#street dance clubs in london

[authortelevision]

“can you stay with me”₊˚⊹♡

words: 3,869 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆ drunk arthur hill, looking after arthur, fluff

you go out with arthur but when leaving to go home you try to get off the train and can’t help but stay when arthur looks at you like you’re his entire world

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inspired by this clip

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The night began as a blur of lights and a sticky floor. The club was alive with the sound of thumping bass, smell of sweat, and voices rising over the music. You were there with Arthur Hill and your closest friends, a rare night where everyone managed to be free and in the mood for a good time. Arthur, as always, was magnetic, his easy smile and loud laugh reminding you of his presence throughout the night.

You found yourself dancing with Arthur at one point, your hands crossed over themselves behind his neck, his voice close to your ear as he joked about your questionable dance moves. The way he looked at you tonight wasn’t the same as he had before. Or maybe it was just the alcohol clouding your perception.

By the time you all piled onto the last train home, the world had tilted on its axis. Your friends filled the carriage with their chatter and laughter, and you joined in, feeling invincible in the dark streets of London. Arthur sat across from you, leaning back, his head lolled to the side, staring absently at you.

The train pulled into your stop, and you and your friends gathered your things, ready to tumble out onto the platform. You stumbled slightly, still laughing, as the doors slid open. But just as you turned to leave, a warm hand caught yours.

“Can you stay with me?”

Arthur’s voice was slurring now, almost hesitate, his usual confidence slipping. His hand lingered, fingers brushing yours as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. You froze, your friends’ voices fading into the background as they stepped onto the platform.

You glanced back at him, your heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He looked at you with a desperation you hadn’t seen before, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

The train doors began to close.

You stopped for a heartbeat, the train doors sliding shut as your friends call out in confusion from the platform. But you don’t move. Arthur’s hand is still holding yours.

Without saying a word, he guides you back to your seat. His grip doesn’t slip, instead, he intertwines his fingers with yours, as if afraid you’ll change your mind and leave. It’s not like him to be quiet, Arthur’s the life of the party, the one cracking jokes and unaffectionally kissing random guys. But now, he’s uncharacteristically still.

As you sit down, the train lurches forward, the train station lights casting soft shadows on his face. Slowly, Arthur leans into you, resting his head on your shoulder. Your heart is pounding, the adrenaline of the night replaced with something more intimate.

“Thanks for staying,” he murmurs, so softly you almost didn’t hear him.

You don’t know what to say. Instead, you squeeze his hand gently, hoping it says enough. He sighs, a long exhale that feels like he’s been holding it in for ages. The train rocks gently, the world outside a blur, and for once, neither of you seems to care about getting off at the right stop.

“Arthur,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper, but he shifts slightly, his face turning into your shoulder.

“Shh,” he says, his lips quirking into the faintest smile. “Just… stay like this. Please.”

So you do. You sit there, his hand clasped tightly in yours, his head heavy against your shoulder. The loud rattling of the train fades into the background, the neon remnants of the night melting away. It’s just you and him, in this quiet moment that feels like the start of something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

And as the train barrels onward into the night, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is where you were meant to be all along.

The train finally pulls into the stop closest to Arthur’s flat. He’s still leaning on you as you walk off the platform together, his grip on your hand still tight. His steps are a little uneven, his head drooping slightly, but he’s still Arthur, softly murmuring jokes and light apologies under his breath.

“I’m fine,” he insists when you adjust his arm over your shoulder for balance. “Totally fine. Just…maybe a little sleepy.”

You roll your eyes, a fond smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I can see that.”

By the time you reach his building, you’re practically holding him up, the exertion making your breath come a little faster. You fumble with the doorbell, and a moment later, George and Chris, Arthur’s flatmates, swing the door open.

“Arthur!” George says, his voice laced with amusement. “What state has he gotten himself into this time?”

Chris steps forward, taking Arthur from your side. “God, mate, how much did you drink?”

You shrug helplessly, wiping your forehead. “Honestly, not that much. He’s just.. well, I think he’s had enough for one night.”

Chris chuckles as he steadies Arthur, who clings to him like an overgrown vine. George, meanwhile, gives you a curious look. “You stayed with him this whole time? Thanks for looking after him. Are you sure he didn’t drag you into any trouble?”

“Not this time,” you reply, grinning. ��Anyway, I should head out. He’s your problem now.”

You turn to leave, but Arthur’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“No, no, please,” he says, his words slurring slightly. He pushes off Chris with surprising determination, reaching toward you. “Don’t go. George, tell her to stay. Please, can you stay?”

George raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. “Stay? For what, exactly?”

Arthur’s head lolls toward George, his expression earnest despite the alcohol fogging his eyes. “Because she’s…she’s great, okay? And she makes everything better, and—” He pauses, his voice softening, almost pleading. “I don’t want her to leave yet.”

Chris snorts, muttering something about Arthur being dramatic, but George nudges you gently. “Your call,” he says with a half-smile.

Arthur’s gaze meets yours again, his hand still outstretched. “Please,” he says, quieter now, but just as desperate.

And before you can stop yourself, you’re stepping back inside, letting the door close softly behind you.

You sit down on the worn but comfortable sofa in Arthur’s living room, your body sinking into the cushions as the adrenaline of the night begins to wear off. Chris plops down next to you, sprawling out like he owns the place, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“So,” he says, turning toward you, “Arthur’s roped you into staying the night, huh?”

You shrug, trying to play it off as casual. “He asked, and I didn’t really have the heart to say no. Plus, I didn’t want him to throw himself down a staircase or something.”

Chris snickers. “Yeah, that tracks.” He nudges your shoulder lightly. “But you’re the first person I’ve seen who actually manages to keep him in check. It’s impressive.”

Before you can respond, George shouts from somewhere down the hall. “Hold on, I’m looking! I know I’ve got a hoodie or something you can borrow.”

Chris leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “You’re lucky it’s George and not Arthur picking clothes for you. Arthur would hand you some ridiculously long jeans and hope you don’t heave on them.”

You laugh at that, the tension in your shoulders easing. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll make sure to avoid his wardrobe in the future.”

“So,” Chris says, his tone shifting to something lighter, “what’s the plan for the rest of the night? You want to just crash here, or should we put on a movie or something? George and I usually end up binge-watching terrible TV and ordering pizza after a night out. It’s kind of a tradition.”

“Terrible TV, huh?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Oh, you know,” Chris replies with a grin, “stuff that’s so bad, it’s good. Horror films, weird reality shows, that kind of thing. Honestly, it’s the best way to end a night.”

Before you can answer, George reappears, a bundle of clothes in his hands. “Found something!” he announces, tossing them onto the arm of the sofa. “There’s a hoodie, some joggers, and socks. Should fit well enough for tonight.”

“Thanks, George,” you say, smiling as you pick up the hoodie.

“No problem,” he replies, dropping into the armchair across from you. “So, what’s the verdict? What are we doing while Arthur sleeps off his dramatics?”

You stand up getting ready to go get changed. Chris raises an eyebrow at you, clearly waiting for your answer. The warm energy of the room feels easy, unhurried, like you’ve all done this a hundred times before. You glance between them, trying to decide if you’re ready to commit to a night of terrible TV—or maybe something else entirely.

After changing into George’s clothes, Arthur stumbles into the room, his hoodie a tangled mess around his shoulders and head, you sigh and rise from the sofa. He looks completely defeated, one arm trapped in the sleeve, his hair sticking out in every direction. Chris and George are already chuckling at the sight, but you can’t help but feel a tug of sympathy for him amidst your amusement.

“Arthur,” you say, walking toward him, “just sit down for a second, would you?”

He hesitates, his head still half-covered by the hoodie, before nodding slightly. You guide him back to his room, and he drops down onto the edge of his bed, his legs sprawled out as he tries to free himself with one last, futile tug.

“Stay still,” you say, stepping closer. “You’re going to dislocate your arm if you keep flailing like that.”

Arthur huffs, clearly frustrated, but he obeys, his head tilted slightly forward to give you better access. Standing over him, you tug gently at the fabric, trying to maneuver it off without pulling too hard.

“This would be so much easier if you weren’t moving so much,” you mutter, half-joking as you work.

Arthur lets out a soft laugh. “Sorry for the inconvenience. I’m not usually this much of a mess.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, finally freeing his head and tossing the offending hoodie onto the bed beside him.

When you look down at him, about to make some sarcastic remark, the words catch in your throat. Arthur’s looking up at you now, his face still slightly flushed, his hair a rumpled disaster. But it’s his eyes that hold you still, half-lidded, almost desperate for something.

Your breath quickens as the room suddenly feels smaller, quieter, the sounds of Chris and George’s laughter from the other room fading into the background. Arthur’s gaze doesn’t waver, his eyes darting briefly to your lips before flicking back up to meet yours.

“Thanks,” he says softly, his voice rougher now, like the tension between you has stolen some of his usual ease.

You nod, your throat tight, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “It’s…no problem.”

For a moment, neither of you moves. The air feels intensely thick, the distance between you both almost nonexistent. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling the same pull that you are.

The sound of George calling from the living room breaks the moment, shattering the spell. “Oi, is Arthur decent now, or is he still stuck in his wardrobe malfunction?”

Arthur blinks, the intensity in his gaze faltering as he gives you a sheepish smile. “Guess I owe you one,” he murmurs.

You manage a small smile in return, stepping back to give yourself room to breathe. “You can start by not getting stuck in your clothes again.”

Arthur laughs quietly, the moment slipping into something lighter, but the feeling lingers, hanging in the air between you like an unfinished sentence.

As you step back from Arthur, tossing his hoodie onto the bed, his gaze lingers on you a little too long. You’re about to say something to break the awkward silence when his eyes narrow slightly, trailing down to what you’re wearing.

“Wait a second,” he says, his voice low and almost accusing. “Is that…George’s hoodie?”

You glance down, tugging self-consciously at the oversized hoodie George had lent you earlier. “Uh, yeah. He grabbed it for me so I’d have something to wear for the night.”

Arthur’s expression darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line as a faint flush creeps up his neck. “George gave you his clothes?”

“Yeah?” you reply, a little confused by his sudden change in tone. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. I didn’t exactly bring a change of clothes, did I?”

Arthur stares at you for a moment longer, then suddenly turns toward the door, yelling out, “George!”

From the other room, George’s voice floats back, casual and distracted. “What?”

“You should’ve put her in my clothes!” Arthur shouts, his voice loud and indignant.

There’s a moment of silence, followed by Chris bursting into laughter. “Oh, this is rich,” he calls. “Arthur, you’re literally wearing your own clothes. What were you gonna do, lend her your socks?”

“Shut up, Chris!” Arthur fires back, his face growing redder by the second.

George reappears in the doorway, a bemused look on his face. “What are you shouting about now?” he asks, crossing his arms.

Arthur gestures toward you, his frustration clear. “You gave her your hoodie. Why didn’t you grab one of mine?”

George blinks, then raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know, mate. Maybe because I was trying to help, and you were too busy getting stuck in your own clothes to be useful?”

Arthur groans, rubbing the back of his neck, and mutters something under his breath. His eyes flick back to you, still in George’s hoodie, and he looks almost sulky.

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Arthur, it’s just a hoodie. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he grumbles, his gaze dropping to the floor. Then, quieter, he adds, “It just…would’ve made more sense for you to wear mine.”

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard, and you don’t quite know what to say. Before you can respond, George claps Arthur on the shoulder, a teasing grin on his face, before leaving. “Well, next time, mate, maybe try not to get stuck in your clothes first. Then you can play hero.”

Arthur glares at him, but there’s no real bite behind it. Instead, he looks back at you, his expression softening just slightly. “Next time,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, like he’s already planning how to make up for it.

You had barely taken two steps away from Arthur's room when you heard his voice call out, soft and desperate, as if he'd been holding it in until now.

"Hey.." His voice croaked, softly whispering to you, penetrating through the silence, pulling you to a halt. You turned back toward the doorway, your heart beating faster as you saw Arthur propped up on his elbow in bed, his face flushed and eyes wide-vulnerable making something in your chest tighten.

"Arthur?" you asked quietly, stepping back toward him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the alcohol still clouding his judgment.

"What's wrong?"

He hesitated for a moment, struggling with his words. Finally, he swallowed hard, his voice forcing its way out his throat.

"Can you stay here tonight?" he asked, his words slurring slightly. "I need you... Please."

For a moment, you stood there, the world narrowing to just the two of you. It was hard to ignore the way his gaze held yours, the sincerity in his request, even if it was a little muddled by the alcohol. He was asking for something more than just company—he was asking for your presence in the most vulnerable way.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your own emotions in check. “I already am, Arthur,” you said gently, your voice quiet but steady. You took a step closer to the bed, your hand instinctively reaching out to touch his arm, your fingers brushing his skin softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But Arthur’s gaze didn’t soften. His face, though still clouded by drink, seemed to express something else now, a deeper need. “No… I mean here,” he clarified, his voice shaking slightly. “In my bed… please.”

His words hit you like a jolt, sharp and honest, and the air between you two thickened with the intensity of what he was asking. He was no longer speaking in the detached, carefree way he usually did when he was drunk. This was real. This was him, raw and unguarded, reaching for something, someone, he needed in this moment.

The tension in your chest grew, your mind racing with the implications of his request. You hesitated for a second. You’d always been there for him, but this… this was something different.

You met his gaze again, and the weight of the moment was undeniable. “Arthur,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice calm, “you’re drunk right now. You don’t really mean this. You need to rest.”

But he shook his head slowly, his expression pleading, his hand reaching out for yours. “No, I do mean it. I need you here. I don’t want to be alone.” His voice cracked slightly, and the vulnerability in it made your heart ache.

Everything inside you told you to stay, to help him through this, even if it was a blurry line you weren’t sure you should cross. You could see the fear in his eyes now—not just the intoxication, but a deeper fear of being alone in this moment. And you knew that no matter what happened next, the night had already taken a turn that would change everything between you.

Sighing quietly, you finally nodded. “Alright, Arthur,” you said softly, your hand finding his again, gently intertwining your fingers. “I’ll stay.”

You watched as his shoulders relaxed, as though your acceptance was exactly what he needed to hear. Slowly, he lowered himself back onto the bed, his body sinking into the sheets, still reaching for you with his eyes. You sat down on the edge of the bed, unsure of how far you should let this go, but in that moment, all you knew was that he needed you, and for whatever reason, you couldn’t turn your back on him.

Arthur didn’t say anything more, his eyelids fluttering closed as if he were finally allowing himself to let go of everything. You stayed, your hand still resting on his, feeling his warmth and the quiet rhythm of his breathing as he drifted back into a fitful sleep.

The night stretched on, and though your mind raced with thoughts and uncertainties, you remained by his side, holding onto the fleeting moments of quiet comfort, unsure of what tomorrow would bring but knowing that tonight, you weren’t going anywhere.

The bed creaked slightly as you carefully climbed in, your body still slightly buzzing from the intimacy of the moment, from the warmth of Arthur’s presence so close to you. You pulled the blanket up around you, your back facing him, trying to maintain some distance in the confusion of what was happening. The room was dark except for the soft glow from the streetlights outside, casting faint shadows across the walls.

You closed your eyes, your mind racing with the whirlwind of emotions, but still, the quiet lull of the night seemed to settle around you. Arthur was drifting into a deeper sleep, or so you thought. But then, you felt the bed shift. The air around you stirred as he moved closer, his body pressing gently against yours.

His arms slid around you, pulling you back toward him until your back was flush against his chest. You froze for a moment, unsure of how to react. Arthur’s body was warm and solid against yours, and his breath, warm and slow, fanned over the back of your neck. He nuzzled into your hair, the weight of his head heavy and comforting against your scalp.

“Arthur” you whispered, your voice betraying the mix of uncertainty and curiosity you were feeling.

But he didn’t respond with words—he only tightened his hold, as though there were no room for anything but the two of you, tangled together in the quiet dark. His lips brushed lightly against your hair, and you felt a shiver run down your spine, both from the unexpected closeness and the way his touch felt so natural.

“I wish you wore my clothes,” Arthur murmured softly. It wasn’t just the alcohol this time. There was something else, something deeper in the way he said it. “You’d look so good being mine.” His voice trailed off, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning.

A flutter of heat spread through you, and you felt your heart race at his confession. You knew he was drunk, but that didn’t make it any less intense, any less real. The words settled in your chest, making everything inside you feel tight, your thoughts spiraling as you tried to process what he meant, what he was feeling.

You shifted slightly, not knowing exactly how to respond. His arms were still wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he settled deeper into the curve of your back. You could feel the weight of his body, the steady pulse of his presence against yours, and somehow, it made you feel both safe and vulnerable at once.

His hand slid lower, resting at your waist, his fingers splayed out across your side, as if marking his territory without words. You couldn’t deny the thrill that raced through you at the feel of his touch. His breath tickled your ear, and you could sense how deeply he was affected by the closeness, his body pressing closer as though he couldn’t bear the distance between you.

“You promise you’ll stay with me?” he whispered against your ear, his voice thick with something possessive. The question was gentle, but there was a sharpness to it, as though he was testing the waters, trying to gauge how far you were willing to let him go.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “I’m here, Arthur,” you said softly, the words barely more than a breath. You couldn’t say anything more—didn’t know what to say. His words had already crossed a line, and you didn’t know whether to pull back or let it unfold.

He nuzzled your neck, his lips pressing a soft kiss against the skin there, sending a wave of warmth through you. “Good,” he mumbled, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re mine tonight.”

The weight of his words hit you hard, but you didn’t pull away. Something in you was drawn to him, drawn to the need that radiated from him. And even if it was muddled by the alcohol, even if the timing was all wrong, you didn’t want to push him away.

You both lay there in the stillness of the room, his arms wrapped tightly around you, your heart hammering in your chest. Neither of you spoke again, but his body against yours said everything.

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a/n: love u arthur tehehe

[unabashegirl]

entangled 1 | one shot

Y/N, punished by her gang leader for a failed mission, meets Harry, a rival gang member, at a club. Their encounter turns intense and passionate.

Author's note: Hello everyone! I hope you are all doing well! Here is another one shot. This one was posted almost a month ago on Patreon. They've already gotten a chance to read it. The second part will be posted here and it contains smut.

warnings: violence, cursing, and more

check out my patreon and get full access to the second part (+4K words) and much more :) thank you beforehand!

if you would like to leave your request for the next one shot. do it here :)

masterlist

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The rain drummed steadily against the cobblestone streets of London, casting a sheen over the historic architecture. A heavy fog rolled through the city, shrouding the narrow alleyways and dimly lit corners in a ghostly haze. The occasional flash of neon signs reflected off the wet pavement, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that danced erratically in the puddles.

In the heart of this misty labyrinth lay a particularly desolate alley, where the rain seemed to fall harder, as if refusing to touch anything but the cold ground. Here, the sound of the downpour was a constant, rhythmic roar, drowning out the distant hum of traffic and the occasional wail of sirens. The alley was lined with old, weather-beaten buildings, their brick facades slick with rain and grime.

Y/N moved stealthily through the darkness, her footsteps muffled by the soggy pavement. Her breath formed small clouds in the chilly air, mingling with the fog that clung to the alley walls. The tension of the night was palpable, a sharp contrast to the usually vibrant London nightlife. She was deep within enemy territory, her senses heightened and her mind alert to every sound.

As she rounded a corner, the streetlamp’s flickering light revealed a shadowy figure ahead. Y/N’s pulse quickened, both from the adrenaline of being caught and the undeniable anticipation of their inevitable confrontation. The fog parted slightly, revealing Harry Styles, his silhouette a stark contrast against the faint glow of the lamp. He stood still, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the alley as if he could see right through the mist.

Harry stepped forward, the lamplight catching the glint in his eyes. His lips curled into a smirk as he took in Y/N's determined stance. "I knew you couldn't resist" he drawled, his voice low and mocking. "Slumming it in our territory again, are we?”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, refusing to show any sign of intimidation. "Keeping tabs on me, Styles? Didn’t know I was that important to you."

Harry chuckled darkly, taking another step closer. "Important? Hardly. But you're predictable. Meeting with our clients, trying to undercut our deals...it’s pathetic, really."

Before Y/N could retort, three figures emerged from the shadows behind Harry. His men, loyal and watchful, forming a semi-circle around them. Their presence was a silent threat, a reminder of the precariousness of her situation.

