your arm out of the way before standing up again.

“Nuh-uh. None of that.”

Mary makes sure to lean into you as he works at getting your door open, so when it does, you go stumbling backwards with an ungainly exclamation. Then you slip on all your mail—envelopes scattering everywhere—and your arms pinwheel for balance. Mary’s arm shoots out to grab at the collar of your coat, steadying you.

“That’s your own fucking fault,” he rumbles as he slams the door behind him. Then he yanks you back into him, pressing his lips hard to yours before giving them a good nibble. You go to lean into him, but makes a sing-song “nuh-uh” sound before pushing you into the wall.

He pins you again with his body.

“Fuck. I want you here, like this. Take your shorts off.”

You love it when Mary’s like this—rabid, savage, all Id—just as much as when he’s whining at your feet, and your heart beats in between your legs in anticipation. Once again, you contort to shimmy out of your leggings. When you’ve got one leg free, Mary’s hands are at you—undoing the rest of your coat toggles and shoving your skirt up around your stomach. His dick is already out, and he yanks up one of your thighs to hip level, his other hand sliding back to grip into the meat of your ass.

“Guide me in,” he half whispers, and you reach down blindly, grasping for his dick. You get the tip into you, and Mary grunts—resting his head against the wall—pushing in the rest of the way. “Fuck. You’re tight like this.”

You moan, your hands scrabbling at the back of his jacket as you clench around him. The grip on your thigh becomes painful, and he begins to thrust into you shallowly.

“So fucking wet too. You wet for my dick, huh? Dripping at the thought of what I was going to do to you?”

“Your fucking cock, Mary. Are you gonna punish me with it? For being such a tease?”

“You’re goddamned right I am.” He lets go of you, his dick slipping out of your pussy as he leans back. “Turn around … and take that coat off.”

You grapple with your coat, trying to shake it off your arms. When you feel Mary grab ahold, you hiss, “Rip my fucking coat and I’ll rip you.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, but he also gently eases you out of the garment before tossing haphazardly to the side. “Over,” he rasps as he bends you—one hand on your head, the other pressing into your belly—so that your palms are flat against the wall. He kicks your legs together before he’s sliding into you again.

Hands gripping your hips, grunting with each movement, Mary pounds into you. Hard. When he finally punches into your G-stop you moan low and long, buckling forward a bit. Mary hisses at you to keep position, but after that he manages to hit your sweet spot on most thrusts.

“Oh fuck, Mare—harder,” you slur as your head rolls onto one of your arms.

There’s a slight pause, and then he’s rolling his hips before giving you sharp jolts.

“You want it harder, or you want my finger on your clit?”

You make a long Mmm noise. “One, then the other.”

“Fucking picky,” he grumbles, but then he’s punching into you again. And again.

And again.

You moan and grunt, pressing back into him where you can as he pounds into you. When your fingernails start scrabbling at the wall, one of Mary’s hands detaches from your hips and slides down between your legs; it splays, and one of his fingers starts rubbing at your neglected clit.

This time you really do buckle forward with pleased Uhn, and you feel the heat of Mary’s hard cock as it slips out of you. A breathy Shit escapes his mouth as his finger leaves you so that he can reposition you and slide his cock back in.

“Oh!” you gasp. “Fuck me good, Mare!”

“Christ, I’m trying. Stay still.”

You acquiesce as best you can, letting his finger slip slide on your clit as his cock punches into you. You’re gasping and moaning, rolling your head from side to side, and at some point you started banging your fist on the wall. The closer you get to your climax, the more your legs begin to tremble.

The two of you babble nonsense at each other.

“Oh, I want it—I want it! I wanna cum. I wanna cum. Make me cum, Mare. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me …”

“I’m gonna give it to you so good, baby doll. My cock’s gonna make you cum so hard. Are you gonna do it? Are you gonna cum on my cock?”

You press back into Mary and then rock into his finger, trying to climb over the hill of arousal to your climax. He’s beginning to lose his steadiness, his speed and consistency becoming erratic.

“Fuck, Suey—I’m gonna … I’m gonna …”

The thought of Mary blowing his load and moaning his pleasure into you brings you to the crest of your hill, and you yell out Fuckfuckfuck—banging your fist into the wall—as you feel yourself tighten, then spasm in pulses. You almost slide down the wall, but suddenly Mary’s hand is gripping the front of your neck and angling you up as he starts slamming frenetically into you, panting hard.

