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80sfern · 5 years

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teacher’s pet

okay so. this is my first michael fic and i originally wrote this ab someone else and never finished it so i changed the name to michael and finished it, so if there’s anything that doesn’t really match up thats why. i’m putting a read more bc its lo send me an ask if u want more!!

word count: 4k

warnings: smut. lots of smut.

You don’t have any reason to be here except you’re trying to decide if you want to go to college and sit through classes all the time or try and do as many online classes as you can and avoid talking to shitty professors and getting called on even when you don’t know the answer. You’re sitting next to your best friend in her English lecture with one of your legs lifted resting across the desk, picking at the dry skin on your cuticles while you wait for the professor. They need to be redone, it’s been at least two weeks since you’ve gotten them done, it’s a wonder you didn’t break any yet.

You’re waiting for the professor to begin his lecture but as you look around the room you can’t find the Professor at his desk, only the student teacher standing next to the podium swiping through a pile of papers. He passes a stack to the first person in the row and the papers get passed around the room with each person taking one.

You’re still waiting for the Professor to arrive when the blond looks up and looks right at you and your friend, “Miss Lett, would you let your friend know I do not condone feet on my desks?” It hits you that the young man with curly hair is Professor Langdon and before your friend can pass along the message, you slide your leg from the desk. Your expensive boot clacks on the ground and the chain on the ankle jingles at the movement. The rest of class goes off without a hitch, he reads a poem off the paper he handed out and asks the room to analyze what the poem possibly means and annotate it and state various characteristics of it. He calls on students afterwards to ask their input on what they think the poem is talking about and then mentions an online assignment to write their own poem that would fit in the same genre of poetry.

By this point you’ve decided you quite enjoy the class, despite not having had an English class for the past two years you correctly guess what the speaker is talking about and you know the era that it comes from. The class is silent, everyone working on the new assignment the last few minutes before they’re dismissed when your phone goes off. Your cheeks flush as you hurry to shut it off as the other students glare at you for interrupting the peace. It’s silent again for a moment until Professor Langdon breaks it again, “Whoever’s phone just went off, see me after class you should know by now that I do not tolerate phones interrupting my class.”

When he dismisses the class, your friend starts walking towards him and you grab her arm. “Paris, let me talk to him, it isn’t your fault.” She shakes her head but when you insist on talking to her professor she agrees to wait outside. You knock on the door of his office and before he can question you, you apologize. “Sorry for the trouble I caused you Mr. Langdon. It was my phone that went off, I really didn’t mean for it to, this is usually the time I wake up, so I had an alarm set and hadn’t turned it off.”

Mr. Langdon laughs lightly, it quickly dies out when he realizes you’re serious, “Your alarm? It’s almost two in the afternoon...Just make sure if you come back it doesn’t happen again; you aren’t a student here so I can’t punish you and give you an essay to write.” You nod and leave before it gets awkward, your fingers wiggling a wave as you pass through the door and return to your friend in the hallway.

A few nights later, you go to a bar off campus with your friend, hoping to get drunk but avoid annoying frat boys at the bars closer to the college. Your friend finds someone to hook up with in an hour and leaves you after you promise her that you’re safe and you’ll keep her updated through texts and if you really need her you’ll call her. It helps that you’ve met a cute boy with curly brown hair and a nice smile, who offered to buy you drinks but didn’t push for you to accept.

You keep talking to him until you feel a tap on your shoulder, and you turn around, your eyes widening as they come into contact with Paris’s professor. “I thought that was you, wasn’t sure with the lighting though.” You can’t help but check him out, his appearance now is so different from days before. Now he’s in a faded Coca-Cola shirt and a leather jacket, ripped blue denim on his legs, hair curly and flopping on his forehead rather than styled liked it was previously. “I didn’t get your name,” he adds and sits in the bar stool next to you.

Your cheeks flush as he flags down the bartender and orders you both another drink, “Her, Mr. Langdon.” You turn back towards the guy from earlier to apologize but he’s gone, you hadn’t even realized he left.

Michael sips his drink, “Call me Michael, what can I call you?” You bite your lip and hesitate before you tell him your name, holding out your hand for him to shake. Somehow, you end up flirting with him, leaning on your arm and you can’t stop staring at his lips and his Adam’s apple bobbing when he drinks and then licks his lips before he keeps talking. He has all your attention and he isn’t even doing anything particularly amazing, but his biceps look good wrapped in faded red after he took off his leather jacket and he keeps running his fingers through his hair and god everything he does is attractive.

You don’t remember moving but at some point a new group comes in and complains that there aren’t enough seats together at the bar and you offer yours and Michael in exchange for a booth and a minute later you’re sitting next to him in the vinyl seats and you’re so much closer now, your thigh is brushing his and you can feel his breath on your when he leans into you and laughs at something you said. The bar goes quiet for a minute, the band playing settles down between songs and you can’t stop staring at Michael, he’s talking but the alcohol is clouding your mind and you’re lost in the way his lips are moving and he keeps licking them and occasionally biting.

Michael catches you staring and goes quiet, he knows you aren’t listening anymore so he slowly brings one hand to cup the back of your neck and he leans in until his lips are brushing yours and you can taste the alcohol on his breath and he leaves it for you to finish. It only takes a moment for you to get the hint, your right hand moving to rest on the back of his head as you push forward and kiss him, a moan falling from your lips at the contact. When he pulls away you chase after, your free hand pressing into his thigh to stop him from moving away, so he settles for resting his forehead against yours. “Fuck...I shouldn’t be doing this,” He mutters as you brush your lips against his, your fingers petting the back of his head.

You shrug and rub your nose against his, “I’m not one of your students, Mr. Langdon.” You kiss him again and he groans, one of his hands shifting to hold your waist as your lean further into him.

He pulls away as you’re thinking about crawling into his lap, wondering what sound he would make if you did it. “I hope this doesn’t sound bad, but I live like a block away.” You don’t want to seem desperate, but you think you might as you nod and press another kiss to his lips while pulling him out of the booth. He reminds you of his tab that needs to be paid and while the bartender takes care of his tab and yours after Michael insists, you both sip on cups of water courtesy of the bartender.

You clutch his arm as he leads you out of the bar, you shoot Paris a text that you’re safe and going home with someone and you’ll see her in the morning and ignore the pang of guilt as you let Michael lead you to his apartment. His hand finds yours as he leads you around the block, keeping you steady as you complain about the heels. His hands find your waist in the elevator and he pushes you against the wall so he can kiss you again, his lips rough against yours and you melt into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.

A whine leaves your lips when the shaft halts and he pull away to guide you to his door. You wedge yourself between him and the door as he works with his keys to undo the two locks, your lips finding his neck and distracting him from the task. The door falls open without warning and you stumble back, the door no longer supporting your weight and he catches you with his hands on your waist, holding you against him and laughing.

You kick your heels off as you step into his apartment, his door shutting behind you and he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist so he can easily sandwich you between his body and the wall. Michael grinds his hips against yours and your moan into his mouth, your hands working to push his leather jacket from his shoulders. He breaks the kiss to take off your shirt and you switch to kissing his neck before he can reattach your lips. Your legs tighten around his waist as he pulls away from the wall and carries you into his bedroom, leaning forward when he reaches his bed until your back is pressing into the plush surface.

You crawl up the bed until you hit the pillows and he follow after kicking his shoes off and pulling his shirt off over his head. You take a moment to admire him, absentmindedly biting your lip as he crawls up your body with that fucking smirk on his lips. Michael starts undoing your pants before you even ask, pulling them down your legs and pushing them off the edge of the bed as quickly as he can. He kisses his way back up your body, his hands guiding his mouth until they reach your hips and slide up your back to the band of your bra. He fingers the clasp for a moment before looking up at you, “Can I-“ You nod and mumble a please, or try to the best you can but it comes out a strangled plea that causes Michael to giggle as he undoes the clasp and finally pulls your bra away from your body. His lips find yours again for a short kiss before he’s kissing back down your body. His right hand twists your nipple slowly between his fingers while his mouth sucks on the left, biting and tugging the bud until he decides he should give the right the same treatment. You wrap your legs around his hips and bring your hands down to his belt buckle, only half your focus on the task as his mouth distracts you but you manage to get it undone and his button and zipper soon follow.

Before you can get his pants pushed down, his hands are grabbing yours and pushing them above your head. “Keep them there,” he demands, biting down on your chest to punctuate the order and you nod and grab the pillow your head is on to anchor them. Michael’s lips trail down your body until he reaches your panties and he moves to kiss your right thigh, sucking and biting at the skin all the way down your knee then repeating the process on your left. You can feel the wetness on your thighs, and you wonder if he can smell you. He smirks up at you and softly presses a kiss to your center through the panties, it’s a chaste kiss at first and then he does it again, this time an opened mouth kiss and he brushes your clit with his teeth through the fabric. You gasp his name and tighten your grip on the pillow as he loops his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to his mouth. He teases you until you’re begging, hips grinding into his face as he sucks on your clit through the soft material and he finally gives in to the urge to really taste you.

Michael is in awe of how wet you are as he drags his finger through your folds before pushing it into your mouth. He only leaves it for a moment before he’s retracting his hand to use so he can slide your panties to the side. He licks a stripe through your folds, wiggling his tongue against your clit and then he sucks the bud into his mouth, rolling his tongue against it. He can’t get enough of the moans falling from your lips and he’s wondering how long you can last with your hands above your head and he hopes it isn’t too much longer because he really wants to feel you pulling his hair while he makes you come on his tongue.

You last until he curls two fingers inside of you and nibbles on your clit, your resolve crumbles and without thinking your hands are reaching down to pull his hair. He moans at the first tug, encouraged by the sounds you’re making and the way your thighs keep twitching by his head and clenching around his fingers and knows you’re close. He sucks harder on your clit, dipping his tongue down between his fingers before he flicks it over your clit again, moaning when you pull his hair and press him closer to you. You can’t help but grind your hips down onto his face as the knot in your stomach tightens, fingers curling and back arching as you chant his name. You rock your hips up and you feel his hand leave your thigh and a moment later it’s slapping down on your ass, the sensation pushing you over the edge as he massages the skin.

He teases your clit with his tongue and lets you rock your hips against the muscle as the pleasure takes over your body until you slump back against the bed and push him away. He laughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he pushes himself back over you, softly kissing your neck and shoulders as you catch your breath beneath him. You giggle as his lips finally reach yours, your fingers trailing up his arms until they wrap around his neck and you pull him closer to deepen the kiss. You keep one arm draped over his shoulders and drag the other down his chest until you reach the waistband of his jeans, hooking your fingers into them and pushing them down his thighs the best you can.

Michael laughs at your struggle when you only get them down a few inches and pulls away from the kiss to take them off. Before he can settle back on top of you, you push him over, so he lays on his back, crawling over him to straddle his thighs. “My turn, Michael.” You lean down to kiss his neck, sucking light marks that’ll fade over the weekend before he has another class. You flick your tongue over his nipple and bite down, a shocked moan escaping his lips. The teasing continues until you reach the band of his boxers, snapping the band against his skin before pulling them down his thighs. You can’t hold back the moan when you finally see his cock, his thighs twitching when the cool air swarms his cock and he looks so pretty. You slowly rub your hands along his thighs, “Is it weird if I say your dick is pretty?” You giggle and he laughs, nose scrunching as you kiss his hip and before he can respond his breath is leaving his chest when you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and your tongue flicks over the tip. A groan is punched out of his chest when you wrap your mouth around the tip and start jerking off the rest of him.

It’s his turn to wrap his fingers in your hair and he watches you begin to bob your head on his cock, his lower lip tucked between his teeth as you hollow your cheeks around him. You’re only sucking him off for a minute before he’s pulling your mouth off him, “Wanna fuck you,” he explains and pulls you back up his body before wrapping his arms around you and flipping you underneath him. You breathe in a gasp and watch as he pulls your panties down your legs, throwing them down onto the ground and he rolls the condom on.

Michael teasingly rubs the head of his cock along your folds a few times, tapping your clit and sending little jolts of pleasure through you. Just when you’re ready to beg him to fuck you, he pushes in slowly until he bottoms out, you whimper at the stretch and involuntarily clench around him. You’re seeing stars and he hasn’t even done anything, but you can feel him deep in you and you’re pretty sure if you tilted your hips just right you could see a soft bulge just above your mound. You shift your hips up to let him know he can move but he grips your hip in one hand and pushes you back onto the bed. A smirk blooms on his face, “Come on pet, tell me how bad you want my cock.”

You whine and pull him closer, trying to grind your hips down on him for some kind of friction but his grip on your hips is tight. “So bad Michael, just move already. Please, please, please move already baby.” You beg and he pulls his hips back, cock dragging against your walls and you moan at the feeling.

And then he pulls all the way out and rubs the head of his cock through your folds, “You can do better than that pet, let me hear you.”

You tighten your fingers in his hair and huff, “Come on, you couldn’t punish me earlier so do it now, wreck me Mr. Langdon.” The moment the words leave your lips, his hips snap into yours and he finally sinks into you again. He builds up a rough pace and neither of you can hold back the moans spilling from your lips, so he presses his lips to yours to muffle them, swallowing your moans in the kiss. Your hands move from his hair to his biceps on either side of your body, nails digging into the skin for a moment before they move to his back and scratch along the skin. Michael loves it, he can feel the red marks blooming on his skin and moans into your mouth before pulling away and pressing his lips to your neck.

He grabs one of the pillows next to your head and slows his movement enough to use one hand to push your hips up enough that you get the hint and raise your hips so he can push the plush pillow under your ass. The new position forces the breath from your lungs, and you can feel him so deep in you, hitting all the right spots. His lips are all over you, moving from your neck to your chest and back to your lips, sucking and biting everywhere they go. He can feel you getting closer, your moans getting louder and your fingers pulling his hair harder. Michael drags his fingers to your center to flick his thumb over your clit, moaning into your skin when you clench around him and arch your back into him.

You wrap your hand around his wrist and pull it towards your neck, placing his fingers around your neck and whining, “Please, Michael.” He presses his fingers into the sides of your neck, and you press yourself further into him, silently begging for more. Your fingers replace his on your clit and you’re so fucking close, you can’t even form words to let him know. You’re blabbering as he fucks himself into you roughly, his hips smacking against yours, cock dragging against all your best spots and the head rubbing your g-spot with every thrust. Within moments you’re coming around him, his hand leaves your throat as your orgasm hits you and the sudden rush of oxygen makes the pleasure so much more powerful.

Michael slows down as your orgasm washes away, your body still tingling with the aftershocks. You run your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, pressing your lips to his in a slow kiss. You know he’s close as his pace falters and pull away from the kiss to gasp, “Michael, wait. Want you come on me.” He groans into your neck, a low fuck falls from his lips at your words and a moment later he’s pulling out of you, sitting back on his knees and tugging the condom off then dropping it on the ground.

You wrap your hand around his cock before he can, a moan pulled from him as you begin jerking him off with one hand while the other remains tangled in his curls. You like seeing him like this, sitting above you with his eyes closed and lower lip between his teeth as he whimpers from your touch. He rubs his hands along your thighs as you jerk him off, his grip freezing and tightening when you twist your hand around his tip. He’s so close, his abdomen and thighs twitching as he gets closer. He looks so pretty like this and you’re pretty sure he’ll look so much better when he comes, you can’t fucking wait to see him come. “Come Michael, come on me.”

Michael groans at your words and a moment later when your free hand scratches down his chest, over his left nipple, he comes without warning. His head falls back and his fingers dig into your thighs, his come coating your mound and lower stomach as his hips jerk into you hand. You don’t let go until he pushes your hand away, his own hands shaking from the power of his orgasm and he nearly comes again when you swipe your fingers through the mess on your stomach and bring them to your lips.

He pulls your fingers from your mouth and leans down to press his lips to yours for a slow kiss before he gets off the bed, reaching down to pick up the condom before he goes to what you assume is the bathroom. Moments later he comes out with a washcloth, wiping it over your stomach before moving it between your thighs and cleaning you up. You can’t do anything but watch as he leaves the room and comes back minutes later with two bottles of water, just as you were almost ready to leave.

You had been sure his absence was a silent plea for you to leave without him asking but after he put the bottle on the nightstand next to you and pulled back the blankets after shutting off the lights, the only light in the room coming from the window. A moment later, you join him under the comforter and tug the blankets closer to you. “You should know, I’m a total blanket hog, I get cold easily.” You’re joking a little, but mostly serious as you cuddle into the blankets.

He laughs before reaching out and pulling you closer, “Good thing I’m warm then.”

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willykappymarnsmatts · 4 years

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Wrong Direction: Chapter 2 (K. Kapanen)

@moriellymakesmesoft

“I just got off the phone with Max,” it's been two weeks since I've moved into Will’s place, my stuff still in boxes all over the apartment.

“Oh?’ William responds, tossing me a smoothie from the fridge as we get ready to go to practice. I still go to sleep in tears and wake up with puffy eyes, but Willy makes me feel like everythings going to be okay, if not today then someday soon. “How is he?”

“Good,” I tell him, scratching at the back of my neck, refusing to look up at him knowing what comes next. “He asked me to come stay with him. Well, he didn't ask. He's kinda forcing me.”

“Oh,” Will says. He turns around and faces me with a look on his face of a mix of betrayal and hurt, and it makes me want to burst into tears. “Um, well, are you gonna go?”

“I have to, babe. He's my brother, and he said that if I don't come by myself he'll pack my things for me the next time he comes to Toronto.” I feel bad, but I do miss Max.

Willy just frowns at me. “When are you leaving?”

“Uh, tomorrow. He said he'd buy me a plane ticket.”

“To Montreal?! I could drive you!”

“I know, its okay. He’s the one paying so I don't really care honestly. Don't we have to get going?’

“Yeah,” he giggles, glancing at the watch on his wrist.

On our way to the arena, I take deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart and shaking hands. Seeing Kasperi this often still hurts just as bad as seeing him in bed with that girl. But the whole situation has given me a lot of inspiration for a new song that i've been working on, bouncing ideas off of Will day and night.

He notices my agitation and reaches over to grab my hand. “After this, you won't ever have to see him or me ever again.”

“Hey, don't say that,” I pout. “I'll be back and i'll move back in with you, if you let me, in a couple months. I just need a break from Toronto. Everything I know is laced with memories of him. I can't even enjoy your games because he's there.”

Will nods without looking away from the road. “You're always welcome at my place. We’re all still really pissed at him, you know. Mitch hasn't spoken to him since that night, and you know how Mitch is. Auston doesn't even look at him, and Zach’s only talking to him because he feels bad that everyone is making every effort to ignore him but me. The whole fucking team loves you, Y/N. Oh, and Derms took a slapshot at his ankle the other night and he had to sit out for an entire period.”

My eyes are brimmed with tears and I have to look up at the ceiling of the car to keep them from spilling over. “Can you let the guys know i'm leaving? I'll obviously talk to them, but I don't want to be the one to break the news to them.”

Will nods. “Of course.” he smiles at me then and looks away from the road for a split second to wipe away a tear.

•••

I sit in the third row to watch the boys’ practice and try to continue writing, but the yelling and pucks hitting the boards constantly is distracting, so eventually I give up and watch them skate. During a water break, I catch myself watching Kasperi. All he does is take a few deep breaths, but watching him like this, as if nothing ever happened, makes my heart shatter. Before I can look away, he looks up at me and I watch his entire face fall. He stares at me and I stare back. He studies me, as if to memorize me. I can't look away, and he refuses to skate away. He continues forward, until he's at the boards and we’re a few feet away from each other. Neither of us can pretend we weren't looking at each other. He stops, and so does my heart. And we just watch each other. Just stare. My heart is breaking with every moment that passes, and my stomach hurts, because he was my everything.

A whistle blows. Kasperi whips his head around. The sounds of the rink come back into my ears, and we’re both taken out of the world where we were the only two people who existed. He skates away, glancing back at me once before never looking back at me again.

•••

“Y/N,” Willy says as soon as I answer his facetime call. I've been in Montreal with Max for about two months and I released my song about a week ago. Wills is driving back from practice, which is when he gives me a rundown on how “incredible” he was and how he's gonna kick ass at the next game. But today he looks anything but confident, his forehead a mass of worry lines and his mouth turned down into a frown.

“Y/N, your song is saved on my playlist, and I got the aux this morning. After practice, it came on. Most of us were singing, and I glanced at Kap, and he was just sitting there in his stall. He wasn't moving. Just staring straight ahead.”

I sit up. “Woah, slow down. I thought Kasperi and I were finished.” When I moved away, after the day at the rink, Will told me that Kasperi stopped seeming to care. He was out with a different girl every two days, bringing random girls home every day of the weekend. It still hurts, but it hurt more to realize that our entire relationship meant nothing to him. But if Will is telling the truth, which I don't doubt he is, it makes everything a whole lot more confusing.

“I thought so too, but listen. I think that it was your voice at first, Y/N. He hasn't heard your voice in months. And then he heard the rest of the song, he listened without moving, and as soon as it ended he got up, in just his slides and shorts, and fucking left the room.”

I'm silent, letting Will talk. “The rest of us didn't know what to do, so I tried to follow him. I found him in the weights room, and he was in tears.” Will flicks on the turn signal and turns onto his street, then glances at his phone to see if he should continue the story. I nod at him, holding my breath to keep from breaking down at the thought of Kasperi.

“I went to him and sat with him, and he just cried. I haven't seen him cry since he thought I was getting promoted to the bigs and he wasn't. But he was sobbing. So I sat with him, and eventually he calmed down enough to choke out that he misses you. He told me the girls were a front, and that he hasn't been able to sleep ever since that night. And, Y/N, I dont think he's lying. His eyes always have huge bags under them and he's so shaky. So I asked him why he did it, but he didn't have an answer. He said he missed you and he felt like you didn't love him anymore because you were always out doing stuff for your album, but I told him that was bullshit and he said he knew it. He told me he can't breathe without, and that he hates that he hurt you. So I told him to talk to you, and he said he'd try to text you later today.”