Y/N tilted her chin up defiantly. “You need back up to deal with little old me?”

One of Harry’s men, a burly guy with a scar running down his cheek, snorted. “Can’t have him wasting time on someone who’s not worth it.”

Harry raised a hand, silencing his man with a single gesture. "Don’t worry, I can handle her," he said, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s. "Besides, this is entertaining."

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to let her fear show. "Entertaining, huh? Look up," she said, pointing to the roof above her.

Harry's eyes flicked upward, his smirk faltering slightly as he saw a figure perched on the edge of the building. The sniper, a man with a confident grin, waved down at Harry and his men.

"A little insurance policy, I see." Harry muttered, his tone darkening as he turned his gaze back to Y/N.

Y/N shrugged, her expression cool. "Can't be too careful. Figured you might try something stupid."

The burly man with the scar took a step forward, but Harry raised a hand to stop him. "Stand down," he ordered, his eyes locked on Y/N. "So, this is your game? Bringing snipers to a knife fight?"

"Just leveling the playing field," Y/N replied. "Or maybe you’re not as confident as you pretend to be, Styles."

Harry's smirk returned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, I'm confident enough. But I have to admit, you've surprised me tonight." Harry took a step closer, his voice low and dangerous.

"Glad to hear it," Y/N said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "But if you think a few threats and some muscle are going to scare me off, you’re in for a disappointment."

Harry's demeanor shifted, his eyes narrowing. "Cut the crap, Y/N. What are you really doing here territory? Who sent you?"

Y/N's smile didn't waver. "You think I'm here on someone else's orders? Please. I'm here because I choose to be."

Harry stepped closer, his voice low and menacing. "There’s a treaty, Y/N. Your gang stays in your territory, mine stays in ours. Or have you forgotten what it was like before we had that agreement? The bloodbath, the chaos?"

Y/N's expression hardened. "I remember. But treaties don't mean much when people are starving and desperate. Sometimes, you have to bend the rules to survive."

Harry’s eyes flashed with something between anger and grudging respect. "Survival. Is that what you call it? Sneaking into my territory, undercutting my deals?"

"Call it what you want," Y/N replied coolly. "But I’m not here to play by your rules, Harry. Not anymore."

Harry’s men shifted uneasily, sensing the rising tension. Harry glanced up at the sniper, then back at Y/N. "This ends now, Y/N. You tell your people to stay out of my territory, or next time, treaty or no treaty, there will be consequences."

Y/N stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I’m not backing down. Not for you, not for anyone.”

For a moment, they stood there, inches apart, the rain pouring down around them, the fog swirling at their feet. The memories of the bloodbath they both wanted to avoid loomed over their confrontation, a silent reminder of what was at stake.

Harry’s jaw tightened, his eyes locked on hers. "I warned you. Next time, I won't be so lenient."

With that, he turned sharply, signaling his men to follow. They melted back into the shadows, leaving Y/N standing alone in the alley, her heart racing but her resolve stronger than ever. The rain continued to fall, washing away the tension but not the memory of their encounter. She knew this was just the beginning, and the next time they faced off, the stakes would be even higher.

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Y/N made her way through the rain-soaked streets, the adrenaline from her encounter with Harry still coursing through her veins. She navigated the labyrinthine alleyways of her territory until she reached a nondescript warehouse. Inside, the dim lighting and the smell of damp concrete provided a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

The warehouse was bustling with activity. Men and women moved purposefully, sorting through shipments, counting cash, and packaging drugs for distribution. The hum of machinery and the murmur of low conversations filled the air. Victor’s operation was large and well-organized, a testament to his cold, calculating leadership.

At the far end of the warehouse, a man sat behind a cluttered desk, his presence commanding despite his unassuming appearance. He was older than Y/N by nearly twenty years, with a cold, calculating demeanor that had earned him respect and fear alike. His name was Victor, and he had a reputation for being as ruthless as he was strategic.

As Y/N approached, Victor looked up from his paperwork, his piercing gaze settling on her. "You're late," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth.

Y/N nodded, shaking off the rain. "I ran into some trouble, but it's handled."

Victor's eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you make the deal with Sean?"

Y/N took a deep breath, recounting the details of her encounter. "I met with Sean. He’s fed up with Harry's control and wants out. He's one of their biggest distributors, and he’s willing to work with us if we can offer better terms."

Victor leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "And what did Harry have to say about this?"

Y/N hesitated, knowing that the next part of her report would not please him. "Harry knew I was there. He confronted me, tried to intimidate me. But I held my ground. He has no idea about Sean's intentions."

Victor's fingers drummed lightly on the desk, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You took a risk, going into his territory without backup. You could have jeopardized everything."

Y/N met his gaze unflinchingly. "I had backup," she replied, thinking of the sniper. "And it was worth the risk. Sean is valuable. If we can secure his loyalty, we weaken Harry significantly."

Victor considered her words, his expression remaining stern. "And you believe Sean is trustworthy? He reached out to us, but that could be a ploy."

"I trust him," Y/N said firmly. "He’s desperate, and desperate people can be useful. Besides, we’re offering him a way out. He has no reason to betray us."

Victor was silent for a long moment, his eyes studying her intently. “I hope you haven’t misplaced your trust this time."

"I haven’t," Y/N replied confidently. "This is our chance to hit Harry where it hurts."

Victor nodded slowly, a cold smile creeping onto his lips. "Very well. Continue working with Sean. But be careful. Harry won’t take this lightly, and he’s not someone we can afford to underestimate."

Y/N nodded, feeling a sense of determination. "’ll handle it."

Victor leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Good. And Y/N?"

“Remember, loyalty is everything”.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression neutral. "I won’t."

Victor dismissed her with a curt nod, returning to his paperwork. As Y/N left the warehouse, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the lines between duty and desire were becoming increasingly blurred. The rain had lessened to a drizzle, but the storm brewing was far from over.

They had met when they were just kids, newly initiated and eager to prove themselves. They hadn’t even turned eighteen yet, and the world of crime and rivalry was still new and intoxicating. The first time she saw Harry, he was standing in a grimy alley, his youthful face set with a determination that matched her own.

From the very first day, they were pinned against one another. Victor had always made sure to poison Y/N's mind, filling her with stories of Harry's ruthlessness and the cruelty of his gang. He painted Harry as the embodiment of their enemy, someone to be despised and defeated at all costs.

But despite the animosity Victor instilled in her, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the fire in Harry’s eyes. There was a spark there, a drive that mirrored her own. They clashed often, their encounters fierce and unyielding. But beneath the surface of their rivalry, there was an unspoken understanding, a recognition of kindred spirits.

Back then, Harry’s boss was a different man—cruel, ruthless, and feared by all. He ruled with an iron fist, and Harry was his protégé, learning the ways of their world under his harsh tutelage. The man was a constant presence in their lives, a looming shadow that dictated their every move.

Years passed, and the battles between their gangs grew bloodier. The streets were painted with the consequences of their rivalry. The turning point came when Harry's boss was killed in a brutal skirmish. In the chaos that followed, Harry emerged as the new leader, taking over with a resolve that was both feared and respected.

Victor had always kept Y/N close, grooming her to be one of his most trusted members. He continued to feed her a steady diet of distrust and hatred for Harry. "Never forget what he stands for," Victor would say. "He's our enemy. Always has been, always will be."

Despite the indoctrination, Y/N couldn’t shake the memories of their shared past. She remembered the way Harry had looked at her during their first encounter. It was a connection that neither of them could deny, even as they stood on opposite sides of a deadly divide.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N made her way to the hospital, after securing her payment and leaving the warehouse. The familiar ache of longing and love filled her chest as she approached the sterile, imposing building. This visit, a ritual she never missed, was the one thing that brought light to her otherwise shadowed existence.

Y/N hadn’t joined a gang at sixteen out of a desire for power or excitement. It had been a desperate measure, a necessary evil to secure the funds needed for her sister’s treatment. Her sister, Emily, was just ten years old and battling a relentless illness. The money Y/N earned through her dangerous work was the only thing keeping Emily’s hope for a future alive.

As Y/N walked through the hospital corridors, the stark white walls and the scent of antiseptic did little to soothe her. She navigated her way to Emily's room, her footsteps quickening as she neared the door. She took a deep breath before pushing it open, her heart lifting at the sight of her little sister.

Emily lay in a bed surrounded by beeping monitors and IV drips. Her face lit up with a bright smile as soon as she saw Y/N. "Y/N!" she exclaimed, her voice weak but filled with joy.

Y/N forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil inside her. "Hey there, sunshine," she said, approaching the bed and gently brushing a strand of hair from Emily's forehead. "How are you feeling today?"

Emily shrugged, her smile never wavering. "A bit tired, but I’m okay. The doctors say I’m doing better."

"That’s great news," Y/N said, her voice soft. She sat down beside the bed, holding Emily’s small hand in hers. "I brought you something." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, wrapped package. "Open it."

Emily’s eyes widened with excitement as she unwrapped the gift. Inside was a sketchbook and a set of colored pencils. "These are perfect!"

Y/N’s heart warmed at her sister’s happiness. "I thought you might like them. You can draw all the things you are going to do when you leave the hospital”.

Emily nodded enthusiastically, already flipping through the pages of the sketchbook. "The beach, the park, maybe even you and me together."

Y/N’s smile faltered for a moment, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. She quickly pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the present. "I can’t wait to see your drawings."

They spent the next hour talking and laughing, the bleakness of the hospital room fading away in the light of Emily’s joy. For a little while, Y/N could forget about the dangerous world she was entangled in, finding solace in her sister’s company.

As visiting hours came to an end, Y/N reluctantly stood up. "I have to go now, Em. But I’ll be back soon, okay?"

Emily nodded, her smile unwavering. "Promise?"

"Promise," Y/N said, leaning down to kiss her sister’s forehead. "You just keep getting better, and we’ll have all the time in the world."

With one last look at Emily, Y/N turned and left the room, the weight of her double life settling back onto her shoulders.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air was thick with anticipation as Y/N and her crew gathered in a dimly lit alleyway. Victor had received intel that Harry’s gang was making a move to reclaim and prevent Sean from selling for Y/N’s gang. Harry’s gang planned to kidnap Sean, ensuring he couldn’t betray them. Y/N’s orders were clear: protect Sean at all costs.

The clash began in the shadows, a chaotic melee of fists, knives, and gunfire. The alleyway turned into a battleground, the sound of fighting echoing off the walls. Y/N moved with practiced precision, taking down opponents with a cold efficiency. Her senses were heightened, every sound and movement sharp and clear in her mind.

In the midst of the chaos, she spotted Harry, his presence unmistakable even in the dim light. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world around them faded away. The fire in Harry’s eyes was as fierce as ever, matching the determination in Y/N’s.

“Y/N!” Harry shouted over the noise, his voice a mix of anger and something else she couldn’t quite place. “This ends now!”

Without another word, they lunged at each other. Their fight was intense, a blur of swift movements and exchanged blows. Harry’s strength was matched by Y/N’s agility, each anticipating the other’s moves with an almost instinctual familiarity.

Harry threw a punch that Y/N barely dodged, countering with a swift kick that caught him off guard. He stumbled back but quickly regained his footing, his eyes never leaving hers. The rain-soaked ground made their footing precarious, but neither wavered.

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” Harry growled, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip.

“Balls aren’t enough to survive in this world,” Y/N shot back, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

They continued to fight, each trying to gain the upper hand. Harry managed to pin Y/N against a wall, his grip strong and unyielding. “Why are you doing this, Y/N? Sean isn’t for you to take!”

Y/N glared at him, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “This has nothing to do about Sean. I was given orders and I have to obey”.

Their fight resumed with renewed intensity, neither willing to back down. Around them, the battle raged on, the sounds of struggle blending into a chaotic symphony. Y/N and Harry were locked in their own private war, each move a testament to their skills and their conflicting desires.

Y/N swiftly drew the small knife she always carried with her. Realizing that the only way to take him down was to stab him, she knew she had to act fast. He was much bigger than her. She was strong, but not strong enough to overpower him without the blade.

Before she could make her move, Harry’s reflexes kicked in. He drew his own knife in a flash, and before Y/N could react, he had nicked her arm. A sharp pain shot through her as blood began to seep from the wound, staining her sleeve.

“You think you can take me down that easily?” Harry sneered, his eyes cold and calculating. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

Y/N gritted her teeth, refusing to show any sign of weakness. She adjusted her grip on the knife, her mind racing for a strategy. The pain in her arm was a stark reminder of the danger she faced, but it also fueled her determination.

They circled each other, both on high alert. The rain continued to fall, making the ground slippery and adding to the tension in the air. Harry lunged forward, aiming for another strike, but Y/N anticipated his move, sidestepping just in time and slashing at him with her own blade.

Y/N’s arm throbbed, but she pushed the pain to the back of her mind, focusing on the fight. She managed to land a shallow cut on Harry’s side, drawing blood. He hissed in pain, his eyes narrowing with fury.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” Something had changed within Harry, and Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He looked deadlier, his eyes colder and more ruthless than ever before.

Harry was quick to land a blow on Y/N, knocking her to the ground. He wasted no time in picking her up, his strong hand gripping her neck as he pressed his knife against her throat.

Y/N’s heart raced with a mixture of fear and something else entirely. The pressure of his massive hand around her neck sent a thrill through her, mingling with her worry. She stared into his eyes, defiance and a flicker of excitement burning within her.

“Styles! Stop!” yelled one of Y/N’s most trusted men, his hands raised in a gesture of mercy. He noticed that Y/N’s feet weren’t touching the floor, suspended by Harry’s grip on her throat. “We’ll leave. Don’t kill her.”

Y/N’s face turned red as she struggled for breath. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to give up, the pressure making her feel like her eyes were about to burst from their sockets.

Harry’s grip tightened momentarily before he loosened his hold just enough for Y/N to gasp for air. His eyes remained fixed on her, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t test me, darlin' "

Part 2

[wroetominter]

Come back, be here - George Clarke

In which Y/n and George are friends, who live an ocean away and can’t stand the distance.

Pairing: George X Femreader

Warnings: none, flufffff

Cool breeze whipped my hair around as I walked down the streets of New York on my way to the shop on the corner. The January air was crisp and cool, just how I liked it. I had been living in New York since starting my YouTube career a few years back. It was a great city, with many opportunities for career development - usually. I had fallen into the UK YouTube scene quickly, which made my American roots a bit more difficult in my career.

Luckily for me, a lot of my friends loved the city and would frequently visit. Recently George, Max, and Andrew had visited during a brand trip they had been on.

———

"Max! That is so not how that happened!" I yelled at him from across the table.

"That is most certainly how it happened, I remember it clearly!" Everyone at the table erupted in laughter. Max had told a story about me from one of my more recent trips to London. We had been on a night out and I allegedly stood up on the bench we were at in the club and started dancing above everyone, singing at the top of my lungs.

A blush crept to my cheeks, looking at George sat next to me, hoping he would save me from this embarrassment. "Sorry love, that is what happened." I sighed, knowing I could trust his word as he was the sober one that night.

"Well, at least I kept my clothes on." I laughed.

During this all too short trip, we had visited all of the tourist destinations together. The Met, Rockefeller, and a ton of different restaurants and bars.

When it came time to leave, I stood in my apartment with George. Max and Andrew had an earlier flight, and had left a few hours ago.

"I don't want you to leave" I pouted at him. He smile down at me, pulling me closer for a hug.

"I'll be back before you know it, or you'll be in London I'm sure." We pulled back, I still held onto his arms looking up at him.

"I'm going to book a flight now. It sucks being so far away from all of you guys."

"You could always move to London." He raised his eyebrows.

"I could, if I can manage a work visa somehow..." I trailed off, trying to think of how to logistically do this.

"You'll figure it out. Until then, I unfortunately do have to go home." I pouted once again, wrapping my arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

"I'll miss you." I said softly into his sweater.

He hugged me back tightly, swaying us together. "I'll miss you too, I'll call you when it's morning for you." I shook my head.

"Call me when you land." I said pulling back from his embrace and leaning against my counter.

"Y/n, it'll be 4 in the morning your time when I land." He explained.

"I don't care, call me anyway." He laughed it off, shrugging his jacket on and pulling the handle of his suitcase up. I walked to the door with him, sadly watching as he left. "Bye George, see you soon!" I said. He waved to me as he left, elevator closing down the hall. I felt sad closing the door to my apartment, sitting myself down on the couch.

I always felt a pang in my chest when I left my friends. They had become such a pivotal part of my life in recent months. I sat with my laptop in my lap, browsing the internet trying to research moving to the UK as an American. I sighed, not finding much helpful information. I figured I should just sleep it off and worry about it later, setting my laptop on the table I pulled the blanket over my body and drifted to sleep.

I woke to the sound of my phone ringing on the coffee table, reaching over instantly and seeing George's name.

"Hello!" I answered, trying to be as chipper as I could seeing as I had just woken up.

"I told you I would wake you up." He said laughing. I looked over to the clock to find it was now half 3 in the morning. George had left nearly 10 hours ago at this point.

"It's fine, I wanted you to. How was your flight?" He sighed through the phone.

"Awful to be honest. I miss you." The tone of his voice became really serious with those words.

It wasn't exactly a secret I had become closer to George than the rest of the group. We had so much in common that everything just came easily with him. I had myself fully convinced if there wasn't an entire ocean between us we would likely be dating at this point.

"I know Georgie, I miss you too... I was actually looking into moving to London the second you left my apartment." I admitted.

"I looked into it on flight as well. I talked with my manager and she mentioned that if you're signed with a company abroad you can usually get a work visa for that country. She said she's done it a few times before for some of her American talents." My heart nearly skipped a beat. He had been thinking about it too.

"Aw, you asked for me?"

"Of course. Don't you realize I want to see you more often? Ideally daily if I can". Oh. He was fully flirting with me now. Borderline admitting feelings for me.

"Are you sure you could handle seeing me every day? I fear you would really see how annoying I am at that point" I laughed, part of me knowing it was true.

"You could never annoy me darling. If anything I'm sure my dry jokes would send you running eventually." Darling. Damn, that one hit me right in the chest. "I have to run though, about to get in the uber home. I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"Of course, I'll call you. Bye bye Georgie" I said.

"Bye love, see you soon."

After we had hung up the phone I flopped onto my back on the couch, feeling my chest swelling with emotion. I want to see him so badly.

———

I had been hiding this from nearly everyone I knew for months. It was eating me alive every second of every day. After George told me his manager had helped people get work visas in the UK, I knew what I had to do.

I had secretly reached out to her, inquiring about how I was to go about this. I urged to her the importance of keeping this a secret from everyone. I wanted to keep it hidden in case something didn't work, I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up.

It had been a whirlwind of emotions, between getting myself signed to their talent management, to the intense amount of paperwork that came with it. I had made it work, and finally received my authorization to move with a work visa.

I coordinated with an estate agent to secure an apartment right away. Having been to London many times, I had already picked out a few areas of the city I wanted to live in. Luckily in this virtual world, I was able to do everything remotely, from my tour to the application process.

Taking a final look around my empty apartment I locked the door, heading to the office to turn in my keys.

I rolled my suitcase behind me, ready to leave my life in New York behind.

———

After my long flight, all I wanted to do was see my new place. I still hadn't told anyone I was in the country, let alone moving there. I had been dodging FaceTime calls from George for the last few days, knowing if I saw his face or heard his voice I would crumble and give in telling him everything.

After collecting my keys for my new apartment, I took a look around at all of the boxes I had shipped here over the last few weeks. It was basically my entire New York apartment, just in boxes.

Now to put my plan into action to tell everyone. I started by unpacking a few essentials, taking a shower and freshening my outfit. I took a selfie in my living room with all of my boxes, making sure that the background was clear in the window, showing off my London city view. After making sure I had everything packed into my crossbody, I locked my door and made my way to George's flat.

I realized that I had to tell someone that I was there, to be able to get into the building. I decided Arthur Hill would be my safest bet. I sent him a text message asking him to let me into the building, as I was there to surprise George. He obliged quickly, and I was granted access to their building.

I felt my nerves building as I reached the door to their flat.

Wiping my clammy hands on my jeans, I knocked on the door. Secretly hoping that George wouldn't answer so I could play out the surprise, and calm my nerves a bit.

Luckily for me, Chris answered the door. "Y/n! What are you doing here?" He exclaimed, immediately pulling me in for a hug.