He lets out a loud grunt as he cums, thrusting hard into you and pressing you into the wall; he squashes you further as he fucks out his aftershocks and attempts to latch onto the nape of your neck before deciding to just suck the ever-loving fuck out of your skin there.

Your face and arms are pressed against the cool of the wall, and Mary’s suction is turning into little kisses as his arms wrap around your middle.

“Mmm,” he purrs as he nuzzles into your skin.

You can already feel Mary’s cock softening, so you wiggle around to face him; he’s already there and waiting, his mouth finding yours to worm his tongue into. His hands run up to wind into your hair as he rubs against you.

“Fuck. What did I ever do to deserve you,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Probably the blow jobs,” you mutter back at him, and he laughs.

Mary’s hand travels back between your legs, two fingers tapping at then sliding in and out of your hole.

“Mare,” you grunt, pulling away from his kisses.

“What?” he asks as his mouth only starts to travel down your neck.

“Mare, what’re you doing?”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Just feeling my jizz drip out of you. S’nice.”

You make a sound of indignation and push him away from you. Even stumbling back he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Don’t be gross, Mare.”

He raises his hands up in supplication.

***

After you’ve made Mary join you in a quick shower—laughingly fending off further lascivious attacks—the two of get ready for bed.

Mary actually crawls into bed way before you do, so you wrap yourself around his half-asleep comma when you slip under the covers.

“Mare?”

He grunts.

“Do you really want to see the stars again?”

There’s a pause—and you think he must have drifted off—but then one of his hands rests atop yours.

“Yeah,” he croaks.

“Ok, baby,” you say, kissing his neck.

He tenses for a second, then relaxes.

“Ok,” he says as he grips your hand tighter.

Next ➡️

#mary goore #gutter punk #gritty girls #ofc #feral cats fic #my writing #original content

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fickleminder · 4 years ago

Note

For Wild Area Ranger, do they ever meet up with any of the other gym leaders?

(Sorry for the wait! This one got away from me >.<)

Milo + Nessa

- It’s a well-known fact that the first three gym leaders in the circuit are close. Kabu himself had shared with you that Milo and Nessa were two of his first friends in Galar, and you think their little tradition of sending off successful gym challengers from Motostoke is really sweet

- One day you make your way towards North Lake Miloch where Kabu had requested you deliver some rare berries. When you reach the designated meeting spot however, you find that he isn’t alone; Turffield’s and Hulbury’s gym leaders are there too, helping to set up camp and chatting with one another amicably

- You’re about to ask Gallade to drop off the berries discreetly, not wanting to disturb their private gathering, when Milo spots you and waves you over

- Turns out you’ve been invited to one of their regular meetups under the guise of berry delivery and since you’ve so helpfully provided them the ingredients for lunch, they simply have to feed you in return

- (Sneaky old man)

- Despite his size, Milo is super gentle with your pokemon and really friendly too. He’s brought along one of the Wooloos from his farm and you can’t get enough of petting the cute sheep. You think you can sleep forever if you use it as a pillow

- Nessa is easily more intimidating and you feel extremely underdressed compared to her. You certainly never expected her to stride up to you and shake your hand while thanking you for keeping the waters clean

- You’ve been fishing out trash from the lakes in the Wild Area as part of your duties but you have no idea how she found out about it

- Lunch is delicious and you learn that Kabu is actually a pretty skilled cook. You pick up some tips from him along the way and generally have a good time with the three gym leaders

- (Kabu doesn’t say it, but he thinks Milo and Nessa have already decided to adopt you as their little sibling)

Bea + Allister

- Bea trains in the Wild Area every now and then. She’s always super focused doing drills with her team: running, lifting boulders, practicing her katas, and sparring with her Machamp

- You still can’t wrap your head around the fact that she can keep up with the superpower pokemon, like, sweet Arceus —

- Of course she’s more than capable of handling herself so you generally stay out of her way

- (Yes it’s a coincidence that you always seem to be heading in the opposite direction whenever you happen to see her. No she doesn’t scare you, what nonsense)

- Allister, on the other hand, likes to hang out at the Watchtower Ruins

- Golurk had wandered off from camp one night while you were preparing dinner and you’re out looking for it when you feel something grab the back of your jacket and yank —

- (In hindsight, Allister had only been tugging at the hem of your shirt but your nerves were at an all-time high and frankly you’re surprised the sheer volume of your scream didn’t immediately summon the rest of your team to investigate)