“Damn,” I respond, not sure how to feel. “I want to love him again, but I don't know if I can trust him.”

“You don't have to. He knows he hurt you, and that he has to work to get you back, but I am asking you to please just try to talk to him, because fuck, Y/N, if there’s a such thing as soulmates, it’s you guys. You're both in so much pain. Take your time, keep your walls up, but just talk to him.”

“Okay. Okay, fine.”

“Thank you, beautiful best friend. I'm home now, so I'll call you back in a couple hours?”

“Yeah, that’s cool. See ya.”

He ends the call and I'm left in silence. Then my phone dings with a text notification in my hand, and my heart picks up speed. I know exactly who it is, and I don't want to look at it, not right away, so I throw it across the couch with a pillow on top of it.

I put my head in my hands and try to slow my speeding heart by taking a few deep breaths. “Fuck!” I yell, then silently thank Max for going out a few hours ago. I wipe my face with my hands and sit straight up.

I stare at the pillow my phone is sitting under, knowing without ever checking that there is a text from Kasperi Kapanen waiting for me. My phone dings again and my heart jumps. I stand up and rip my phone from under the pillow.

‘wrong direction huh’

‘i miss u’

I cover my mouth with my hand and my eyes brim with tears. I sit back slowly onto the couch and read over the messages two, three, four more times before unlocking my phone and tapping on the text bar.

‘Dang, how'd u know it was abt u?’

I smile slightly as I type out the message and hold my breath when I hit send. I don't have to wait even a second before the three bubbles come up on the screen.

‘no idea’

‘ig im just tht good’

I laugh and type out another response.

‘Imyt. How r u?’

I bite my lip when the text bubbles come up, and a few seconds later his response comes.

‘could be better tbh. can’t sleep @ the apt nymore so i spend the nites b4 games @ 1 of the guys places’

My breath catches at the words. Then another message pops up.

‘im so sry 4 everything’

I bite my lip and close my eyes, taking a breath.

‘Thx. I havent stopped thinking abt u’

‘me neither’

I take another deep breath. Kasperi was my favourite person, my person, for so long. It's scary how easily we can fall back into simple, comfortable conversation, as if nothing ever happened. So I decide to be straight up and honest with him, and if he really does still care about me, he’ll understand.

‘U broke me, Kasperi. I never thought tht u would hurt me, and u literally broke me. I miss u more than nything and it hurts so bad to b without u, but seeing u in bed with another girl, tht broke me. It felt like our whole relationship was built on lies, and tht u never actually cared abt me. So yeah, i cant stop thinking abt u, and i want to b able to love you again, but u broke my trust and idk if ill ever trust u like i did before.’

I hit send and feel like I'm going to be sick. Everything I type I’ve told Will and all the other guys, but after the day I left the apartment, I never spoke to Kasperi about anything. The three bubbles come up on the screen and I hold my breath, then they disappear. They come up and disappear a couple more times, until a message finally pops up on the screen.

‘i wish i could take back everything i ever did 2 hurt u, but ik its not tht ez. i rly do want 2 fix this, tho. would u b down to ft l8r?’

I can't breathe, but I manage to type out a response without screaming.

‘Sure. Just text me when ur ready’

I take a deep breath and click my phone off. I'm about to get up when my phone dings again. I glance at the message and it makes my chest feel like it's going to explode.

‘ok i will <3’

I smile down at the screen and go to plug in my phone so it's charged when Kasperi wants to call. I really don't know if I'll ever be able to trust him again, but the least I can do is give him a chance to apologize. He's already broken me so badly, even if he lets me down again nothing will compare to the amount of hurt I’ve already felt.

#kasperi kapanen #kasperi kapanen fic #kasperi kapanen/reader #kasperi kapanen imagine #william nylander #hockey imagine #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #hockey fic #nhl #nhl hockey #nhl hockey fic #nhl hockey imagine #willykappymarnsmatts

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tfw-no-tennis · 3 years

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mtmte liveblog issue 13

humansona time, hell yes

OH MAN I forgot about the stuff w/swerve and blurr oof

that panel of perceptor just saying random equations always kills me vhsdjhfkbjhksdfnka

also I love so much that they call perceptor ‘percy’ that's so cute

I love the implications here that people just Grab minibots and carry them around like luggage bc they are Tiny lmao

ohhhh my god I fuckgin love ‘I'm just wondering if there's time to expand my aura and cleanse the area of aggression’ ‘I...don't think so, drift’ hgbadjfjbaskdfs drift’s hippy nonsense delivered completely seriously pairs hilariously with his whole ‘violent guy with a bunch of swords’ thing lmao

also, IM NEVER OVER CYCLONUS SINGING TO TAILGATE, and also the security team mistaking it for cyclonus murdering tg hbhkjadfbjkhsdf cyclonus u icon

and tg looking at cyclonus all heart-eyes, omg

drift showing rodimus how to swordfight...fellas.....

rodimus, being entirely ignorant to the irony in calling cyclonus and tailgate’s relationship strange when he and drift are Right There, being weird gay frat bros

did yall know, I love magnus so much. law dad

magnus saying ‘that's not even a word. id have heard of it’ about the word ‘relax’ is so funny god

rodimus bribing swerve with a bar license to get magnus turnt is hbvhjakdbfhskf

never over rodimus portioning out drifts blood money to the crew for shore leave hubhjsdkhfdbjksd god

despite tg lying about a good amount of his past, I feel like he rlly DOES see cyclonus as a link to a more familiar time, and that's a large reason why he’s so forgiving toward cyc

mannnn the stuff w/blurr and swerve is so depressing in retrospect. swerve is like, such a depressing character the more you think abt him vbhskjdhfbsk jesus

magnus trying to get in on the convo when swerve starts talking statistics oh magnus

idk what ‘the lube pits’ are but I Really do not want to know

‘the temple of the raging prism’ sounds fuckin bangin tho

I love seeing everyones humansona!! this art style is pretty simple, but I think it looks cute

rungs ‘human name’ being ‘mary sue’ lmaoooooo jro w/the self callout

also skids’ name being blank is a nice touch

still not over tg being a baby....poor guy

whirls humansona is so fuckgin good, also swerve looks like a hobbit

magnus basing his avatar on verity is so sweet ;_; I really should read all the wreckers stuff after I finish this reread

THE ABSOLUTE COMEDY OF MAGNUS JUST FUCKGIN PASSING OUT THE INSTANT THE ALOCHOL HITS...ICONIC

WHY would magnus accept a drink from whirl anyways lmao

tailgate is so cute

they rlly just left magnus facedown on the table and kept drinking huh. the irresponsibility....we love it

ARE YOU SURE THAT KILLMASTER IS DEAD, WHIRL? ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT?

rung don't lie, froid is your nemesis

WHY do we never get to hear more about skids’ apparent beef with misfire

rewind calling the swerve/misfire This early, wow

literally Everyone abandoning swerve to deal with magnus hgbvhfjdskdfbhs I fucking love this issue man

GOD I LOVE MAGNUS SO MUCH!!!!!!!! he’s such an interesting and unique character and hhhh I love him and his development

like, he was probably the biggest surprise out of everyone who agreed to go on the quest - ostensibly it was to keep order on the lost light, but it would make sense that magnus would get tired of being the Only one who cares about that sorta stuff on board

drunk magnus is such a delight oh my god

magnus rlly just wants everyone to be safe :( my daddddd

magnus: I love all my children equally...swerve, rodimus, [looks at smudged writing on hand] dirt

swerve: see, magnus, that’s where you’re wrong - I ALSO have crippling depression!

cant believe they bought rodimus a hat vhbhksdfhahsjkdf

HHHHH GOD I FORGOT ABT THATTTT when cyclonus goes bonkers in order to stop rewind from playing the ark 1 footage and inadvertently outing tailgate as a liar....AUGHHHHH THE FUCKING...THE FUCKING ROMANCE OF IT ALL

POOR MAGNUS LMAOOOO

oh rewind :( you should really wonder a little harder where chromedome is right now...oof

everyone jumping on magnus while he’s passed tf out is SO fucking funny

RUNG, PLEASE, WE REALLY DONT NEED TO THINK ABOUT WHATS AROUND THE CORNER. REALLY DONT

hhhhhhhhhhh I love how cyclonus sat tailgate down and confronted him about lying, but did it privately and not in front of everyone - and he even saved tg from being exposed as a liar, too. AUGH

I feel like cyclonus is kinda impressed at how effortlessly tg has managed to lie this whole time, and tbh it IS impressive, especially considering tailgate was basically teleported 6 million years into the future and has no idea how the world works anymore, but was still able to lie convincingly. even cyclonus only realized bc of his own past, and not until now

tailgate ;_; ;_; ;_;

cyclonus: oh no...im soft

tailgate and cyclonus singing ye olde cybertronian tunes together...OUGHHHH my fucking heart bro mY FUCKING HEART.

on that note: the song ‘to noise making (sing)’ by hozier is literally about cygate. thank u for coming to my ted talk

UGH GOD SWERVE STOP MAKING ME SO SAD, ITS NOT EVEN THE SWEARTH ARC YET

magnus had to like, get the robot equivalent of a stomach pumping after that hvbskdjfbhskdf jesus they really did almost kill him huh

I consider this issue forshadowing bc it makes 100% sense that minimus would be a Mega Lightweight considering he’s like 3 feet tall

the real quest that swerve is participating in is ‘the quest to get friends’ and so far its going pretty badly. poor dude

godddd the thing that says ‘next: Overlord!’ with a fucking exclamation point I DONT APPRECIATE THAT.

OHO i forgot abt the canon fanfic at the end of this issue

rung kicking things off with some good ole bodily workings-based dread

ok but being so awed by the construction of your species’ anatomy that you wanna fall on the floor in amazement? that's a whole ass mood and I do frequently stare at walls for long periods of time, thinking about the marvel that is the human body. so rung is valid

FROID NAME DROP LMAO. also yet again, are you SURE he’s dead?? are you????

the name ‘froid’ cracked me up almost as much as ‘rigor morphis’ did when I first read this...robot-based science puns! woohoo!

rung rlly b out here thinking abt overlords lips.....

‘forced browsing is not the autobot way’ lmao skids

also fr tailgate defs thinks that whirls actually name is nutjob

the entire segment of cyclonus browsing and everyone watching him and commenting is just. golden

oh no. don't make me think of rewind and his tiny memory sticks that he carries around. I'm NOT READY

magnus’ brutal read on rodimus and the fact that he’s more suited, personality-wise, to wartime than peacetime? oof. love it

I ALSO love that a big part of this issue was magnus admitting, in less direct terms, that HE isn't made for the post-war life either - his strict adherence to the rules and constant vigilance isn't exactly the best mindset for peacetime, for him or the people under his command

magnus’s hatred of metaphors and similes and the like....hvbsdjkfbasjhdf I love him

MAGNUS ILY...he’s trying SO HARD cut him some slack. i think his jokes are. yeah!

oh goody this text used "rodimus’s" so I guess that's canonically correct and I haven't been using grammar incorrectly as I had feared

rodimus sitting ON his desk and doodling on it...adhd icon

rodimus calling rung a psychotherapist, which was rung’s grounds for a nemesis hvbhjabfdskfnkks

rung: as I'm sure you know I take patient confidentiality VERY seriously

narrator: That Was A Lie

AUGH this hurts...rung trying to get justice for red alert but rodimus is in on the overlord stuff :( ouch

so issue 13! I fucking love this issue. just some good ole funney space hijinks, with some nice relationship development for tg and cyc - plus a revelation about tailgate - and some characterization for swerve and magnus. plus we get to see humansonas, which is always fun. augh I love this comic, and I am SO not ready for the next few issues, good lord

#lj rereads mtmte

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nomorelonelydays · 5 years

Text

kick your pretty feet up on my dash

Part 1 | Part 2

Two days after the Instagram account opens, Sidney unofficially gets put on naming duty.

The strawberry shortcake biscuit is named The Taylor.

The cream cheese-stuffed banana muffins, crusted with dark chocolate ganache, is The Fleury.

The slice of warm spiced peach cobbler (available for just two weeks), topped with a generous portion of thick, whipped cream and vanilla ice cream, is The Deidre.

He shares the account password with her, but she seems more interested in digging up her mom’s old recipes from an ancient box filled with yellowed index cards than photographing.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” she says, then passes him a card titled, ‘Cherry Layer Chocolate Cake.’ “I think I’ll make this for the holidays. What do you think?”

Deidre makes just one and a half cakes for a trial run (the other half, which had come out lopsided, is sitting in the back of Sidney’s fridge). It’s another instant hit.

Sidney watches a couple, two teenagers who are making it pretty painfully obvious that they’re on their first date, split a slice in a corner seat. She’s chasing the cherry around the plate with her fork, and he watching her like she hung the literal moon. He laughs a little too hard at her jokes, his eyes crinkling like Geno’s when he’s chirping Sidney. But with the way she’s beaming, it’s clear that she doesn’t mind at all.

He’s not jealous—or, at least, he doesn’t think he’s jealous. Having hockey and having a boyfriend have always been mutually exclusive. But now, with no obligations to the NHL, he’s supposedly free to do everything that he’s wanted to. He doesn’t dwell too long on it though, because the last thing he needs is to have an existential spiral in Deidre’s store over whether or not he’s missed his his golden hour to be happy the exact minute the Penguins drafted him all those years ago.

He finishes lettering the card for the cherry chocolate cake and slides ‘The Jack’ neatly into its proper holder.

Geno calls him on Thursday nights now, like clockwork. He’s grateful for the routineness of it, especially when he knows how much Geno lives on spontaneity. It’s always the same—updates on how the team is doing (good, the weather over in Pittsburgh (not so good), another dumb prank the rookies are trying to pull (hilarious, but slightly unoriginal with the shaving cream), even though it’ll never be as good as the ones Flower used to plan.

“How are you?” Geno asks one night, while Sidney is puttering around the kitchen to figure out what he wants to make for dinner. “Your tomatoes grow?”

“I think those are a goner,” Sidney grimaces. The entire plant had shriveled up weeks ago, despite Sidney faithfully watering them. “Guess I’ll just have to stick with the storebought ones.”

Geno is silent for a bit. Then, “Is quiet in locker room without you.”

Sidney pauses. “I doubt that’s true.” There’s plenty of rookies every year, eager to prove themselves on the ice and to establish themselves as a personality on the team. Besides, Sidney has never been the life of the party—that’s always been Geno himself.

“No, is quieter.” Geno sounds like he’s swallowing a yawn. “Different without you.”

Sidney’s heart flounders, and he has to blink a couple of times before his throat unclogs. “Maybe you should get to sleep. It’s pretty late over there.”

“No, I’m not tired,” Geno mumbles, sounding very drowsy. Sidney can almost picture Geno, hair-mussed and sleepy eyes about to close as he curls up on his mattress. “Want to keep talking.”

“I know you have practice tomorrow, G,” Sidney says. “You have the C now, you can’t get there two hours late anymore.”

“I’m never late,” Geno huffs. “You too early.”

“Get some rest,” Sidney says gently. “I’ll still be here next week, same as usual.”

“Maybe I call tomorrow.’

“I won’t go anywhere.”

“Wish you still here, Sid,” he murmurs. “Miss you so bad, some days.”

Sidney doesn’t miss a beat. “I miss you, too,” he whispers, because any louder and he knows his voice will crack. “I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after, if you still want to call.”

“Okay,” Geno says. “Okay.”

Sidney’s restocking the brioche rolls when Deidre’s voice casually pipes up from the coffee machine, “You have a secret admirer, you know.”

“I know. It’s Samantha. PTA President,” Sidney says, trying to not sound exasperated. He only knows her name and title because she must’ve giggled it at him as a greeting every single time she’s marched in. “She asked me what the main ingredient was in the banana muffins and I told her banana like, three times.”

“She just likes to hear you say banana. And no, it’s not Sam.” Deidre makes a come hither motion with her hands and slides a napkin towards Sidney. “Yesterday afternoon, there was a young man, maybe around his 30s, who stopped by for a latte and he asked where you were.”

“Oh.” There’s something he can’t name fluttering in his stomach. The words on the napkin scrawled out, Jeremy, and a string of numbers. “What did you say?”

“I told him, ‘He’s a cute one, isn’t he? He’s the store eye candy, bringing in all the sales.’”

“Dee, you didn’t.”

“I did, and he went full red. It was adorable. And I told him that you pop in in the mornings and in the afternoon to help with opening and closing.” She leans forward, grinning. “I’m just saying, think about it.”

He thinks about it.

At night, he tells Geno, “I think I have a secret admirer. Or a stalker.”

Geno’s voice suddenly becomes infinitely more awake. “Have what? Someone stand outside your house? I read about this before, you need call police.”

“No, it was at the bakery. I got his number on a napkin. Well, the owner gave me his name on a napkin, so I don’t really know what he looks like. He could be 100. People in this town are usually…around that age range.”

Geno still sounds perplexed. “So say no.”

“What?”

“Say sorry, only go on dates with girls. But thank you.”

Sidney’s brain feels like it’s stuttering to a pause. “Geno, what the fuck?”

“What?”

“I don’t ‘only go on dates with girls.’ I—” Well, to be quite fair, he hasn’t gone on any dates at all. “You know this.”

It takes a full ten seconds for Geno to crackled back to life on the line again. His voice is hesitant. “You only bring girls to events. Like Halloween, or—”

“They’re my friends, I’ve told you. I’m not going to bring a guy in front of you guys,” he exclaims, then reigns in his voice. His heart is beating like a jackhammer boring straight through. “Hey, listen, I have a pretty early day tomorrow, I’ll talk to you next week, okay?”

“Sid, wait—”

He hangs up and puts his phone face down on the nightstand. It’s not his proudest moment.

I’m sorry(((, the text reads. The timestamp indicates that the message had been sent at 2 AM. You should go on a date with secret guy. Maybe he’s secret Ryan Reynolds.

Geno’s texts are never longer than five words, usually cryptic versions of a yes or no, accompanied by eyeless smilies. Sidney wonders if he’d been painstakingly worrying over each word since Sidney hastily ended the conversation.

I don’t think he’s Ryan Reynolds, Sidney sends back. Besides, no one in this town knows hockey. That’s gonna be a problem.

Geno’s reply is instantaneous, as if he’d been waiting.

Picky)))))

More messages follow in quick succession, before Sidney can even start typing.

But always best for u. Deserve the best only.

He laces up his shoes and heads to Dee’s.

It snows a little mid-December.

He helps Deidre with the decorations, hanging up tinsel and little snowflake cutouts on the window. She has a box of Christmas lights stored away in a dusty box from the attic, which definitely looks like they haven’t been disturbed since the 80s, but the one of the bulbs dies with a sad fizz the moment Sidney plugs it in. So they have to make do with the other nonflammable options.

The store looks nice. ‘Well-loved’ is a better word for it, with its mismatched decorations and ancient garlands. He snaps a photo of the mini tree on the counter for Instagram before he goes to help Deidre frost the rest of the ornament-shaped sugar cookies.

There’s commotion on the streets from all the tourists and families coming back for the holidays. He thinks about flying to Nova Scotia for the holidays, but then he realizes that none of Deidre’s children will be coming to Cardwell Point.

“They’re busy,” she shrugs indifferently, but she turns her back to Sidney as she busies herself with rearranging the shelfs. “It’s alright. That’s what Skype is for, right? Besides, I have to watch the store.”

He thinks about Geno, who’s probably headed to Florida soon to escape the onslaught of winter chill that he absolutely abhors, no matter how much he loves the city. He could Skype Geno, or Facetime him. Except Geno would always have the angle wrong, and Sidney’s sure he’d just get an on-brand mugshot of Geno’s nostril from the bottom up for the whole conversation.

He did ask Sidney if he wanted to go to Florida, except the way he had asked had felt like a given tagged with a question mark at the end (Florida w me this year?). Nonetheless, Sidney had been tempted.

But he also wonders if he’d feel even more homesick when Geno is physically standing in front of him again, all tall and loud and too big, too much, too many years of his unrequited love staring at him and making Sidney think that he has a chance. He doesn’t want to go to Florida to watch Geno pick up strangers at a club.

“I’m not going anywhere, either,” he tells her.

She looks over, finally, pursing her lips like she’s trying to hold back her smile.

@DeesBakeryandCafe

Season’s greetings and a happy New Year to our wonderful customers and families here in Cardwell Point. Hope everyone is spending time with their loved ones this holiday season.

Winter refuses to go. The clouds hang over the streets stubbornly, and each days trudges on like it’s dragging its feet.

He misses skating.

He misses Geno. Especially as it gets closer to February and teenagers and adults alike start coming to the shop in twos, their gloved hands clasped together as they squeeze through Dee’s tiny corridor when it’s really much easier to be in a single-file line.

He’s not jealous. He is not.

But he is lonely. And really fucking cold.

He serves up at least thirty slices of The Jack, which is apparently the most popular item these days thanks to Instagram. Deidre switches up the decoration, so the cherry-glazed design in the middle forms a big, gaudy heart. The Internet completely eats up. Sidney doesn’t understand it.

“It’s like a Titanic reference, right?” a customer asks, as he picks up the cake for his wife. “Like, an ‘I’ll never let you go,’ kind of thing. Jack and Rose?”

“Sure,” Sidney says. It’s really for his first childhood crush, but he can work with the Titanic.

The moment Deidre fills her last custom order of The Jack (and there had been plenty of those, for anniversaries to birthdays to just becauses), she tells Sidney that she’s figured out how to make her mother’s cheesecake.

“Finally worked out how to stop the goddamn filling from clotting,” she says, cutting him a slice. The cake has a brownie bottom, and the inside is perfectly creamy and smooth and dotted with dark chocolate chips. “What do you think?”

“I’m biased,” Sidney says, trying to not scarf down the whole thing like an animal. “I love cheesecakes. This one is my favorite so far.”

“Good,” she tells him. “You can name this one, then.”

His fork stops mid-air. “Weren’t you going to call it ‘The Lily’?”