"Surprise visit! How are you?" He replied with the normal pleasantries, letting me know he had been well. "Is George home?"  I asked him.

"Yes, he's in his room. Let yourself in. Do you want me to film?" He asked. I instantly handed over my phone and nodded.

Waiting for his queue, I walked down the short hallway to George's room, silently turning the knob and opening the door. His back was to me at his desk, headphones in, blocking out sound.

"Hey stranger" I said, immediately pulling his attention from his computer. His eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet, tossing his headphones on the desk and coming to meet me, instantly wrapping his arms around my waist and picking me up in a tight hug, his face nuzzling into my neck.

"How did you know I needed to see you today?" He said softly, his hand stroking my hair softly.

"Just had a feeling I guess." I replied.

Chris stopped the video "you guys are too cute." He handed me back my phone and I thanked him. He excused himself and I directed my attention back to George who hadn't removed his arms from my waist since we had hugged.

"Is this why you've been dodging my calls?" He joked, smirking at me.

"It may have been." I retorted.

I thought for a minute about how to tell him I was here to stay. I considered just showing him the photo but it didn't feel grand enough considering I had just moved across the ocean, essentially for him.

"Take a walk with me?" I asked him.

"Erm, sure?" He finally pulled away, eliciting a pout from me as he grabbed a sweater, pulling it over his body.

We walked together, making the short trip between his flat and mine. He continues to ask me where we were going, and I continued to assure him he would see shortly. I could tell he was frustrated with the answer, but I knew it would be worth it soon enough.

We came to my new door, and he still didn’t seem to be understanding. I could almost visibly see the gears turning in his head as I reached out to unlock the door and stepped in.

He followed suit slowly, looking around the room. He recognized my handwriting on the various moving boxes labeled around the room.

He turned to face me “is this a prank?” He asked me, searching around the room with his eyes, likely looking for a hidden camera.

I shook my head, smiling at him. “Not a prank. I’m here to stay.” A grin broke out on his face and he wrapped me in his arms once again. I let out a sigh, feeling content snuggled into him. The soft smell of cologne lingering on the sweater he was wearing.

Taking me by surprise, his hands brought themselves to my face, cupping each cheek and he pressed his lips to mine in a kiss. I kissed him back, finding myself smiling into the kiss. He pulled back, keeping his forehead pressed to mine.

“You have no idea how long I have been waiting to kiss you.” He admitted. I leaned in, kissing him again, my arms tightening around him as I deepened the kiss.

“I think I have a pretty good idea.” I smiled at him.

London was going to be very good for me.

[watermelonlovershigh]

Drunk Fighting and Forgiveness {part. 11} (housemate!harry series)

"Do you love me?" {part. 10} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

AN: i normally dislike writing angst but i gotta say, this was fun to write. so if you're into angst you'll love this. enjoy and make sure to reblog and leave your feedback. xoxo

This story contains: drinking alcohol, angst, lying, mentions of past hookups (m/m), jealousy, accusations of homophobia, apologies, forgiveness (kinda)

{ housemate!harry - boyfriend!harry - softrry - bi!harry }

word count- 3,027

For a date night, Harry takes you out to a gay bar where secrets of Harry's past are revealed, turning into misunderstandings and drunk arguments.

Several weeks have passed since that memorable night when both of you openly professed your love for one another, and the period leading up to tonight has been nothing short of amazing. You have been immersed in the honeymoon stage of your relationship; enjoying cozy moments, lots of sex, and regular date nights scheduled at least once a week. The only disagreements you've had were minor, such as Harry occasionally forgetting to put the toilet seat down or your habit of leaving strands of hair on the shower walls. However, that changes tonight.

Breaking your normal Friday routine of a movie with Chinese take-out, you decided to go to a local bar down the street. Have some drinks and dance a little. While you were in the bathroom getting ready, you shouted to Harry, "So which bar are we going to again?"

Harry was hesitant on telling you because he didn't want you to get upset at him. "Um, it's the one on the corner."

"Harry, there are fifty billion corners in London. Which corner?" You weren't nieve. You could tell Harry was trying to avoid answering and it confused you. Why would he be hiding the name of the bar you're about to go to from you.

Huffing from his stance now in the doorway of the bathroom, he answers, "Fine, it's called The Royal Vauxhall Tavern. It's a gay bar."

(i just choose a random gay bar in London from Google. so idk if this is even a good choice or if i described it accurately on the inside or not. let's pretend.)

"Not that I have anything against gay bars Harry, but why? I'd understand if we weren't dating because I'm sure there's tons of hot men you could find to hook-up with. But we are dating, so..... it's just an odd choice."

With a soft tone, Harry enters the bathroom and lovingly cups your cheeks in his large hands, reassuringly saying, "Sweetheart, you're overthinking it. It's just a bar. I've been there in the past and know firsthand that the customer service and music are fantastic. That's why I picked it, alright? Nothin' more than that." However, you soon come to realize that this assertion is completely false.

-------------------------

As you entered the bar, it was very nice inside. There were tons of people on the dance floor and several people at the bar. Harry held your hand and walked you over to the two unoccupied seats at the bar so you could order some drinks. You've never been in a gay bar before. Mostly because before Harry, anytime you went out to bars or clubs you were looking for a hook-up and you're sure a gay bar isn't the place for a women to find that.

Right as you sit down, a handsome looking man comes up to you both and recognizes Harry immediately. "Harry, mate, what are you doing back in here? Haven't seen you in ages."

You glance over to see Harry smiling from ear to ear. "Hello, Henry. Hope you're well. Yeah, I've just been busy with work and stuff." That's odd, he didn't even mention you.

"So, who's the lovely lady sitting beside you?" the bartender who's name is Henry, you just discovered, asked.

You were going to answer for yourself when Harry cuts you off, replying, "Oh, m' girlfriend, Y/n. Been datin' officially for about two months now."

Henry looks back to you again and speaks rather loudly due to the blaring music, "Well, hello, Y/n. Welcome. What can I get you two to drink tonight? Your usual, Harry?" So he remembers Harry's drink order.... Interesting.

"Yep, coke and rum and what would you like, Y/n?"

Thinking for a moment, you stick to what you know best. "I'll have a vodka cran, please."

Henry smiles, assuring, "Okay, a coke and rum and a vodka cran coming right up." You and Harry sat there and watched as he made your beverages. The whole time you still had this awful pit in your stomach like something was off but you ignored it, not wanting to spoil your night out with Harry.

---------------------------

Having reached your third glass of alcohol, you and Harry have been alternating between dancing and sitting for the past hour. You will admit that you feel somewhat safer in a gay bar, where the likelihood of unwanted attention or being drugged seems lower. Not impossible, just lower.

As you both return to your original seats at the bar, Harry mentions over the loud music that he needs to use the bathroom and tells you to remain seated. Despite his reluctance to let you out of his sight, his bladder cannot wait.

While Harry's gone to the toilet, Henry comes over to you and gets you a refill on your drink. When he returns with a full glass, he begins, "So, Harry, hm. He's lovely isn't he?"

You stare back at him with that pit in your stomach returning. "Um, yeah, he is. How do you know each other again?" Henry never mentioned how he knew Harry and Harry has never mentioned a Henry before either.

"Oh, we go way back. He use to come in here all the time back in his college days, when he was figuring out his sexuality. He didn't have a lot of money to pay for his drinks so I'd cut him a deal if you know what I mean."

"I'm sorry, guess I don't know what you mean." you respond, confused as to what he's trying to get at.

Henry chuckles and proceeds to elaborate, "Back in his uni days when Harry wanted to indulge in alcohol but lacked the funds, he would bring me along to the toilets and give me blowjobs. That's how he managed to cover the cost of his drinks. Although we never pursued a romantic relationship, I suppose you could say we were friends with benefits for a period of time, perhaps in the year... 201..." His sentence abruptly halts as Harry returns from the bathroom. Unaware of your discussion with Henry, Harry becomes perplexed when both of you gaze at him as if he has an unusual mark on his forehead.

To void the awkward tension, Henry grabs Harry's glass to give him another refill without asking and walks away. You're left there, stunned. Not that you cared what Harry use to do before you got together, but the fact that he brought you here, to this specific bar, where his ex friends with benefits worked, well, you find it kind of odd. Especially now thinking back to earlier when he was hesitant to tell you which bar you were going to.

---------------------------

After staying an hour more, you began feeling the urge to leave. The new piece of information has stirred up intense emotions within you. Despite your attempts to mask your anger, every time Henry approached to offer more refills, you couldn't shake the feeling that he was flirting with Harry. The uncomfortable knowledge of their past interactions made it difficult for you to sit and watch.

You briskly walk down the streets with Harry a few feet behind you, trying to catch up to you. You were both pretty drunk but not so drunk you couldn't walk straight. Just too drunk to drive. Hence why you're walking home. "Y/n, wait up. Is somethin' the matter? You seem mad at me."

You stop abruptly on the sidewalk and turn back to look at your boyfriend. Angerly, you question, "Why did you really bring me to that bar, Harry?"

Confused, Harry begins, "Baby, I've already told....."

"No, I don't believe you. I think it has something to do with that Henry guy. I know what the two of you use to do. He told me while you were in the bathroom."

Harry quietly curses to himself, feeling more ashamed than anything else. He fails to understand why bringing you there was a problem. His current concern is that you are now aware of a secret he had been keeping - the secret of his college partying days. He was poor and had just started exploring his sexuality. So one day when he went into that specific bar, he met Henry and well, you know the rest.

"Y/n, that was years ago. We never dated or anythin'. I really only saw him maybe once every two months. It's not my proudest moment but all my friends could afford to go out partyin' on Friday nights and I couldn't. So I did what I had to do to fit in."

Turning back around to continue walking, you exhale loudly and speak again. "Do you really think I'm angry about that? Because I'm not. I don't give a shit what you use to do before we started our relationship."

Not thinking clearly due to the alcohol running through his system, Harry fights back, "Is it because it was with a man, Y/n? Is this how m' findin' out you're homophobic?"

You come to a halt once more, but remain looking ahead. That hurt. You're not homophobic in the slightest. Unlike the tales Harry has recounted about his previous partners who were unaccepting of his bisexuality, you have always been different. You have consistently shown support for Harry's sexuality since he shared it with you. Initially, you assumed he was gay because during the first few weeks of living together, he only brought men home. However, one day he brought a woman home instead.

Raising your voice slightly, you argue, "I can't believe you're asking if I'm homophobic. You know I have always been a strong advocate for your sexuality. What really irks me is that you deliberately selected that bar for us to visit. The bar where you used to engage in transactions with the bartender to settle your bills. And now, he was the one serving us throughout the evening."

"Y/n, yes I knew he still worked there but I didn't know if he was workin' tonight, let alone he'd be waitin' on us. How was I supposed to know that?"

Underneath a lamp post on the side of the street, you continue to bicker, knowing bystanders are surely watching your drunk dispute. "Whether you did or not, you still choose to bring me there. Just tell me one more thing Harry, did he charge you the full amount for our drinks tonight or did he give you a discount?"

When Harry didn't reply right away, you already knew the answer and resumed your journey towards home. "Y/n, please wait," he quickly catches up to you, "I didn't even ask him to do it. You know I have enough financial stability to pay the full amount now. He simply offered us a discount without any prompting, and I didn't argue against it. But obviously, this time it was just the discount, not any favors in return. I would never do that to you."

You made the decision to remain silent for the remainder of your journey home. The thought of engaging in further arguments no longer appealed to you. All you desired was to change out of your dress and remove your makeup before going to bed. Despite his reluctance, Harry also chose to stay quiet. He ensured that you were by his side throughout the entire walk, fearing that you might unintentionally wander onto the wrong street or encounter a stranger who could potentially harm you. Even with the ongoing conflict, your love for each other remained intact.

---------------------------

Upon your arrival home, you immediately proceeded to your bedroom and closed the door behind yourself. Without hesitation, you began changing out of your dress and into more comfortable clothing. Your intentions were to stay in your room for the rest of the night, until the realization hit that there was no bathroom inside your bedroom. So, you're forced to leave your room in order to wash your face and brush your teeth.

Harry settles onto the sofa and quietly thinks about his actions tonight. Reflecting on the situation, he now understands why you feel the way you do. It was inappropriate of him to take you to the bar where he used to sleep with the fucking bartender. Despite all of that, the bar itself had a good reputation. That's why he went there frequently in the past, regardless of his actions there.

Though it's not an excuse, he genuinely didn't know if Henry was working tonight. Harry hasn't communicated with Henry in over eight months and their last sexual encounter was even longer than that. He honestly selected a gay bar for tonight to avoid straight men giving you unwanted attention. He would have gotten jealous. However, he unintentionally caused you to feel jealous, and for that he's deeply sorry.

As you exit your bedroom and make your way to the bathroom, Harry turns his head. He contemplates standing up to apologize, but chooses to delay it until you've finished your business. Meanwhile, he gets up and heads to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water and a pain reliever for the headache he assumes you'll have in the morning. Just as he's about to finish, you emerge from the bathroom and return to your room.

Hesitantly, Harry walks up to your bedroom door and and knocks softly. Still in your drunk, grumpy state, you shout out, "What?"

"Um, I've got you some water you need to drink and somethin' to help with your impendin' headache."

"Fine, come in." you grant him permission to come in while you remain in bed. As he approaches, carrying a glass of water and a pill, you carefully take the water from his hands, and he places the pill on your nightstand, ensuring you have it in the morning.

When you've drank all you wanted, Harry grabs the glass back from you, setting it down beside your bed and begins saying, "I'd like to apologize."

Wanting to make sure he knows what he's apologizing for, you ask, "For what?"

Harry sits down on the edge of the bed and admits, "M' sorry for takin' you to that particular bar where I used to see the bartender. I honestly didn't realize he'd be workin' tonight, but that's no excuse. I just thought, if I took you to a gay bar that straight men wouldn't hit on you and make me jealous. But that was selfish of me. So again, m' truly sorry, Y/n."

The first part of his apology was fine, but that third sentence reignited your frustration. "Harry, what about you, huh? By us going to a gay bar, I have to face the potential of men flirting with you. But really flirting can occur in any setting, whether it's a gay bar or a straight one. That shouldn't have influenced your choice to go there."

Slapping his hand across his forehead, Harry nods. "I know, I know. M' sorry for that too. I honestly just wanted a fun night out with m' girlfriend but ruined it. Next time I'll let you choose where we go. But just so you know, if I see one of your ex's and they bring up what the two of you use to do, m' gonna be pissed as well." You could tell his last sentence was made with a playful tone, though deep down you know he's being serious.

You release a loud yawn and respond, your voice filled with drowsiness, "Okay, that'll make us even. I'm still a little upset with you though, so it would be best if you left now. Please sleep in your own room tonight." Despite having the thought that you might want to sleep separately, he hoped that after apologizing, you would reconsider. However, your stubbornness proves to be a hindrance, as you are not willing to forgive him that easily.

With a frown on Harry's face, he gets up from the bed and bends down to kiss your forehead before walking out of the room. As he leaves, he reminds you, "If you need anythin', just wake me up. I love you."

He hears a quiet "love you, too" right when he shuts your door and exhales, relieved that you're not mad enough to not say 'I love you' to him. Because if you were, he'd have been devastated,

---------------------------

Around four in the morning, you awaken to the realization that sleeping apart was a mistake. You haven't slept apart since before you shared your feelings for one another and you miss him. You miss cuddling with him. Finding out you both were cuddlers was one of the best possible outcomes as you started developing your relationship. It meant you were very compatible in that way.

You get out of bed and head towards Harry's room across the hallway. As quietly as you can, you open his creaky door to find him lying on his side, a pillow hugged to his chest, turned away from you. He's now use to holding you throughout the night, so his pillow had to make do since you rejected him earlier.

Closing the door gently, you approach his bed and carefully peel back the covers, not wanting to disturb his sleep. Harry only wakes up when he senses you moving closer. You carefully pull the pillow out of his arms and replace it with yourself, burying your face in his chest. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around your back once he realizes it's you who's joined him, muttering in a gravelly voice, "Hi, baby."

Still very sleepy, you speak in a whisper, "Shh, sleepy. Just missed you s'all."

"It's okay, m'love. Go back to sleep. You can always cuddle me. Missed your cuddles, too." Harry's half conscious as he spoke but he's aware of what he said. He did miss your cuddles. He had to fight with himself just to stay put in his bed and not slip into yours. He just wanted to respect your wishes and not make you even angrier with him. It only takes mere seconds for you both to pass out again. All the alcohol you consumed the night before helping aid in that.

You know you have forgiven Harry but he isn't off the hook that easily. For his bad behavior, you'll just have to punish him. Give him what he deserves. 😏

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

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______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

"You've been a real, bad, boy." {part. 12}

[dtrghost]

this is part 2 to the flirty ghost oneshot i made. enjoy ;)))

part 1

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x bartender fem!reader

synopsis: Price invites the team out to a night at a renowned club in London after a job well done. Team 141 watches in surprise as Simon flirts with the hot bartender ;). I made simon rich, because I find rich guys hot, so yeah. a bit sub!ghost because he'd do anything for a girl like you.

warnings: mentions of ghost "stalking" you a bit, references to male masturbation, flirty (probably ooc) ghost, alcohol, pining, smut 18+ only, rough sex, slapping, spanking, squirting, degrading, cunnilingus, size kink, no protection (be smart and careful people), praise, cursing, consensual sex, brat taming, you're welcome yall, enjoy ghost fucking you dumb. NOT PROOFREAD.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT:

The day couldn't go by slower for Simon. He planned the date with caution, making backup plans for his backup plans if the initial attempt didn't go as he expected it to. He wanted this to go smoothly and perfectly, he wanted you to like him, to want him just as much as he wants you.

The previous day he told the team to go on without him, saying he needed some air as he walked off, leaning against the brick wall of an alley for a smoke while he waited for you to finish closing up. He essentially walked you home without you knowing, following you back to your place which wasn't too far from the bar.

He admired the way you walked, the grace, the confidence, all at a slow, leisurely pace which gave him more time to get a look at your lower half. How your plump, round ass moved with each step he took, sending a number of fantasies through his head to think about as you took your time back to your apartment complex. He was glad when he saw it was a nice place in a safe area, moving to another alley on the other side of the street and scanning all the windows in hopes to catch a glimpse of you.

He watched a curtain open, seeing your face peek out to look at the street. He was deep in the shadows, and he relaxed knowing it was near impossible that you'd see him as you took a look out. You didn't close it though, turning around and putting on some music that he could just barely hear. You danced by yourself, taking off your blazer with a sigh in relief. He watched as the muscles in your back moved, getting a nice view of your side profile as you walked off somewhere else in your room. He would've stayed the whole night to see if he'd get lucky with getting a glimpse of your fully naked form, but he wanted to save that sight for the next night.

When he got back to his flat he went straight for the shower. The cold water couldn't kill his erection however, and he found himself whimpering as he furiously fisted his cock to the memory of your body swaying to the music as you slipped off your jacket. He moaned at the idea of feeling you move against him, your hips grinding into his as he mustered up the courage to dance with you just to feel the sensation. He came at the image of his small glimpse of your beautiful breasts as you disappeared into the room he wished he was in.

Fast forward and he was now standing in the mirror, checking over his outfit which consisted of a white button up, a black blazer with a black tie, and dress pants. He left the mask on, noticing the look of interest when you first saw it and basing the decision of the assumption that you liked it. He got in his car and drove first to a floral shop, customizing a beautiful bouquet, purple flowers peaking through the wrapping as he went back to his car.

He then drove back to the bar, hand gripping the wheel and stick shift tightly to steady himself from the nerves lighting up in his body as it came into view. He could smell the flowers sitting on his passenger's seat, lavender flooding his senses, just as your lavender perfume did the night before. He got out, receiving a number of glances as people walked out.

"Look who's back, and well dressed." Your voice made him sigh in relief, partly expecting you to not be there as a way to tell him you didn't want anything to do with him. He looked at your outfit as he took a seat at your bar once more. You wore a black, silk dress that hugged your curves beautifully. It was on the shorter side, giving everyone a nice view of your smooth, glimmering legs that were further complimented by the heels you wore, giving you a bit more height that would never compare to his.