- Not too far behind Allister is none other than Golurk, who looks awfully gleeful watching the two of you scare a decade off each other’s lives

- The gym leader says he has a message for you from Golurk. It wants to apologize for giving you a concussion during that horrible battle on Axew’s Eye all those months ago

- You don’t blame it of course, you never did, and you feel bad that Golurk still harbors guilt over that incident

- Allister scurries away with a meek nod after you thank him and you resolve to give Golurk an extra large serving of curry later as it walks you back to camp

Opal

- The Wild Area may be your main base of operations, but that doesn’t mean you don’t take time to explore the other cities in the region during the off season

- Ballonlea is as mystical as they say; the pretty lights and glowing mushrooms really add to the whole atmosphere and you’re glad you made the effort to visit

- You’re about to trek through Glimwood Tangle when you’re approached by Opal, who’s just emerging from the forest herself

- Her intense stare sends shivers down your spine; she seems to be looking right into your soul, and you find yourself instinctively standing at attention as she scrutinizes you

- It feels like hours before Opal suddenly smiles, shaking her head and making her way back to the gym

- “Not enough pink,” you hear as she walks past you

- You can’t help but think you just failed some kind of test

Gordie + Melony

- Circhester is another city you’ve been wanting to visit for some time now. The Hero’s Bath is one of the hallmarks of Galar’s rich history and you hope to check it out while you’re there

- You decide to grab lunch first and treat yourself to a nice meal at a restaurant. Bob’s Your Uncle is highly recommended on Galar’s tourism page so in you go

- It’s hard to decide what to get; there aren’t many pictures in the menu so you end up looking around at other people’s dishes, seeing if there’s anything that piques your interest —

- When the waitress arrives to take your order, you lower your voice and point subtly at the table next to you. “Can I get what he’s having?”

- You’re surprised Gordie isn’t swarmed by fans while dining in public seeing as he’s pretty recognizable. He seems to be enjoying his steak though, so it’s worth a try

- So. Good. You can’t go back to curry anymore after this

- After that satisfying meal, it’s time to hit the Hero’s Bath

- Lapras’ pokeball rattles excitedly when you approach the hot spring (she can never resist a nice pool of water), and you try not to draw too much attention to yourself as you whisper furiously to her, promising her a long soak later if she behaves now

- There’s a tap on your shoulder and you turn around, ready to apologize for causing a scene, but the words get stuck in your throat when you find yourself face-to-face with Melony herself

- Winking, she tells you that her own Lapras is the same and suggests Circhester Bay as a relaxing place to let her out for a swim later

- You stammer out some form of thanks before booking it out of there in embarrassment

Piers

- It feels a bit like cheating when you’re watching a concert for free

- To be fair, you’re perched high up on one of the buildings in Spikemuth to avoid the mosh pit below and the music coming from the stage is somewhat muffled, so it’s not exactly a HD experience

- You bury yourself in Corviknight’s feathers for warmth as you hear Piers sing, bopping your head along with the melody and clapping instead when his fans scream and cheer in support

- It’s a nice way to unwind after a long day at work; Piers’ songs are a little rough around the edges, but they’re really catchy and they never fail to put you in a better mood. No wonder he’s consistently trending on Galar’s radio stations

- You freeze when Corviknight suddenly covers you with his wings. Trusting your pokemon’s instincts, you remain as still as possible

- After a minute or so, the giant bird nudges you onto his back and prepares for takeoff, flying you back to the safety of the Wild Area

- Neither of you realize that Piers knows you’ve been there all along, his eyes tracking Corviknight’s dark silhouette as it cuts through the night sky

#writing #wild area ranger #pokemon #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield

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revisionaryhistory · 4 years ago

Text

Three Days ~ 25

~*~Emma~*~

Breakfast was the "Eggcelent" diner for omelets. We talked about dinner, with me checking out what he liked and didn’t like. He assured me, "I'll eat pretty much anything you put in front of me. Except for fennel." He shuddered, "It comes from the devil's asshole. Fennel and anything licorice."

We ran to the grocery to get supplies then back to my place. We changed things up a little based on what produce looked good. Sebastian grabbed some shortcake cups and we loaded up on berries and some whipping cream. Back at my house, Sebastian unloaded the groceries on the counter and I put away, leaving out the chicken to marinade and the potatoes to boil.

"Give me a job." He seemed uncomfortable not doing something.