She pats his arm affectionately, not unlike the day she did when Sidney told her why he ended up at Cardwell Point. “I figured she wouldn’t mind. This can be our second February special. God, I’m sick of The Jack.”

The next week, Sidney carefully slides The Geno in its display cabinet.

(Deidre doesn’t ask about the peculiar name. She never does, and Sidney is grateful.)

After over a decade in the NHL, he’s well aware of what he can and can’t have. But lately he’s been feeling selfish. He snaps a photo of the cheesecake and sends it to Deidre.

It’s a good photo.

“I got invited to a neighborhood potluck yesterday,” Sidney mumbles into the receiver, when Flower asks him how retirement is treating him. “I don’t know what to bring. Maybe I’ll bring something from the bakery.”

“Do you officially work at the bakery or are you just there because the owner is blackmailing you? Does she know who you are?”

“I just help out when I can. And no, I told you, it’s not a hockey town. They do have competitive knitting here. It’s a thing.” Sidney doesn’t have much to do these days, aside from working out and catching up on reading, which means that he does end up doing most of the latter in the café. Maybe he should take up competitive knitting. “I started an Instagram for her shop. We just hit 200 followers.”

“You know how to do that?” Flower asks, because he’s a little shit. “I’m kidding, I know you’re not actually a senior citizen.”

Sidney rolls his eyes. “I haven’t checked it in a while though. I let Deidre handle the posting now. It’s her shop, anyways.”

“What’s the handle?”

He tells him. Flower is quiet for a bit as he searches through the page. “Pretty cool, eh?”

“Yeah,” Flower says, his voice slightly off. “Yeah, it’s—it’s good. Looks like the real deal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course it’s the real deal.”

Flower makes a noncommittal noise. “Nothing. Cheesecake looks good. Does Geno know?”

“No,” Sidney says. “I mentioned the bakery once or twice. He didn’t ask. Not, uh—not after I told him about Jeremy.”

“Secret napkin man?” Flower remembers. “You didn’t go on that date?”

“No, I didn’t go on a date with ‘secret napkin man,’” he mimics. “I don’t think he’d care.”

“I think he’d care.” Flower always sounds so sure when he wants to be serious, and it’s one of the things Sidney missed most when he left for Vegas—there’d been a metaphorical hollow within the team for a good few months following his departure, and that void never quite got replaced no matter what.

“Maybe.”

Sidney can only hope. But he’s a little too old for hoping these days.

Foot traffic is slower when they hit March, but Deidre promises that it’ll pick up when Cardwell Point’s 11th Annual Theater Festival starts in the middle of the month, because that’s apparently the other big thing aside from the 4th of July Carnival Bash. Sidney has just packed up another dozen of red velvet cupcakes for Samantha the PTA Queen when the front bell jingles.

“Hello? I’m look for—”

Sidney heart leaps to his throat.

“Sid,” Geno says softly. He looks like the wind knocked him in (it probably had), mismatched Frakenshirts and all. “Hi, Sid.”

Samantha may as well not have even walked into the store at all.

“How are—“ He must be imagining things. But Geno takes another step, until he’s right in front of the counter and Sidney can reach out and touch just how real he is. He hasn’t changed much--still the same eyes, the same nose and lips, and maybe his hair is a bit thinner but he still makes Sidney’s chest feel too small and too big all at once. “Where did you—how are you here?”

“Fly,” Geno says sheepishly. “Wanted to see you.”

“What about—”

“No games until Friday.” He’s staring at Sidney like he’s looking his fill and he can’t get enough. “I—I see your post, and I just—buy ticket.”

“What post?”

Geno pulls out his phone and flips through it until he lands at a familiar Instagram account. He passes it over to Sidney, his hands warm as it brushes against Sidney’s fingers.

@DeesBakeryCafe

‘I love you’ tastes a lot like our chocolate chip cheesecake, The Geno.

“Oh,” Sidney breathes. “Oh.”

#retirement fic #sidgeno #okay!!! getting closer to the final part #probably wont be any posting during the weekday because need to do Real Job things #but hope you guys enjoy #wish i knew graphic so i can like...make a graphic header

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not-close-to-straight · 5 years

Text

Love Me Like You Do (Six)

I’m posting this now just in case I don’t survive EndGame and never want to write again. (am I joking? probably not)

Also, even though this chapter goes along with CACW, it isn’t as angsty as you’re expecting since its from Rhodey’s POV. And if you missed my earlier note, I decided not to extend the story through IW and EG because I just don’t know if I can handle it. So yay for happily ever afters sooner than we expected!

Oh and another also, this happily ever after is like... the most tooth rotting one I’ve ever written because our boys deserve it so much.

IRONHUSBANDS MASTERLIST HERE

********************

(2016)

“Okay for the record?” James puffed through the words as he turned the corner and jogged up the straight-a-way. “This doesn’t count as exercise for you.”

“My doctor didn’t say exercise.” Tony said blandly, basically floating beside James with his boots and gauntlets up, the pieces keeping him perfectly balanced, perfectly matched in speed, hovering exactly six inches off the ground. “He said fresh air and my god is this alot of fresh air. My nose is starting to freckle. This will be terrible for my complexion.”

“Your complexion is already terrible.” James retorted. “Weird, reclusive billionaire who spends too much time in a creepy lab with overly friendly robots isn’t a great look.”

“I resent that.” Tony peered over the edge of today’s over priced and shockingly green sunglasses. “My lab isn’t creepy and my robots aren’t overly friendly. Dum-E is the exact right amount of nosy and U is always around when I need them.”

“Not gonna argue the weird, reclusive billionaire part?”

“Nah, why bother?”

“By the way?” James checked his time and picked up speed, rolling his eyes hard enough to hurt when the repulsors kicked on a little higher so Tony was going faster too. “The doc definitely said you needed exercise. He didn’t want to say it, but I’m not afraid to tell you you’re starting to look a little fluffy around the middle, Tones.”

“Excuse me?” Entirely offended, Tony swerved over in front of James and glared down at him. “Fluffy? Did you just call me fluffy? What does that mean?”

“It means that your favorite blue vest if starting to strain a little across the middle.” James answered flatly and when Tony squawked in outrage, he added, “But you are filling out your pants just great.”

“You been lookin’ at the way I fill out my pants, Honeybear?”

“The way you fill them out lately, I don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“Goddammit--” Tony fired up his repulsors and popped James with the lightest hit ever, sending him stumbling back several feet. “Shut the hell up.”

“Hey.” James stepped up onto one of the boots, knowing it would hold his weight, and hooked his arm around Tony’s neck to pull him in for a sweet kiss. And sure, doing that sort of thing while hovering over the sidewalk was maybe a little weird? But still amazing.

“What was that for?” Tony blinked at him in surprise, then glanced around self consciously. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Because I wanted to.” James jumped back down to the ground and grinned up at Tony. “Because we’re doing that sort of thing now, right?”

“...I...” Tony didn’t blush often, but not even his sunglasses detracted from the red spreading up his face. “I mean, yeah?”

“God, you’re sweet.” James stepped back up and kissed him again and Tony blushed harder. “Why the hell are you blushing when I kiss you, we’ve kissed before. Been kissing for thirty years now.”

“I don’t know it just feels...” Tony shrugged and pushed James off his boot. “Go away, I don’t like it.”

“Yeah okay, you don’t like it.” James scoffed, checked his time and broke back into a jog. “By the way, you might be getting fluffy but I sure love the way you fit in my arms lately, Tones.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” Tony yelled after him. “You can’t just say things like that! Rhodey! Come back here!”

James laughed all the way back to the compound.

*****************

It was never a good thing when Secretary of State Ross showed up unannounced, and the tension in the room was thick enough to cut when he handed over the stack of pages known as the Accords, approved by over a hundred countries with the direction to either “Sign or retire.”

Not surprisingly, Steve wasn’t about to sign anything without reading it and he picked up the papers immediately.

More surprisingly, Tony was willing to sign right then and there, adamant that the team needed boundaries, insisting that they could work on amendments later.

James hadn’t expected to be arguing with Sam of all people about it, and nobody had expected Natasha to side with Tony. Vision had something wise to say as always and Wanda just looked scared and even after Steve had gotten a message and left the room, the argument continued.

“Am I wrong about this, Rhodey?” Tony asked later, collapsing on to the couch and reaching for James’s hand. “Should I stand with Steve and resist it?”

“I think Natasha was right.” James shrugged, rubbing his thumb over a scar on Tony’s hand. “If you all agree, it’s one hand on the wheel which still gives you some control. But if you all resist, you’ll be forced into retirement and any move at all will be considered treason, a war crime. They’ll go to jail.”

“Retirement.” Tony sighed. “That doesn’t sound so terrible, does it?”

“You thinking about retiring, Tones?” James shifted on the couch and tucked Tony closer to his side. “Hm? Ready to give up the suit and settle down with a couple dogs and a rocking chair?”

“Maybe.” Tony was watching him carefully, and James waited with raised eyebrows for him to finish. “It would give us a chance to finish this talk we never end up having, right? Would give us time to go back to Vegas and see if--mmph!”

James leaned over and kissed him, fitting a hand to the back of Tony’s neck to keep him close for a long moment. “Don’t feel like you have to give up Iron Man just so you and I can finally have that talk, just so we can revisit Vegas. We can do that anytime, Tones.”

“But not really.” Tony pulled away with a frown. “We decided after Pepper that we couldn’t do a relationship and the hero thing. Has to be one or the other.”

“We’re doing a relationship now.” James pointed out and Tony huffed, “Not really! Not... not officially.”

“I kiss you whenever I want and tell you I love you every damn day and as long as we’re in the same time zone, we’re sharing a bed.” James argued back. “How is that not a relationship?”

“It’s just not the one I want.” Tony muttered and James blinked a few times because they-- they hadn’t talked about that yet.

“Tony--”

“We have to deal with the Accords first.” Tony decided. “Because those will sort of take the decision out of my hands, right?”

“....right?”

“And then we can go to Vegas and talk.” Quieter that time. “Right?”

“Right.” No question about it, they were overdue for a Vegas trip and a long awaited talk, and James tugged Tony close again for a long, promising kiss. “You’re absolutely right.”

*****************

The airport fight was... well to be honest, most of James’s memories of the fight were fuzzy at best, wrapped in a haze of pain that wrapped around his spine and landed somewhere down around his feet, but he wouldn’t really know, because he couldn’t really feel them.

He remembered fighting a tiny guy who was then suddenly big and literally swinging gangways through the air trying to knock him out. Wanda was throwing cars in his way and at one point James had had a damn kid hitching a ride on his back and flinging webs to try and take down the big guy.

Then he was taking off and trying to catch the Quinjet, Sam hot on his heels and Vision had only been trying to help but--

--James had woken up in the hospital, Tony curled up as small as he could be in the bed next to him, tears dried on his face, his fists clenched even in his sleep and when James had automatically tried to pull him closer, had tried to shift to give him more room, that was when he’d realized his legs didn’t work.

“I could kill him.” Tony said later that day, staring out the window at the rain. “I could kill Sam. Not Sam, Steve. How the hell could Steve tear us apart like this, how could he turn his back on all of us for his friend? How the fuck did I end up fighting against the same people I ate dinner with last Friday?”

“Tones--” James struggled to sit up, pushed himself up with his arms. “You telling me you wouldn’t take on the UN if it meant bringing me home?”

“I’d take on the goddamn UN to bring you home.” Tony muttered. “But I wouldn’t drag everyone else into it! This isn’t just Steve who’s now a wanted criminal. Christ, they’ve got Clint and Wanda and Sam locked up in the Raft! And whoever the hell the Ant guy was? Who was that? Why is Steve dragging them into the fight!”

“You would have been okay with Cap going after his friend all by himself?” James asked skeptically and Tony’s jaw worked in irritation.

“We’re friends.” he finally said. “He could have asked me to help. He could have asked me and I would have figured out a way to bring Sergeant Barnes back. Signing those fucking Accords would have meant that Barnes could have sanctuary in one of our hospitals and rehab centers. Now? Now there’s talk of executing the Sergeant for his war crimes, POW status be damned. They want to lock Steve in a set of vibranium cuffs and throw him in a hole! Why didn’t he just listen?!”

“Tony.” James motioned for him and Tony came immediately. “Sweetheart, you know damn well if that was me, or if the situation was reversed and it was you? Neither one of us would think twice before spelling a fuck you to the government and doing what we wanted.”

“Are you taking Steve’s side?” Tony sputtered. “How the fuck--”

“I’m saying I understand loving someone enough to not care what I have to do to keep them safe.” James interrupted. “And I think you should remember that when you go looking for Steve.”

“I’m not going looking for him.”

“We both know you are, stop stalling and leave already.” James tried to wave him away. “Go on.”

“I am absolutely not leaving you, Rhodey.”

“Sure you are.” James tried for a smile but it was more of a grimace. “I can guarantee I will be right here in this bed waiting for you to get back.”

“We should have retired.” Tony grabbed his jacket and his phone, cursing under his breath. “Could be in a suite in Vegas right now instead of a goddamn hospital, could be fucking naked instead of chasing after Captain Pain in the Ass and his--”

“Tony.”

“WHAT!?”

“Tony.” James worked hard to keep the pain from his voice, the panic from his eyes when he tried to move again and it didn’t work again. “We’ll get there, alright? Vegas will be there when we’re done. I’ve waited this long, what’s another few days? You keep bringing it up like we’re running out of time, but we’re not. Go figure this out and when you come back, we’ll retire. Go to therapy together and buy a dog together and move somewhere that no one would ever want to invade or attack ever, alright?”

“Yeah?” Tony looked like he was trying not to panic either. “You think you can hold your own against me in retirement? I’m sure to be a menace with nothing destructive to do.”

“Sweetheart.” James smiled when Tony did. “You come back and get me out of this damn bed and I’ll let you hold my own, huh?”

******************

Tony never wanted to talk about Siberia, so James never made him.

He received an electronic file from an unknown number almost seventy two hours later, a small video screen opening on his tablet and playing thirty seconds of the worst video James had ever seen-- a road he was too familiar with, a car he’d snuck out and driven with Tony when Howard was away, a figure on a motorcycle he’d seen only a week previous.

There was a message-- “Tell Tony I’m sorry I wasn’t there when it all went down, tell him I didn’t know before any of this. I don’t know if he’s heard from S.R. but I’m out here if you need me.”

It was signed “N.R.” and that was it.

James dumped the file from his tablet, then smashed the thing into the wall and when Tony came in to see what the noise was, James just shook his head.

“Let’s try these out then, alright?” Tony made a few last minute adjustments to the braces and stepped away. “Can you stand? I got parallel bars, babe. Try and walk for me.”

James hurt to his core even if he couldn’t feel any of it in his legs because it took so much effort to just take a damn step. It almost brought tears to his eyes, but he blinked them away because Tony was blinking away tears too and neither one of them was going to break down and cry.

“Tell me how I can make this better.” Tony was distracting himself with the tech, eyeing every shift of the gears, every movement James made. “Do you want more cushioning? Is it rubbing against your leg weird? Cup holders? Tell me.”

“Maybe some AC down in my--” James tried to snark but his legs gave out just then and he clattered to the floor.

“Damn it.” Tony reached to help him but James pushed away stubbornly. “I can do this Tones. Flew a hundred and thirty eight missions, I can walk. Don’t help me.”

“Fine.” Tony put his hands up. “Stubborn ass.”

“You mean sexy ass.” James replied and Tony shot him a smile over his shoulder as he went to answer whoever was at the door.

“Are you Tony Stank?” The delivery driver called through the door, and there on the floor, James laughed harder than he had in weeks. “Tony Stank? That’s you, right?”

“That’s Tony Stank right there!” James hollered back and Tony groaned out loud. “And thank you for that! I’m never letting that go! Tony Stank!”

“Don’t sound so excited.” Tony grumped. “It’s not that funny.”

“It’s literally the funniest thing in the world.” James disagreed seriously. “Because after thirty something goddamn years, I finally have something annoying to call you every time you call me Honeybear.”

“You love being called Honey bear.” Tony tore open the box and took out a flip phone and a folded note. “Admit it.”

“I absolutely will not.”

*********************

********************* (Vegas)

Vegas had a hundred places to be and a thousand places to go and a hundred thousand people packed into all the spaces, and James didn’t want to be anywhere than where he was standing right now.

“I Honeybear,” he murmured and Tony snorted loud enough that the officiant glanced at him in alarm. “Do promise to take you, Tony Stank--” an even louder snort. “-- to be my lawfully wedded husband. In and out of scrapes and trouble, through all your bullshit shenanigans--” the officiant was starting to look a little alarmed. “--your dangerous inventions, incoherent rambles and weird sleep patterns. I promise to put up with your terrible coping and overspending, with your penchant for ugly ties and love of pictures--”

“Rhodey!” Tony was full on laughing by now and James grinned back but continued--

“I promise to always be there in the morning.” and then softer-- “I’ve loved you since we were just kids at college and it took us a long time to get to Vegas the first time, even longer to get here a second time but we made it, you know?”

James slid a simple gold band onto Tony’s finger. “And more than all this? I promise that no one-- no one-- will ever love you the way I do, Tones.”

Tony stared down at the ring on his finger, then up into James’s eyes, and then pitched his index cards right over the side of the railing and threw his arms around James’s neck to kiss him.

James caught him easily, the gears on his leg braces whirring with the extra weight but holding steady as they hugged and when Tony leaned away, all he could say is-- “How the hell am I supposed to follow those vows? What could I possibly say that would be better than that?”

“It’s a wedding, not a competition, Tones.”

“The hell it’s not.” Tony tossed back. “I had every intention of having you in tears with my vows but that’s not going to happen now.”

“Well, I think the officiant might cry if we don’t get back to it.” James suggested and Tony stepped back reluctantly. “Go on now, say your vows.”

“I threw my cards over the edge.” Tony was smiling up at him the same way he’d smiled back when they were kids in college and James had agreed to enter the robot contest, the same way he’d smiled the night before graduation when James had finally kissed him back, the same way he’d smiled the last time they were in Vegas and James had thought the shine in Tony’s eyes was prettier than the stars.

God he loved him.

“I’ve loved you since I was fifteen.” Tony finally said. “And some days I wish it wouldn't have taken this long to be together. I wish I would have sobered up in college and told you what I wanted, I wish I wouldn’t have pushed you away after graduation and I wish I wouldn’t have wasted time dating all those other people.”

“Tones...”

“I wish it wouldnt have taken almost dying for us to actually say something.” Tony continued, touching his chest where only scars sat now. “And I wish I hadn’t had to lose Pepper for you and I to finally take the step forward into something real. I wish alot of things were different, Rhodey, but then again I wouldn't change it at all because somehow, I’ve always had you by my side and now--” Tony slipped a gold band onto James’s finger as well. “now I always will.”

“Nobody has ever loved me like you do.” he whispered. “And I never want anyone else to even try.”

***************

Epilogue

***************

“He’s a good kid.” Tony sipped at his coffee and watched Peter do his homework at the table of the compound. “I told him if he wanted this internship he had to work for it, and he hasn’t let a single grade slip or anything.”

“He is a good kid.” James put an arm around Tony’s waist and kissed his husband good morning.

“Does he remind you of me at that age?”

“Oh god no.” James said emphatically. “God no. You were a terrible kid. Literally terrible. Do you see these gray hairs? They grew in the day you moved into my dorm. If Peter is anything like you at that age, I will kick him out of this house myself, I swear.”

“Rude.”

“And yet so true.” He stole a drink of Tony’s coffee. “What’s he working on right now?”

“A robot design.” Tony’s eyes lit up. “He wants me to help with the NASA competition.”

“Absolutely not. You’ll blow us all half to hell. Nope. No way. I am not letting you two build something for NASA in the same place I sleep. Not you and Disaster Jr. over there.”

“Fine, we’ll build it outside.”

“I swear to god, Tony---”

“Fine fine fine.” Tony pushed him away, smoothing down his own silvering hair. “Spoilsport.”

James caught him back and re-ruffled his hair, laying a solid kiss on Tony’s lips. “Brat.”

*********************

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dreamgloe · 5 years

Text

808s & heartbreak | chapter one

as newly minted staff producer at bighit, you are lucky for the opportunity but even luckier when you catch the artistic (and otherwise) attention of one of its most formidable artists. however, a past you’ve condemned to remain as such has threatened to drag you back out to sea.

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: idolverse warnings: angst, some fluff, possible adult content in future chapters words: 10,760 author’s note: remember, side a is fic feels, side b is songs mentioned or song inspiration. this was a long time coming and eventually i’ll put a link out to a full spotify playlist. would love feedback, thoughts, asks, etc. i’m really soft for (1) min yoongi. thank u for coming to my fic and my ted talk.

It was an honest mistake.

That’s what they said anyway. But it wasn't really that honest.

After you had submitted all of your materials, you found the detail that probably should have stopped you from submitting. ‘Male. Born 1998 and after.’ Some could claim that you saw it, didn’t care, and submitted anyways. But you submitted under the songwriting category and your singing of the song wasn’t a red flag at all. Could have been your sister, a friend, anyone.

But it was you.

And when you showed up to your second round audition with nothing but a microphone, your looper, and a cascade of messy hair under a beanie--your best one you would say, you weren’t an animal--you were looked at in confusion. Everyone was too shocked to say anything as you quickly got into your song, clearly intrigued with your set up. Laying down a few quick vocal beats and harmonies over one another, you launched into the lyrics. Music was usually the one thing that didn’t provoke a stream of anxiety and apprehension.

It wasn’t hard for you to get taken away by your own music. It was only a verse and a hook but you made it feel like it lasted forever. At least, it had felt like that long to you.

‘Magical mystery nights, fairy lights. You looked at me like I was one of the sights. I always think of your soju-breath that night, And how you said our love was worth the fight.’

It was easy to pour the emotion into the song as you sang, even though you’d rather die than consider yourself a performer. Singing one of your more intimate, personal original songs was always a risk but hopefully it was one that would pay off. The moment made you think of a quote your sister would often recite to you, one by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich.

“Well-behaved women rarely make history.”