"I look like rubbish next to you sweetheart. You're fucking beautiful." You chuckled, nodding to your coworker you asked to take your shift for the night so he could take you out, walking out from behind the counter as he stood up. You took notice of the flowers in his hand, humming in delight as he handed them to you.

"These are beautiful Simon. Thank you." He watched you smell them, relishing the smile you gave him that he'd already etched into is brain the night before. He offered you his arm and led you out of the bar. He opened the car door for you, helping you inside with his hand that looked enormous as yours rested on it. He shivered at the tingles that shot up his spine and flooded his palm from your touch. Once you were situated in his passenger's seat you looked back at him, hand still in his.

"You okay?" You watched as he lifted his mask just to the bridge of his nose before leaning his head down and pressing a gentle kiss on the back of your knuckles. The action left you breathless, your heart beating out of your chest as he shut the door and went to the driver's seat with a cheeky smirk on his face, pulling his mask down.

You glanced over to him, and fuck did he look hot driving. The glimpse of his lips left your mind running to the things you wanted him to do to you, and Simon could tell. He watched your thighs press together as you shifted in your seat, trying to move your mind away with the music playing quietly in the background.

"What's going through that pretty little head of yours lovie?" He asked, his voice sending waves of arousal down to your heated core. You chuckled, clearing your throat.

"If I told you that I don't think we'd make it to wherever you're taking me. Which is where by the way?" He felt his cock twitch in his pants, exhaling deeply as he kept his eyes trained on the road to try and avoid looking at your thighs or at the deep V of your dress.

"You'll see sweetheart." Simon knew you had a thing for his voice. He could tell by the shivers you'd get when he called you a pet name, how you'd mentally stutter for a moment and have to recuperate before responding. He'd use that all night, and you knew it. You arrived at a restaurant, a very nice one at that. He got out quickly, rushing to your side to help you out before walking inside.

The hostess hesitated at first due to the skull mask, but she recovered and directed you to a booth in the back, you sitting across from him as menus were placed in front you. You ordered your drinks, and you looked at him mildly surprised.

"No alcohol tonight Mr. Riley?" He chuckled, eyes creasing and glimmering at you making your heart skip a beat.

"Not tonight love. I need to be present for what I'm going to do to you." You smirked, pointing your tongue to the side of your cheek and chuckling.

"I think it'll be the other way around Simon." You raised a daring eyebrow at him, watching as his eyes bored into yours analytically. He found something that made him chuckle and you falter.

"We'll see pretty girl. we'll see."

"What don't believe me?"

"I never said that."

"That look you just gave me implied it."

"I've given you quite a few looks tonight, I can't seem to recall the one you're referring to." You rolled your eyes playfully, grinning down at your menu. Dinner went smoothly, throwing teasing remarks at each other that were contradicted with the sultry glances as you ate. The tension forming between the you two left you hot and heavy in your chair with anticipation, almost sighing in relief when the check came. He offered a hand to you, and you exited the restaurant hand in hand.

Before he could go to the driver's seat you tugged him back, his hand on the roof of the car as he looked down at you curiously. Your mouth went dry, eyeing his frame that was beautifully complimented by his outfit.

"Y/N. Y/N L/N." His eyes widened for a moment, smiling happily under his mask knowing that he'd successfully earned your name and met your standards. You watched his hand come up, fingers brushing over your cheek, then your other cheek, and finally wrapping around your neck gently. You were enamored by him, the roughness of his skin against your soft neck, the amusement and want dancing in his eyes like a candle flame at the feeling of your pulse against his fingers.

"Hello, Y/N." He loved the way your name rolled off his tongue, how fluid and easy it sounded to him. He returned to the driver's seat and looked over to you with a question.

"Your place." You answered quickly making him chuckle. The throbbing of your pussy and his dick was only made worse by his hand massaging your thigh, your head leaning back against the seat with a quiet curse. You two practically jumped out of your seats when he pulled into the driveway, laughing together as he ran to his front door, key already out and ready to unlock. Once the door shut he yanked off his mask and you yanked his tie, bringing him in to a deep kiss that made you both moan in satisfaction. His lips were soft and plump against your own, kissing you with a passion you'd never felt before.

"Such a good girl for me tonight." He mumbled as his hands settled on your waist, lifted you up and against him. Your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you against the wall, his erection grinding over your clothed center with need. You pulled away, finally getting a chance to look at his face. His eyes were blown with desire and lust, his jaw strong with a few scars that decorated his skin. You could see him falter for a moment.

Did you like him? Was he-

"You're beautiful Si." Your words silenced every insecurity he had in the moment as his hands squeezed your thighs. He thanked you with another kiss to your lips before he walked you two over to his bedroom. Your back hit his bed, his shoes being flicked off to the side as he hovered over you, your lips never disconnecting. His hand moved down from the side of your head to your neck, and contrary to the gentle grip he had before, you gasped for air as he squeezed and pressed down on your trachea.

"To answer your question from earlier.." He started, pressing a sweet kiss on your cheek.

"I don't believe you. At first I thought you were just trying to challenge me." He chuckled to himself at the thought of your small frame trying to overpower him.

"But now I see you're just a fucking brat that needs to be put in her place." You whined, squirming underneath him for friction.

"You want that love? You want me to fuck the brat out of you? Looks like I already did with those eyes." You stared up at him with big, watery doe eyes that made him curse.

"Such a good little slut for me lovie." His other free hand traveled down your body, cupping your clothed pussy, feeling it throb against him hand.

"So wet already." He moaned. With a final kiss to your lips he got on his knees, pulling your body to him. He hiked up your dress to your waist, groaning at the sight of your black lace panties in front of him.

"Do you like these?" snapping the waistband against your skin. Before you could answer he ripped them off, disregarding the now ruined material to the side. You didn't care.

"Hope you're ready to buy me another pair." You teased, lifting yourself up with your elbows to grin down at him. He chuckled, licking a slow strip up your wet cunt, watching your head fall back in relief.

"Oh fuck lovie, you're fucking delicious."

It was then you knew that he had to have some major experience to eat you out the way he was. You could feel everything he was doing, the slow circles around your swollen clit as he licked his name on your pussy.

"Could eat this perfect cunt for hours." He moaned, feeling his throbbing, painful erection begging to be touched under his pants. He didn't let up though, he kept his arms locked down on your hips to pin you to the bed and take whatever he gave you. His tongue moved to press into your wet clenching hole, tongue fucking you with skilled finesse. "Simon! Oh fuck yes, fuck don't stop, fuck make me cum." You begged, your hands tightly gripping his hair as he focused on making you see stars. He chuckled, his fingers replacing his tongue, moaning at the feeling of you clenching around his digits. He pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, letting you taste yourself as his fingers moved slowly in and out of your dripping sex.

"Fuck you're tight. You wanna cum lovie? Let me feel your cunt cum on my fingers?" His lips grazed against your ear, whispering dirty, obscene things to you as he didn't change the grueling pace of his fingers.

"Simon" You whined, bucking your hips into his hand. He 'tched', leaning his head back and slapping your cheek just hard enough for it to sting a bit. He chuckled at your soft moan and clench around his fingers.

"Needy thing aren't you. I'm taking my time with you sweetheart, so be a good little girl and take what I give you. That's an order."

"Oh fuck Simon."

"It's lieutenant to you slut."

His fingers left your pussy, listening to you whimper at the loss of contact as he slipped the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

"Lift f'me pretty." You lifted your hips and he tossed your dress off to the side, resuming the assault on your aching cunt. The edging went on for what felt like forever as you watched him use his tongue and fingers to bring you to the edge of ecstasy, only to be left empty and disappointed as he pulled himself away completely.

"Lieutenant please." You cried, tears rushing down your temples in frustration.

"Shhhhh, let me do this right. Just a little more." He cooed, his tongue returning to your clit with his two fingers stretching you out. It wouldn't be enough for his size, but it was better than nothing. He loved the sweet sounds coming from you, how you moaned his rank and cried his name just before you came. He hummed, satisfied by how wet and on edge you wore, pulling away and listening to your heavy breathing as you caught your breath.

You listened to him fumble with his belt, your lids opening just enough to see him take off his pants and boxers.

"Holy shit. Simon... that's not gonna fucking fit, you know that right?" You were never the type to inflate a man's ego with such a cliche statement, but he was far bigger than any man you'd ever been with before. You took it in fully, the red tip that was desperate for attention, the girth and length that intimidated you as the vein coming up the side gave it some definition.

"All that prep wasn't for nothing lovie." He tore off the rest of his clothes and pulled out a condom from the pocket of his once disregarded jacket.

"I'm on the pill." He smirked, tossing it off to the side and settling in between your legs that were arched on either side of his thick waist. He lubed himself with your wet arousal, rubbing his length against your puffy cunt that ached for him.

"It'll fit Y/N, and if it doesn't.." He trailed off, pressing the tip into your tight hole and moaning at the feeling of you clenching around him. You moaned as his hand wrapped around your throat again, squeezing and leaving you gasping for air as he inched into you, inch by inch.

"I'll make it fit." With a quick thrust of his hips, his cock hit your cervix as you cried out at the stretch. He was massive, and he watched as you pussy clamped and sucked him in.

"Oh fuck this pussy was made for me. You were just meant to take my cock sweetheart. Oh yeah." You thought he was going to start slow, give you some time to adjust, but he meant what he said when he told you he'd fuck the brat out of you. His pace was brutal, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against you resonating in the room as he fucked you.

"Fuck s-so big Simon."

"I'm in your fucking stomach love. Fuck would you look at that." He chuckled, taking your hand and pressing it on your lower stomach, letting you feel him fuck you.

"Your cunt's got a vice grip on me. You're so good to me love, letting me fuck you like this. You like being my little slut don't you." You cried your answer, his moans filling your ears as a string of curses followed them. The wet sounds were so lewd, it only turned you both on more. You felt yourself there, that familiar clench he loved so much signaling to him that you were going to cum.

"You can cum now pretty girl, come for your lieutenant." He began rubbing your clit and you felt your abdomen tighten as you screamed his name, squirting your juices all over his waist and cock.

"Oh fuck yeah. You're a squirter love? Should've told me that earlier." It was too much, you couldn't handle it, pushing at his chest as you shrieked at his pace speeding up with the thumb on your clit.

"Take it Y/N. Wet my cock again, fuck you're so hot. So beautiful." He leaned down to your ear, nibbling at the top as tears rushed down your cheeks, legs shaking as he fucked you.

"That's why you're mine. All fucking mine." He grabbed your jaw gently when you didn't respond, your brain having gone numb as you wildly buckled your hips into his and clenched around his dick.

"Oh, I've fucked you dumb have I?" He leaned back, lifting your legs so your ankles rested on his shoulders, moaning at how much tighter you got.

"That's alright. Just keep making a mess for me." He hit your sweet spot over and over, his thumb on your clit never slowing down as you wet him, the bed, and even the floor with your cum. You couldn't think, the only things coming out of you being screams, cries, moans, and slurred mumbles of his name as your squirted and came for him over and over. It began to hurt, but it felt so delicious that you couldn't bring yourself to tell him to stop. You wanted him to ruin you, to fuck you into the next reality where he'd do it all over again until you were satisfied.

Even with how rough he was being, you could feel him worshipping you, pressing kisses on your skin and relishing the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his cock. His hand connected with your cheek, snapping you back into the moment. You noticed how erratic his thrusts were now, how they were losing rhythm as he approached his own climax.

"Want you to be here for this lovie. You're taking me so well, you're such a good girl f'me. You gonna let me breed your cunt?"

"Fuck, cum for me lieutenant, fuck your cum into me. Please. Please breed your pussy." Your. Your pussy, you said.

"Oh fuck. You're a minx you know that. I'm gonna cum in you, fill you with my seed and put a baby in you. And you're gonna do it with me." He fucked you hard and fast, just the way you liked it, both of your cursing and moaning each other's names as you came for each other. His body shivered and jolted as he filled you up with his cum, sending thick long ropes of his seed into you while he whimpered your name. You two stayed there for a moment, catching your breaths.

"You did amazing Y/N. You did so well for me." He pulled his head back, suddenly filled with worry at being too rough with you as his fingers gently ran down your cheeks, feeling your legs shake.

"I'm alright. Best fuck of my life." You muttered, wrapping your arms around him and pressing kisses on his shoulder. He chuckled, hands running through your sweaty hair lovingly as you soaked up each other's presence.

"Hopefully not the last."

"Definitely not the last. You're mine Simon." You felt his chest rumble against yours as he laughed, shaking lightly in your arms as he looked at you.

"All yours Y/N. Now lets get you cleaned up." He slowly pulled out of you, shushing your whimpers with a sweet kiss before helping you up. He anticipated your inability to stand, his arm swiftly hooking underneath your knees and holding your bridal style.

"Hope you called out from work tomorrow. Can't exactly make drinks like this can you." He teased, his cheek pressed against the top of your head as your cheek pressed against his chest.

"Shut up Simon."

"Not what you were saying earlier-"

Smack

"Alright alright! Bloody Americans."

And that concludes this oneshot! I hope you enjoyed and feel free to leave requests or message me!! I'll do my best to get to them when I can. Thank you for reading and i'll see you next time. Ciao!

@namelessghoulette626 @ghostlythots @brallieforever1 @daryldixonh0e @discofern @fandomsinthegalaxies @simonsslvt @meandjoemama @lundenloves @starstruckmiraclekitty @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @havoc973

[its-all-or-nothing94]

One Night // Tom Glynn-Carney x f!Reader

Summary: Where reader goes out with her friends and meets this charming, sweet (and so fucking) hot guy in a club.

A/N: This is the first fic I have published based on a real person. I don't know Tom, this is just puuuure fiction, thank you very much! It's actually just a short little One-Shot :)

Ship: Tom Glynn-Carney x Reader

Warnings: Language (is it tho?), mentions of having sex, use of alcohol, One Night Stand

You have always thought of yourself as a pretty ordinary person. You had a decent job, a decent apartment, and a group of friends that you could count on for a good time. So when your best friend, Emily, suggested you go out to a trendy new club in London, you thought, why not?

The club was packed, the music loud enough to make you feel it in your chest. You weren't usually one for these kinds of places, preferring a quiet pub or a cozy night in with a book. But tonight, something felt different. You wanted to let loose, to forget about the mundane for just one night.

After a few drinks and a lot of dancing, you found yourself at the bar, slightly tipsy and in need of a break. That’s when you noticed him. A man standing beside you, ordering a drink with an easy confidence. He had a rugged charm about him, with tousled blonde hair and an intense gaze that seemed to see right through you.

“Having a good time?” he asked, his voice smooth and inviting.

“Yeah, better than I expected,” you replied with a smile. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Tom,” he said, extending a hand. You shook it, feeling a strange spark at the touch.

You chatted for a while and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. He was funny, down-to-earth, and didn’t seem to have any of the pretentiousness you often encountered in these places. He didn’t mention his job, and you didn’t ask. You talked about music, movies, and travel – all the things that made life interesting.

Your laughter mingled with the thumping bass of the music, your body moving freely to the rhythm. Tom's eyes, a striking shade of blue, sparkled under the dim club lights as he leaned in closer. Your conversation flowed effortlessly, a seamless exchange of stories and laughter that felt strangely intimate for two people who had just met.

Before you knew it, the night had flown by, and the club was starting to thin out. Tom glanced around, then leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Do you want to go somewhere quieter? Maybe talk without shouting over the music?"

You hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded. There was something about Tom that made you want to throw caution to the wind, to embrace this rare sense of spontaneity. "Sure, why not?"

You walked through the bustling streets of London, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the heat of the club. Tom hailed a cab, and you slid into the back seat, a comfortable silence settling between you. The ride was short, and soon, you stood in front of a sleek, modern apartment building. Tom unlocked the door and gestured for you to enter.

You stepped inside, taking in the stylish decor. The apartment was a perfect blend of modern chic and cozy comfort, with clean lines, soft lighting, and personal touches that hinted at Tom’s personality. He led you to the living room, where a leather sofa dominated the space, flanked by bookshelves filled with an eclectic mix of literature and knick-knacks.

"Make yourself comfortable," Tom said, heading to the open-plan kitchen. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Surprise me," you replied, sinking into the plush cushions of the sofa. You watched as Tom expertly mixed two drinks, his movements confident and precise. He handed you a glass, your fingers brushing briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

"To unexpected nights," Tom toasted, raising his glass.

"To unexpected nights," you echoed, clinking her glass against his while you were blushing slightly.

You sipped your drinks, the alcohol warming you from the inside out. The conversation picked up where it had left off, but now there was an added layer of intimacy. You sat close, your knees touching, voices low and hushed. Tom's gaze never left your face, his eyes tracing your features as if trying to memorize them.

The air between you grew charged, the unspoken tension crackling like static. You felt your pulse quicken, your breath coming in shallow bursts. Tom set his glass down and leaned in, his hand gently cupping your cheek. He paused for a heartbeat, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, making your heartbeat quicken.

You melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you lost in the moment. The kiss deepened, your bodies pressed together, a hunger igniting between you.

Tom's hands roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine while your fingers tangled in his hair. You broke apart briefly, gasping for air, your foreheads resting together. "Are you sure about this?" Tom whispered, his voice husky with desire.

"More than sure," you replied breathlessly, your heart pounding in her chest.

What followed was a whirlwind of passion and desire. Clothes were shed hastily, discarded in a trail leading to the bedroom. You moved together with an urgency that bordered on desperation, your bodies finding a rhythm that felt both new and familiar. Tom's touch was gentle yet firm, his kisses searing a path across your skin. You felt more alive than you had in a long time, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

You finally fell asleep in each other’s arms, your bodies entwined, the city outside just a distant hum. The night had been a blur, but one thing was clear: it was a night neither of you would soon forget.

You woke up to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains. You carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake Tom. You dressed quietly, glancing back at him, a sense of something deeper stirring within you. You shook it off, knowing this was a one-night stand, nothing more.

You scribbled a quick note thanking him for a wonderful night and left it next to Tom before slipping out the door. The cool morning air hit your face as you stepped outside, swirling within you a mix of exhilaration, confusion, and a hint of sadness.

Back in the apartment, Tom woke up to find the note. He cursed softly under his breath, realizing he had forgotten to ask for your number. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the note in his hand, feeling a strange emptiness. For once, he had met someone who treated him like a normal person who didn’t care about his fame or his job. And now you were gone.

You walked through the quiet streets of London, replaying the events of the night in your mind. You knew it was just a fleeting moment, a brief escape from reality, but it was a night you would never forget, a night that made you feel truly alive.

As you reached your apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder what might have been. But you pushed the thought away, determined to hold onto the memory of a perfect night with no regrets. Life would go on, but you would always have that one night in London, with a man named Tom.

Later that morning, Tom found himself at their usual rehearsal spot, a grungy but cozy studio tucked away in East London. The rest of the Sleep Walking Animals were already there, casually tuning their instruments and chatting amongst themselves.

“Morning, mate,” Joe greeted Tom, plucking at his guitar strings.

“Morning,” Tom replied, his voice absent-minded.

Alex, noticing Tom’s distraction, smirked. “Someone’s got their head in the clouds. Or should I say, still in bed with that hot Y/H/C from last night?”

Tom shot him a look. “Shut it, Alex.”

“Oh, come on, Tommy boy,” Bill chimed in, drumming a rhythm on the edge of a table. “You looked proper smitten when you left the club. She must’ve been something special.”

“She was,” Tom admitted, slumping down onto a battered old couch. “But she buggered off before I could even ask for her number.”

“Savage,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Didn’t even leave a name or nothing?”

“She did,” Tom replied, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N. That’s all I got.”

“Y/N,” Nuwan mused, his fingers dancing over the keys absentmindedly. “Could be anyone, mate.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Tom muttered, frustration evident in his tone. “It’s just... I dunno, she was different. Didn’t give a fuck about who I am or what I do. Just treated me like a normal person.”

“Well, you are a normal person, mostly,” Joe teased. “Except when you’re whining about a girl like a lovesick puppy.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tom said, but there was a hint of a smile.

“Can’t believe she just legged it,” Bill said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “What, were you that bad in bed?”

The room erupted in laughter, and Tom threw a cushion at Bill. “Piss off, Caple. It was great, thank you very much.”

Alex leaned over, grinning. “So, did you shag or not?”

Tom rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, we did. And it was... it was amazing.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it bad, mate,” Jack said, strumming a chord on his bass. “Bet you wish you could find her again.”