I pointed to the pots hanging overhead, "Fill one of those with enough water to cover the potatoes and get them boiling. Another for the eggs. It won't take me more than a few minutes to get the chicken done."

We were finished with our tasks at the same time and headed toward the couch. I pulled back, "I'll be right back."

"I'll look up train times."

I came back down to see Sebastian standing behind the couch, his butt on the back with his ankles crossed, looking at his phone. Jeans did good things for his legs. I wanted to stop and stare, but he looked over. It was strange having him here. Not strange in a bad way. The level I felt like I knew him didn’t match the time with which I knew him. Some quick math told me that was because on average our dates lasted fourteen hours if you counted today as four dates and just counted the hours up until now.

"You changed." He checked me out with a smile.

"I was in yesterday's clothes." I went into the kitchen to turn down the heat on the stove and set a timer. The chances of me getting distracted and burning something was high. "What did you find out?"

I was anxious about when he was leaving. I was anxious about when I'd see him again. I wanted him to leave as late as possible or super early in the morning where we could both get to work on time.

Sebastian came up beside me by the stove, "You looked fetching in your walk of shame clothes."

"I feel fresher."

Sebastian raised his nose and looked for the smell. He squatted beside me and ran his hand up my calf. "You shaved your legs." His tone of voice was sweet and endearing. "You didn’t have to for me."

"Yes, I did." I turned to face him, "I want to look pretty for you. Today part of that meant shaving my legs." We hugged, "Just in case a situation arose when you might be touching them again."

He took my hand, leading me to the couch. He sat me in his lap where my back was supported by the arm of the chair. He put a hand behind my neck and the other stroked my legs. "So soft."

"Thanks, glad you like."

He hummed appreciatively. "I like touching your legs very much. See.." He shifted his focus from my legs to my eyes, "You looked pretty in gym clothes at the groceries, in jeans and a peach and white shirt at dinner, jeans and top for the festival, and ratty shorts and well-used t-shirt yesterday. What you wear doesn’t matter, you're always pretty to me. More than pretty."

The way he used my word, pretty, and remembered everything I’d worn made my stomach flutter. I kissed his cheek, "I’m still going to do things to try to turn you on."

"Don't waste your efforts. I'm very easy. For you, anyway." He leaned in and kissed me, his hand moving up my thigh to rest on my ass. “Train schedules?”

I nodded.

“Latest tonight is ten.”

“Ten?” Oh, no, that wasn’t going to work at all. I mean, having to be at work in the morning dealing with a room full of six and seven-year-olds means I can’t really be up all night, but ten is early. I think I pouted.

Sebastian’s face cracked into a slow grin, the hand on my ass pulled me closer and we kissed again. “Latest I can leave in the morning is seven. What time do you have to be at work?”

“Seven-thirty. Fifteen-minute drive.” I bit the side of my lip, “Wanna have a sleepover?”

“Very much.”

“What shall we do with ourselves?”

“I think I promised we’d make up for the lack of kissing.”

“Good thing I set the kitchen timer.”

We made out until the timer went off, at which point I dumped the potatoes and eggs in the sink, reset the timer, and went back to his lap. Needless to say, I was enjoying the hell out of the make-out session. Things stayed relatively calm. Everything stayed above the waist. Hands roamed, mouths kissed, and things would amp up every now and again, but mostly it was this lovely leisurely kissing and touching. I highly recommend.

The timer rang and I pulled away with a groan, “Want to help?”

“Kinda.”

I laughed and headed to the kitchen, “Why don’t you put on some music? Just plug your phone into the dock and it will do the rest.” I’d pulled what I needed out of the fridge by the time he joined me. I put him to work cutting up the potatoes while I cut up onion, pickles, and the hard-boiled eggs.

“Who knows what we’re going to get.”

I assumed that meant he’d just hit shuffle, “That’s the most fun.”

Sebastian finished the potatoes and stood beside me watching. “Who taught you to cook?”

“Mostly my grandparents. My papa taught me biscuits, gravy, and all sorts of fried things. My nana did more healthy things. They used to have a barbeque place. Nothing fancy, just a big smoker and some picnic tables.” My mouth was watering at the memory or maybe that was about the man next to me. Either way, I closed my eyes and moaned happily, “Best coleslaw ever. I can’t recreate it. I think it’s about ingredients changing. Papa would die if he could see how little cans of Crisco are now.”

Sebastian laughed, “Does anyone even use that anymore?”