You always took that quote to mean in a male dominated industry, playing it safe would never get you noticed. This moment in time could either change your life or set you back a few steps. When you finished, you used your toe to turn down the sound and turn off the looper. You couldn’t hear anything but your own breath among the silence. You were sure they would dismiss you because you were a girl and not a boy. It was a blessing and a curse that your parents gave you a unisex name.

An older man with glasses sat at the table next to a younger woman probably in her late thirties. They looked at you in silence while glancing down at the papers in front of them.

“Y/L/N Y/F/N,” the man says with a chuckle, peering over his glasses at page, presumably with your submitted information on it.

He said something into the woman next to him’s ear and she nodded before taking a few notes in her own notebook. You couldn’t hear what they said but you know what was coming. You held the microphone that connected to your looper tightly in your hand.

You took the risk...but it wasn’t paying off.

“I take it that it was you singing on your first audition tape, then?” he asked. You looked for a sign that didn’t lead to disappointment but you couldn’t read his face. You knew exactly what he was digging for.

“Yes, it was,” you said simply and honestly. You could feel yourself pressing the balls of your feet into the wooden floor below you. Another rejection under your belt, you could feel it coming. You’d auditioned for one or two other small companies, ones that were geared more towards hip hop but they went in other directions. BigHit was the only other company you really wanted to work with. You could feel your eyes prickle at the nervous anticipation buzzing through you right now

“You know the audition notice said we were looking for males, right?” he asked, the woman next to him interlocking her fingers in front of her on the table. Your hand started to sweat around the microphone while your your free hand reached up to untangle a knot at the ends of your long hair.

“I did...after it was too late,” you said, laughing at yourself, trying to smooth over the situation, “I’m obviously not very good at reading directions.” It was true. The moment you pressed send, you then realized they were only looking for males. They were obviously looking for more guys for whatever group they were trying to put together. You’d heard they were holding additional auditions just in case, even though they already had a lineup they were working with. You were in fact not male and you were born in 1996, two years old than what they were looking for. You couldn’t stand the silence from both of them, so you continued against your mind’s better judgment. “I didn’t expect to even hear back,” you said, “So when I did...I thought, why not?”

“Hmmm,” was all the man said. It was the woman’s turn to whisper something to the older man. He sighed and shuffled all his papers together.

“Despite the minor deceit, it’s obviously that you are talented. We’d love to have you meet with some of our producers and if that goes well, possibly the talent we think you’d be a great fit working with,” he said. You didn’t know if you heard had correctly but when the woman smiled at you, your stomached settled slightly and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!” you say, bowing to both the man and woman.

“We will email you to set up a meeting with part of our producer team. It was really refreshing to see a talented young woman such as yourself come in,” the woman said, speaking for the first time. You couldn’t help but smile back at her. There was something in the woman’s eye that you could grasp. Pride? A common acknowledgment between women in the music industry?

You hoped it was all the above.

Your meeting with the producing team happened two weeks later. It was at 4pm on a Tuesday and you had loaded up as USB drive, your iPad, your laptop with everything you could think of bringing. You overprepared, putting all of your devices into your bulky, plain backpack. You had the ugly thing since high school and couldn’t bear to part with it. It probably had a few cough drops at the bottom from your last year of high school, maybe a granola bar hidden one of the million of pockets. But that was fine because you had everything you needed. Hopefully you’d be able to provide that to the people you’d be meeting with.

Before leaving your apartment, you looked in the mirror. You wore a royal blue sweatshirt, dark black jeans, some sleek boots with cutouts on the side. With your signature beanie--the one you wore to your audition--you knew that this was as good as you were going to get. You weren’t very girly and sometimes, you felt self-conscious about it. But you felt at your most comfortable and at ease when you were in jeans and a crew neck sweatshirt. You felt cozy and you could feel your anxiety quickly slipping away. But you hated to admit that you didn’t even own a dress. You thought to yourself, though, because wasn’t like you were going to wear one or a suit of any kind to this meeting. You were meeting with music producers, for God’s sake. You still wanted to impress, though. This could be your chance to work with one of the most buzzed about music companies in the country, one that you actually admired.

And you were lucky when they didn’t kick you out at the audition for not reading directions.

You easily arrived at the Big Hit offices. When you checked in, you were given a water bottle and asked to wait. Two minutes past four, you were ushered into a conference room with six people already sitting at a sleek, modern conference table. Everyone at the table got up to shake your hand and you reciprocated, bowing in respect as you did so. After taking a seat, the woman who was in your audition came in, shut the door, and sat at the head of the table. Everyone quickly settled in for the meeting.

“Everyone, this is Y/L/N Y/F/N, the one we found through the open audition,” the woman said, smiling. A bit of excitement shifted through the group. You smiled at the group, gripping the hem of your sweatshirt tightly, needing something to hold on to in order to not just internally combust.

“Oh she’s the one that couldn’t read the audition notice?” one of the producers asks. He looks nice enough, wears glasses, and looks like he hasn’t ever worn a suit in his entire life. You try not to look embarrassed but it’s hard not to when a handful of the other producers laugh.

“Yes, she is.” the woman says, “but it’s hard to ignore talent. I know some of you have seen the tape but we’ll play it again as a quick refresher.” You wait until the lights go out and the video is pulled up to hide your face in your fingers. You hated watching yourself on tape and listening to your singing voice. The tape started up, showing you almost tripping over the cord of your looper mic.

You heard the lyrics come through the conference room speakers and you wanted to disappear. Seeing other people react to a video of you projected onto a big screen, singing a rather personal song, made your stomach clench and the breath catch in your throat. You’d hoped that someone would whisper or talk to the person next to them while the video was playing to ease the tension in your head and in your heart but everyone remained silent until the lights came back up.

“Wow,” said a voice. You saw a woman, probably the only other female producer at Big Hit. The one who went by ADORA. She definitely had been one of your inspirations to audition. The only female staff producer at Big Hit.

All the producers were starting to talk amongst one another, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit of sweat appearing. You looked from the female executive from your audition to the rest of the group, letting your eyes wander around the room, too embarrassed to keep your vision in one place. Why were you like this? Couldn’t even confidently take a compliment.

“I’m glad that you all could meet with Y/N today. I wanted to get everyone together to get to know her. I also asked her to bring some of her other work. I know we are about to gear up on some big projects and I thought she might be a good addition to the production team,” she continued.

A tall man sitting towards the middle raised his hand to speak, “Why don’t you play some of your work. Maybe the full length version from your audition song and maybe one of your favorites?”

“Sure,” you said, trying not to fumble with the backpack between your legs. You push yourself out to get into the bag. You grabbed your laptop, trying not to make a bunch of noise while doing so but failing, and pulled up the full length file of your audition song. Testing the volume, it’s definitely loud enough for all the producers in the room to hear it. With a quick breath, you press play. While your looper played a part in the recording, there are other instruments--guitar and piano specifically--and all the producers at the table quiet to listen.

It’s the longest two and a half minutes of your life as they listen. Your fingers drum against your thighs as the song soars to it’s climax, your nails digging a bit into them as well, palms sweaty. This song is is raw for you but that’s something you don’t want to let on.

It ends and everyone sounds and looks pleased as you look around.

It was then that you realized there was someone sitting in an armchair on the far side of the room. Arms folded over one another, bucket hat low over their eyes. But your attention is pulled away when someone else at the table speaks up.

The producer eagerly says, “What else do you have?”

You quickly sift through your media player list before stopping on a song titled “It Carries.” Your heart stops for a moment. This song is one of your favorites but it also is a painful reminder. Not just about a past you’d like to forget but a humiliation that your best friend Seoyun would tell you was not your fault. You didn’t realize that you just sat there quietly for a beat too long.

“Y/N?” the lady executive asks.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, shaking it off, “Was stuck between two…Hm, this one is called ‘It Carries.’ I actually wrote it for...an old friend. He’s the one rapping, but I wrote everything.”

Throwing your nerves into the wind, you press play, letting the 808-filled beat fill the conference room. Again the room goes silent, that that makes you nervous. Beginning vocals finish and the rap begins, you notice the person in the back of the room lean forward, elbows on their knees. It doesn’t help that you can’t see their face. They’re probably another one of the producers.

The party that wrenches your heart the most comes up and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You take a deep breath but it’s shakier than you were planning on it to be.

‘But you say “it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine Words aren’t always necessary” My heart squeezes in love and in thanks And I don’t feel as broken as before’

As it finishes, you let out a breath you didn’t realize that you were holding. There is some applause but you aren’t really paying attention. The tall producer raises his hand to quiet everyone again. “That was really amazing. You wrote those raps?” he asked.

“Yes... I wrote them,” you said, which was all you could manage. Your nerves were still bubbling.

“The flow is amazing. The rapping is good but the lyrics…” he trailed off.

“The rapper had an exceptional songwriter to help him out,” said a deep, slightly scratchy voice. It came from the person in the back, the one whose face you couldn’t see in the dimmed light of the conference room. You looked as closely from where you sat and when he raised his head, you tried not outwardly gasp.

Your complimenter was none other than Min Yoongi, Suga of BTS, one of the most well-known and spoken-about young producers in the industry. But...why was he sulking in the back of a preliminary producer meeting? Didn’t he have songs to write, press to do, anything else but sit in on your meeting? Why in the heck was he here? And he listened to some rather personal songs of yours too. Your face had never felt so hot.

“You’re absolutely right,” the female executive said, making no comment as to why the idol was sitting in the back of this meeting.

The tall producer came back around. “You’ve got an interesting point of view and I’d love to see what you can do. I work with BTS but am also overseeing the new boy group who are working towards their debut.”

You perked up a bit, your attention finally at least partly restored after having been trying really hard not to start at the international superstar just sulking in the corner of the room.

“Really?” you asked, a smile forming on your lips, your eyes moving to bulge just slightly out of your head. Was this all really happening?

“Really,” he said, smiling, “You won’t be exclusive to any team but I think you’d be a great use to many of the projects currently in the words at BigHit.” Everyone looked to be in agreement but your eyes couldn’t help but go back to Min Yoongi in the back. His arms still crossed, he didn’t have much of a reaction...despite what he said to you earlier; to be more specific, what he said about you.

The meeting started to die down and everyone was getting out of their chairs and talking. You took a sip out of your water bottle as two of the younger producers--whose names you recognized from the long list of BTS credits--included you into conversation, asking you about your influences. The rest of the time was spent talking to the two of them, as well as the other producers.

They both gave you their numbers as they mentioned they’d also be working on most of the current projects in production and that you’d be spending a lot of time together so getting to know one another would be beneficial. You wholeheartedly agreed and found them easy to talk to, quickly relaxing into the conversation. Getting to know them was like some sort of...weird reality.

You felt as if you might have to pinch yourself any second.

You were talking to one of the younger producers when they beckoned someone over. You looked over your shoulder to see Suga of BTS--Min Yoongi, if you were to be more correct in this situation--holding a soda can between his fingers. You hadn’t seen him talk to anyone until now besides the female executive from earlier.

“Hey, hyung,” one of the guys said to him, “Ready to go back to the studio?”

He turned his gaze from his drink to the producer and you could finally really see his face, even if it was still partly hidden under his hat. The first thing that definitely struck you was his eyes. Dark and intense, not that you didn’t already know that. You’d seen pictures of him, seen his performances at all the music award and variety shows. But cameras and televisions rarely captured the true reality. They were truly stunning.

It was then. It was then that it really hit you that Min Yoongi was standing a mere four feet away from you. He was perhaps one of the biggest inspirations for auditioning for Big Hit in the first place. You never really considered yourself ARMY but you respected the group and their interest in being involved in the creation of their work. Especially the rap line as they also were considered the main contributors. You admired what they and BigHit doing, what they stood for.

And you had a feeling that you were going to get to be part of it.

You tried not to visibly vibrate with excitement right in front of him. Why would you be calm and collected around him? You’d never met any idols or famous actors, singers, etc. in your entire life. It was jarring to realize that he was just hanging out in the back of the conference room while you showed some of your personal work with the producing team. You rarely shared your music with your family, let alone your friends. Seoyun, was the only one who could pry the work out of you...but usually under force or threat.

But she of all people knew what these two songs meant to you. And having a famous idol hear your work before you even knew he was in the room...it scattered your brain just a bit. You still kind of felt like an idiot, though.

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi said in a low and tired-sounding timbre.

Part of you was curious as to what they are working on and part of you kind of wanted to ask if you can tag along. But the realist side of you laughed at the idea. You haven’t been in the building more than two hours and you were already itching to know more, do more, see more. But you keep quiet because you knew it was just your excitement. Nothing like this had ever happened in your life and you’re still not even sure if it’s even real. You could wake up at any moment. It’s a dream, right?, you keep asking yourself.

It’s not. It’s the start of the rest of your life.

“Cool,” the other producer said, shoving their hands into their pockets. The water bottled crinkled a little in your hands. “It was really great meeting you, Y/N. Work calls but we’ll see you soon, yeah? I think the plan is to get into get things set up in the next week,” he continued.

“Sounds great,” you replied genuinely. The two producers turned towards Yoongi and the three of them started to leave but before they could make head way out of the conference room, the man in question turned back towards you with a hand raised in a non-moving wave.

“See you around,” he said.

“You too,” you managed to respond, returning the small wave but dropping that hand to wrap around your other wrist in front of you. You couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your face. Your first two words to Min Yoongi. They could have been worse...or more embarrassing.

Seriously, you needed someone to slap you back to reality.

He turned around and left with the two producers. One was Shin Donghyuk--also known as Surpeme Boi--and the other was Kim Yunseo, a newer addition to the BigHit team, but you had been familiar with some of his independent work before he joined. They were going to be heavily involved in the work for the upcoming projects, both BTS’ comeback and the new boy group debut.

Tossing your finished water bottle in the appropriate bin, the female executive who rooted for you, Lee Hayoon, approached you. She had a stern yet friendly smile as she came towards you, with the producer known as ADORA in tow.

“I hope you are enjoying yourself. I see you you already met Donghyuk-ssi and Yunseo-ssi. That’s great because you’ll be working with them a lot,” she said, “We considered hiring a new slew of producers for the new group but Donghyuk insisted on working both albums. Yunseo is, after you, the newest producer. Glad to have you on the team, Y/N.”

The woman you knew to be known as ADORA smiled. “My name is Moon Eun-hye,” she said, making a small bow, “It’s so nice to have another woman on the team finally. Your work is stunning for how young you are.” You beam just a bit as you really respect her work as ADORA.

“Thank you so much. I really admired your work on the last album,” you said returning the bow, trying not to gush. Eun-hye seemed so low-key and dresses casually, much like how you usually dress. What you were currently wearing was you dressing up to impress. This girl made sweats and a ripped t-shirt look cool.

“Aw, thanks,” she said, “Seriously...I can’t wait to work with you. Us girls definitely have to stick together.” She gave you her number and the three of you talked about what was next. Hayoon said that you’d be looped in with the studio/recording coordinator to get updated on the current schedule. They’d be doing a few team dinners for the various projects that were coming up, coinciding with whatever you got placed on. Whether it was primarily the BTS comeback or the boy group debut. Hayoon assured that you’d have time to learn about the group once and if you started working with them, if that was the decision that would go first.

The get together finally died down and you said your goodbyes, only a few hours later getting various calendar invites. You’d be officially signing your contract the next time you came to BigHit. You were having your brother-in-law--a lawyer--look it over before you signed.

Those technicalities and small things were the last things on your mind. You were making your dreams come true and you were doing it on your own.

You also couldn’t wait to tell the people who loved and supported you the most.

An important event was coming up so the dance, studio, and overall rehearsal schedule was in full swing. Not only did the guys have to share a company with a new group, the company was flocking with new people and faces due to obvious and needed expansion. While they all thought that they knew everyone, there was always someone new popping out from the woodwork.

“Hey, hyung,” Jimin shouted over towards Namjoon while sitting on the floor stretching, “Did you hear about the new producer they just hired?” Both Jimin and Jungkook were fanned out on the floor, getting ready for a dance practice. Hoseok was already in front of the mirror, lightly going through the steps as usual.

“I did,” Namjoon said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I don’t know anything other than that the producer is a girl.”

Jimin and Jungkook both looked at one another. Eun-hye-noona was the only other female producer so this was an interesting development. You’d be the second female staff producer so of course you were of interest. The way you got hired, too, was definitely something that triggered a lot of attention as well.

“What’s going on?” Taehyung asked as he walked over and sat down to join the rest of the youngers.

“The new producer they just hired is a girl,” Jungkook said excitedly. The four of them were talking amongst themselves while Hoseok was still working in front of the mirror, Jin was sitting on a rolling chair playing a game on his phone and Yoongi was getting some water. Shaken from his thoughts, he heard Jimin over his shoulder.

“Yoongi-hyung, do you know anything about the new girl producer?” Jimin asked, Jungkook and Taehyung hanging onto the question.

“She’s good,” he said casually, turning back to his water bottle. Exclamations erupted.

“You heard her work????” Taehyung asked, breaking the commotion.

Yoongi put the bottle down, turned around, and walked over to the four guys. They were all awash with excitement and moved in towards him as well.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asked. Jimin followed, leaning his hands and arms over Jungkook’s shoulder in expectation.

“I was at the studio and Hayoon-noona asked me to sit in on a meeting,” Yoongi said, crossing his arms, looking up at towards the brim of the baseball cap on his head.

“So, she’s actually good?” Namjoon asked, looking Yoongi over in question, “I’m surprised they even met with her a second time after all that confusion.”

Yoongi whipped out his phone, deciding to pull up the song he asked Hayoon to send over to him. “She brought a looper in with her for her audition. You can’t really ignore that. It’s creative”

Namjoon’s eyes widened. “Wow, that’s actually really cool,” he said, watching Yoongi pull up the song. Namjoon called out for Jin and Hobi to come over.

“I asked Hayoon-noona to send me the song she played for us in the meeting,” Yoongi added, moving to press play.

“What is this-” Jin said before Jimin cut him off with a ‘Shhhh’

A hip hop tone with a bit of electronic and tropical flowed through the horrible iPhone speakers, filling the studio. Hobi and Jungkook immediately started moving their head and shoulders while the others listened intently.

It was the “It Carries” song that you had played the group in your meeting.

The vocals and rap line move seamlessly on top of the melody and production. Namjoon’s chin sits in his hands as he moves it along, deep in though. Yoongi doesn’t move or sway but he’s super intent on listening to the song, something he done a number of times since asking Hayoon-noona to send it to him.

“Who’s rapping?” Jimin asks. By this time, he’s moving his fingers to the beat.

“Don’t know,” Yoongi said, “He’s okay, I guess, but what’s more interesting is that she wrote all the rap and lyrics in addition to producing the song.” Namjoon and Hoseok were intrigued. “She’s only a year older than Kookie,” he said as the song came to its end. Everyone was surprised by that. Once again, they all erupted into conversation.

“Take notes, Kookie,” he said, pocketing his phone and looking pointedly at the maknae, “If you want to continue producing music…”

“Don’t come for me, Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook said defiantly. The others laughed at the exchange. “Regardless....you seem to know a lot about her,” Jungkook teases. The others join in and it takes Yoongi what’s left of his energy to not say something back.

After practice ended, he ended up spending the majority of the night at the studio after Hoseok and Yunseo left. The three of them were working on a song but Yoongi wanted to to stay behind after they left.

He had been working on some tweaks for a collaboration with a huge western artist but all of a sudden, a thought came to him. A rush of inspiration had led him to his piano and he laid down a melody line. It was one of the first things he was truly proud of and something that wasn’t spurred by necessity. It was something just for him in that moment, something that brought a wide smile to his face as he reached for the soggy iced Americano on his desk.

Maybe it would be something he’d save for the next mixtape. Maybe...just maybe he wouldn’t have to wait that long.

Your family was so proud.

They had been apprehensive of you pursuing music because of the question of stability but in the end, they just wanted you to be happy. You went to university to please them, but majored in music production. They felt more secure in that choice. Sound engineers were always in demand, at least. That’s how they thought anyway. You couldn’t blame them and you did want to make them proud. But there were moments when you were sure that you knew yourself. You knew that you could never do a job that you weren’t passionate about.

You’d always been sensitive and pursuing medicine or an office job...you had a feeling ity would essentially destroy you.

You had lovely friends in university, most of whom you are still close to, but well into your second year, you met and started dating another music production major. Even thinking or saying his name was still painful, though. It had been months since you broke up and you’d begun to heal. Your heart was finally mending and your friends and music were your saving graces. You don’t know where you would be without Seoyun’s pushy behavior or your sister’s quote-laden pep talks over skype or the cave that was your music studio set up in your small studio apartment. The tail end of your relationship had caused a lot of rifts in your heart and life. While you didn’t rearrange your whole life, there were a lot of things you changed after your break up.

After appearing on a famous reality rap show and making it to the end...the funny, charming, aspiring rapper you called your boyfriend and best friend dumped you over text message.

You had relied on your family and friends a lot in the past several months. So seeing you happy about something again made them happy. You really hated being a burden to your friends and family. The idea that they worried so much about you did a number on your anxiety. All you wanted was for your parents and friends to be proud of the artist and person you were. Working for one of the most talked-about music companies in the industry was only something you’d dreamed about. Music had been your life since you were little, ever since you had begged for piano and guitar lessons. Practicing piano for hours a day was a hassle to most of your friends but to you, those lessons were the best part of your week. Guitar quickly became a second love, too.

Before this opportunity, you had seriously considered moving back with your parents, the small cafe job you had up until now barely even helping you make rent. But you knew that you’d soon be getting a paycheck from one of the most profitable companies in music. You deleted that email draft to your landlord, stating that you’d be leaving at the end of your lease.

Things were looking up in more ways than one.

In celebration, your best friend in the world, Park Seoyun, had convinced you to go out the Saturday before your first day officially at BigHit.

She was a social butterfly and had a lot of cool and influential friends. Sometimes you weren’t sure whiy she still kept you around but she did. While she was also the fun friend, she was also the mom friend. Always nagging you and making sure you were taking care of yourself, not just while you were both in university. She actually worked at one of the big companies in a coordinator position and she knew where anyone who was anything would be. Dominoing into tonight, she knew someone who could get the two of you through the VIP entrance to one of the hottest clubs in Seoul.