“Yeah,” Tom admitted, his voice softer now. “I really do.”

The guys exchanged looks, the teasing dropping away for a moment.

“Look, mate,” Joe said, more seriously. “We’ve got a gig tonight. Maybe you’ll meet someone else who’s just as cool. Don’t get too hung up on one girl.”

Tom nodded, knowing Joe was right but still feeling the pang of regret. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Nuwan started playing a familiar tune on the keys, and the rest of the band gradually joined in. The music filled the room, and for a while, Tom let it carry him away, the notes and rhythms a welcome distraction from thoughts of you.

But even as they played, your face lingered in his mind, a reminder of a night that felt all too fleeting and a connection that was painfully out of reach.

You sat with your friends at your favorite coffee shop, a cozy little place with mismatched furniture and a laid-back vibe. Emily, Sarah, and Jess were all there, sipping on their drinks and catching up on the latest gossip. You knew it was only a matter of time before the conversation turned to you.

“So, Y/N,” Jess started with a sly grin, “anything interesting happen last night? You disappeared from the club pretty quick.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Sarah echoed, her eyebrows raised. “Come on, spill it! Who was the guy?”

“His name’s Tom,” you said, trying to sound casual. “We met at the bar, hit it off, and... well, I went back to his place.”

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Emily exclaimed, nearly spilling her latte. “You had a one-night stand? With a guy you just met?”

“Yeah, I did,” you admitted, unable to hide your smile. “And it was amazing.”

“Details, please,” Jess demanded, leaning in. “How was he? What was his place like?”

“He was... incredible,” you said, feeling the warmth of the memory. “Funny, down-to-earth, and not full of himself. His place was pretty stylish too, very him.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Sarah sighed. “And you didn't get his number?”

You shrugged. “No, I left early, and he was still asleep. I didn’t want to wake him. Besides, it was just a one-night thing.”

“Still,” Emily said, shaking her head, “you should’ve left your number or something. What if he wants to see you again?”

“I doubt it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “He probably doesn’t even remember my name.”

“You never know,” Jess said with a wink. “Maybe he’s thinking about you right now, regretting not getting your number.”

“Yeah, right,” you said, but a small part of you couldn’t help but hope Jess was right.

“Anyway,” Emily said, changing the subject, “my brother’s got tickets to this gig tonight. Some indie band. He asked me to come, and I thought it could be fun. You guys in?”

“Who’s the band?” Sarah asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Sleep Walking Animals,” Emily replied. “Ever heard of them?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar,” Jess said, shrugging. “Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Same here,” Sarah agreed. “Could be fun.”

“What about you, Y/N?” Emily asked. “Got any plans tonight?”

You shook her head. “Nope, nothing. I’m in.”

“Great!” Emily said, clapping her hands. “It’s a plan then. We’ll meet up at my place and head over together.”

As you finished your coffees and chatted about other things, you felt a strange sense of anticipation building inside you. You weren't sure why, but the thought of going to this gig excited you. Maybe it was just the idea of a night out with your friends, or maybe, somewhere deep down, you hoped for something more.

[clarkeyhill]

One of your girls| George Clarke smut

It's not a secret that George Clarke is the man every woman wants, just a look of approval from him would send anyone into paralysis. It's like he has a spell on all the women who approach him, you see him in the same club every weekend. you see him leave with multiple girls each time, what if you were one of them?

Once again Friday approaches, you're just finishing work, walking through the streets of London. It's a crisp but warm day the bustling streets surround you as you make your way to your flat. You tussle with the keys in your pocket and open your flat door, tossing your work bag into the door way as you slip your stilettos off. A slight sigh comes from your mouth, relieved your work day is over and you can focus on getting ready for your usual Friday antics.

You start the shower running as you collect your stuff for your "everything shower". Washing your hair, shaving and a deep cleanse. It's what you need after the day you've had. You finish in the shower, dry off and douse yourself in coconut lotion. A subtle but strong smell to anyone in an arms length, you tie your damp hair into a towel and wrap another round your body scuffling to your room. You set yourself down as you begin to blow dry your hair. Suddenly your phone rings

"Bestie 🫶🏻🪐" is calling "hey girl!" You answer whilst setting your hair dryer down "are you ready for tonight?" Your friend asks "of course, I would never miss the regular Friday club trip" you laugh as you continue to talk outfits and hair. "Meet at 8 yeah?" Your friend asks "ofc see you at the tube stop" you reassure her, the phone ends and you carry on getting ready.

6:30pm

You check your phone at the time just as you'd finished your makeup, you go full deep glam this time, dark Smokey eyes with a pop of glitter. Your hair styled exactly like Pamela Anderson's if she was a brunette, you wear a tight leather dress that accentuates your figure nicely outlining your top and bottom assets. You throw on your block heels and take a white denim jacket with you as you set off to the tube stop to meet your friend. Taking a small pre mixed can for the journey.

7:50pm and your friend finally meets you at the stop, you both hug and get sat in a seat preparing for the night ahead. "Do you think he'll be there?" Your friend asks, you knew she was talking about him. "Who?" You ask confused "you know, George" she ponders. "Maybe, he always seems to be there, why do you ask?" You ask you friend "oh..no reason" she bows her head. You hear your stop approaching and grab your things and make your way to your usual, a small club. As you pay your way in you head to the bar and order your usual vodka lemonade & lime. You get sat at your table as your friend goes up to the dj and asks for your usual dance song "sound of the underground" by girls aloud.

"CMON" your bestie shouts dragging you up, you both flick your hair and dance like nobody's watching, the tight leather moving with you as your friend pulls you in and twirls you round. Suddenly you feel a hand on your lower back, you turn around and you see a man you've never seen before "don't stop dancing on my accord darling" he muffles drunkly, you pull away and smack his hand "don't touch me you creep" you hiss "can't really help it when you're parading around like that" he scoffs "now come here" he lunges forward to grab your arm when all of a sudden you hear a loud "OI!" Bellow over the music

"She's moved away from you once, that means no you fucking imbecile" a deep voice spits, all of a sudden he emerges, it's George. "Now leave her the fuck alone" he retorts, the guy scoffs and walks away. "Thanks" you say to him "you didn't have to do that" you rub the back of your arm a little shaken. "Yes I did, nobody comes out to be treated like that by a man, no matter how good you look" he replies "I'm George" he holds out his hand, you shake it "I'm y/n" you smile "and I'm Izzy!" You friend chimes in. "Hi Izzy, hi y/n" George smiles "well I'll leave you two to it, let me know if anyone else bothers you y/n, I'm over near the bar with my friends" he points as he walks away.

"Omg!" Your friend squeals "he's deffo into you!" She says clapping. "No he's not Izzy, he was just being nice. Shots?" Izzy nods her head as you make your way to the bar to do your infamous tequila shots, you lick the palm of your hand as you add salt to it, grasping your shot as you place the lime on the edge of the plate to get it ready, you feel eyes burn into your back as you look to the side and see George eyeing you up, his gaze so powerful and protective. You chuckle as you lick the salt off your palm, knock back your shot and slip the lime into your mouth. You both shake your heads and giggle to eachother as you both head to the bathroom to top your lipstick up. Your friend gets a phone call in the bathroom "two secs y/n im just gonna head outside and take this call" she says as she scurries out the toilets through the crowd. You fix your dress as you make your way out the bathroom too.

You wait for 5 minutes at the bar, Izzy's not back yet, you check your phone "sorry! Had to go, emergency. Get home safe xox" a text from Izzy, you sigh and neck your drink you just got, it was 10pm and seemed like it was home time already. You throw your bag over you shoulder and make your way for the door "going so soon?" You hear a husky voice say, you turn round and see George looking at you with a devilish smile. "Yeah unfortunately, my friend left and I don't wanna be intoxicated on my own hahaha" you chuckle "stay with us?" George advises "oh no it's fine, I wouldn't wanna intrude, we don't really know eachother" you furrow your brows "well im sure a few drinks will sort that out, only if you want to though, princess" he smirks "okay fine, you've twisted my arm" you giggle you make your way over to George's table to be greeted by 2 of his friends, Chris and Arthur "guys this is y/n, she's gonna join us for a few drinks, so be nice" he says to them "hi guys" you say with a soft smile.

An hour goes past of just constant talking, getting to know them more, your jaw hurts from laughing. You get up to go to the bar " 4 tequila shots please" you ask the bartender, you carry them back over on a tray? The boys look at you defeated "more?! You're trying to kill us!" Arthur laughs "don't be a wimp" you shoot a wink at him as you pass him the shot. You all knock them back and shake your heads as you laugh. 12am draws in and you all decide to call it a night. You could barely walk as you got up to leave, you stumble as both George and Chris catch you "steady on you'll have us all on the floor at this rate" Chris laughs "sorry guys, I'll just get an Uber home don't worry about me" you slip from the grip and fall backwards into a bush. "Right I'm gonna go sleep guys thanks for a good night, I love you" you're now starfished in a bush in the middle of London

"Right lads, rescue mission, she's stopping at the flat there's no way she's staying alone in this state" George said, a slight inkling of concern in his voice as they pull you up, George helps you over his shoulder and carries you back to their flat. Your arms floppy over his shoulders, Arthur ties his jackets round your waist to stop you mooning the whole of London. You finally get back to the flat and your drunkness slowly slips from you "oh shit im so fucking sorry" you heart sinks as you've embarrassed yourself, George lowers you to the floor "I'm okay George I'll get an Uber home now I'm sorry" your eyebrows furrow "don't be daft, you were in no state to be left by yourself, even if you have sobered up after the nap on my shoulder, you're still dropping here, right boys?" They all nod "you can take my bed" George says handing you a cup of water "oh no it's fine I'll stay on the sofa I don't wanna kick you out of a bed" you insist "who says you are?" George laughs.

He holds his hand out as he walks you to his room, he pulls you out a t-shirt to wear, handing you some baby wipes for your makeup "do you need help taking your makeup off?" He asks "no I think I'll be okay, thanks George" you head off into his en suite and change into the t-shirt he gave you, you wipe your makeup off as you stand on your tiptoes the t-shirt lifts over your ass cheeks, George catches a glimpse and lets out a soft groan, you turn around and notice "like what you see?" You smirk as you look at George. "I can't deny that I do" he shoots a hot look at you. You deposit the makeup wipes on the bin as you stride over to him. "What are you going to do about it?" The alcohol in your system still lingering urging a boost of confidence in you, George hesitates "I don't wanna take advantage of you." He pauses "treat me like one of your girls George, no boundaries" you slip your hands around his neck, planting a small kiss on it. You feel George's hands wrap around your waist, ruffling the bottom of his shirt to the bottom of your back "jump" he says softly in your ear

You do as he says and jump into his hands, he cups your ass as he leads you to his desk, planting you on top of it, a shiver rolls down your spine as the cold wood sinks into your body, you wrap your legs around him as you slip your fingers into the lining of his boxers. "Tell me what you want baby" he asks "I want you to fuck me with no regrets" you hiss biting your lip, he smashes his lips into yours with no hesitation, some deeper than others, biting your lip as you let out small moans, he moves his way down to your neck with enough friction to leave marks making you whimper to his touch. You decide to tease him more as you cup your hand over his prominent hardness, slowly unbuttoning his jeans as he continues to leave marks on your neck

You push his head back with your hand has you look up at him with menace in your eyes "step back" you say as you lower yourself off the desk and kneel to the floor, pulling down his jeans with his boxers following, his cock pulsating through the material as it springs out and hits his lower belly, your eyes widen "fuck" you let out a small moan, George smirks as he hears this. You form a spit bubble in your mouth as you prepare to take George in your mouth "show me what you can do baby" he says pushing a piece of hair behind your ear. You let out a tiny bit of spit onto the tip of his shaft spreading it around with your tongue as you lock eye contact with him "you're so fucking naughty" he says in a husky tone, you decide to tease him, taking him in slowly watching his head jolt back as his breath hitches. He forms your hair in a ponytail as you're still locking eyes, you decide to show him how talented you really are, unleashing your hidden non existent gag reflex you take George fully in your mouth, feeling him at the back of your throat with no struggle "holy fuck" he moans, breath hitching "fuck me y/n you're amazing" you move into him as he motions your head with your hair, seeing George moan uncontrollably and erratic makes you tingle, you slowly remove yourself from him as you still remain tightly suctioned around him. You lick your lips as George pants, you slowly get up off your knees and meet with him

"Now let me repay the favour" he says pushing you onto the bed, spreading your legs welcoming George in with no hesitation, he drops a ball of spit on the top of your entrance, motioning it around with his thumb, your head smashes back into the pillows and you legs seize to his touch, he starts to leave kisses on your inner thighs teasing you "shit" you gasp breath hitched "good girl" grumbles as he slips his tongue on the top your your clit, moving in figure 8 motions. Sucking as you sink into the covers as your body goes into over drive, your stomach filled with butterflies as he works his magic on you. Suddenly he sits up, placing a pillow under your lower back, he once again teases your entrance but with the tip of his shaft motioning up and down "holy fuck George" you say panting "beg baby" he says smirking at you "please" you say "please what?" He asks again "please fuck me im begging" you jolt your head back as he slip himself inside with no hesitation, his grip becomes strong on your thighs as he thrusts into you with so much desperation to be inside you "fuck you're so tight around me" he grunts "fuck" you moan, trying to keep yourself together he lowers his thumb as his circles your clit in 8 motions again while fucking you, "you're so fucking pretty" he praises you as you whimper, "fuck George I'm nearly there" you whine, George takes this as an opportunity and picks up his pace, thrusts becoming more hard and painful, more forceful. His grip becomes more tense as he locks his hand round your neck, you lean into it as you lock eyes with him while he chokes you "fuck y/n, you look so good" he groans.

You start to reach your max as legs tighten around him, he can feel the grip and smirks "cum for me" he says and with that you let out a release "OH FUCK GEORGE" you scream, it was so loud Chris and Arthur definitely heard it, George lets out one final thrust as he joins you in release. "Fuck" he groans out of breath. He pulls out as he flops onto the bed next to you "that was fucking amazing, you're fucking amazing" he says covering you in the duvet.

You both lie and catch your breath for a minute when George turns to look at you "you know, I've noticed you in the club a few times, but didn't approach you incase you wouldn't like me" he says pushing the stray hair from your face. "I've seen you too, but only when you're leaving with someone else, guess I just am one of your girls" you say, a slight sigh comes out your mouth. Although that's what you said to him, you couldn't help feel a small break in your heart.

"Not at all, you're more than that. I slept with others to fill the void of not talking to you, you're all I really wanted" he said pulling you in for a hug "that's why when I saw that guy creeping on you I was immediately protective, that's when I knew I had to interact with you, you mesmerise me" he admits "never knew you'd have a soft spot for me, especially how I've just embarrassed myself infront of you all drunk as a fart" you laugh "it's the most fun I've had in ages those few hours in the pub, you really do have something special y/n" he places a kiss on your head.

"Thanks, Georgie" you snuggle into his chest and you both fall asleep, maybe you're not just one of his girls.

-

🫶🏻

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 13 - First Dance

The cab ride was uncomfortable. Neither one of them knew what to say. John looked out the window, ignoring Sherlock’s presence. When he couldn’t handle the tension anymore, he would turn his head to say something, not sure exactly what that would be, only to find Sherlock looking out his window. He didn’t realise that Sherlock was doing the very same thing. Alternating between window gazing and checking on John, neither one of them able to work out how to bridge the distance from the earlier argument.

Finally, John decided to settle on work talk. “What did Lestrade say, then?”

“Just a loose end that needs following up.”

Sherlock was being cagey, extra quiet. Even talking about work didn’t open the door. That made John nervous. Had the argument done too much damage? Or was the loose end something dangerous? John’s heart rate increased at the very thought of it. Surely the rush of case work would cheer Sherlock up too?

But not yet. Sherlock was deathly silent. 

“And where are we going then?” John tried again. 

“A club, John. I hope that’s alright.” Sherlock sat for a moment. “You can test out some of those… dance moves,” he teased.

An attempt at a joke? John looked over at him, and even though Sherlock was still looking out the window he could swear there was the slightest lift of the corner of his mouth. Was he taking the piss?

Finally Sherlock turned his head and caught John’s eye and they both ended up laughing. 

“I’m not sure I have any dancing skills when I’m fully clothed,” John managed to choke out between his laughter.

“I’m genuinely sorry I missed the whole of it,” Sherlock admitted.

They laughed for a little bit longer and then, when it naturally died down, John had hoped it was an opening to broach the issue. “Sherlock…”

“John, let’s not,” he said quickly, already understanding the tone in John’s voice. 

Discussing the fight was not on the table. They would go about their business and there was an unspoken understanding that it was properly under the rug now - no hard feelings about it. John nodded and went back to watching the London streets pass them by. “I don’t bring dates home," he added. He couldn’t let it go until he’d got that final word in.

“Fine,” Sherlock said gently. And so it was agreed.

When the cab pulled up and John stepped out onto the street he took in the club front. “Halfway to Heaven?” he said to himself. “Interesting name…”

Sherlock moved quickly ahead, to speak to the bouncer at the door. Without checking on John, he was given passage through and John followed dutifully behind. As Sherlock moved through the crowd toward the bar, John was gradually left behind in the building crowd. Sherlock had longer legs and always managed to get ahead of him. He hadn’t taken much time to look around as they first entered, but now that he couldn’t catch Sherlock, he began to take it in the rest of the club itself. And the patrons. There were quite a few sparkly walls and… the more he glanced about… Oh god, he thought to himself. 

As his shoulders slumped, in defeat, Sherlock found his way back, but now he had a pint in each hand. He handed one to John and nodded towards a corner where he wanted John to go. They eventually found a little table in a slightly secluded corner and they sat together with their drinks.

“Ah Sherlock…?”

“Yes, John," Sherlock said calmly. "It is a gay club. Your observational skills are in sparkling form, as usual."

“Right. You could have told me.”

“Would you have come?” he asked, lifting a brow. John opened his mouth to argue and Sherlock gave him a look, so he knew to close his mouth again. Sherlock was right, he probably would have made up an excuse not to come, particularly after the fight they had just had.

“Alright then,” John said, straightening his shoulders, trying to calm himself. “Why are we here? I’m assuming we aren’t picking you up a date?” John teased. 

Sherlock frowned, but said nothing, choosing to drink his beer first. “The fourth wife,” he finally said.

John looked genuinely surprised. “I thought we had solved that. We established that I had solved it.”

“Well, there is a loose end, as I said. Lestrade wanted me to check something. A hunch he had.”

“Right.” John drank from his pint, feeling a little disappointed.

“I’m fairly certain our best plan of attack here is to try to blend in,” he suggested.

“Blend in?!” John was horrified. “Sherlock you aren’t suggesting…?” “Relax, John. Just drink your beer. Just sit here with me and drink your beer. I hope that’s not too much to ask of you.”

John looked at him, really looked at him, slightly affronted by the remark. But Sherlock genuinely looked a little… out of sorts. Perhaps he was more upset by John’s words earlier than John had initially realised. Or, he was offended that John was being difficult about blending in, in a gay club?

John instinctively reached out a hand and placed it on Sherlock’s arm. He had his coat on inside still, but John pressed more forcefully into the fabric, so there was definite contact, and pressure. “Hey,” he said gently. “Happy to.”

Sherlock nodded and looked away, taking in the crowd in silence, drinking a few sips of beer. John took more of a large swig… or two. Of all the strange situations they had found themselves in, he had never sat at a gay bar with Sherlock and shared a beer. Case or no case, they were still drinking at a bar together. It shouldn’t matter where. John couldn’t seem to get past some things, but it shouldn’t matter. They remained there in silence, Sherlock taking in the crowd, his eyes flicking back and forth between patrons as they moved about. John knew that Sherlock would direct him when he needed something. In the meantime he would wait. And try not to irritate Sherlock anymore.

An hour went by, and they polished off a few of beers. In fact Sherlock had gone back for a fourth. John did enjoy people-watching, so he didn’t mind sitting and observing, as he drank. He didn’t need to talk incessantly. It was one of the lovely things about Sherlock. They could sit in the same room in silence for hours on end - on a couple of occasions it was a few days even, before they spoke to each other. For John, after being in a war zone, the silence was perfectly suitable, and much less triggering.  He really enjoyed just being in the same room as his friend. He counted himself lucky, to have a friend like that.