“If you want good biscuits you do.” I threw about three quarters of the onions, pickles, and eggs in the potatoes with a healthy amount of mayonnaise, salt, and pepper. I tasted and added until I was satisfied. Only then did I load up a spoon and hold it out to him, “It’ll be better once it’s chilled a few hours.”

“Wondered why we were making this so early.”

He opened his mouth and let me feed him. The flutter in my stomach was back. This was my go-to for school potlucks and I always got requests for my recipe, so I knew it was good, but different people like different things. I watched his eyes go wide and he covered his mouth with his hand, “This is delicious.”

I got a thrill from him liking something I’d made. Boy, did I have it bad. Emergency leg shaving and feeding him homemade food. What was next? I laughed to myself. This was my thing. I enjoyed taking care of people. Shaving my legs wasn’t really in that category. Cooking was. I hadn’t cooked for a man in a very long time. “Thank you. Does it need anything?”

Shaking his head, Sebastian pointed to the bowl, “I’ll need to taste again.” I didn’t even consider giving him the spoon. Way too much fun to feed him. He chewed happily, “More pickle? I love pickle.”

I scraped the rest of the chopped pickle into the bowl. I liked him giving me feedback. I pressed my lips to his briefly. “For telling me what you wanted different.”

“How will you know if I don’t tell you?” A slow smirk formed, “Not just food.” A new song started and he took off for the family room, “Fucking love this song.”

Before the lyrics started, he’d turned the volume way up. He quickly turned and pointed to me with one hand, arm outstretched and singing along. “You can dance.” He repeated the move with his other arm, “You can jive. Having the time of your life.” He flipped over his hand and motioned for me to join him. What followed was him singing and dancing with infectious joy. I was laughing while I ran across the room. When I got in reach, he took my hands, holding them out and swinging them in and out. He let go and twirled me around before taking my hands again. We sang along and danced like we knew how, both of us laughing because we didn’t.

The next song was something much more appropriate for slam dancing in a mosh pit. Sebastian dropped to the floor with arms and legs spread, “I wanted a slow song.”

I stood with feet on either side of his hips, looking down at him, “Playlist management.”

“Wouldn’t matter. Shuffles and plays what it wants.”

“There’s a button to turn off shuffle. It’ll play whatever order you put them in.”

His lips were tight and he looked annoyed, “Didn’t know that. Give me a week, maybe two, and I’ll have the perfect playlist.”

I knelt over his hips, putting my hands on his stomach, “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.” The idea of slow dancing with him was very appealing.

“Me either.” He ran his hands up my arms to my shoulders before pulling me over him, “Come down here.” As I lay down on him his hands smoothed down my back to my waist. “Much better.”

I kissed him, pulling at his lower lip, “Your lips are so soft.”

“I have good lip balm.”

I ran my finger through his hair, “You make me laugh.” I kissed him again, long and deep, “Let’s see what I can make you do.”

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #fanfiction

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dyscrasia-eucrasia · 5 years ago

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Part 1

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"Hey, uh, so we're Bacchus," the lead singer said, leaning into the microphone. Immediately, Angel doubted the rumors he'd heard. No way this guy was related to Marius. He had none of Marius' charisma. He hunched his shoulders, spoke softly, and stumbled over his words. His long hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a day or two, and he had a ratty goat beard. He wore an Iron Maiden shirt that, even under the bar's shitty stage lights, looked extremely faded.

Sure, he was wearing fuzzy pants and a pair of curled ram's horns that looked especially realistic, but that just made him seem even more like a weak imitation. It was like he'd chosen curled horns specifically to throw people off the fact that he was riding on Marius' coat tails.

The drummer looked even more out of place. She was a sturdy-looking woman, with long blonde hair cut into blunt bangs. She hadn't even dressed the part of a member of a heavy metal band, wearing an anime t-shirt and jeans.

And that was it for the band. No bass player, no keyboardist. Just drums and a guitar.

Angel leaned back against the bar, thinking to himself that this was gonna suck.

The lead singer looked back at the drummer and nodded. She counted off on her sticks and the crowd got a little quieter.

And then the entire bar was hit by a wall of sound. The drums were wild and frenetic, some of the best Angel had ever heard. But they paled in comparison to the guitar. The lead singer was absolutely shredding it, going faster and harder than anyone Angel had ever seen live. The bar erupted into cheering, and a scuffle of moshing started down by the stage.