Clubs were never one of your things but once in a while, letting loose didn’t sound like a horrible idea. However, she’d dressed you up. You weren’t a super fashionable person. You liked a more athletic look in contrast to Seoyun’s sexy, feminine fashion sense. In your signature black, she squeezed you into a short turtleneck bodycon dress and some of her more stable, platformed boots. Heels had always been your enemy and you threw anything that had a stiletto back her way. She had to concede.

As she promised, getting in was a breeze. You were able to slink right in, of course pissing off all the people in the line that wrapped around the block. You couldn’t help but smile a little as the two of you tripped over your own feet into the club.

Your friend insisted on taking a photo before entering the VIP section, where cameras were not allowed. You did your classic peace sign near your face in front of the neon light display. You assesed yourself in a mirror nearby. You looked cute, you guessed. Cute was the most you could muster. Sexy? Don’t even try, you’d tell yourself. Seoyun had a claim on that territory already. But you were fine with being cute. Sexy wasn’t something you actively tried to achieve. After touching up, you two made your way over to the VIP section. Seoyun made flirty small talk with the bouncer and the two of you were in there in seconds.

Yeah, there were definitely celebrities littering the area. Seoyun even walked right up to some actor that you recognized but couldn’t name….and they knew one another. You weren’t surprised as you took the hand the tall, handsome actor offered when greeting you. “Y/L/N, Y/N?”

“Uh, hi. How did you know my name?” you asked., honestly a little incredulous.

“Honestly Y/N, he went to school with us,” she said. Your eyes widened because you didn’t remember him. “It’s fine, you didn’t go out a lot. You may not know him.”

You rolled your eyes at her and apologized to him but you still smile a little because it was true. You had been too busy with your music and...your boyfriend. Maybe if you took your social life a little more seriously while in university, you’d have been friends with the actor too. Seoyun was your first year roommate and despite the two of you being soul twins, you both really were so different. Jisoo had been kind enough to get the three of you drinks so for a moment, he disappeared.

Seoyun stiffened and it caught you off-guard. What was she looking at? “Don’t look over your right shoulder are your new neighbors,” You scrunch your nose in confusion but quickly look, trying to mask it as a scratch.

“I said don’t look!” your friend screamed through her teeth and you quickly whip your head back in her direction in response to her order.

“Calm down,” you said, “Who’s there?” You were surprised any of them were there. They were notoriously absent from the party scene. At least, that’s what Seoyun said. Then again, so were you. At least you had that in common.

“Them. I think all of them,” she said but not sounding so sure, just as the actor--Lee Jisoo, whose name you just remembered--came back with three drinks. You definitely did see that drama with him in it. You had definitely watched the whole thing, too. He smiled at both of you as you clink your glasses together.

“Who’s here?” Jisoo asks after taking a sip. You suddenly feel awkward but Seoyun is quick to gab.

“BTS,” she said. Jisoo looked over and nodded with a thoughtful pout.

“I rarely see them out. Surprised, staff is loosening the reins,” he said. However, it didn’t look like they were being bothered by anyone. It was probably nice for them, you thought, that the could go out and blow off some steam without being harassed once in while.

“It just so happens that Y/N here is getting signed to BigHit,” she says after taking a large gulp of her drink. You gave her a look. Your contract wasn’t even signed yet and you didn’t want anything risking it but you let it go because on the other hand, your socially connected best friend was proud as hell of you.

“I’ll be working on various projects as a producer,” you say, keeping it that, just in case. You didn’t want anything to harm the signing of your contract. But you were proud. You were very excited. Jisoo congratulated you, said that he knew a few of the boys, and then laughed at something else Seoyun said. Sometimes you were jealous of her since she had such an easy way with people. You were the opposite most of the time. You were really shy until you eased yourself into the situation and got more comfortable. You had never been the type to just go up to people you didn’t know but you adapted quickly once you slotted in and often fed off the energy of others.

Continuing to talk, the three of you had managed to shift your standing positions so that the group was now at the edge of your peripheral. You didn’t want to go over and disturb them. Besides, you had only ever been introduced to Yoongi and that was only for a millisecond. You couldn’t even see Yoongi at the moment but what if he was there and he saw you and you saw him and he thought it was rude that you didn’t come over? You were used to overthinking things so you were hoping that even the smallest of sips would help ease the anxiety settling into the pit of your stomach like squishy rocks.

Why were you like this? Ugh.

You continued to flit in and out of the conversation with Seoyun and Jisoo and the feeling of them within your peripheral. Something unexpected happened instead. Two of members approached the three of you. Mid-sip you tried not to choke on the large gulp you just took.

“It’s Y/L/N, Y/N, right?” says the shorter of the two who approached. You were almost 100% certain that was Kim Taehyung. A large, wide smile and impeccable style. The taller, you knew, was Kim Namjoon, the leader of the group. You knew that for sure. But wait a minute, how---? How did they knew you were you? You looked around for a moment but still didn’t see Yoongi.

“Yes,” you said, your glass still held tightly between your fingers, “Hi.” You were glad that you managed at least those two words. He smiled at you and there was something about him that eased whatever nerves you had before. It was true. He didn’t look human in real life. You smile and make yourself take a deep breath. You’d likely be working with the group soon on their upcoming album. In a way, they were kind of your co-workers? Being nervous around them wasn’t going to make anything easier.

“It’s nice to actually meet you. We’ve heard a bit about you,” Namjoon chimes in, shaking your hand, followed by Tae. The two of them also introduce themselves to Seoyun and Jisoo, though Taehyung knew Jisoo as an acquaintance through mutual friends. The five of you fell into conversation and it wasn’t long before Jimin came and joined, introducing himself to you and your group.

“We loved your song, by the way,” Jimin said enthusiastically, “That hook…” Your eyes widened a little as you subconsciously pulled your lips in between your teeth, a small smile tearing at the corners. Some of the most celebrated artists in the industry loved your work. Sometimes, this kind of validation could be enough to drag you out of your shy comfort zone.

“Oh, thank you so much,” you said, “Which song?” You were doing all you could to not visibly shake. Park Jimin had the voice of an angel and if you were lucky enough to keep impressing BigHit, he might end up singing your work.

“I think it was “It Carries”?” Jimin said, calling over your shoulder, “Yoongi-hyung, Y/N’s song you played for us...it was “It Carries,” right?” You turned over your shoulder a little too quickly, hitting Jisoo in the face with your hair. You muttered a quick sorry to him. They’d passed around your song. God, your face couldn’t be any warmer, right?

“Yeah,” he said, expressionless, holding three drinks, “that’s the one.” You forced yourself to breathe again. That song had been hard enough to show to the group as it was personal. The fact that the whole group had heard it caused your heart to palpitate. You knew that Hayoon had a copy of it but the idea that someone you didn’t know might have it on their computer or on their phone or in their texts...it was still a little unnerving. A compliment, likely, but still unnerving.

Yoongi moved to hand the three of his group members drinks, which they accepted. “Nice to see you again,” he said to you, shaking his bangs out of his face. There were his eyes again. Soft despite his monotone. He sounded sincere but not overzealous or as if he was saying it to be polite. He was dressed nicely in a simple black blazer, black t-shirt and black jeans. Simple. Unlike what they usually wore for press, concerts, etc.

“You too,” you say in response, feeling yourself ease a little, taking another sip. He seemed perfectly relaxed, as if playing your song for everyone was just the most casual thing he could do...while across from him, your stomach was in knots. However, part of you felt at ease because he took it so casually, as if this whole thing wasn’t changing your life. As if all of this was natural. It was a paradox you couldn’t quite keep away from.

Seoyun who was having a good time, raised her glass. “Just want to make a quick toast to Y/N’s first day on Monday. I have a very hard-working, tireless, and multi-talented best friend,” she said, smiling and leaning into Jisoo just a bit. Your best friend was sweet but a bit of a lightweight, “Cheers to Y/N!!!” Everyone in the circle smiled and joined in.

The rest of the night flew by in a fun frenzy and the three of you ended up joining the group at their booth. You met Hoseok, Jin, and Jungkook shortly after, the three of them working their way through the fancy handle of Grey Goose vodka among their assorted bottle service. Hoseok was definitely the most tipsy and when a song he loved came on, he even pulled Seoyun and yourself in to dance. He was twirling you both around playfully and jokingly, but still managing to dance with more grace than anyone you personally knew.

When Hoseok released the two of you for a break, you found yourself deep in conversation with Namjoon and Yoongi while Seoyun managed to find herself flirting with both Jin and Jisoo. Namjoon and Yoongi both seemed interested in your music taste. They asked you about your musical influences and you found it really nice that they were just as nerdy about music as you were. For a moment, you could have gone to high school with them, as if they might have been in orchestra with you or jazz band.

“Epik High, Missy Elliott, Lady Sovereign, Beyoncé, CL....hands down of all time,” you said and as you took another sip of your drink, it finally made that awful slurping noise. You’d hit ice. Both Yoongi and Namjoon enthusiastically said that Epik High was one of their biggest inspirations to be rappers.

“Do you rap?” Namjoon asked and you couldn’t help be shake your head no. Performing was not in your wheelhouse. God, your audition was nerve wracking enough. Performing in front of hundreds of people? No thank you.

“No, not at all,” you said, “But I like to write them.”

“Like your song,” Yoongi said,, “That was a beautiful rap. You definitely could, if you wanted to.” You softened at the words coming out of his mouth and then some more when Namjoon agreed.

“Yu obviously have amazing musicality. Just like this one here,” Namjoon said, motioning at Yoongi. Yoongi just raised his shoulders the tiniest bit in response. An acknowledgment rather than an agreement.

Namjoon then asked you what you were currently listening to but you were interrupted for a second as Yoongi took the drink from you, leaning down towards the large low table, presumably to top you off.

You quickly snapped back to what Namjoon was saying. “Oh, lately I’ve been listening to WOODZ, Jvcki Wai, and I love Robyn’s newest album,” you say.

“I like Jvcki’s lyrics. Very aggressive flow, too,” Namjoon says enthusiastically and you nod in agreement.

“She doesn’t take prisoners. I think what she is doing is really cool,” you add, “Especially as a woman in hip hop.” You think of her song ‘Anti-’ All your friends really liked music but you were so excited to be working at a company where everyone had the same passion.

“People think she uses a lot of autotune but that’s actually usually just her voice,” you say with a laugh. Both Namjoon and Yoongi smile at your comment, the second handing you a newly made drink.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the tumbler from his hands. A small smile appeared on Yoongi’s lips as he finished making himself another drink. “Lady Sovereign, though?” he asked and you know he’s making fun of you.

“What can I say? My ten year old self was obsessed,” you say, smiling and thinking about the time you dressed up as her for a costume party in elementary school. The few small braids, the side ponytail, and tracksuit were still a look. Taking another gulp of your drink, you were trying to remember which number you were on. You could feel the alcohol in your cheeks at this point. You were tall for a girl and usually you weren’t much of a lightweight. You could handle your liquor but you’d always feel it in your face two drinks in. The feeling was comfortable but the thought of looking drunker than you were was not.

“I was curious, though,” Namjoon said all of a sudden, “Who was the rapper on your track?” You froze for a second for responding just a little too quickly. “An old friend,” you said, perhaps a little colder than you meant. You were trying to convince yourself that your reaction was due to the alcohol, but your face gave away everything.

“Oh, he sounds kind of familiar. That’s the only reason I ask,” Namjoon said and if he caught on to your demeanor change, he didn’t let on. It wouldn’t be surprising if Namjoon had heard of your boyfriend. He did win a huge rap reality show.

As you took another sip, Seoyun came over, dragging Jisoo and Jin with her. Jin was very drunk and leaning onto Seoyun, earning him an annoyed look from Jisoo. “So, I think the plan is for us to ditch and go get yangnyeom tongdak in say...five minutes?” he said, looking at his watch, a fancy digital contraption that flashed 1:00 AM. Wow, you didn’t realize how much time flew by.

Yoongi was the first to reply, as if relieved. “Sounds great to me,” he said, taking the happiest sip of alcohol you thought you’d ever seen. He then drained the whole thing, practically slamming it onto the table, and wiped his mouth with the side of thumb. “Ready!!” He exclaimed, smile on his face. You looked at him in the eye and there was a silent agreement when both of your eyes met.

Food > Clubbing.

Jin, despite how drunk he was, managed to coral all seven boys plus the three of you into the van waiting for you at the back of the club. Everyone toppled in with Seoyun strung out across Jisoo, Jin, and Jungkook in the back. Yoongi shuffled in, helping you up, Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jimin pulling in the rear. The four of them squeezed together and grabbed you to lay out similarly to Seoyun. Taehyung and Hoseok held onto your torso while your head ended up awkwardly pressed against Yoongi’s armpit. You laughed as they hoisted you up, making sure you were comfortable.

The buzz was hanging high in your head and you could hear Seoyun, Hoseok, and Jungkook singing to “thank u, next” as it started on the van speakers. You didn’t sing but every time “next” was said, you punched the air above you with your palms. Minutes and several songs later, the van stopped and both Seoyun and you were hoisted out of the car. Yoongi and Hoseok gave you a hand out, and then lead you through the dark back entrance of the chicken place. All of you stumbled into a large room in the back, not completely closed off from the main restaurant but private enough where no one would know they were back there unless they went looking.

Sliding along the modern wooden bench in your dress proved difficult, Seoyun and Jisoo fumbling in next to you while Yoongi slid his legs through the opening between the table and bench, managing it without making too much of a ruckus. Jin and Yoongi ended up across from one another, both excitedly together. They ordered what seems like a feast for 25 people--not the ten actually there--and as they went through a list that included sweet and spicy chicken, honey garlic chicken, bulgogi flavored chicken, french fries, pickled raddish, and tteokbokki, you finally hear your stomach growling. It didn’t evade Yoongi and Jin’s ears. “Wow that was loud,” you say, trying to laugh it off, a little too drunk to be completely embarrassed. Jin immediately said to their waitress to make it fast as “the lady is hungry.”

Beer and soju arrive and despite the fact you don’t think you can fit any more alcohol in your body. Jin and Jimin challenge everyone to shots of soju and you managed to find more space in your stomach. Not the heaviest of drinkers, you quickly get more comfortable in your surroundings and you finally get the up the courage to pry. You turn to Yoongi and straight up ask him, “What were you working on with Donghyuk-sunbae and Yunseo-sunbae?” Yoongi finished his shot of soju, putting the glass back down on the table with a loud click, then crossed his arms on the ledge of the table.

“Group number for the new album,” he answered, his voice low and a bit slurred, “Trying to decide if we should do something nostalgic or something different. The concept is a lot...dirtier this time? I guess that’s the best way to describe it?” You mimic his arm position without realizing it, leaning onto the edge of the table in front of you. “Why not both?”

Your question makes him laugh. “How would we do that?” he asked, split between confused and curious. You could feel the gears in your brain start to turn. Figuring out the feel of songs you wanted to work on was one of the best parts in your opinion; thinking about what you wanted to convey was a rush. You had an idea of what you were trying to say but fuck it if he laughed it.

“Just think about it, okay,” you say, weirdly proud of yourself, “Do You Think It Makes Sense? meets ‘Tear.’ Maybe really bring out that R&B feel. Hmmmm...there is this really good sample from ‘Gossip Fools’ by Missy Elliott featuring Ludacris, actually.”

“You really dug into the library on that first song,” he said with a smirk. You can’t help but smile. It was true and you had done some refreshing on the BTS library in the last few weeks. Of course, you’d always been familiar with them but the song was a few years old. He looked at you for a moment, contemplating something. It wasn’t a lie that he made you nervous, but the alcohol was helping….for the both of you apparently. “Play the sample,” he said, looking pointedly at your phone.

“What?” you ask, as in...really, dude? But you’re reaching for you phone. You pull up your library and he takes his phone from you and clips the song, which is now playing on full volume. A few of the guys stop talking and look over. Immediately Hoseok starts moving to it and shouts, “MIIIIIIISSSY!!!”

“But slowed down a bit, I think?” you added, and you look at Yoongi’s face and a few gears of his appear to be turning. He turns down the speed to 0.75 instead of normal. Soon enough, they all seem interested in what’s going on. “Definitely more dirty if you slow it down,” you say, without really thinking what you’re saying and a little louder than you mean to.

The guys burst into laughter and it takes everything in you to not just sink into a puddle beneath the table. You’re could feel all the blood rush to your face. “Just an idea,” you say smally, putting your arms back in your lap. Hoseok starts rapping along to it and after a moment, you can’t help but lightly join. You loved Missy.

Everyone eventually went back to their conversations while Yoongi and you ended up pouring over your music library, smirking at a few embarrassing entries. He even convinced you to play some some random things you’d been working on, including a few piano ramblings. You also mentioned that you also had played guitar since childhood. Piano was your favorite though, you admitted, and he smiled warmly at that and agreed. It was a little off-putting, his smile. It didn’t fit his preapproved aura but it looked so nice among his features. After ribbing you for having “The Shape of My Heart” by the Backstreet Boys on your Spotify’s “Most Recent,” you two eventually looked up to see that food had arrived and everyone was eating. The both of you were quick to pile your plates with chicken and tteokbokki.

You’d never met anyone as passionate about music as you and even though you were sure it was the liquid courage talking, you felt comfortable talking to the rapper. Despite what public decreed his personality to be, it didn’t feel like that when the two of you gushed over the use of vintage 808s. With a mouth full of sweet and spicy chicken, no less. Maybe it was because you could relate and not just on a musical level. You weren’t as outgoing as Seoyun, who was currently threatening to throw a rice cake at Jin, her personality counterpart. You felt at home in your own head and maybe that made you shy in regards to others’ standards. But...sometimes it was moments like these that you felt free enough to talk to someone you admired without getting nervous, without letting your nerves completely immobilize your ability to communicate.

Fuck, you ate too quickly. Part of you just wanted to lay down on your own plate, but there you were...taking another bite of rice cake, trying as you might to fit two whole ones in your mouth. After a moment, Yoongi’s low voice and shoulder jolted you out of your food and beer trance. “Yeah?” you said, mouth full of rice cake.

“Would you want to work on something?” he asked, straight-faced.

A chunk of rice cake might just have fallen out of your mouth at his question. You tried not to look too mortified when he couldn’t contain his laughter. God, you were hopeless. “Um, work on something?” you asked, sure that you couldn’t have heard right.

“With me, yeah. No thoughts on what but...even for fun? Just in general?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free, ringed hand, both of which were turning red due to alcohol. Not that you were clued in enough to notice. Your eyes weren’t even focusing anywhere because you might still have been in shock. But you felt the heat in your face and a fluttering in your heart. There was part of you that couldn’t help but stare. This was was more conversation than you would have expected between the two of you.

“Y-Yeah,” you say, scrambling with a napkin to pick up the rice cake that had hit the table in a bright red splat. You wrapped it up and set it to the side. Did you really hear correctly? Did you just say yes, too? Everything was a little buzzy and raw in your head right at that moment. This whole experience...getting hired by BigHit had sent everything into hyperdrive.

Were your dreams really coming true?

“I would love that,” you couldn’t help by say. You went for another rice cake, careful to keep it from dropping from your chopsticks. Stuffing it into your mouth without caring what you looked like, you sighed. Late night drunk eating was the best. “Almost as much as this rice cake,” you add, grabbing another with and sliding the bowl closer to Yoongi, so he didn’t have to reach over.

“I’ll be honest. I’m honored,” he said, smiling, “This place has the best tteokbokki.” He dug in for some as well and the two continued to chat mostly about what you two were listening to at the moment, even joining in with the group on other topics that were a-buzz at the moment. Jungkook even hopped up to take a group photo of everyone and then a long selfie shot of the group. You leaned over the table to get past Seoyun, Yoongi leaning even farther but his face still ended up getting partially cut off by your head.

It was getting really late and while Yoongi told you the guys didn’t have a schedule tomorrow, they all had things that they probably should get done. They insisted on dropping Seoyun, Jisoo, and yourself off at your place before getting on their way. From there, you left Seoyun and Jisoo at the door to go their separate ways as you made your way up to your studio apartment. Your heart was beating really quickly but you weren’t sure if it was from the several flights of stairs you ascended or the adrenaline that was currently keeping you awake.

Everything felt fumbly as you made your way around your apartment to get ready for bed. You could have just passed out cold in your going-out clothes, crossbody still strapped to your body. However, you managed to peel everything off and throw it on the floor before you threw on the PJ’s you laid out on your bed in preparation. Quickly, you could feel a headache trying to form so you grabbed a large bottle of water from your fridge and placed it on your nightstand. You knew that if you chugged a bunch you’d be fine in the morning. After getting part of your nighttime routine in, you practically swan dived under the covers, and cocooned yourself in the large down comforter.

Maybe all of tonight was a dream and you had just been in your bed for the last several hours. You didn’t fall asleep for at least an hour because you couldn’t help but stare at the ceiling, trying to put all your thoughts together. You were getting to do what you loved for a living. A trailblazing company took a chance on you after you failed to read instructions on a songwriting submission. But...you would wake up the next day to the text Yoongi sent to you so that you would have his number.

Yeah, that wasn’t a dream at all.