He looked over to the bar now, to see Sherlock leaning his full weight on it to pull himself over, closer to a young, attractive barman. Sherlock was right up close against him, talking into his ear and… laughing? Was Sherlock flirting with the barman? John was fascinated. Something about the behaviour seemed very innocent, very un-Sherlock-like. He was smiling and laughing and there was a back and forth exchange. Sherlock continued to cross that physical barrier whenever he answered. And touch. He kept putting a hand on the barman's arm or hand. Very handsy. John had never seen Sherlock be like that with anyone. He didn't like it. Certainly not with some stranger at a bar, at least. He bristled a little as he watched it, finding the whole thing uncomfortable. He didn't understand why but he didn't like it. When Sherlock returned to John, his face had returned to what seemed like normal, or what John knew as normal. Maybe that bar-Sherlock was the real him though - what he was like away from John? Who would know? He kept anything personal like that to himself.

“Another beer? Sherlock Holmes are you trying to get me drunk?” John teased, trying to get a rise out of him, trying to see if maybe Sherlock would behave the same way for him too.

“No,” Sherlock said with a serious expression. “I just thought you could use another drink. You've been very tense lately, John.”

“Says the man who bit my head off an hour ago,” John mumbled.

“This is the work, John. And the work requires you to blend in. All evidence of late would suggest to me that you won’t be able to relax here, and I can’t risk drawing attention to us. The point is to blend in like we are here as regulars.”

“You want me to be…”? 

“Yes. In very loose theory. And I know that tends to bother you. You have opinions about it. But I want you to bend in.”

“Sherlock…”

“Relax, you won’t have to kiss me or anything like that,” Sherlock said quickly. 

John felt suddenly guilty. There was a bite to his tone, as if he knew John would be against it from the beginning. Sherlock remained awfully secretive about his mission here, about this whole outing in fact, and John felt responsible for being difficult, for not being supportive.

“Although, you will need to take me home with you,” Sherlock said, with a straight face.

John turned his head looking horrified, then realised it was a deliberate joke. 

“Yeah well maybe get some crisps if you’re going to keep plying me with alcohol. I didn’t have dinner.” John watched Sherlock closely. He wasn’t even listening. He was already watching the barman again. “Sherlock?”

“Mmmm?” He answered, but didn’t turn his head.

“What’s really going on?”

“I've been buying more drinks because I'm trying to talk to the barman.”

“Right. A little more information, please?”

“Not now,” Sherlock simply replied.

Sherlock seemed completely unaffected by the drinking and it irritated John. His head was swimming with too many ideas all at once and he felt dizzy. He had never considered himself a light weight. “How are you able to have so much alcohol without feeling the effects?” 

“I’ve got a fast metabolism,” he said with a flourish of his hand, dismissing the question. “John let's dance,” he added.

“Sorry?” John half swallowed his drink down the wrong pipe and started coughing.

Sherlock ignored his reaction entirely. “Dance.”

���I don't dance. When have we ever danced? Why would I dance with you now? You want this to be our first dance?” John was feeling more and more anxious about this whole outing.

“Look at where we are, John. I'm working an angle for the case. Just get up,” he demanded, levelling a firm glare at John.

John meanwhile, tried to stare Sherlock down to no avail. Sherlock wasn’t bending on this point. “Fine.” He rolled his eyes in irritation, and tried to get up, but his legs buckled under him and he stumbled slightly. 

Sherlock somehow made it around the table to catch him before he hit the ground or the nearby wall. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I didn't eat. I had a date and I didn't eat.” John looked into Sherlock’s eyes while he was essentially in Sherlock's arms, and his friend looked very concerned. It was strange to see that expression on Sherlock’s face. The mad detective normally ran ahead, into danger, knowing John would follow, John would fix him later. He rarely stayed behind to look concerned. John was always the worried one.

“Can you walk?” Sherlock checked firmly.

“Yes, yes,” John rushed to reply in embarrassment. “I’m not that gone. I just… the ground just… surprised me.”

Sherlock smirked, helping John stand upright again. “The ground surprised you?”

“Shut up,” John scoffed, removing himself from Sherlock's arms and straightening his coat up..

Without warning, Sherlock grabbed his hand. “Come on, then,” he said with renewed confidence and led John straight to the dance floor.

John’s entire focus suddenly centred on their hands. Sherlock was holding his hand. It was a rare occasion when they grabbed each other - usually to drag the other one of them out of danger. Admittedly this felt a bit like he was being dragged into danger of some kind. So maybe that was all it was about. Sherlock moved them swiftly between the crowd to find a space to dance. The club was busy but not so crowded yet that there wasn’t room to move. John was absolutely terrified if he was being honest. He set himself on a spot but Sherlock swiftly grabbed his shoulders and forced him to turn around. Apparently he needed his own eyes on the barman still. The barman he had flirted with, so effortlessly. John couldn’t tell if the pang in his gut was nausea from the drinking on an empty stomach, anxiety about being on a public dance floor, in a gay club of all places, or if he was feeling… jealous? Sherlock was intent on staying connected to this young bar man. Too young for Sherlock, if John were to be asked. Which he clearly hadn’t been.

“What are you doing Sherlock?” John tried again. “Are you…?” John watched him closely.  “Are you trying to make the barman jealous?”

“Don't distract me while I'm thinking,” was all the reply John got.

“What's going on? Is this really for a case?” John asked, starting to wonder if perhaps this was just Greg setting Sherlock up on a date, and John was some kind of crutch.

“Yes. Lestrade called,” Sherlock finally looked at John again and he seemed completely perturbed by John’s questions. “You know it's for a case. You answered the call.”

“Jesus. Fine. Well, you know, you can just order fizzy drinks at the bar, right? You don't have to jump into alcohol,” John scoffed, now a little annoyed that his head was swimming.

“How is anyone going to take me seriously if I order that?” Sherlock huffed.

“So you are trying to get it on with the barmen, then?” John demanded.

Sherlock suddenly reached out and grabbed John around the waist, pulling him closer. John sucked in a shocked breath as their bodies touched. He had lost the ability to speak, or breathe. His face contorted as he tried to decipher what Sherlock thought he was doing exactly. Sherlock leaned forward, bringing his face down very, very close. John could feel Sherlock’s curls tickling his forehead, he was that close. If Sherlock moved any closer they would be doing more than just dancing on the dance floor, John thought, and the colour drained from his face. Instead of kissing him, though, Sherlock moved just to the side and brought his lips close to John’s ear.

“He's the son, John,” Sherlock said, his voice vibrating into John’s ear canal, and creating goosebumps down John’s neck and in fact all the way down his spine. Jesus, his voice was already incredible. John had always thought that. But spoken at a low level, right close to his ear. Fucking hell. He hadn’t been prepared for that.

He swallowed hard, his body suddenly struggling to process the information.  “Whose son?” He barely managed to find the voice to reply.

“The fourth wife's son.”

“Oh?” John began to turn his shoulders, automatically wanting to observe the barman, to see what he looked like again, to check for similarities with the wife’s picture he had already committed to memory.

“Don't look,” Sherlock hissed, grabbing John’s shoulders to stop him.

“Fourth wife's son?” John repeated, still confused.

“Yes, the fourth wife's son works here, behind the bar. Apparently, he has an active sex life,” Sherlock communicated. "Among other things."

“And so you're… What? Making yourself bait?” John asked, pulling back to register Sherlock’s face, to try and read his expression.

“To a degree,” Sherlock admitted with a nod.

“Sherlock, you're not actually going to—“

“Course not, John. I’m just flirting so that he would talk to me,” Sherlock explained. "To make him think I might..." He started to sway slowly on the dance floor, his hands on John’s hips to direct him to join in, so they looked like they were dancing. Then he returned to his position, lips to ear, filling John in. “I asked him about his family.”

“In this noise? You managed to do that?” John asked, disbelieving.

“I'm very skilled, John,” he said.

John’s brain nearly imploded at the words. He knew Sherlock was a genius, and he was, indeed, very skilled at the case work. The implication here was different, though. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock meant it to be quite as heavy with innuendo but John certainly didn’t miss the opening for it to be, and he swallowed hard at the very idea. All of a sudden he wanted to know. He couldn’t help wondering. Was Sherlock very skilled…? He had never even thought about it before, or about Sherlock that way before. How ridiculous to be thinking about it now, right when they were pressed together on a dance floor in a gay club. He really needed to get his head back into the game. Sherlock was supposedly trying to work. He returned his focus to Sherlock’s words.

“So I asked him if his parents approved of him flirting with an older man at a bar and he said it was just him and his mum, and she didn’t care what he got up to. So I asked: no father in the picture then? Daddy issues? And he said: not anymore. Not anymore, John!” Sherlock repeated excitedly.

“Oh.” John took a moment to process it and then his face lit up. “Oh! Do you think he —?”

“I do.”

John suddenly felt dejected. “I see. So I wasn't right. It wasn't the wife.”

“John, you were close to right. All the signs pointed there and even I missed them. You did a good job,” Sherlock said gently. "But it seems the son may actually be the one responsible."

Hearing the compliments said beside his ear like that felt somehow special, more meaningful. “It's always you isn't it? It's always Sherlock Holmes.” He dropped his forehead down onto Sherlock's chest in dramatic defeat, Sherlock still swaying them from side to side. Supposedly, to an outsider, they would look like a couple having a lovely moment on the dance floor.

Hmmm, no wonder that kitten settled in so easily, John thought to himself. Sherlock was actually really comfortable to lie against. Despite his more bony physique, the thick wool of his coat was soft and he had a surprisingly good body heat for someone so skinny. John let out a hum of appreciation aloud now and Sherlock heard it.

“You've had too much to drink,” Sherlock said gently.

“Hmmm, you smell nice,” John said, without thinking.

“Th-thank you?” Sherlock said tentatively. 

John felt Sherlock’s body stiffen slightly at the compliment, but he was relaxed enough not to care. “Mmmm, it's simply a fact. Simply stating facts.”

“Very well,” Sherlock replied with an awkward laugh.

“You know, you really should find someone, Sherlock. A real someone. You’re actually very…”  John didn’t finish it he just nodded, as if that explained his thoughts perfectly well to his flatmate. John relaxed further onto Sherlock’s coat, the awkward feelings of earlier forgotten as the alcohol worked its magic and broke down some barriers. Sherlock held John against him, and continued to move them smoothly around the dance floor and John finally relaxed a bit more. To John it felt somehow romantic, but to Sherlock it was more a necessity for his unstable flatmate.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. At the flat,” John admitted.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock said, brushing it off.

“Sometimes, I like it when we argue," he admitted. "It can be exciting. Thrilling. We have good banter. But that, tonight, that felt… I didn’t like that.”

“It’s okay, John,” Sherlock said, his voice filled with kindness.

John stopped moving to look up at him. “Please don’t kick me out. I… really love living there with you.”

Sherlock chuckled deep in his chest and John could feel the vibrations through his body. “I will never ask you to leave, John. I… that is, there was actually something I wanted to…”

John’s face changed, as he was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. Sherlock stopped speaking, afraid that John had guessed what he was going to say and was feeling uncomfortable, or down right repulsed by the very idea. 

“I don’t feel good,” John said suddenly. The temperature in the club seemed to be climbing - probably the increase in bodies as the hour got later. John removed his coat. “It’s warm,” he said. Even with the coat off, John felt a bit woozy but taking the coat off hadn’t helped enough. “I might… maybe I need to go to the bathroom.”

“I wouldn’t in here. Not alone,” Sherlock said with a grimace. 

“Oh, right. Well maybe just some fresh air. I just feel…”

“John?” Sherlock asked, but before he could verify what was happening, John began to make a beeline for the front door of the club. As the air hit his face he felt slightly revived.

It didn't take long for Sherlock to follow after him. "John? John? Is everything okay?"

“Sorry. Have you finished? What you had to do…?” John asked.

“Yes, I’ll call Lestrade. I have enough.”

“Can we get a cab?” John asked. He just wanted to get home as fast as possible.

Sherlock looked at John unable to decide if he should speak now when John was pliable or whether to leave it. “Sure,” he simply said.

“Hey! I know you. You’re that detective fellow!” A voice from the street rang out. “And you’re here at the club with your boyfriend? The doctor fellow!”

John leapt forward and got in his face, gripping the scruff of his shirt and pushing back against the wall of the club. “Back off, you stupid twat. I’m not gay, alright?!” 

The security guard started to move but Sherlock, who also moved swiftly, stepped in between and signalled for it to be left to him. He moved over and convinced John to let the man go. "It's alright, John. It's alright," he said with a soothing tone.

Perhaps not tonight, Sherlock thought. I won't tell John tonight. He hailed a cab and after John fell asleep moments into the journey, he grabbed out his phone. “Lestrade, it’s done. I’ll come down in the morning and give you the details. Yes, the bartender. Yes.” 

He hung up the phone and watched John, gently sleeping against the window and sighed to himself. Tonight was not the right night to make a move. But he supposed in some ways, he had made some progress.

—— 

Thanks @notjustamumj for the prompt list. I’m so enjoying writing these for you all!

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart @givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear @starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 @kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes @battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun @little-owls-things @daltongraham @sillygirlsmindpalace @oetkb12 @odditiesandeverything @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe @hospitableasacactus @wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog @dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn @therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter @westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp

[futfemfantasies]

The one \\ alanna kennedy x reader

Nothing but pure Alanna fluff with the mention of an injury (no details)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picking up an ankle injury in your last game was a blessing and a curse. A blessing as the physios, doctors and Jonas allowed you to stay in Manchester for your recovery period with the occasional drop in to the training facility. It also meant you get to spend 5 weeks with your fellow Australian teammate and love of your life, Alanna. As soon as you said the Arsenal team allowed you to stay in Manchester, the blonde was out the door and driving 3 hours to pick you up.

Hobbling around your room to put clothes in a duffle bag took longer than expected. You feel strong arms circle around your waist and soft kisses on peppering your neck. After recovering from you mini heart attack, you turn and hug Alanna tightly. 6 weeks apart is too long. You look up at Alanna's lips and waste no time smashing your lips on her as her hands grip your waist.

"As much as I love doing that my love, let's get you packed so we can go home"

Home.

With your contract is expiring at the end of the season, you've had several teams from various leagues reach out. One club stood out over all the Barcelona's and Gotham FC's. Manchester City. It's a no brainer and since mentioning it to Alanna, she;s been calling Manchester home and London a holiday. A decision has to be made by the end of the month and as you look into Alanna's eyes, you know your decision.

"Go sit your cute butt on the bed while I pack the rest of your bag"

You hobble over to the bed and rest against the headboard as Alanna put pillow under your moon boot. Seeing Alanna dance around your room sparks something in you.

"Lani?"

"Hmm?" Alanna turns to see you pat the small space on the bed next to you. She sits down and you hold her hands.

"I've made up my mind. I'm moving to Manchester baby"

"You're kidding? Baby that's amazing news" Alanna hugs you tightly and kisses all over your face, making you giggle with happiness.

"Let's get you packed so we can go to our home together"

After a few more outfits get packed, Alanna helps you down the stairs and into her car. Zooming down the street, Alanna's hand holds yours and you sigh in content of how perfect this is going to be. Alanna pulls up to the apartment complex carpark and she quickly gets your bags out, before helping you out of the car. She holds your hand through the short elevator ride and then you both arrive at the familiar apartment door.

"Home sweet home baby girl"

3 weeks in to your recovery and you have just finished your stretches and mobility exercises so you decide to watch a romance movie to pass the time until Alanna comes home. Halfway through, Alanna comes home and flops on top of you (mindful of the ankle). She leans up and pucks her lips, silently asking for a kiss. You bend slightly and give her multiple before Alanna cups your cheeks with her big hands and stares at you ever so softly and lovingly.

"You're the one. You're the one I want everything with, good, bad and everything in between"

Your eyes are brimming with tears as you take in what Alanna had just said.

"You're it for me Lani. You're stuck with me for good"

"There's no one else I'd rather be stuck with my girl"

[livelybutterflyy]

introducing my kpop drself

EARLY LIFE :

Moon Seulbi was born October 8th 2004 to a lawyer mother & businessman father in Seoul , South korea. She is the youngest of three siblings , Moon Jinyoung & Moon Jisung are her older siblings , Jinyoung (Da’ah) is an actress while Jisung is a fellow idol.

During her childhood / teenhood , she traveled and lived in many places, for example , the first 5 years of her life were spent in Tokyo, Japan , where she began dancing . Then she spent two years in Paris , where she first witnessed Fencing, and she begged her mom to learn. 

here are a list of some of the places she lived in as a child:

Seoul , South korea (obv)

Tokyo, Japan

Paris, france

London, England

New York city, United states

SCOUTING STORY :

Her father was a prominent businessman and was friends with JYP , Jyp offered to train his daughter ( Seulbi ) to be an idol, and without her consent, He agreed, on one condition, he would have a manager street cast her first, to take the blame off him.

Seulbi was seven years old when she was walking with her mother to the park when a JYP manager came up to her and asked if she’d like to be an idol. Seulbi, who was extremely emotional and afraid of everything, immediately burst into tears. Her mother agreed on her behalf.

DEARLIE :

DEARLIE was a 4 member kids girl group under JYP entertainment, the group consisted of Minseo, Sieun , Jaylie & Sooyoung. They debuted august 16 2013 with the song “Gee”. The group disbanded in January of 2016 after their contracts were terminated. 

Dearlie was a highly successful group , even with the controversy of a 8 year old debuting, it was marketed as a “kids girl group” for that exact reason. It remained unknown until 2023 why their contracts were mysteriously terminated.

POST-DEARLIE :

Sooyoung was only 11 years old when DEARLIE disbanded, eager to stay in the kpop industry where she felt appreciated, Sooyoung partook in Sixteen, Idol school & Produce 101 , all in the time of 9 months. After failing to debut in the three groups, Sooyoung quit being a trainee but was hired as a producer, stylist, choreographer  and concept designer for JYP , she worked on groups like SKZ, MISS A, TWICE & ITZY. She was the "mind" behind Skz, as she created their concept & discography nearly by herself

During this time, she didn’t even live in Korea ! Sooyoung attended the most prestigious boarding school in the world , Lucent arts academy in England where she majored in dance and minored in mythology until her departure in 2019.

LYONU :

Sooyoung had been longing for her return to the Kpop industry for a while, so when TNS reached out and asked if she’d like to audition for them, Sooyoung said yes. By July of 2019, Sooyoung was a trainee at TNS, by September of 2019, she was in the debut line up.  !! She had quit JYP by then !!

The nowhere girls club (TNGC) debuted June 5 2020 with the song Generation , it was a massive hit both domestically and internationally, with Sooyoung serving as the songs producer & songwriter.

By their second comeback with the full album “Stay out of my secrets” and the double title tracks Girls never die and Girls capitalism, TNGC had secured their place as a force to be reckoned with, not just in the kpop industry, but with the global music industry itself, with being nominated for 6 grammys and going home with 5.

SOLO VENTURES :

Moon Sooyoung is a brand. She is the most popular female idol ever. She has over 200 million followers on her solo instagram account , and she's only had it three years.

Some of her global  brand deals include : vivienne westwood, YSL, burberry , alexander mcqueen & graff diamonds. These are my 5 favs out of her 17 accumulated over the years. She is known as : global it girl, 4th gen fashion icon, dancing prodigy & ace of kpop (there are many more.)

Sooyoung constantly sets trends , including ; Lucky Jelly , off shoulder tops, reverse mirror selfies, heart cheek pose, , Sooyoungism, decorated shoes , custom decorated mics & more !!

For the two year and the four year anniversary of TNGC, each member released a mixtape for the fans, Sooyoung released BE PRETTY as her first solo and released INSANITY! As her second. Despite having small promotions, be pretty went extremely viral and got 1 billion streams in only 89 days and received over 13 music show wins in a 2 week timespan. Insanity! Also went extremely viral, reaching 1 billion streams in only 76 days ! it also received 15 music show wins in the two week promotion period

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hey, could you maybe write something with Tommy where the girl he likes is a bit of a party girl? How would be react to her wild behaviour? 🥂

Hey Anon,

I LOVE this idea! Thank you for sending it in! Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: heavy drinking, fluff, murder, all the good stuff

He sat there watching her dance recounting all the times he’d been black-out drunk. None of them resulted in him dancing like a whore in public. Or laughing so loud it carried over the music. 