Then the singer opened his mouth and began to sing, and Angel felt like he would've been knocked over if he weren't leaning against the bar. The singer's voice was a deep baritone that reverberated across the venue. Angel wasn't even hearing it, but feeling it rattle his sternum.

The singer finished a verse and launched into a wild guitar solo, his hair flying around him as he banged his head to the beat. The awkwardness of his introduction melted away, and he became a commanding figure on the stage, despite how slim and gangly he was.

He straightened again, grabbing the mic, and launched into a harsh growl that came up from his chest. The crowd went absolutely wild, and Angel's head began to spin. It was like he was drunk, but also like he was horny, but also like he wanted to grab someone's head and smash it into a brick wall. He could see down in the mosh pit that elbows were flying, faces were getting bloody, and no one seemed to care.

The band went through an entire set, but time had stopped meaning anything at some point and all the songs bled together. Angel could pick out some of the lyrics, things about gods and monsters and heroes. It was messy and violent, but at the same time somehow painfully erotic, and the audience was hooked on every line.

Then, suddenly, it was over. "Thank you," the singer shouted into the mic, "like I said, we're Bacchus, thanks to Rattlesnake for having us open for them, they're great guys. We'll be up by the bar for the rest of the night, come buy a shirt or buy us a beer or something, ya fuckin' animals."

That was right, they weren't even the headliner act. The rest of the bar screamed in excitement for Rattlesnake, but for Angel, it was like a spell had broken. All the awe and energy he'd felt was sapped away in an instant, the minute the band left the stage. Who the fuck even cared about Rattlesnake, anyways?

He could see now why there were rumors that the lead singer of Bacchus was related to Marius. Marius' style was different, more polished, more theatrical, but they had the same sort of resonance to their voice, and similar guitar work. Not like they were copycats of one another, more like they came from the same musical family.

Angel slumped onto a bar stool, exhausted. He hadn't even joined the pit - it would look pretty bad, showing up for work with bruises - but he still felt like he'd been beat within an inch of his life.

He was just thinking about leaving when he looked over and saw the band's lead singer - he was hard to miss, towering over even the biggest of guys - down at the end of the bar, ordering. Based on the way the crowd had reacted to him, Angel would've assumed he'd be swarmed by fans, but he was pretty much alone. A quick scan of the crowd showed that the drummer was sitting at a merch table, chatting with someone, but her side of the table was a ghost town, while a large knot of people were in line for the Rattlesnake side.

Angel had never actually approached any musicians after shows. It just seemed too needy, too parasocial. He was approached by enough weirdoes after work himself to not want to put someone else in that position. But the lead singer was magnetic. Angel couldn't understand how he wasn't surrounded by people begging for his attention.

He got down off his barstool and made his way over to the singer.

"Hey!" He shouted at the bartender above the noise. "Whatever he's having, I'll pay for it," he pointed at the singer. "And give me one, too."

The singer looked genuinely surprised by the gesture. "Hey, thanks dude," he shouted.

"Great set," Angel shouted back. "I'm Angel, by the way."

"Demie," the singer replied, holding out a hand. Now that Angel was right next to him, he realized just how big Demie was. He was built like a twig, but he stood at least 6'6", if not taller, and his hand was like a shovel. It completely enveloped Angel's when he shook it.

"What was the name of that third song you played?" Angel shouted. "That really fast one?"

"That one's called 'Wrath of Mars," Demie hollered back.

"It's really good," Angel shouted.

"Thanks. I wrote it for my brother, actually."

"Your brother wouldn't be Marius, would he?" Angel shouted as the bartender put two pints on the bar in front of them. Mars, Marius. Angel felt like he was connecting the dots.

"Uh… yeah, actually," Demie said. His skin was dark - not tanned, but more of a deep olive - but Angel thought he saw his cheeks go a little red.

There was an explosion of shouting from down by the stage as Rattlesnake took the stage.

"These guys any good?" Angel shouted, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the band.

"Yeah, I mean, if you like country-metal fusion," Demie shouted back.

"Sounds weird."

"It is."

The band started up with some twangy guitar that sounded like something out of a spaghetti western. It wasn't really doing it for Angel. They didn't sound nearly as good as Bacchus had.

"Hey, uh," he put a hand on Demie's shoulder, standing on his toes to be closer to his ear. "You wanna go outside for a while? I'd love to hear more about your band."

Demie gave him a quizzical, 'you serious?' kind of look. He glanced over to the merch booth. His drummer was pretty much alone, messing around on an old smartphone.