YOU [11:21 AM]: how’s the hangover? SEOYUN [11:30 AM] not great ugh YOU [11:31 AM]: sorry, babe !! drink some ginger ale and have an ibuprofen and go back to sleep. SEOYUN [11:33 AM]: yes, mom. YOU [11:34 AM]: jisoo and you were getting pretty close last night? is it a thing or is it going to be a thing, etc? :eyes emoji: SEOYUN [11:34 AM]: not a thing yeT! i do really like him. doesn’t hurt that he’s fine as hell! YOU [11:34 AM] what about seokjin? i saw jisoo giving him a dirty look…. SEOYUN [11:35 AM]: let’s just blame my drunk self for being too friendly, ok? YOU [11:36 AM]: ah, i cannot imagine a life where boys fight over me. what’s it like in seoyun world? SEOYUN [11:37]: very funny, y/n. not fighting over me, seokjin’s just very friendly and he was very intoxicated. as i just said, so was i! YOU [11:38 AM]: both would be very lucky to have your attention. <3 SEOYUN [11:40 AM] :sobbing emoji: i have the sweetest bff. don’t make me cry, i’m already nauseous. YOU [11:41 AM]: :angel emoji: SEOYUN [11:43 AM] but the real question is...what did you and yoongi talk about so much, huddled at the end of the table? hmmm? YOU [11:43 AM]: ah, music! just nerdy producer stuff, really…. SEOYUN [11:44 AM]: hmmmmm, interesting…. YOU [11:45 AM]: why is that interesting? SEOYUN [11:45 AM]: no reason, you two just looked cozy. YOU [11:47 AM]: COME ON!! don’t stir the pot seoyunnn SEOYUN [11:47 AM]: if there is an typhoon brewing, no need for me to stir >:) YOU [11:48 AM]: i hate you. this is my first big girl job. Even if there was anything--WHICH THERE ISN’T--risking the opportunity would be the last thing I would do. SEOYUN [11:49 AM]: lying isn’t a good look for you. YOU [11:50 AM]: seriously, though, seoyun! we just nerded out. we were discussing a song he’s currently working on and i played him that missy elliott sample. that song she did with ludacris. SEOYUN [11:51 AM]: let’s just pretend i know what you are talking about. YOU [11:52 AM]: it was fun but we were both really drunk. he asked me if i wanted to work on something with him but i’m just chalking it up to ‘commitments made drunk,’ a common theme among drunk people. SEOYUN [11:55 AM] well, good luck and hopefully he remembers. regardless, i have a very talented best friend and he’d be lucky to work on something with you. :) YOU [11:56 AM]: :blush emoji: sleep tight and let me know if you need me to bring you soup. SEOYUN [11:56 AM]: aweeee. ;;;;;; love you xx

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halfway-happyyy · 5 years

Text

Wasted On Each Other

AN: This is a request from a dear mutual.

That one where you join your boyfriend on the set of Castle Rock, and indulge in a cheeky game of hide and seek between the trees. S M U T ensues. Enjoy!

Word count: 2,467

When you awaken in the bright morning light, it is to the feeling of Bill’s fingertips tracing gentle patterns into the planes of your skin. He doesn’t say much, and he doesn’t linger long in one spot, but he does make sure to pay special attention to the rounded curves of your ass. “Turn over,” He murmurs, his voice low and heavy beneath the weight of recent slumber. You do as you’re told. Bill’s hand travels to the base of your throat where a violet bruise blooms in the flesh there. He smiles to himself when he spots the second one just below the lobe of your ear. “Did I make you feel good last night baby girl?”

“You did.”

His fingers dance lazily from the base of your throat, past your clavicle, to the already hardened bud of your nipple. His fingers leave trails of fire in their wake, and though you try not to, you squirm in anticipation under his touch. Bill bends his head to take a nipple into his mouth, allowing his teeth to graze the sensitive skin there. He pulls away to blow a steady stream of cool air over the moist flesh, causing you to shiver violently next to him. He enjoys playing this game more than he lets on most of the time. He works his way down the length of your torso, slightly chapped lips pressing chaste kisses into your skin. His hair is long; quite possibly the longest you’ve ever seen it and watching him brush it away from his face turns you on even more. You watch him take a moment to palm the erection growing hard against the constraints of his boxers. Bill’s hand stills on his cock and you watch, eyes half-lidded as he sucks two long fingers into his mouth, gets them really good and wet, and teases mercilessly at the base of your slit.

“Please, Bill.”

Bill slides his fingers fully into you, and it’s all you can do to keep from crying out loud. “Please what, baby girl?”

You throw your head back against the down pillows, hips rolling up to match the measured thrusts of his fingers. “More.”

“More what?” But he knows. He’s known for a while, and in a moment, his fingers are gone, and you feel inexplicably empty. Bill’s fingers are in his mouth again, he groans lowly against them and it causes a moan to bubble up from the hollow of your throat. The moment passes, and the feeling of Bill inserting a third finger inside of you, almost sends you over the edge right then and there. He rests his forehead against your lower belly as he continues at a faster and harder pace. “Such a good girl, taking what I have to give you. Shall I add another one?” His forehead rests against your lower belly, and the words ghosting across your heated skin causes the breath to hitch in your throat.

A sudden knock at his trailer door causes Bill’s ministrations to stop completely, and the loss is almost enough to have you scream out in frustration. “Bill! They needed you on set like… ten minutes ago.”

Bill drops his head to the mattress below you in defeat, a string of expletives flows freely from his mouth. Some in English, some in Swedish. “I’ll be out in five minutes Collin- I overslept.” He lifts his glassy gaze to yours and winks cheekily. Bill leans in to press a kiss to your lips, before extricating himself from the bed to slip into his clothing for the day. “Don’t look at me like that, baby.” Bill groans quietly.

You feel sheepish; and although you mostly regret being the reason he’s late to his call-time, you also regret not being able to come shamelessly hard for him. “How are you going to get those pants on over that massive erection you’ve got there?”

Bill tilts his head back and elicits a laugh that causes a shiver to start at the base of your spine. “I’m sure I’ll find a way.” You watch as the fingers that were buried to the hilt inside of you only seconds ago, nimbly button up a green plaid shirt. He gives himself one last once-over in the mirror on the back of his door, and gestures to where you’re seated in bed. “You should come visit me on set today. I’ll be taking a break in the next few hours here and have half a mind to finish up where we left off.”

There is something about watching Bill hone his craft that is entirely transfixing to you. It’s the subtle way that he slips out of the skin you’re used to seeing him in, into a skin that is completely foreign to the both of you. It’s effortless; like breathing. This is one thing (out of thousands) that just comes naturally to him. It is a gift that, although had also been passed down to other siblings, also succeeds in setting Bill apart from the other three. “That’s lunch, you guys.” Michael pulls the headphones from his neck and gestures to Bill and the few other actors crowded around him. “Take 45 minutes, and we’ll meet back here around 2:45.” Michael clears his throat and gestures for Bill to come see him. “I’m not going to need to send a search party for you, am I?”

Bill’s gaze travels to his feet and he shakes his head, a sheepish grin stretches across his face. “’Course not, Mikey.”

“Forty-five minutes, hey?” You ask, shielding a hand over your eyes as the Massachusetts sun beats down on you. “Not much time for a romp in the old trailer, now is there?”

Bill lets a moment pass between the pair of you before he shrugs. “Why would you assume we’d have to go back to the trailer in order for me to fuck you senseless?”

You swallow hard at this, and despite the warmth of the weather currently, his words cause goosebumps to rise in patterns in your skin. You clear your throat, arms crossed, and turn fully to him. “And what exactly did you have in mind then?”

“How about a quick game of hide and seek?”

It’s an innocent enough suggestion, but the way Bill broaches it makes you shiver in total anticipation. “You’re on, Skarsgård.” With that, he turns on his heel without a word, and you watch his figure becomes swallowed by the dense smattering of trees around you. You tentatively take a few steps forward and lose yourself as well. It’s easy enough to do; the only sound for miles around you are the firs swaying the wind, their branches gasping like the breaths out of one thousand souls.

“Where are you, baby girl?”

Bill’s voice finds you on the wind, causes you to turn in a circle and peer deeply into the vast, viridian ocean of trees. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a game now would it?” The sound of a stick snapping a few hundred yards from where you stand, causes you to jump uneasily on the spot. “And in full Bill fashion, you are going to pounce out of the bush and send me into the throes of heart failure.”

A laugh, loud and hearty disrupts the cocooned silence around you. “Just tell me where you are.”

“No.”

“No?” Bill asks incredulously.

“Why would I do that? Where would the fun in that be?”

“Forget the fun, darling! My next call-time is in thirty-five minutes!”

You kick a stray rock from your path and shrug your shoulders. “Do not forget that this was your idea Bill…”

You strain in the silence for any sound of twigs snapping, or leaves rustling, and you get complete and total silence in return. It becomes so quiet that it’s almost deafening. “Bill?” You call out, voice wavering ever so slightly.

“Gotcha!” Your boyfriend bursts through a gap in the trees, his cheeks flushed pink against his alabaster visage.

You double over, hands planted firmly to the tops of your knees. You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself, the thought of punching him square in the jaw crosses your mind multiple times. “You… are an asshole.”

Bill’s shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s been said once or twice.” He eyes you for a moment, still slightly out of breath from his impromptu entrance. In seconds, he crosses the distance to where you stand and backs you up against a tree. You don’t have time to collect your thoughts before his mouth is on you. Everywhere. His lips leave trails of fire everywhere they ghost, as your skin scorches beneath their very touch. “You like teasing me?”

You lift your gaze to his, and nod ever so subtly. “It can be fun.”

Bill clears his throat before pulling you back from the tree and turning you around forcefully so that you’re facing it. “You know what else is fun?” You shake your head silently, though you have a pretty good idea of what he’s about to follow up with. “Punishing you for teasing me.” He reaches around to the waistband of your jeans, finds the button and zipper, and undoes both in a matter of seconds. “You deserve everything I’m about to do to you.” You hold your breath as Bill shucks the material from your legs in one swift motion. You rest your head against the bark of the tree, reveling in the sweet scent of the pine around you. Bill’s hand caresses your right ass cheek and in seconds he lifts it and slaps it down hard against the soft skin there. The sound reverberates off of the fauna around you and causes immediate goosebumps to bloom there. Bill’s fingers traverse the small bumps gently, as if he were reading braille, and then let’s loose another impossibly hard slap. You writhe against the tree, the woody texture grinding abrasively against your cheek. “I think you are entirely deserving of a few other ones, baby girl.” You close your eyes tight and grind your teeth together in anticipation of what’s about to happen. Your pussy aches at the thought, the urge to touch yourself is almost over-powering. He lets loose a flurry of slaps, each one more painful than the last. He does it until you are literally screaming out into the air before you. Bill’s lips find the crook of your neck, and he latches on tightly, causing another red bruise to form there. “Did that hurt baby?”

“Yes,” You whimper, your hand slowly making its way to your clit.

Bill catches this and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

“I need… I need something, Bill.”

Bill pulls his pants and boxers down, and in seconds his one hand has both of your arms pinned above your head. “You will not touch yourself unless I say, is this in any way unclear?”

You nod your head wordlessly.

“Hmm? Didn’t quite catch that.” He murmurs expectantly.

“Yes, sir.”

Bill spits into the palm of his hand and begins stroking the length of his cock. “That’s a good girl.” With his free hand, he traces invisible lines up and down the length of your torso starting from your armpit to your hip. You bite at the corner of your lip hard enough to draw blood. “Think you’ll have learned your lesson after this?” He hardly gives you a moment to answer before his cock is at your entrance. He teases you mercilessly there too; rubs the ever so sensitive head slowly and deliberately against the slick part of your slit.

Your eyes fall shut as you grind against him shamelessly. “Please Bill…” This particular utterance earns you another hard hit against your left ass cheek.

In seconds, Bill is inside of you. He stills his hips against your ass, and drops his head to your shoulder, letting loose a low growl. He begins at a relatively innocent enough pace; it’s an ebb and flow that never really grows old. It never ceases to drive you close to the brink of absolute insanity. His hands finally drop from your own- his way of letting you know that you are allowed to start touching yourself. You finger dances slowly down to your swollen clit, just pressing a fingertip to it causes a jolt of electricity to ripple violently through your body. Wordlessly, Bill starts to hammer into you, his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you over and over again. “Jesus fuck…”

A primal scream rips from your throat loudly, and Bill’s hand instinctively travels your mouth and splays out against it, stopping the noise mid-scream. His lips are at the shell of your ear, his ivory teeth graze the sensitive skin there. “Do you want the entire production crew to hear me fuck you?” You shake your head earnestly. “If you want to come for me, you’re going to have to be as quiet as possible.” His hand drops from your mouth to your throat and your eyes widen as his long fingers tighten around the base of it. You press firm circles into your clit, while simultaneously meeting each of Bill’s thrusts with your own. His hand tightens incrementally around your throat as his orgasm nears. He’s cursing now, his forehead rests gently against the top of your shoulder. “I’m close baby girl,” He groans.

The pressure of his hand around your throat helps to speed the orgasm looming seconds away from you. Waves of pleasure roil around in your belly, causing you to gasp out into the air before you. “Come for me Bill…” Though he is the one who has taken the reins this time around, you know him well enough to know that he cannot resist that particular combination of words. He throws his head back, a long, loud moan bubbles up from somewhere deep. You feel his hips still against your bare ass, and he comes into in you waves, each one stronger than the last, until he is totally empty. It’s all it takes before you are also falling to pieces against him, a muffled cry the only sound of pleasure from your lips. A chaste kiss is pressed to your neck before he pulls out of you, the sudden loss a foreign feeling. You pull your underwear and pants back up your legs, wincing as the denim brushes softly against the raw skin of your ass cheeks. You view him fully and take satisfaction in the notion that he is impossibly sweaty, out of breath and completely fucked out.

“Lesson learned?” Bill asks expectantly.

You glance at the watch on the underside of your wrist and smile wryly at him. “Not even a little bit.”

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard fanfic #writing #hooo boy

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ukulelecal · 5 years

Text

Biggest Fan pt. 4

In which you’re a famous singer and Calum is a fan of your music.

Warnings: maybe like one swear, but other than that not really

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Requested By: Anonymous originally

“hi can you do a blurb on calum where you’re also famous and u find out he’s interested in you and low key loves your music? shebjdjsj idk jus make it fluffy and ill love u forever”

A/N: another obnoxiously long wait, another part!!!! finally!! we got some cute calum all up in this bitch YEESS im in love with him. sorry its short (well like not super short but shorter than part 3), i wasn’t sure what else could happen without making it extensive for just one part. but give me some feedback, tell me what you thought!! also, do you guys want more parts? i could probably end it here if yall are done with this, but i also have some ideas for some more things that could happen!!! aka i could kill yall with some cuteness!! or make you cry with some angst!! what do you guys think???

Requests are OPEN!

*Gif not mine*

Series Masterlist

Your head was pounding. Your stomach was churning. All the telltale signs of a hangover.

A groan fell from your lips, bringing your hand up to rub your eyes. After they adjusted to the light coming in from the windows, you glanced at the bed next to yours; Cara and Sam were still sleeping soundly. Your eyes then fell on the clock, squinting to see clearly. 12:34 PM. You hadn’t even realized you slept that late.

The occurrences of the previous night were one massive blur. You remembered getting ready to leave and meeting up with Calum and Mali, having a couple shots, but after that? Not much came back to you.

It wasn’t until you picked up your phone, seeing a text from Calum, that perhaps the most significant event of the night finally popped into your head.

You admitted your feelings to Calum. You kissed him.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to smile or punch yourself in the face.

Sure, you had been wanting something like that to happen. But, in a club and being totally wasted wasn’t exactly how you imagined it happening. You couldn’t really complain, though. He liked you back.

He liked you back.

Yeah, you had to smile.

You glanced down at your phone again, actually reading the text that Calum sent you.

Calum: I have to get back on the road later today. I really need to see you again before I go.

You bit your lip softly, typing out a reply.

Y/N: Definitely. Where should we meet up?

You set your phone back down on the nightstand to wait for a reply, and kicked the blankets off of you. Might as well start getting ready if you were going to meet up with Calum. You quietly padded to the bathroom, trying not to wake up Cara and Sam, and glanced in the mirror. Oh, yikes. You had managed to change out of your clothes before crashing in bed, apparently, but neglected to remove your makeup. Your eye makeup was smudged everywhere, and your lipstick was smeared a bit.

Well, that probably wasn’t entirely from sleeping.

You grabbed a makeup wipe and cleaned everything off, then thoroughly washed your face. From outside the bathroom, you heard your phone vibrate, and you quickly scurried out to check. There was another text from Calum.

Calum: You can come to my hotel, if that’s okay. I’ll take you back to yours on my way to the airport after.

Y/N: Sounds good, Cal

He proceeded to send you the name of the hotel and his room number, and you scurried over to your suitcase to get some clothes. You decided on something cute but casual, just for a meet up. A pair of mom jeans, and a simple white t-shirt tucked in.

As you went about your morning routine, you pondered exactly what you and Calum were going to talk about. The night before was inevitably going to come up, but that conversation could go in many different directions. You weren’t sure exactly how it would turn out.

Still, you meant every word you had said. You liked him a lot. Although your time together in person was limited, you texted and Skyped him a lot and got to know him very well. You fell for him from miles away.

After you finished getting ready, making yourself look as presentable as possible being quite hungover, you shook Cara and Sam awake, earning tired groans in response.

“You can go back to sleep if you want,” you chuckled. “Just wanted to let you know I’m going to go see Calum for a bit. I shouldn’t be too long.”

Cara grumbled something incoherent and buried her head deeper into the pillows. Rolling your eyes, you reached for the pad of paper and pen that hotels provided, and wrote out a quick note. Chances were, neither of them were going to remember a thing you said, if they even heard you at all.

You slipped on some shoes, grabbed your phone and room key, and headed out the door.

On the way down to the lobby, you put the address to Calum’s hotel into your phone to see how far it was. Turns out, it wasn’t far at all, only a couple blocks away. You decided against calling an Uber; you could walk.

You turned left out of your hotel and started your walk. It went by quickly and uneventfully, and you soon found yourself in the lobby of the hotel Calum was staying at. You headed towards the elevators and went up to the sixth floor, where he had said his room was. You then followed the signs to room 659.

Taking a deep breath, you gently rapped on the door. It opened a couple moments later to reveal Calum dressed in black joggers and a green hoodie with the word “empathy” printed across the front.

“Hey,” he said, a sleepy grin resting on his face. You could tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the disastrous state of his hair, that he was feeling the effects of a hangover as well.

“Hi,” you replied, and he stepped to the side to let you in. Letting the door fall shut behind you, he gestured to the bed, sheets wrinkled and messy from a night of sleep, for you to sit. You gingerly plopped yourself down on the edge, and Calum did the same next to you.

“So, um, have you seen the pictures?” Calum asked, scratching the back of his head as he turned to look at you, face slightly scrunched up. You furrowed your eyebrows at the question.

“What pictures?” You asked, confused. The only thing you had done on your phone was text Calum, not check social media. He sighed and grabbed his phone that was resting on his pile of pillows, and unlocked it; you didn’t want to be nosy, but you couldn’t help but notice that his lockscreen was a photo of his dog, Duke. He had shown you pictures of him when you were in Paris. You smiled a little. Hopefully you’d get to meet the little guy.

Then the familiar blue of Twitter appeared on his screen, and Calum used his thumb to scroll until he found what he was looking for. He clicked on a picture and handed you his phone to see.

Your heart dropped in your stomach a bit as you swiped through the many.

The pictures were all of you and Calum at the club. You were used to having your picture taken when you were just trying to do normal things or have fun, but these weren’t exactly the same. There were a couple of you and him dancing, but the majority were of you and him kissing.

It was those that made you slightly uncomfortable. Calum had you pinned against the wall, hands gripping your hips and your arms thrown around his neck, having a sloppy makeout session. That wasn’t the type of picture you wanted of yourself getting spread around the Internet.

“Oh,” you breathed out softly. Wordlessly, you handed Calum his phone back, gently taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I know,” he sighed, tossing the electronic back on the pillows. “I wish they would just leave us alone, you know?”

“Yeah.” It was normal for you to be scrolling through Twitter and suddenly find a picture of yourself walking down the street, getting into your car, having lunch with a friend. It definitely did get pretty annoying. “What are people saying about them?”

Calum sighed again, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

“Similar things to what they said about the Paris pictures,” he began. “There were more of them that weren’t so nice, I guess.”

“Of course,” you grumbled under your breath, more to yourself rather than Calum. Another thing you were, unfortunately, used to was hate on the Internet. You had seen it all; jabs at your music, your appearance, your clothes, your personality. Most of the time, you tried not to even read it, ignore it the best you could, but curiosity got the best of you every once in a while. Nonetheless, you tried not to let it bother you. “What are we going to do, then?”

Calum hesitated before answering.

“I’m not sure what there is to do. Just don’t acknowledge it, I guess.”

You weren’t sure why you felt a wave of disappointment wash over you.

“And, about last night…” Calum continued, voice trailing off. Your eyes widened a bit.

This had been what you really wanted to talk about. You knew what you were hoping for him to say, but there was always the possibility that he could take it back. Tell you he was drunk and it didn’t mean anything. That you should just keep being friends.

“Did you mean what you said?” He asked, voice soft, and you could hear the slightest shake in his voice. A small smile graced your features.

“Of course I meant it,” you replied, just above a whisper. “I really do like you, a lot.”

Calum smiled, and your smile grew to match his.

“Did you?” You questioned, letting your head fall daintily to the side. Calum chuckled.

“Every word.”

He suddenly stood up, reaching his hand out. You gingerly grabbed it, letting him pull you to your feet and close to him. Looking up to meet his gaze, you found his brown eyes boring into you, and you felt your heart flutter.

Those damn eyes got you every time.

“I don’t think we had a very proper kiss last night,” he mused, running his thumb over your hands that were held between the two of you. “C-Can I kiss you again?”

Calum was mentally cursing himself for stuttering, but you were nodding and smiling fondly up at him, already starting to slowly lean in. He moved his hands to cup your cheeks, closing the distance between you.

This was more like the romantic first kiss you had imagined.

Your hands found his shoulders, letting them rest there.

Your heart was pounding. You were weak in the knees. You were wrapped around his finger.

He felt the same. Ever since he met you in Chicago, he knew you were special. It was a leap of faith for him to tweet you that day, so long ago, and he about died when you replied. He couldn’t be more glad.

The kiss eventually broke, and you stayed with your foreheads resting against each other, dazed smiles on both of your faces. Before either of you had the chance to say anything, Calum’s phone rang from where it sat on the bed. Of course, something had to ruin the moment.