He didn't understand how the same woman that had single-handedly got him out of a bind with not only another crime family but also the police, was the same woman here dancing on a table. 

Just hours previous to the celebration she had shot a man and now she was here dancing like she always did. 

The club was dark but the pink dress she wore would glow even with the lights out. Her hair was messed up and somehow looked even better that way. 

When she got like this he wondered somewhere in the back of his mind if she was worth pursuing. Parties were her thing. He’d met her as an event coordinator and while she complained about how boring his events were they had got along very well. 

Too well. 

She was always bombarded with men offering her drinks, expensive trips, and houses in tropical lands, and yet she always came back to him. She wanted to be by his side even in the cold British rain. 

She danced until the song stopped then let out a loud squeal when Esme poured more champagne into her mouth. 

“WE WONNNNN” She called out with her bejeweled fist in the air. Everyone erupted into loud cheers around her. 

Getting into clubs to celebrate wasn't an issue for a Shelby, but she had an even easier time. She once got dared to leap off a loft railing onto a chandelier. Not only was it official lore woven into the fabric of London, the owner just shook his head and laughed when she did it. 

She was a friend, valuable business partner, excellent lover, but could she be a wife? His stomach twisted at the thought of being with someone else, that was a feeling he hadn’t felt since Greta. A frown fell on his face. 

Would that be something she wanted? He looked for her again dancing and singing her heart out. Would she feel trapped? 

The night wrapped up and she crawled across the backseat of the cab. She slumped against him and smiled up at him brightly. 

“I saved you today.” She slurred happily.

“Yes, you did.” He answered with the slightest bit of a smile on his lips. 

“You owe me.” She said bringing a well-manicured finger up to push his nose.

“Is that so” He grabbed her jaw gently keeping her face tilted up towards him. Her eyes flared and he didn't know what he would do without her. Even if she wasn't incredible at her job, and networking, even if she was just a party girl, he wouldn't want to be with anyone else. “How can I make it up to you?” 

“Stay with me?” There was a deep sadness in her eyes that took Tommy by surprise. 

“That’s the plan.” He whispered.

“Stay with me forever?” She clarified and he smiled. 

“Forever.” He kissed the top of her head and handed her the box that had been on fire since he started carrying it weeks ago. He felt like he shouldn't give it to her when she was drunk. It should be some grand gesture, a proper event with people around. That’s what she would want, but he felt like it was the moment. 

Her eyes went wide. 

“SHUT UP” She took the box and gave him one last look before opening it. 

“Would you -” 

“YES -” She let out another squeal waving her hands animatedly. After lots of hugging and screaming she rolled down the window to shout at the people on the street.

“I”M GETTING MARRIED!!!!!!” She pointed to her finger and laughed as random people waved and cheered for her. 

Tommy just leaned back into his seat and enjoyed the pure joy that radiated off of his soon-to-be wife. After shouting at a few more people when stopped at red lights she rolled the window up and climbed onto his lap. 

She pressed her lips onto his and they enjoyed the rest of the ride back to their London apartment.

[mistydeyes]

Thinking about the scenario where secret agent reader (so like CIA or MI6 and things like that) meets Gaz at a bar and scores. Drinks and talking and dancing, until Gaz suggests you go back to his place. Once there, before things get steamy, you excuse yourself to the bathroom to freshen up and get ready, but it's actually to stash away your hidden weapons you carry with yourself all the time. Only, when you figure out a good spot, you already find weapons there already.

And it clicks. How he gets dodgy when work comes up, how his dance moves vaguely resemble basic fighting regiments, etc... Seems theres more to the man than just his charm.

THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA! thank you so much for submitting, I had so much fun thinking abt this funny scenario. also fr peep the side eye because that's how he'd be looking at you during the reveal HAHA

the intertwining of secret lives

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summary: When you meet a handsome 20-something in the club, you look through your rose colored glasses and ignore his eccentricities. However, when it comes time to hide a few of your necessities, you are absolutely blindsided.

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of weapons/violence

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Two men by the door, performing a sweep across the dance floor in opposing schedules. They're standing in front of the primary exit with another guard standing at the emergency exit. The solo guard appears 5'10-5'11, weighing around 200lbs and the bruised knuckles means he's accustomed to rowdy customers and bar fights. Based on his wide stance, I could probably sweep at his leg befor- "Hey, want to take this back to mine?" Kyle's voice whispered in your ear, interrupting your covert surveillance. You blinked a few times as you took in his offering. It was difficult for you to shut off your years of CIA training and actually relax for once. Even now, you were slightly suspicious of this unemployed and handsome 20-something who was holding you by the waist at the bar. Yet since he locked eyes with you in the crowded room, it was clear the tension was palpable. Before he could ask again, you put a hand on his.

"Is it close or do you plan on carrying me, Kyle?" you winked, and even under the dim lights, you could see his cheeks slightly heat up. As he tried to stifle down the remainder of his drink, you decided to interrogate him a bit more before he took you to his. "Your silence is telling me, you haven't been to the gym in a while," you teased as you eyed his fit figure, "you look like you're more of a cardio man anyways." He shook his head at your not-so-subtle observations, having an endearing chuckle at the comment. "Well you did say my dancing looked like some silly American MMA thing," you giggled as he said that. It was just a sarcastic comment you made as you saw him methodically make his way across the dance floor, dodging the various drinks and drunken moves of the other patrons. "Anyways," he continued, downing his drink, "you might have just revealed my love for some combat training." With that, he gave you a wink and you melted in your seat. You found yourself endeared by his subtle jokes and shining smile. It made you push aside all the stress of work and effortlessly lie through your teeth about your hidden life.

After you closed your tab, Kyle held the door for you and ushered you politely out of the loud club. He walked beside you, hand in pockets and a relaxed smile on his face, as he navigated through the streets. You made small talk about some of the wild moments from the club and the fact you had both spent a fortune on drinks and shots. "Glad I saved up for this vacation," you lied, continuing with your story of an American tourist in London, "the 9-5 was all worth it for some strong drinks and a pretty face." In the cold night air, you could see his face become illuminated with the street light and the way his cheeks curved up in a hearty laugh. "You Americans and your toxic work culture," he chided as he bumped you with his elbow, "hopefully I can show you how to take it slow tonight." You blushed profusely at the comment and bit your lip as Kyle took a turn to a row of flats. 

"This one's mine," he whispered and fumbled to find his keys. You stood there idly as you looked down at the street. It seemed quiet, nothing, particularly of notice. In fact, if you were looking for a safe house this would be ideal as it was perfectly tucked in between mundane families. "Home sweet home," he presented and you walked into the furnished flat. You peeked around and noticed the lack of personality within the home besides some paintings and postcards. A thin layer of dust lay amongst everything and the house smelled distinctly of a wall plug-in, probably bought this morning. He noticed your gaze and shrugged slightly. "I haven't had time to make this place nice," he sheepishly confessed, "been helping out with my family for the last few weeks." You nodded before you walked closer to him. "So what do you want to do now that I'm here?" you flirted before you closed the gap with a soft placement of your lips on his.

You felt a mix of happiness and uncertainty in your stomach. To the special agent inside you, it was the sign things were going a bit too well. But to the normal person, it was the presence of butterflies in your stomach. He tasted of a mix of alcohols and smelled vaguely of wood and santal. He wrapped his strong arms around you as you shuffled backward to the bedroom. You could feel him lower you softly onto the bed before you pulled him a bit closer with your arms around his neck. As he pulled up to look at you in this vulnerable state, you realized you were being poked by an object. Your mind went to a certain place for a moment until you realized it was actually the knife strapped to your thigh that was poking you. Your face dropped when you realized where things were going. You hastily pushed Kyle off of you before running off unceremoniously to the bathroom. "Sorry just have to pee! Those drinks are running through me," you joked through the door as you navigated to the master bathroom across the room.

"Take your time," you could hear him echo through the door as you put down the toilet seat. You looked around the small bathroom and tried to figure out where to hide the knife. More like knives, you thought when you realized you had another two strapped to your boot. "Oh fuck me," you whispered as you tried to look around. Within the bathroom, there was a small medicine cabinet with a mirror and a few drawers underneath the sink. You flushed the toilet hurriedly and ran the sink as you opened up the bottom drawer ever so carefully. When you opened it, you were not expecting to see another collection of tactical knives and a gun facing back at you. You tried to stifle your surprise as you gently picked up the firearm. You turned it to see it was inscribed with PROPERTY OF THE ROYAL ARMY etched into the side. You placed it down gently as underneath it lay an official-looking ID. You read the details quickly as you focused on the serious face of one Sergeant Kyle Garrick. You looked at the picture resembling the man in the next room, verifying all of the signature markings of an official government ID. "You alright in there?" you could hear his question as you quickly shut the drawer. You hastily turned off the tap before returning to the bedroom.

Kyle was lying casually on the bed and you could tell he had generously sprayed some vanilla room spray to cover up the mustiness of the unattended flat. Explains the dust and lack of furnishings, you thought as you stood leaning against the doorway. "Find anything interesting?" he flatly asked and you couldn't help but be caught off guard for the first time this evening. "What do you mean?" you bluffed but he stopped you with a flick of his hand. "The sink was running for a bit too long," he joked, "plus I know what those drawers sound like when they slam." You let out a dry laugh before sitting back next to him. "Well, I guess I should say I did find something," you said as you looked at his eyes, mixed with uncertainty, "you really should keep your weapons in a better location." As he tried to come up with a myriad of excuses, you put a hand on your chest. "As long as you don't mind if I put mine away, I won't question it, Sergeant," with that, Kyle tried to hide his surprise as you unsheathed your weapons from your person. "Do I want to know?" he joked hesitantly before you made your way on top of him. "You can ask in the morning, Garrick."

The next morning, you raced over to your hotel and barely made it to your 9 am meeting in the office suite. "Wonder who Laswell has me working with now," you mumbled as you nodded to the agents guarding the secured room. You should have seen the look on your face when you locked eyes with Kyle, who sat equally as shocked and secretly sporting a hickey underneath his uniform collar.

[fafnir19]

Sporting Incentive

I stood outside the charming London apartment, feeling an electric thrill in my bones. Six months in this enchanting city awaited me, and I was ready to embrace every adventure it had in store.

I simply swapped apartments with another student who was also studying abroad. The other student’s name was William, and his apartment was centrally located—a perfect find for me.

As I stepped inside, the interior was as impressive as the exterior. Clean and stylish, with a touch of sophistication that made me feel right at home. A letter from William sat on the dining table, welcoming me to his apartment and assuring me that a cleaning lady would come weekly. I grinned as I read the part about making use of William's sports equipment and clothing. The apartment was a treasure trove of athletic gear. It seemed William was quite the athlete, unlike myself. From the bike leaning against the wall to rows of equipment for various sports, I couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration and a pang of guilt for not being as sporty.

The day London's public transportation went on strike, I found myself in a on a dilemma. I needed to get to the university, and without hesitation, I decided to ride William's white racing bike.

It was a new experience, and at first, I struggled to find my balance. Alas, as I pedaled through the streets of London, a newfound exhilaration filled me. I was hooked. "Whoa!" I mumbled to myself, my heart racing and laughter bubbling up as I zipped through the streets, reveling in the freedom and speed of the bike. From that day on, I ditched public transportation for my trusty two-wheeled companion.

"Hey, Aiden, why don't you join us for a game of hockey?" The invitation came from a couple of guys at the university. I was hesitant at first, not being much of a hockey player, but eventually, I gave in to their pleas. Before I knew it, I was suiting up in William's hockey gear and taking to the nearby park.

The game turned out to be a surprising success. I found joy in the friendly competition, and soon enough, hockey became a regular hobby for me. "Aiden, have you ever tried rowing? Our club could use someone like you," a fellow hockey player asked one day, sparking my interest in a sport I hadn't considered before. I thought that since I was in London, I might as well try rowing—after all, it's typically English.

I took William's rowing suit and ventured to the rowing club.

The sense of unity and purpose I found there had me hooked from the very first stroke. Before long, I was waking up at the crack of dawn to row every morning before heading to the university, relishing the tranquility of the river and the rhythm of the oars. As days went on, I noticed a change in my physique due to all the sports. My own clothes no longer fit properly, so I began wearing William's refinde attire. It felt a bit odd at first, but soon, I grew to love the posh style. "Well, well, look who's turning into quite the athlete,"

a friend remarked, and I couldn't help but smile at the transformation I had undergone.

With a deep breath, I stepped into the familiar pub, the scent of ale and chatter filled the air.

William was waiting for me, a grin spreading across his face. "Aiden! I'm back earlier than expected. How's the apartment been treating you?" "It's been fantastic, William. I can't thank you enough for letting me stay here." "I'm glad you enjoyed it. By the way, you don't have to sleep on the sofa. It's not really my apartment, and I actually haven't been abroad," William confessed with a chuckle. "Wait, what do you mean it's not your apartment? What's going on?" I asked, feeling a knot of confusion forming in my stomach. "It's all part of an experiment for my master's thesis. The apartment is designed to influence your subconscious and turn you into an athlete. And I must say, it's been quite a success!" William's eyes danced with excitement. "You did what?" My voice rose in incredulity, but I found myself unable to muster anger toward William. There was an odd sense of acceptance and understanding that came over me. Before I could protest further, William dropped another bombshell. "And it seems my experiment turned out more successful than anticipated. I also tried to make you my best friend, and it looks like it worked!" I blinked, trying to process everything, but then something remarkable happened. A warmth settled in my chest, and I couldn't help but mirror William's grin.

"A world trip, you say? I've always wanted to travel with you, William." "I thought you'd say that! I've already booked the tickets. It's the perfect way to celebrate the success of my thesis," William said, excitement lacing his words. The thought of traveling the world with William filled me with an indescribable joy, and for the first time in a long while, I felt genuinely excited about something. As the days passed and the world trip drew closer, I found myself caught in a whirlwind of preparations and excitement. The sparkle in William's eyes was infectious, and I couldn't deny the thrill of experiencing the world with him. The first light of dawn illuminated the airport, casting a golden glow over the eager faces of the travelers. An array of emotions churned within me—anticipation, excitement, and a flicker of apprehension.

"Here's to new adventures, Aiden," William said, clinking his glass against mine as we waited for our flight. "To new adventures," I echoed, a genuine smile curving my lips. The world awaited us, brimming with possibilities, and for the first time, I was eager to embrace it all. As the plane soared into the boundless sky, I couldn't help but feel a semblance of freedom that I had never experienced before. Leaning back in my seat, I closed my eyes and let the hum of the aircraft lull me into a state of contemplation. What awaited me beyond the horizon?

"Hello, Josh. Yes, it's been quite an interesting experiment, and I believe it's time to put the cherry on top," William’s professor spoke into his phone, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "Thank you for the generous financial support. Aiden has proven to be the ideal candidate for your law firm. He will change his subjects to law after returning from his world trip. I’ve influenced his subconscious so that he will become a dedicated and loyal employee." William’s professor said, his voice dripping with confidence.

"Oh, and I've taken up the suggestion of the HR department. Aiden will be pleased to contribute to the diversity charter as well. It seems he'll be a nice little addition to London’s gay community soon," William’s professor said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

[slutty-transformation-stories]

Night Life

In the bustling heart of London, a quaint little café tucked away on a side street was the regular haunt of five friends. Their laughter echoed against the walls, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the occasional clink of porcelain. Among them was Rachel, a young woman with a shy smile and a penchant for vintage dresses that often made her feel like an out-of-place blossom in a concrete jungle. Her friends knew her as the reliable one, the anchor that kept their group from floating too far into the wild currents of the city's nightlife.

Tonight, however, was different. Rachel's eyes danced with excitement as she twirled a lock of her auburn hair around her finger. The chatter grew louder as they all gathered around a table, their faces flushed with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. It was Rachel's turn to be the center of attention, as they were all there for her hen party, a night she had promised to be wild and unforgettable.

The café grew dimmer as the sun dipped below the horizon, signaling the transformation from day to night. The five friends finished their drinks, trading knowing glances, and decided it was time to head to the club they had heard so much about. It was called "The Crimson Kiss," a place known for its vibrant energy and the promise of letting go of inhibitions. As they stepped out onto the cobblestone street, the café's warm embrace was replaced by the cool evening air, carrying with it the distant throb of bass and the scent of potential adventure.

The club was a maelstrom of flashing lights and pulsating rhythms, a stark contrast to the quiet life Rachel and her friends usually led. The line to get in was long, but their excitement only grew with each beat of the music that seeped out into the night. When they finally made it through the velvet ropes, they were greeted by a sea of bodies, all moving as one to the rhythm that seemed to pulse through the very walls of the building. Rachel felt a thrill of something she couldn't quite name as she looked around, her heart racing faster than the tempo of the songs that filled the air.

The first sip of their drinks brought a taste of sweet rebellion to their lips, and Rachel watched as her friends' eyes lit up with excitement. They had all agreed to step out of their comfort zones tonight, to shed their usual personas and become someone new, even if just for a few hours. The music grew louder, the lights more intense, and Rachel felt the first stirrings of the change that was about to sweep over them. Little did they know that "The Crimson Kiss" had a secret, a seductive power that could redefine the very essence of who they were.

As the night progressed, Rachel found herself drawn to the bar, her body moving almost of its own accord. The bartender, a tall, dark-haired man with a smirk that promised trouble, took her order, his eyes lingering on her in a way that made her feel both thrilled and a little scared. He handed her a drink, and as she took a sip, Rachel felt something strange happen. The lights grew brighter, the music louder, and suddenly, she was behind the bar, dressed in a skimpy outfit that left little to the imagination. The customers around her were not the usual mix of tourists and locals; they were a sea of hungry eyes and lustful smiles. Rachel's heart raced, but she felt an odd sense of belonging, a feeling that this was where she was meant to be.

Her friends Laura and Emma had returned from the bathroom, their cheeks flushed and their eyes sparkling with mischief. Rachel noticed that they too had transformed, their conservative attire replaced with tight bikinis that hugged their bodies in a way that screamed for attention. They grabbed her hands and led her to the dance floor, where they began to pole dance with an ease that belied their innocent facades. Rachel stared, transfixed, as their bodies moved in sensual waves around the gleaming metal. The crowd gathered around them, and Rachel felt a thrill of exhilaration as she realized that her friends had also been swept up in the club's seductive embrace.

Their other two friends, Jenny and Sam, had gone missing. Rachel's heart fluttered with worry, but the concern was quickly forgotten as Laura whispered in her ear about the club's infamous backroom. Rachel felt a tingle of curiosity and a thrill of danger, and before she knew it, she was being led down a dimly lit hallway, the thump of the bass growing more intense with each step. The door to the bathroom swung open, and Rachel gasped as she saw Jenny, kneeling in front of a wall with a series of glory holes, her mouth full and her eyes glazed over with pleasure. Sam was nowhere to be seen, but Rachel's thoughts of her were cut short as Laura grabbed her and pulled her into a private booth, where two men waited, their eyes full of hunger and anticipation. Rachel felt a shiver run down her spine as the reality of their situation set in, but she also felt something else, something dark and delicious. It was as if the club had unlocked a part of her she never knew existed.

The men were tall, muscular, and dressed in black leather, and Rachel could feel their eyes devouring her as she stumbled into the booth. Laura gave her a wink, her own eyes sparkling with excitement, and Rachel knew that she was about to experience something she had only ever read about in her secret fantasies. The men didn't waste any time, one of them grabbing her roughly by the hips and pushing her onto the sticky vinyl couch. Rachel felt a rush of heat as she was filled, her body stretching to accommodate the stranger's thick cock. Laura was already straddling the other man, her bikini top abandoned on the floor, her breasts bouncing as she rode him with wild abandon. Rachel watched, her mouth watering as she felt the second man's hands on her, guiding her into a spit-roasting position she had only ever seen in the most explicit of porn videos.

The sensation of being filled from both ends was overwhelming, and Rachel's moans grew louder with each thrust. Laura's cries of pleasure spurred her on, and Rachel found herself moving in sync with her friend, their bodies a tangle of limbs and sweat. Rachel's mind was a whirlwind of sensation, each stroke of the men's cocks sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. She had never felt so alive, so free, so utterly consumed by desire. The walls of the booth seemed to close in around them, the music outside becoming nothing more than a distant echo as Rachel lost herself in the rhythm of their bodies.