"Yeah, sure," he said, grabbing his beer first.

"So you're really related to Marius, huh?" Angel said as they stepped out of the bar into the cool spring evening.

"Yeah, he's my older brother," Demie replied.

"So… what, is this like, some kind of sibling rivalry? Your brother made it big so now you're trying to catch up?"

"Fuck no," Demie muttered as he took a swig of beer. "Nah, Mar taught me how to play the guitar. We used to all be one band, me, him, and Elaine. We all got the offer to sign with Maggot Records but I backed out at the last minute, and Elaine wouldn't agree to move out West and go on tour without me."

"So, Elaine… that's your drummer?"

"Yeah."

"Is she like… your girlfriend…?"

"What? Fuck, no, she's my roommate. We've been friends since we were like ten, she's like a sister."

"Sorry, sorry," Angel laughed.

"S'cool," Demie said, continuing to drink.

"So… I know you said it wasn't a sibling rivalry, but I gotta admit… I think you two are actually better than Marius."

A crease formed between Demie's eyebrows, but otherwise his face was static. On stage, while singing, he'd been overcome with energy and emotion, but off stage he came off as extremely stoic. Had Angel met him in any other context, he never would've guessed he was a singer, his voice was so monotonous.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan of your brother. That's the whole reason I came out to this show, I'd been hearing rumors that you were related to him for months. But he's really… Marilyn Manson, y'know? Really focused on the aesthetic. He's a good musician, but you've got the better voice and better guitar skills."

"Thanks," Demie said, shifting his feet awkwardly. Angel couldn't help but look down at them and wonder. He'd seen those goat-feet high heels before, and they looked uncomfortable as hell. He had to give Demie props for wearing them even after he got off stage. That was dedication.

"Hey, don't take this the wrong way," Demie said, "but you really don't seem like the kinda person who'd like our music."

"What does someone who likes your music seem like?" Angel asked.

"I dunno, like… all those Viking looking motherfuckers."

"No offense, but you don't really look that much like a Viking yourself."

Demie snorted. "Fuck no, I'm Greek. I fuckin' hate all that Nordic shit, like half of them are Nazis. And their mythology fucking sucks."

"Y'know, I thought I made out something about Odysseus in one of your songs," Angel said.

"Yeah, it's only like… the invention of Western literature, or whatever," Demie said, then drained his pint glass.

"No, it's cool. I liked it. Most metal bands sing about Satan or their D&D groups, it's cool to hear something different. I mean, I expected you to sing about Satan, but…"

"Nah, man, Christians fucking took Satan from the Greeks. They had to find a way to get all these Pagans to stop believing in their Gods, so they made Pan into Satan. They took Hades from us, too. Like the Jews, they don't even have an afterlife, that was all the Christians trying to absorb Greco-Roman Paganism."

"Wow. I didn't know that. I mean, I'm Vietnamese, so I know about Christianity and colonialism, but I didn't know about the Greeks. That's wild."

Demie opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a shout coming from the door.

"Jesus Christ, there you are!" The stoutly drummer, Elaine, had popped her head out the door. "I got work in the morning, we gotta get shit into the van and hit the road. Come help me with the drum set."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Demie groaned. He turned back to Angel. "Nice talkin' to you, man."

"Yeah, a pleasure. Hey -- you wanna exchange numbers? You're a cool dude, maybe we could hang out sometime."

"Oh. Uh… I don't actually got a cellphone, I just got a shitty landline. And I live way out in the sticks, like an hour away."

"Hey, no, that's cool, no pressure--"

"Actually, uh…" Demie looked over his shoulder and cupped his hands around his mouth. "HEY! ELAINE! YOU GOT A PEN?"

"Yeah? Why?"

"Toss it over here!"

Elaine grumbled something inaudible but fished a pen out of her jeans pocket and tossed it to Demie. He caught it out of the air and gestured for Angel's hand.

"I know people hate using the actual phone, but if you wanna call, feel free," he said, scribbling a set of digits on the back of Angel's hand. "Nice meeting you, man."

With that, he turned and headed back towards the door, his goat shoes clicking on the concrete patio.

Weird guy, Angel thought. He'd never really met anyone like him. But a few things were obvious - he was talented, he was interesting, and he was definitely gay. And that was enough for Angel to want to keep talking to him.

#writers on tumblr #writing #original fiction #original characters #gay fiction #lgbt fiction #w:demie and angel #wright's writing

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