He sighed heavily, mumbling out an apology before reaching for it.

After he hit decline to whoever was calling him, he tossed it down and reached for your hands again.

“I have to leave for my flight,” he sighed, almost sounding upset that he had to go. As much as you wanted to have more time with him, more than just these few minutes, you knew he had a tour to get back to.

“Okay,” you replied, giving his hands a light squeeze. “I can walk back to my hotel.”

“Are you sure? I can ask my driver to drop you off on the way.” You shook your head. “No, don’t worry about it. I’m only a couple blocks away.”

He nodded, pulling you in for a hug. You breathed out deeply as you wrapped your arms around his torso, taking in his scent. You knew it would be a while before you saw each other again, maybe not even until after he finished the North American leg of his tour, which was the last one.

You just didn’t want to leave him.

“Text me later, okay?” You mumbled into his chest, eyes unintentionally falling shut.

“Definitely.”

You pulled away from the hug, looking up at him with a grin.

“Bye, Calum.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

Hesitantly, you removed yourselves from each other grasps, and Calum walked you to the door.

Just as you stepped foot into the hallway, Calum grabbed your wrist and spun you around.

“One more,” he breathed out, pulling you in for another kiss. You melted into it. How was a simple kiss so heavenly?

“Now I’m good,” he chuckled when he pulled away, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little as well. You bid your final goodbyes, and before you knew it, you were on your way back to your hotel.

…

After you returned and relayed every single detail of what happened onto the finally awake Cara and Sam, you decided to spend the day relaxing by the pool.

You were laying out on your chair, catching some California sun, when the thought came to you; you and Calum for sure liked each other, but nothing ever became official. What were you?

You wanted to wait, didn’t want to seem desperate, but it was nagging you. Did shared feelings and a few kisses mean you were together? Official? Unofficial?

Letting out a deep breath, you reached for your phone, typing a simple, straightforward text out to Calum.

Y/N: Cal? What are we?

You weren’t expecting a reply right away, assuming he was probably on the plane, but much to your surprise, you got one just a few minutes later.

Calum: I mean, I kind of wanted to ask you this in person, but that depends on how you answer this question

The typing bubbles appeared, signalling he was still typing. You bit your lip as your heart pounded in your chest. The next text couldn’t come soon enough.

Calum: Would you like to be my girlfriend, Y/N?

And everything suddenly seemed like it fell into place.

Y/N: I would love to be your girlfriend, Calum. And I would love for you to be my boyfriend

Calum: You’re fucking adorable. I wish I was there to kiss you right now

You giggled a little, covering your mouth with your hand.

Y/N: Can’t wait until I see you again so we can do boyfriend-girlfriend things like kissing xo

Calum: Soon, just a few weeks left. I’m boarding now, I’ll call you later, ok?

Y/N: Ok. Have a safe flight!

His response was a few heart emojis, and you locked your phone. There was no way in hell you could wipe the smile off your face.

It was official. Boyfriend-girlfriend official.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Cara asked, returning with Sam from the bar where they had been getting drinks. You giggled, covering your face with your hands.

“He asked me out,” you mumbled from behind your hands, earning excited squeals from your friends.

“Now we can like, go on double dates and stuff!”

You laughed at the comment from Sam, finally removing your hands from your face.

It was surreal, but it was happening. After he tweeted you never thought you’d end up dating. After Chicago, it was a thought in your mind. After Paris, you wanted it. Now, here you were.

334 notes · View notes

lokilickedme · 5 years

Text

Part 3 of Read By Loki Laufeyson - Fifty Shades of Grey

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own (no longer available there)

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Fandom: Loki - Fandom, Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, The Avengers (MarvelMovies), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom

Relationship: Loki/His Book, Ana/Christian

Character: Loki, Loki Laufeyson, Loki (Marvel), Ana Steele, Christian Grey

Additional Tags: Explicit Language, this book deserves its own warning tag, one that says DON'T READ ME, Explicit Sexual Content, lame and exceedingly silly descriptions of sex acts

Series: Part 3 of Read by Loki Laufeyson

Stats: Originally Published 2016-02-27 Words: 3386 (original version)

Part One: The Night Manager

Part Two: High Rise

50 Shades of Grey, Read By Loki Laufeyson by lokilickedme

Summary: Loki reads 50 Shades and throws up multiple times. I would offer my apologies to E.L. James, but she doesn't deserve it.

Notes: See the end of the work for notes

This shitshow gets on the shaky road with a dedication that made the right side of my face twitch before the story even got started. It's dedicated to "the master of my universe" and as of right this very moment I'm ready to preemptively toss it into the bathroom, not as reading material for my next luxury soak, but as a replacement for the empty roll of toilet paper that I keep forgetting to run to the store for. Fuck me people, she didn't even capitalize "master" and ANY GOOD SUB KNOWS THAT NOT CAPITALIZING MASTER IS A MASSIVE SHOW OF DISRESPECT AND YOU DESERVE THE ASS BEATING YOU GET FOR IT - WITH ZERO AFTERCARE. Don't ask me how I know that, but go ahead and fight me, this is a hill I’m willing to die on. If this person is writing a book that's touted as an even remotely accurate accounting of a Dom/sub relationship, I can tell you right now, she doesn't know jack shit.

So I've read a couple of pages and I'm already looking around for my seizure meds when I realize I don't take seizure meds. I will after this, I might as well go ahead and call it in. I'm to the part about Wanda the Volkswagon when my anticipatory boner not only goes away, but retracts so far up into my scrotum as a result of the most horrendous writing I've seen this side of Thor's second grade book report on Anne of Green Gables that I'm thinking I might just be female now. I mean seriously? This hurts. I’m not even exaggerating, if you have a penis it’s going to draw up into your gall bladder. If you have a vulva it’s going to need a vat of Burt’s Bees Extra Moisture Replenishing Salve and a bottle of cranberry capsules. I’m not even female at the moment and this thing gave me a flaming UTI.

I’m not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal.

People, this is a published book. Someone got paid for this. It got made into a movie. I haven't even gotten to the sex yet and I'm already Google mapping monasteries within a one-hundred mile radius because I'm ready to take my vows. No, this book hasn't made me believe in a higher power. It has taken away my will to ever get laid again.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor.

Holy fucking shitballs people, terminal velocity by its very definition means someone is going to die. Is this person wearing a pressurized speed suit? Do they hand them to you at the door before you go into the elevator? How does the building tolerate the mechanics of generating that kind of speed? And if by some random blessing by some random god who won't be getting any thanks from me she actually survived this trip to the twentieth floor, her brains would be leaking out her asshole. That's not the way to make a good first impression, sweetheart. Take the fucking stairs next time.

It’s a stunning vista, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by the view. Wow.

Yes, wow. Paralysis is rarely ever momentary darling, and it does ugly things to pretty girls. Like, rendering you a jelly-like heap on the floor because your muscles don't continue working while you're paralyzed. Paralysis sort of means your muscles have stopped working.

I've begun highlighting every word I come across that the author obviously doesn't know the definition to. Fake it till you make it, right darling? Five pages in and my yellow pen has died a violent death.

I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first into the office. Double crap – me and my two left feet!

YOU.

HAVE.

GOT.

TO.

BE.

FUCKING.

KIDDING.

ME.

In what universe is this ridiculous cutesy sort of shit thought to be amusing? The cliches are giving me hemorrhoids. Me and my two left feet? Not that I'm an expert on Earth terminology and phrasing, but I'm fairly certain people stopped saying shit like that around 1962. And...I can't believe I'm being forced to say this, but - double crap?? I was already calling my brother a bilgesnipe’s vagina by the time I could crawl, I'm pretty sure the last time I said something as immature and amateurishly silly as double crap I was still in the womb and cursing in Morse Code. I may actually have even still been a sperm in my father's left testicle. How old is this writer?

“Um. Actually–” I mutter. If this guy is over thirty then I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate.

I'm sorry but I really don't even know where to start. The Um. Actually- ? Or the I'm a monkey's uncle? Maybe it's the staccato pacing? The elementary school sentence structure? The fact that all but one sentence of that paragraph has the word I in it, sometimes multiple times? She placed her hand in his and they shook - sort of like I'm shaking right now. It's the seizures this damn travesty has provoked, honestly I should sue the author for my prescription costs. And if that girl's eyelids matched her heart rate then I'm just envisioning one of those blinky-eyed cupie dolls strapped to a paint mixing machine.

“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” He raises an eyebrow at me. I flush.

Yes darling, always do a courtesy flush when the stench is really vomit-inducing. Like now. I'm not even going to ask if this conversation is taking place in a bathroom because I can tell you honestly, the bathroom is right where it belongs.

His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel...or something.

Something...like, maybe shit, perhaps?

I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo -

No darling, trust me, it's not. A tattoo is something you draw on your body, there's no pounding involved unless you've done the drawing on your vagina. And if you’re referring to the drum beat, then you should just say so because frankly this is meant to be a sex book and your readers aren’t going to be interested in Googling your sophomoric attempts at using interesting words. And just as an aside, most humans are going to think of a Scottish marching band when you use that word in that context, and the last thing you want your readers thinking about while you’re sliding into a smut scene is men in plaid skirts blowing bagpipes.

I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking – he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking -

Hold on a second, I wasn't aware I was in this book? I must have been drunk. I'm not sure that I would consent to this idiocy even if I was soused off my gourd, so I think I'm going to be filing a second lawsuit for character theft.

- and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure.

Yes, go figure sweetiepie. Everybody, even handsome people, need replacement U-joints for their toilets. They come in handy when you're trying to flush books.

Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

Honey, cognitive functions aren't a part of your body, they're a part of your brain. So unless your head fell off while you were walking around in Clayton's Hardware Store, I doubt this happened. If it did, my condolences to Mr Clayton and the other shoppers, I know how traumatic that can be.

And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain –

You mean the whole thing?

- probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: He’s here to see you.

I just had another seizure. It’s a sex book darling, stop trying to use seventy-five cent Merriam Webster words and settle for something along the lines of My fucking head exploded - trust me, at this point your readers will relate to that far more than to the concept of subconscious thought. Or any thought at all. And we all know it’s highly unlikely Miss Double Crap Wanda-driving headless-in-Clayton’s-Hardware store is capable of coming up with a term like medulla oblongata after that terminal velocity elevator ride.

No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane man want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head.

And now your head is completely empty, much like the author's, because that poorly constructed series of sentences was all that was rattling around in there.

For the sake of moving this along, because I have something to say about literally every fucking sentence in this roll of rough-ass toilet paper, I'm going to skip to the first round of sex and see if anything improves. Because that's what people do when things aren't going well, isn't it? They have sex and see if it gets better? And then if it doesn't, you kick them out and finish up with a fresh pack of batteries and a few minutes of Skinamax and when you wake up in the morning it'll be a whole new day, sunshine. Because honestly, I just got to the part where her cheeks went the color of the Communist Manifesto and if I don't get to some penis and vagina action I'm going to kill myself. Besides that, all this double crap inner monologue is starting to make my ballsack clench up.

So alright people, I've got my lube and my right hand ready, let's get this party started shall we?

"Does this mean you’re going to make love to me tonight, Christian?” Holy shit. Did I just say that?

Well it certainly wasn't me. Having medulla oblongata issues again, are we sweetheart?

His mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly. “No, Anastasia it doesn’t. Firstly, I don’t make love. I fuck... hard."

Finally, someone steps up. Is that the sound of zippers headed south I hear?

"Secondly, there’s a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom.”

Nope, my mistake. Zippers firmly holding north. How far is this fellow going to count? Do people actually do that cheesy little “Firstly, secondly” speech tic all the way up to thirdly? I usually only get to secondly before someone pops me in the mouth. Somehow I have no trouble envisioning this obviously anal retentive Christian fellow proceeding right along to fourthly, fifthly, sixthly, seventhly...perhaps he has a numbers fetish to go along with that paperwork obsession of his. If this is foreplay I'm leaving because math was never my strong point and I’ll be damned if I’m going to relive the hell of ninth grade just to get a two page smut scene. If you want to have sex with me we get to firstly, I point to my zipper, and the game is on. But he does get points for being forthright enough to come right out up front with the admission that he's such a rough fucker there have to be contracts involved. Kudos my man. Too bad he wrecked it by planting that playroom visual immediately after, because now all I can think about is a toybox full of Legos and a plastic xylophone. Even I can't make anything kinky out of that.

My mouth drops open. Fuck hard! Holy shit, that sounds so... hot. But why are we looking at a playroom? I am mystified. “You want to play on your Xbox?”

Yes darling, Fuck hard! It sounds like a Bruce Willis movie, only this time he's not in an office building crawling through the ceiling or on an airplane fighting off terrorists, he's tied to a bed while Bonnie Bedelia drips hot wax on his scrotes. It's a real shame we lost Alan Rickman, I'd give anything to see Hans Gruber standing at the foot of the bed in a leather corset intoning Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker just one more time.

As for playing on his Xbox, the Sims have a "whoo hoo" function. That's all I'm going to say about that.

- it feels like I’ve time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition. Holy fuck.

Ah yes, the good old days of the Inquisition. I had quite a wonderful time during that era, it was a sado-masochistic wet dream. And no, I wasn't an Inquisitor...I worked as a volunteer equipment tester for the Vatican. There wasn't a steel spiked ball cage or 360-degree nipple twister that earned my seal of approval until I screamed for my mommy. Something tells me this pansy-ass little ninny isn't going to make it past the electroshock vulva clamps before she's crying for every matriarchal figure in her family all the way back to the Charlemagne era.

“It’s about gaining your trust and your respect, so you’ll let me exert my will over you. I will gain a great deal of pleasure, joy even, in your submission. The more you submit, the greater my joy – it’s a very simple equation.” “Okay, and what do I get out of this?” He shrugs and looks almost apologetic. “Me,” he says simply.

Um...no. Just no. Unequivocally NO. That isn't how it works, E.L. James. Not in the slightest. In a true Dom/sub relationship the submissive receives every bit as much as the Dominant, and there is no two ways around that. Anything less is bullshit and whoever you're trying to force-feed this lie to should leave running and punch you in the crotch on the way out. I sincerely hope anyone reading this nonsense is doing so on a dare and not because they want to learn about D/s dynamics, because you're obviously not going to learn anything from this book except how to be a lip-biting ningnong who doesn't do much more than chat merrily with herself inside her medulla oblongata while mentally spouting double crap! on repeat every thirty-seven seconds. And any respect I had for this Grey fellow for being up front about his sexual preferences just went out the window, which coincidentally is where the lip-biting ningnong should be headed. Like he said - you could still run for the hills.

Skipping ahead...skipping ahead...my god are these idiots ever going to do it? I'm on page 194 and so far the closest they've come to coitus is when he almost ejaculated in his pants in an apoplectic rage when she told him she was a virgin.

“Ah,” I groan.

Ack, I puke.

“You smell so good,” he murmurs and closes his eyes, a look of pure pleasure on his face, and I practically convulse. He reaches up and tugs the duvet off the bed, then pushes me gently so I fall on to the mattress.

I'm practically convulsing too darling, but unfortunately not with pleasure. I need more anti-seizure meds, I've already gone through the entire bottle. I'll be starting on the Xanax next and then it’s another call to my HMO.

I’m panting... wanting.

I'm vomiting...heaving.

Not taking his eyes off mine, again he runs his tongue along my instep and then his teeth. Shit. I groan... how can I feel this, there?

Hold up a second - this is a man who is so persnickety he pulls the duvet off the bed before he lets her set her ass on it, but now less than a page later he's just removed her sneaker and is licking the bottom of her sweaty all-day Converse encased foot? My capacity for suspension of disbelief is not only wavering at this point, it’s pretty much died a slow and painful death. Which is what I feel like I’m doing. And if a man is holding eye contact while licking the bottom of your foot, he’s either upside down or your leg is so high up in the air he could be looking up your hooch and seeing himself through your left nostril.

“How do you make yourself come? I want to see.” I shake my head. “I don’t,” I mumble.

I call bullshit. She’s twenty-one, a virgin, and has never diddled herself? That’s about as likely as me never having had intercourse with a horse.

“Let go, baby,” he murmurs. His teeth close around my nipple, and his thumb and finger pull hard, and I fall apart in his hands, my body convulsing and shattering into a thousand pieces.

Huh. And here all this time I’ve been laboring under the delusion that more was required than just two short paragraphs worth of nipple play. This girl is a physical wonder, her nipples are clitorises. Clitori? Clitterati? However you say multiple clits. I know playing with them feels nice and I’ve made more than one maiden squirm with a few well placed sucks and a pinch or two, but this girl was climaxing before he even got her out of her brassiere. Someone get her a job at the Kinsey Institute.

Suddenly, he sits up and tugs my panties off and throws them on the floor.

I hope they didn’t land on the duvet, he went to such trouble to keep it from getting mussed.

Pulling off his boxer briefs, his erection springs free. Holy cow...

Rather like a jack-in-the-box, I’m envisioning. Holy cow indeed. Twist the handle and Pop Goes The Weasel plays while you wait in panicked anticipation for that horrid little clown to burst out of the hinged metal box and scare the shit out of you. Well, he did say playroom, didn’t he. Oh, and boxers and briefs are two entirely different things, my dear. The further we get into this silly little tale the more convincing my sneaking suspicion that the author has never actually met a man before.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Miss Steele” he murmurs as he positions the head of his erection at the entrance of my sex.

I’m sorry, I know I’m an adult and all but I’m giggling like a sixth grade girl that wandered into the wrong locker room at school. And for the record, I know exactly what that sounds like because I’ve done it. But this...this is just...holy fucking hell with twice the fire and ten times the brimstone, that sentence up there just chemically castrated me. The head of his erection at the entrance of her sex. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume it means he put his cock on her pussy and we’ll call it fair and move along.

“Hard, he whispers, and he slams into me. “Aargh!” I cry -

To quote Miss Steele, holy fuck! His dick is so big it’s turned her into a pirate!

He speeds up. I moan, and he pounds on, picking up speed, merciless, a relentless rhythm, and I keep up, meeting his thrusts.

Is anyone else envisioning these two jogging through the park playing bongos? Just me? Okay. Oh and for future reference, because I assume this world isn’t lucky enough to escape at least three sequels to this travesty, no sentence should have as many commas as it has words unless the person speaking it is being punched in the mouth between each syllable.

Two orgasms...coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow.

Darling if the spin cycle on my washing machine made anything come apart at the seams I’d be at Home Depot demanding they make good on the warranty. Which, something tells me, you should be doing with this new man of yours.

He increases the rhythm infinitesimally, and his breathing becomes more erratic. My insides start quickening, and Christian picks up the rhythm.

I looked up infinitesimally, mainly because I’ve never actually seen it in print before and it’s such a strange looking word. I laughed so hard my Xanax came out my nose when Google offered up this definition: immeasurably small, exceedingly little, less than an assignable quantity. To give it a meaning, it must usually be compared to another infinitesimal object in the same context. Mr Grey, I do believe your tight coochied little virgin just called your dick tiny.

“You. Are. Mine. Come for me, baby,” he growls. His words are my undoing, tipping me over the precipice. My body convulses around him, the precipice. My body convulses around him, and I come, loudly calling out a garbled version of his name into the mattress.

Well damn, I have to say I’m impressed, both with the uncanny power this fellow’s voice has to make orgasms happen from out of thin air, as well as this girl’s ability to climax on demand after never having done so in her entire life previous to this encounter. That’s three times now she’s “shattered into a million pieces” all over the fucking bed - thank god he had the presence of mind to toss the duvet on the floor, because those stains would never come out. He’d probably be getting a visit from the local police as soon as Mrs Fratelli at the dry cleaners got a good look at it. And I don’t know about anyone else but I really want to hear this “garbled version” of his name that she called out into the mattress. No, really. I want to hear it because I’m imagining something like what went down in the Caves of Caerbannog when the Knights were debating the pronunciation of the last word written on the wall. Does that make Ana’s orgasms the sexual equivalent of the Black Beast of Argh?

I’ll wait for you to hit Google on that one. Go ahead, I’ll wait. I’ve got all the time in the world. I still have six hours of studio time booked and this travesty of a novel is now residing in stall #2 in the mens room and I’m sitting here playing with the roll of toilet paper I stole. It was a worthwhile trade. The word Charmin printed four million times on these little squares in infinitely more intellectually stimulating than that undigested goat’s dinner we were reading.

Fifty shades of TP’ing E.L. James’s house, anyone?

End Notes: All passages in italics are the property of E.L. James, and as far as I’m concerned she can keep them.

#Loki Reads #50 Shades of Grey

141 notes · View notes

rrrawrf-writes · 5 years

Note

🍄 for the whumpy prompts

for @hechiceria, bc ur having the worst week, and also for @gingerly-writing @thewinedarksea @she-writes-love @lux-scriptum @kclenhartnovels, bc u heathens love rembrandt way too much

this is not canon.

tw violence, poison

“I’ll try to get back in time, but the weather up here is terrible,” Rhiannon had said. “Just cancel the reservation, all right? If I make it back tonight anyway, we can go somewhere else.”

Winn had been disappointed, but he had agreed anyway. He really doubted the trains up in New York were going to become any less delayed, not with the winter storms pounding the city. He’d hung up, then hunched his shoulders and slouched into the animal shelter to start his volunteer shift, leaving the freezing rain the plagued Boston outside.

With the weather, it was impossible to talk any of the dogs out for very long. Winn let them out to run in the shelter’s kennel for a few minutes at a time; most of the rest of his time was busy cleaning them up after they got said run, and try to keep their restlessness contained. It infected him nearly as badly; by the time the end of his volunteer shift was nearly over, he was thoroughly sick of dogs and cats and everything else they had in the shelter.

“Hey, thanks a lot for coming in,” his supervisor said, but Winn had already slammed the door in his face.

The rain had stopped, at least, but now instead it was snowing heavy, fat flakes. The door opened again behind him, and Winn flinched away before his supervisor could grab his arm. “Someone dropped this off for you.”