When Rachel finally emerged from the booth, panting and glowing with satisfaction, she found that the club had changed again. The once-familiar faces of her friends were now a blur of smiling, eager strangers, all dressed in the same slutty attire, all eager to serve the needs of the club's patrons. Rachel looked down at herself, her new body on display for all to see, and felt a strange sense of pride. This was who she was now, a creature of the night, a living embodiment of the club's decadent spirit. She took a deep breath and stepped out onto the dance floor, ready to embrace her new life, her heart racing with excitement for what the rest of the night would bring. The Crimson Kiss had claimed her, and Rachel had never felt more alive.

[beeboos-creativecorner]

Just ... Jump - a Jacob Frye x reader one shot

Hello day 4 ! I wrote this in a single night back in June of 2021. Don't know what else to say. As a follow up, I wrote another one shot the night after dedicated to Evie, which will be posted during this event also. You know, all this was back when I could do crazy things like write a piece in a night instead of agonise over a piece for weeks lmao. It's not clever or elegantly written as other things I've done, but it's all right and it was enough to make it into the line-up :)

Fic under the cut x

London was somewhat serene at this time of night, less bustle about, but enough to know the city was buzzing with life. Microscopic oil lamps burned on the sides of the streets and other, fellow specs stumbled upon cobblestone, too intoxicated to find their way home. As cute as everything was, being miniature sized and all, it was an oddly terrifying experience. Your companion detected your prolonged silence and asked,

“Well?”

“When you said ‘fun’, I was expecting us to go to a fight club, or drink ourselves senseless, or even have sex on the train, but this? I’m beginning to think I don’t know you anymore,” you replied, too paralysed to even look in his direction. Your eyes were fixed on the wooden container many metres below you, overflowing with the brown, dying leaves of autumn.

“Come now, we can do all those things later,” he said, that witty tone dancing off his tongue in lighthearted spirits. You simply wished you shared his optimism. “Besides, Evie thinks you're ready - I think you're ready - to make the jump.” He was set on this notion of convincing you to take the opportunity, and unfortunately no amount of distracting could change that.

“Isn't the Leap of Faith a ceremonial thing first time ‘round? Can’t we just wait for Evie to be available, possibly Henry as well? I don’t think doing this in the dark is smart either, maybe we can come back tomorrow?” This was all to justify your cowardice. To be frank, the situation you were put in became a little too much to handle, and now you wanted down. You’d had enough of dwelling in your own existential thoughts for one night.

“You read too much and practice too little, love. Evie’s busy with her own work and when she gets back you can show her how good of a teacher I am.” He winked, jabbing your flank with an elbow. You flinched in panic, eyes still trained on the distant stack, heartbeat thumping, pulse accelerating. How could Evie, Jacob, and - dare you say - Henry do it so fearlessly? “Go on, why’re you dawdling?”

“Oh, you know, it’s just the whole ‘I-could-jump-off-wrong-and-break-every-bone-in-my-body’ thing.” Your expression was deadpan, concealing all you could about your current state.

“All you have to do is what I showed you, the rest will work out itself,” Jacob advised, clutching your hand in his gauntlet-clad one. You wanted that action to be the calm seas after a storm, you wanted that to alleviate your drumming heart and the swirling of your stomach. Alas, it did not. Infuriating you more, it gave you an edge, a side you hadn't really seen of yourself in Jacob’s company.

“Wise words, Jacob Frye. Keep it up and you’ll be Mentor in no time. Getting your students to jump off Big Ben first try.” The final part you muttered to yourself, hoping Jacob was getting the hint that you weren’t keen on leaping one bit. The sarcasm became your shield to hide behind.

“I know you can do it,” he reassured, squeezing your hand tighter in affirmation to his point. His speech flooded your tensed brain, his accent making the word ‘do’ sound more like the morning dew you’d find littered across the grass on a cold day. Normally that would send a wave of shivers to engulf your skin. You supposed this night in particular was an exception. “If it makes you feel better, I can go first. Prove how easy it is.” You nodded, swallowing a large lump that had made its home in the comfort of your throat.

Jacob, on the other hand, was clambering up to the uppermost spire of the elegant landmark, crouching there for a good while, surveying his surroundings. His breathing was audible, heavy, yet steady. The top hat he was wearing moments earlier had disappeared into the folds of his coat, hood drawn on his crown. Standing to his full height, the emotion in his eyes were unreadable, as if he had filtered out all his fears and bottled them to store them on a shelf. With a final, deep inhalation, Jacob sprung off the golden spire.

You observed in pure awe, as his back arched then straightened in flawless form as he descended at a rapid rate. Then, with impeccable timing, his body curled a good few seconds before hearing the satisfying whumph of his impact with the foliage. Scrambling out of the box a second subsequent, Jacob frantically waved at you from down below.

“See? Easy as pie. You should try it!” he called up to you, undaunted by the fact he could end up waking half of the borough in the process.

“I don't know about this, Jacob. Couldn’t we have begun with something... closer to the ground?”

“How else are you going to learn? Come on, if I can do it, you can.” You allowed that to settle with you, soaking it in before collecting yourself. With cold hands gripping freezing metal, you scurried up to where you saw Jacob pounce from. And you sat there endlessly, fully deterred by how unbalanced you were, along with bile rising from the pit of your stomach. Your legs wobbled as you made the attempt to stand, the fear pulling you down to reality and back to the safety of sitting. As much as you wanted desperately to do this, - for Jacob, for yourself - the sensation overwhelmed you and you couldn't. This everlasting ice and unbreakable chains prevented any hope from peeking through.

“I can’t- I can’t, Jacob! I’ll die if I do!” you confessed to him, voice varying in inflections as you wrestled to remain loud enough to hear. “I just don’t- I just don’t want to let you or Evie down. I’m sorry.”

“No! Don’t you be sorry. I’m coming back up, stay right where you are,” he claimed, valiance encasing his soul with verbal communication. He gave you the air of a hero from a melodrama theatre piece you went to see the other week. What burned that fire in your chest was establishing that you were the distressed damsel in need of saving. Atypical to the generally stoic and stubborn you, who never asked for anyone’s assistance. Unconsciously, your breathing turned erratic, tears forming in the corners of your eyes, defying your mental order telling you not to weep like a helpless baby.

“Don’t cry, love,” a familiar sound filled your ears and you couldn't resist the smile tugging your cheeks, feeling his arms wrap you up, his chin leaning on your shoulder. His radiating warmth healing you, reminding you that you weren’t alone, donating that sense of security to you that you never knew someone could give. You hadn’t noticed how time went by as you spaced out, as Jacob had reached you faster than anticipated. That, or blame the zipline strapped to his bracer. “You did great for what you managed to do tonight. I’m sorry for pressuring you like that. I promise we’ll start somewhere smaller, and in the daylight, and Evie will be there too. But that’s all for another day. Now, how about we get ourselves a drink?” That was the best suggestion Jacob had fabricated that evening.

“Oh god, I could really use one.”

[readthephible]

Take A Chance On Me (Revised) — Chapter 1 💋🥂

exclusive tumblr preview!! this fic has been on and off consuming my life for like 6 years now? so it means a lot to me. i would love any feedback anyone is willing to give. also, i plan on starting to post this on ao3 once i have a good chunk of the chapters written so i can be ahead, as well as work out some plot things. enjoy! story and tags under the cut!

Chapter One: A Favor

Chapter Notes: THE POSTING OF THE REVISION HAS BEGUN. enjoy, and remember i use he/they for PJ, and in this chapter, they/them for dan <3

-

Rain poured onto the concrete in a merciless downpour, hitting the glass windows of the coffee shop Phil was currently seated at.

Wet shoes squeaked against the tiles of the room, which Phil could only assume were PJ’s. He didn’t even need to look up to confirm—the person was sliding into the booth across from Phil, pulling his bag off of his shoulders and setting it down beside them.

"There you are,” Phil said.

PJ's voice was wheezy as he blurted out, "Sorry."

His eyes drifted from the trails of rain falling down his friend’s forehead, and instead to the watch on his wrist, tugging his sleeve back to look at it closer.

“It’s fine,” he said, “It’s not like I had to ask Marianne to fill in for a meeting or anything.”

“Shit,” PJ sighed, shaking his head at himself.

“You’re good. I wasn’t looking forward to going anyway, at least now I have a reasonable excuse,” Phil said passively, watching PJ suddenly lighten, bursting into a smile.

"Good, good, now I know I was late, so let's just get to the main thing I want to chat about," PJ said, "I need your help on a job decision."

"Let's hear it," Phil said, and tugged his sleeve back up, watching the waitress come by. They each ordered themselves a coffee and began to talk.

"So, I have been looking into a management position," PJ started to explain, "It will be at a new...hold on."

PJ magically pulled out a map of London from his bag, making Phil crease his eyebrows and tilt his head.

"There are two bars that are being merged together," he pointed out, "This one…”

“You’re wanting a new management position…at a bar.”

“I’m not done yet!” PJ cried defensively, eyes practically begging Phil to continue paying attention.

Trying to make sense of the map, Phil watched as PJ's fingers moved across the smooth paper. The streets twisted and turned mindlessly around, buildings aligning them in all different shapes and sizes.

"And this one. And a new club is going to be right...here," they made a circle with a pen.

"Right next to the station?" Phil asked, "Really?"

"Yeah," PJ replied, "It's a big building, and I guess something happened to whatever was there before. They say it will be much easier to visit, blah blah blah...I honestly think it might just be for tourist attraction."

Phil studied the map, "And the two older ones?"

"Probably being sold to be made into more new apartments no one can afford," PJ sighed, "Anyway, not the point."

A loud whip-like sound made Phil jump as he saw PJ place down another large piece of paper, which appeared to be blueprints.

"So these are the plans for the new club," PJ continued as they spread out the page, “It will be called...The Cat and Bear."

A waitress' red lips were pursed as she placed two mugs of coffee down onto the paper, PJ yelping and picking up coasters to put underneath them. She apologized awkwardly and walked away, but Phil thanked her, picking up his mug and sitting back against the booth.

"The Cat and Bear," Phil repeated, sipping his coffee, “That’ll stand out from every other ancient pub in London.”

"This is the entrance, right?" PJ asked to check if Phil was listening. Their fingers danced across the paper as they emphasized every detail. He uncapped a marker, labeling each part of the building with symbols and letters as they spoke, "Bathrooms are here, in the front, and there's some in the back...and then there's..."

"What is the actual job part, PJ?" Phil asked with a chuckle.

The sweet taste of coffee burned Phil's tongue as PJ looked up with his creativity shining through his captivating eyes, a look not unfamiliar to Phil in the slightest. He kept explaining a whole lot more, then asked, "Are you following?"

"Yeah, yeah," Phil said as he placed his mug down, "But what is the position you are looking for? And that huge empty area you haven't marked yet?"

PJ grew a smile from ear to ear.

"Stage production."

"Stage production," Phil repeated, his tone unsure. "There's going to be a job for stage production. At a bar."

"Not just a bar, a club...well, a burlesque—kind of—club," PJ corrected himself as more papers went flying across the table again, "Hear me out. They need someone to manage the production—backdrops, stage materials, lighting, music, and I'll kind of be like an agent to the performers."

"And who is it that will be performing?" Phil asked.

"Drag queens!" PJ yelled excitedly.

PJ and Phil looked around the diner to see a bunch of people staring at them.

"Drag queens," Phil said, sounding unamused.

"I'd get to manage all of the theater tech geek stuff," PJ explained, "And the queens. So, what do you think?"

Phil deeply sighed and widened his eyes, picking up his mug and taking a long sip.

"Your professional opinion," PJ requested.

Phil cleared his throat and said, "My professional opinion is no."

PJ took the first sip of their coffee, cringing at how the liquid had gotten cold from ignoring it.

"No?"

"No," Phil repeated, then shook his head, “Since it’s new, you can’t do any research on things like their profit history, turnover rates, company policies…the closest would be some Linkedin stalking of any execs or investors you know for sure are involved in this new business. You said they're merging, so there's probably going to be rivalry, and...no offense, but they're drag queens, so…”

Phil clenched his teeth and cringed, finding it hard to be brutally honest to his friend.

"I know it may be risky, but..." PJ reasoned, "I need to be creative, Phil! Feel like I’m in charge of something like you are! This nine to five office job isn't good enough anymore."

Phil rubbed his jaw as he spoke, "I wouldn't recommend it, Peej. How much money will you be making?"

"Not much, from the beginning..." PJ admitted, "But it'll get better, don't you think, Phil?"

"I dunno," he muttered.

PJ pouted, looking off as they said, "I really want to do more creative stuff. Something new and fun. Particularly audio and video...but managing actual performers will be cool too, like in the movies."

"Well, this is London, Peej," Phil chuckled, "Not Hollywood. I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but you asked for my opinion, and I gave it to you."

"How much was this actually related to your career?"

"Not much."

"Okay, then why don't you do more of your career?" PJ asked, Phil looking offended for a second, "Sorry mate, not what I meant. I meant, do more of your thing...can you look into the business and economic part of it? Do some of your PR magic, see how good the people I'll be working with are?"

"Fine. I'll call some people, get some data, and let you know."

—

Both for PJ’s sake and because his company happened to be doing markedly well, Phil invested in The Cat and Bear, which nearly secured PJ for the position with little question of their qualifications. Other executives saw that he had a close connection to another successful company, and thus boosted his chances of being onboarded.

The club was due to be finished in the middle of summer, the project shortened by resources provided by Phil’s company. He’d maintained a more hands-off approach with the venture, trusting that PJ and/or any of his own employees would inform him of any issues. In May, PJ convinced Phil to visit The Cat and Bear to show him around.

From the outside, the club was completely finished, but once they entered, Phil could see where there was still room for improvement—many places lacked paint, flooring, and furniture. The sparse decorations made the interior look like a sad fixer-upper, but at least the bar, stage, dressing room, and bathrooms were built.

"Welcome...to The Cat and Bear," PJ said dramatically, opening the door for Phil to enter. Phil nodded, walking in and looking around as PJ followed behind him and asked, "Why are you all dressed up, mate?"

"I'm technically working," Phil explained, looking down at his clothing. He compared his business casual outfit to PJ's fully casual outfit, a graphic tee and colorful jacket, curious to ask, "Will this be okay?"

"Don't worry about it, you're just going to be the only dressed up one here," PJ told him. Right as he said so, Phil noticed the only people around them were construction workers, painters, and other people busy on their own tasks. They were installing lights, painting walls silver, pulling up old flooring—so much was going on at once.

PJ gave Phil a lengthy tour of the place, getting especially enthusiastic when showing him how the stage lights and curtains worked. He let him backstage to see the dressing room and where his office was, with cardboard boxes already on the desk.

"Sophie is supposed to come help me decorate soon," PJ told him, "This office, I mean, I'm not sure about the dressing room, but probably. She’s around here somewhere.”

"Have you met any of the queens yet?" Phil asked curiously.

PJ sighed awkwardly, "Uh, no, actually."

"Peej, you guys open super soon!"

"I know, but I kinda just picked the queens that were already planning on transferring here. Some of them moved closer to different clubs, on the other side of the city, or back home, I guess. It’s not the time to be picky, according to some other talent managers I’ve talked to," PJ said, "I've made a Facebook group and talked to a few, and that's about it."

Phil sat down on a chair in front of PJ's desk as they continued to talk, allowing him to ramble about his excitement for this new job and all of the ideas they had planned, until they heard a knock at the office door.

"Come in," PJ called out.

"Mr. Liguori?" the person called out in a silly tone—definitely Sophie. She peeked her head in the room, a pencil resting on her ear. “Oh, hi, Phil.”

“Hey, Sophie,” Phil greeted, then gestured toward PJ, “The ‘Mr. Liguori’ is here.”

PJ just laughed, “What’s up?”

"Um, the queens are here?" Sophie said matter-of-factly.

"Shit!” PJ seethed, looking at his watch, “It’s time already?!”

What a great manager PJ already was.

"That's no problem though, I'll go—um—come on, Phil," PJ said, “Looks like you won’t be the only dressed up one, then!”

Phil followed behind him into the open area right in front of the hallway. There stood a group of performers, and as they gossipped and chatted, Phil looked over the small crowd.

One of them specifically caught his eye. She—or Phil should probably correct himself to say they, because he truly didn’t know—were wearing a pretty, brunette wig, hair cascading down their shoulders.

From only a few moments of staring, Phil picked up on a warm, inviting energy they had. When they laughed with their friends, an adorable, deep dimple paired well with a bright smile, lighting up the room so effortlessly.

Phil hated that he was so far away from them.

PJ then clapped his hands together, looking around the room. It temporarily swayed his attention, but the underlying magnetic pull towards the brunette was hard to distract himself from.

One of PJ’s new employees, Phil reminded himself, so stop ogling at…the most beautiful one of the whole group? Yes, Phil confirmed with a darting of his eyes across the crowd, they definitely were.

"You all look absolutely stunning," PJ said, earning a bunch of claps, thank yous, and a couple shouts of "I know" that made him chuckle.

Phil had been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed Sophie and some other employees following behind them. He stepped off to the side to give PJ the floor, but more so to make it less obvious he was stealing glances at the brunette any chance he got.

"Hello, everyone. Forgive me, I lost track of time. I figured I should introduce myself. I'm PJ, the manager of stage production and talent. Most likely, I was the one you’ve been in contact with about working here. And this is Phil.”

Phil awkwardly waved. Some of the performers seemed to give genuine waves, while others gave more silly or sassy ones. The brunette had a bit of a smirk on their face, waving elegantly.

“His company has been our biggest supporter in the process of getting this club open. He is our biggest investor, so let’s make sure that we return the favor and work hard to give our thanks for all the resources he’s provided,” PJ said, and the performers clapped and waved at him.

“We'll still go ahead and take promotion photos for the website today, and I'll be creating us an Instagram page as well," PJ said, "Later on, I’d like to have a professional headshot session with everyone as well, so stay tuned for that, but this is mainly just to get media coverage for our opening weekend.”

The performers all nodded, continuing to give almost all of their attention to PJ. Phil’s attention, however, was fixed back on the brunette, who had joined in on the casual glances. They were wearing a mesh dress with long sleeves and an abstract pattern. Their friends were trying to whisper to them, but they continuously shrugged them off.

As he looked around at the group again, Phil realized that he was a bit envious of the confidence they exuded. After the effort of a drastic change, it was at a level he didn’t think he’d ever personally reached before.

It was reassuring that it was a safe space for everyone to feel like they could be as unique, queer, or weird as their heart desired, their appearances showcasing the most genuine aspects of themselves. But Phil felt out of place, intimidated by their larger-than-life personas.

Phil wasn't confident. Not really. He was clumsy and awkward, and he’d probably injure himself or someone else if he ever tried to walk in heels. Maybe he'd like makeup, but he had no idea where to start or how to steady his shaky hands. The queens did it all with such precision. His application would be messy and uncoordinated, it wouldn't look nice on him the way it did on them.

And it looked really nice on one in particular. Phil hoped his staring wasn’t obvious, but almost couldn’t help himself.

“Believe it or not, there are some places on the lot with good lighting for photos, and we brought some equipment, too. Sophie and I will be the photographers, while others can look out for minor tweaks. Alright, let’s get started!”

PJ took their camera from Sophie and arranged everyone in different places around the club, specifically the few completed areas. To Phil’s surprise, a few of the performers went up to shake his hand and thank him. Phil was able to reciprocate the greeting, but found himself in a daze. The performer he was interested in was one of the first to be photographed, which prevented him from greeting them. He could stare at them modeling all day, but to keep his composure, he tried to simply exist in the same room.

Phil awkwardly stood off to the side again, finding it easy for his mind to wander.

It seemed like PJ would be occupied for a while, and realistically, he didn’t have any reason to hang around. But if he could find a reason…

“Hey, Peej?” Phil asked, walking up to him as he was nicely directing an employee to move something out of the way. “Do you need me to help out with anything?”

“Oh, did you have anything at work you needed to attend to?”

“Not currently, no.”

“If you could get Soph and I coffees?” PJ said more quietly, mindlessly adjusting camera settings.

Of course it had to be something that required him to leave.

Awkwardly, Phil answered with, “Oh. Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Other than that, I think we’re good. Thanks for coming by.”

He glanced at the one performer one more time before leaving to get their coffees.