He passed over a thin, square red box, labelled from a high-end chocolatier in a nicer part of town. Winn arched his eyebrows as he took it. He didn’t need to open the box to know that there was only one small chocolate inside - caramel - even though there were spaces for five others.

“Who delivered it?” he asked, frowning as he pulled a tiny envelope out from under the ribbon wrapped around the box. His supervisor shrugged, already heading back inside.

“It was some guy from the shop, I guess,” he said, then added jealousy, “Wish my girlfriend would give me something.”

Winn hadn’t even thought to do something like this for Rhiannon, and bit his lip. He knew where she was, up in New York, he probably could’ve gotten someone to take her flowers.

He’d get something ready for her tonight, at her apartment. The note inside the envelope was hand-written, but Winn didn’t recognize the penmanship, especially after a few flakes drifted onto the paper. He brushed them off and read, Happy Valentine’s Day! Follow the trail for a special treat at the end! -Rhiannon ♡

Winn didn’t realize he was was blushing for a moment. This wasn’t like her at all - but then again, it was their first Valentine’s together. And they weren’t even in the same city.

The paper didn’t say anything else. Winn stuck it into his pocket, then peeled the box open; he had to flip the lid over to find an address written on its underside, along with a cheery little, eat me!

Grinning, Winn popped the chocolate into his mouth. He’d meant to go home and let his dogs out, now that it had stopped raining, but they could wait.

–

The first stop made him laugh. Winn and Rhiannon had grown up together, but when he left for the States, they hadn’t seen each other until after he’d been released from prison. She was going to Boston for school, and Winn shivered at the change in air temperature as he stepped inside the laundromat they’d run into each other at, for the first time in nearly a decade. The next chocolate - hazelnut - was wrapped up very prettily in foil and a tiny little bow, and sat on top of another paper with another address. Winn bit into it as he read off the address, and frowned slightly at an edge of flavor that didn’t seem to belong - but then it was lost in the aftertaste, and he thought nothing more of it.

The next took him to Rhiannon’s favorite coffee shop, one of the baristas brightly handing it over to him (along with a mocha). Winn tracked the fourth to Rhiannon’s favorite spot on campus, where they often had lunch. He was freezing, by now, and his head pounded, and Rhiannon had to know about the weather down here. Why would she send him on some wild goose chase like this?

He recognized the address for the fifth chocolate immediately: Winn’s court-mandated group therapy that he was supposed to be attending was held there. He scoffed and sent Rhiannon a quick text, his mood souring further.

Fine i get the hint

Lol about what?

Winn was back at the bus stop when he got her answer. He snorted as he waited underneath the overhang, hunched up against the freezing wind. The sound of traffic only worsened his headache; he closed his eyes, and didn’t realize that the bus had pulled up until he heard the sharp hiss and squeal of its brakes.

He twitched, looking up in confusion. He hadn’t even noticed it coming.

Winn hadn’t even noticed it coming.

“Are you getting on?” the bus driver called crabbily. Winn blinked, shook himself, and stepped up. He slipped, and caught himself on the guard railing. The driver grunted and rolled their eyes, nearly invisible under the layers of hats and coats, as Winn fumbled his bus pass out to be scanned. He dropped into a seat as the bus started moving, and stared at his own feet.

He never slipped. He never slipped, and he never missed the bus - never even almost missed the bus. Scowling, Winn slumped in his seat, and didn’t move his feet from where they stretched into the aisle during the next few stops the bus made.

By the time his stop arrived, Winn felt like he wanted to throw up. He knew part of it was his claustrophobia, but even after a few minutes in the brisk, snowy air, his stomach wouldn’t settle. No one was in the building as he approached, and Winn thought, for one minute, about turning around and just going back home to lie down. Now he was starting to sweat, but the chill still drove him inside when he discovered that the front door was unlocked.

With his head throbbing, Winn pulled his power into a smaller radius than normal, trying to lessen the ache behind his eyes. His session met in an open gym space every Thursday; he hadn’t been to one in months, and squinted blearily across the open room as he pushed the door open.

Only the security lights were on, flickering in a corner. No one had put the plastic folding chairs away from their meeting earlier, and they stood in a circle in the middle of the floor. Muttering under his breath, Winn crossed the room, but he overlooked the foil-wrapped candy until he was close enough to visually see it on one of the chairs.

Winn paused, frowning down at the innocent chocolate. He should have known that was there. He should have known it from the second he stepped off the bus.

Was he getting sick? Head colds didn’t usually do this to him. Winn’s fingers shook as he unwrapped the chocolate, another development that made him pause. He was getting sick.

He stuck the chocolate into his mouth, pushing it into his cheek as he ran his fingers over the chair. There wasn’t a slip of paper with this one, and Winn frowned as he squinted at the foil. No clue there, either. Maybe he should text Rhiannon -

“Good evening.”

The voice startled Winn into yelping. He whipped around - no one had been there, he hadn’t seen anyone - fuck, he hadn’t sensed anyone -

And he didn’t sense the baton until it smashed into his face.

Winn reeled back, hit a chair, and toppled into another couple of them, tipping one onto the ground. He choked on the chocolate he hadn’t finished chewing, and a disgusting, half-chewed mess of caramel and sea salt spat out of his mouth. Winn tasted blood, and reached up to feel his nose. It had definitely been broken.

“Well. That has never been easier.”

The familiar, oil-slick voice sent chills crawling all over Winn’s skin. He pushed himself onto his side, and stared up at Rembrandt, backlit by the single security light near the door. Rembrandt wore a snake’s smile and an immaculate suit, idly twirling his electric baton in his fingers. Winn sucked in a breath, and pushed himself backwards.

“What - How’d you get in here?” he demanded, voice thick. Blood covered his lips, and Winn wiped it away with one sleeve. Rembrandt hadn’t been there a second ago. Did he teleport in? Someone had to have done it - Winn would have noticed him, of all people -

“I’ve been here.” Rembrandt grinned lazily as Winn stared at him. “You walked right past me.”

“No,” Winn said automatically. He put a hand on the chair nearest him, to push himself up. Rembrandt put his polished leather shoe against another chair two seats down the row, and shoved; the impact hit the one Winn was using for support, and he slipped off it and back to the ground.

Rembrandt rested his baton against his shoulder. “You’re a mess. Good to know that nullifier works.”

Winn’s ears were ringing. He rubbed his palm against his eyes, unconsciously smearing blood across his cheek. He didn’t understand - he was hot and then clammy in moments, fear uncoiling in his already-churning stomach. He tried to focus his power on the baton, on Rembrandt, on the door.

And there was nothing.

Winn’s eyes snapped open. Rembrandt was there - but Winn couldn’t sense him. He couldn’t sense anything. He was blind.

“What - What did you do to me?” Winn snarled. He pushed himself to his feet, and the room spun around him. Winn put a hand to his cheekbone, feeling a gash there from where part of the baton had hit him. Rembrandt was there, he was right there - but then he moved, before Winn even realized it, and slammed the baton into Winn’s stomach.

“I did nothing,” Rembrandt said, as Winn dropped to one knee, dry heaving and struggling for breath at his feet. “You were the one eating candy you just found on the street.”

Cocking his head, Rembrandt regarded Winn for a moment, and then he kicked him in the ribs. The impact dropped Winn to his side, and he rolled over onto his back. He’d just returned his gaze to Rembrandt when there was another impact, in the same spot. Winn cried out as he felt one of his ribs crack.

Winn’s vision blurred. He blinked once, hard, and then again, when his eyes refused to focus. He scooted backwards away from Rembrandt, bumping into the chairs again, and swore. “What did you put in them?” he demanded, and hated that he couldn’t hide the way the fear and pain broke his voice.

Rembrandt ran his fingers down the electric baton. Winn could feel the burn scars that marched up his ribs tingle in remembered pain, and swallowed back a whine of fear.

“Poison,” Rembrandt said, flashing Winn a grin that flashed in the dim lighting like fire. “I won’t bore you with the specifics, but there’s a fantastic little concoction that some friends of mine have been working on for, well - decades, really. A power dampener.”

Rembrandt took two steps forward, then crouched down in front of Winn, snagging the front of his shirt before Winn could get away. Rembrandt moved his fingers to tighten around Winn’s chin, forcing him to look him in the face, and smiled. “How does it feel to be just like everyone else, Winn?”

A sob tore out of Winn’s chest. He threw himself backwards, lashing out at Rembrandt. The other man leaned back and just let him go, still smiling. He stood up and waited for Winn to scramble out of the broken circle of chairs, stumbling to his feet.

“My friends wanted to do a little field test,” Rembrandt said easily. “And considering the date, I thought you’d be feeling a bit lonely. So I arranged a little gift.”

“R-Remy,” Winn said, wiping at the blood from his nose again. His side flared with pain from the movement, his broken rib grinding against itself. He swung his head wildly, trying to remember the exits - he couldn’t find an escape route - what if there were other people? He couldn’t find them, he couldn’t sense the building, he couldn’t know where everything was -

When he looked back at Rembrandt, the man was closer than before, and Winn swore, jumping back. He nearly fell over, and took another step back. “Stay - Stay away -”

Rembrandt paused, and held up his free hand. “My apologies,” he said, smooth as silk. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“The fuck you didn’t,” Winn retorted. He tried to focus, but his headache only intensified, edging closer into a migraine. He stuck his hands into his pockets - and his phone wasn’t there. “Get away from me.”

“Oh, well, if you insist.” Rembrandt shrugged, and even backed up a couple of steps. “Of course, you’re still missing a chocolate, aren’t you?”

Winn blinked back tears. “The fuck?”

“Six chocolates,” Rembrandt said. “You found five.”

“You poisoned them!”

“I only poisoned the first two.” Rembrandt flashed him a carefree grin. “They’re a little slow-acting, I’m told. Of course, the nullifier isn’t supposed to have so much of a physical impact. I thought I would… enhance it.”

“What did you do?” Winn’s breath came short and sharp, and he rubbed at his eyes again, as sweat stung the cut on his cheek. “Remy - Rembrandt, what did you do.”

“I put the antidote in the sixth one.” Rembrandt’s eyes glittered, and he shifted his feet to shoulder-width apart. “It’s on the roof.”

Winn’s thoughts immediately jumped there - except he couldn’t find a way up to the roof. His stomach sank.

“I’ll give you a headstart,” Rembrandt offered graciously. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Winn.”

#iwrite #ask games #answers #asks #tumblr games #writing prompts #winn #rembrandt #tw violence #tw blood #tw poison #tw rembrandt #tw swearing #superpowerverse #clockworkgalaxies

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idabbleincrazy · 6 years

Text

Invisible Touch Ch.5

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Word Count: 2614

Warnings: um...pining?, like seriously, you might end up screaming “just kiss already!” other than that none that i can think of.

Summary: y/n and Gabriel go to a bar in town and its karaoke day.

A/N: I know I said I might do a time skip but this happened instead (gotta follow the muse where it goes, right?) and tough as it was to write, I had fun writing it. Song is from Moulin Rouge (if u have never seen it, u should!) Quotations in italics are the lyrics. I truly hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Y/f/a/d= your favorite alcoholic drink

You had finished your lunch with Gabriel without incident, finally able to have a conversation that didn’t leave you fumbling for words or wanting to flee in embarrassment. He had been quiet at first, watching you eat for a few minutes, and you had started to feel self-conscious. Thankfully, just as you could feel the flush starting to rise to your cheeks, he began talking. He didn’t further explain this morning’s upset, and you were loathe to bring it up either, so you decided to just let it go. The two of you carried on, talking about this and that, every now and then Gabriel reaching across the table to take a fry from your plate, dipping it into the chocolate frosty he had snapped up.

When you had finished eating, you continued to talk for about an hour, till you got a call from Sam asking you to go look up something in the library. You excused yourself and went to go find the book Sam had named. You quickly found the book, which was just within your reach and spent the next twenty minutes flipping through the pages and relaying the information, stopping every now and then to send him pictures of symbols that you couldn’t quite interpret. After hanging up, you put the book back and went back to the war room, slightly surprised to see Gabriel was still there.

“Boys need help with their homework” Gabe questioned, an almost annoyed smirk on his face.

“Yeah, seems they came across an older nest of vamps than they’ve encountered before. Sam said they’re stronger than the others they’ve fought, even the ones that aren’t pureblood. They got half of them before the rest made their escape. It might take an extra day to track down the rest.”

You sat back down at the table, propping your feet up. You considered something for a moment before speaking again. “You know, I’m getting kinda bored just sitting around here, want to go do something?”

“Like what?” Gabriel looked at you cautiously.

“Well, it’s five o’clock, somewhere right? How about we go to a bar, there’s one in town we haven’t been to yet.” You cocked an eyebrow at him as you spoke, wanting desperately to get out of the bunker for a while.

“Uh, sure. We taking one of the cars from the garage, or would you rather I just zap us there?”

“It would probably be best if you took us there. That way I don’t have to worry about driving back”, you respond, getting up from your chair to pull your phone from your pocket.

You quickly look up the address of the bar and an inconspicuous place for Gabriel to snap you to. You hand him your phone to look at the map and make your way around the table to where he is now standing. He hands you back your phone and grabs ahold of the sleeve of your shirt, careful not to brush against your skin, lest he cause another spark from the contact. You close your eyes as you feel reality shift around, and when you open them again you are standing in the alley behind the bar. The two of you walk around to the front of the building, Gabriel’s hand lingering on your sleeve, the warmth from his touch slowly sinking through the layer of fabric.

You walk in and stand in the doorway for a few seconds as your vision adjusts to the sudden dimness. As you look around, you are surprised by the rather sizable crowd in the bar. It may be Saturday, but its barely 2:30 in the afternoon, you weren't expecting the town to have so many day-drinkers. The bar is rather large, bigger than the other two you had already gone to with the boys.

As you and Gabriel head up to the bar, you notice why the place is livelier than you thought it would be. Set up at the back of the building is a stage with a banner over it reading Karaoke Saturday. When you get to the counter, you find a flyer and quickly scan it for the start time. It started in a hour. You figure all the early birds are getting a head-start on fueling up on liquid courage.

You order a (y/f/a/d) and Gabriel orders a Purple Nurple, at which you just shake your head, having heard the story of how the boys first met Gabe over a decade ago. He slams back the shot, orders another and tells the bartender to keep them coming as you go to find an empty booth. Gabriel sits down, handing you your drink as he sets down his second shot along with the beer he ordered. You quirk an eyebrow up at him.

“You never cease to surprise me, Gabe. Beer and a drink that’s basically a cranberry-vodka? Neither of those are particularly sweet. I’d have figured you'd order something with an umbrella.”

“Nah. When it comes to drinks, the simpler the better. ‘Sides, it takes a lot more for me to even feel a buzz, remember?” He took a swig from the beer, letting out a contented sigh as he set it back down and looked at you.

You nodded at him in slight wonder and took a sip of your drink. You noted that the bartender hadn't skimped on the alcohol like most other places do. You made a note to yourself not to drink too much too fast. Didn't want to go making a fool of yourself, now did you?

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

An hour and two drinks later, you were feeling well relaxed as a man got up on the stage and announced the start of the karaoke, calling up the first person on the list. As the music started, you couldn't help but smirk as you recognized the beginning of The Offspring’s ‘You’re Gonna Go Far Kid’. It was one of the songs that never failed to make you think of Gabriel. You looked over at him to find him considering the stage with a wistful smile on his face.

You went up to the bar to get another drink, letting the music surround you. The guy singing wasn't half-bad, and it sounded nearly as good as the original. By the time you got your drink and headed back to the booth, the next person headed up to the stage. The opening guitar work of Pat Benatar’s ‘Invincible' rang out from the speakers as you sat down.

The power of the music and your third drink thrummed in your veins, making you bolder than you had thought possible at the moment. You considered yourself for a second before turning your attention to Gabriel.

“Hey, Gabe, you ever done karaoke”, you asked the archangel, a nervous flutter running through your chest.

“Of course”, he replied. “Hard to spend so many centuries down here and avoid that gem of human creation. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was wondering if you'd like to do a duet with me”, you asked with hope in your eyes.

“Huh. Sure, cupcake. What did you have in mind?”

You flashed him a quick smile as you got up to find the sign-up sheet. “It's a surprise. If you don't know the words already, I'm sure you can just snap them into your memory.”

You signed the both of you up and went back to the booth, determined to be just buzzed enough to push back any lingering doubts and fears by the time they called your names. Over the course of the next half hour, you finished off your drink and two shots of whiskey, feeling pleasantly tipsy but still sober enough to talk without slurring. Your nervousness abated, you watched Gabriel closely as he consumed more Purple Nurples. As the current song faded, you straightened up and prepared yourself mentally, knowing you were next on the list.

The man came back on stage and called out your names. Gabriel got up first and reached a hand out to you to help you out of the booth. As your hands touched, instead of the electric shock you had experienced this morning, you felt a tickling warmth spreading from his hand to yours and up, throughout your body. You smiled up at him and the two of you made your way up to the stage.

The man in charge handed you your microphones and you waited for the song to start. As the name of the song appeared on the screen, Gabriel let out a small laugh and looked over at you. “Really, sugar?”

“What, it's one of my favorite movies! It makes a perfect duet.” You crinkled your nose and held in a giggle.

The two of you turned to face the bar patrons as the words to “Elephant Love Medley” showed up on the screen.

Hoping the crowd was buzzed enough not to care that the beginning of the song was more talking then singing, Gabriel began, taking of course, the part of Christian, while you would be his Satine.

“Love is many, splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love.” His voice carried through the speakers, a voice that at the same time as being non-threatening, commanded to be listened to.

You gulped and quickly put on the British accent that you were quite proud of as you spoke out your part. “Please, don't start that again.”

Back and forth you went as the music kicked in. When the time came to actually sing, he turned to face you. You noticed he was acting just like Christian did in the movie, right down to the hand gestures, so you decided to do the same. Chuck knows, you've watched the movie enough times to have Satine’s part memorized.

You turned away from him at the line “You crazy fool, I won't give in to you” and back again at his spoken “Don't”, now fully immersed in the performance. What you hadn't expected was the way your heart clenched as you looked into his eyes as he softly sang out “dont leave me this way”. You took a breath as you quickly prepared for the next verse, praying your voice wouldn't be as shaky as you suddenly felt.

“You'd think that people would've had enough of silly love songs.” You managed to squeak out, thankful that this part of the song was softly sung in the movie too.

“I look around me and I see it isn't so, oh no.” Gabriel took a step toward you as he sang.

“Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs.” Breathe in, breathe out, don’t look him in the eye.

Another step. “Well, what’s wrong with that”, step, “I’d like to know”, step, his hand reaching out to you and caressing your chin, nudging your face up to look at him, “’cause here I go, again.”

As his verse continued, you could feel the warmth from his touch spreading through you once more, your nervousness ebbing away and your heartbeat calming again. You stared back at him, leaning in to his touch, your resolve to see this through hardening. Smirking, you sang back at him.

“Love makes us act like we are fools. Throw our lives away, for one happy day.”

“We can be heroes”, he belted out, his hand sliding away from your chin, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Just for one day.”

Slipping back into the scene you were playing out, you turn away from him, shaking your head. “You, you will be mean.”

“No, I won’t.”

“And I, I’ll drink all the time!” You prepared for the next few lines, reminding yourself it was just a song, he was just performing for the crowd.

“We should be lovers”, he crooned.

“We can’t do that.” You looked back at him, your head cast downward, looking up at him through your lashes.

“We should be lo-oo-overs,” Gabriel grabbed your hand, pulling you around to face him, caught up in the song just as much as you were. “And that’s a fact.”

“No, nothing would keep us together.”

“We could steal time, just for one day.” The look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine as you continued singing to each other, forgetting that there was anyone else in the room.

“We could be heroes, forever and ever”, your voices joined together in a delicious harmony that would’ve given Nicole and Ewan a run for their money.

As the operatic crescendo built up around you, you felt your heart thumping loudly in your chest and you could feel a tingle of electricity coming from his hand again. This time, it didn’t shock either of you but instead was gentle and soothing. Neither of you noticed when the music ended. You just stared at each other until the noise of the applauding crowd broke through and you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. You smiled at Gabriel and quickly ducked your head as you felt a blush rising to your cheeks.

“Gabriel and (y/n), everybody!” The announcer came back on stage to retrieve your mics and the two of you headed back to your booth.

“Wowzers, (y/n), I had no idea you could sing like that! You should do it more often.” Gabriel looked at you warmly as you sat down. “Let me go get you something to drink, you must be parched after that performance. Another one of those?” He gestured at your empty glass.

“No, I’ll have a beer this time, thanks Gabe.”

As he went to get the drinks, you took the moment alone to contemplate the craziness that had just occurred. You were ecstatic that nothing had gone wrong up on stage, you had gotten through it without completely embarrassing yourself. But, those looks Gabriel had given you had thrown you for a loop. You were wary not to get your hopes up that the lyrics of the song had meant the same to him as they had to you. You were glad that the two of you were able to finally get along and didn’t want to push the issue and end up ruining everything again. Unfortunately, you also had a nagging curiosity about why his touch no longer shocked you, but still emitted a type of energy you hadn’t yet encountered with other angels. It might be because he was an archangel, but you had a feeling it went deeper than that.

You were brought back from your thoughts as you saw Gabriel coming back with the beers, and you smiled at him as he handed you one of them. “You know, you were pretty awesome yourself, up there. I guess I should’ve expected it though, seeing as how you are the archangel of languages.”

“Heh. Well, someone’s done their homework, haven’t they? And, yes, singing happens to be one of my many talents.” He flashed his flirty smirk and raised his eyebrow.

The two of you drank your beers and listened to the next three performers in silence, this time just enjoying each other’s presence, no trace of the normal awkwardness you usually felt. After you finished, you asked Gabriel to snap you back home, not wanting to travel past the mellow buzz you felt into the nauseously drunk category. Gabriel went and paid the tab and you walked out and back around to the alley you had arrived in. Once again, you closed your eyes as reality bent around you, waiting till you felt ground firmly beneath your feet before opening them again.

Gabe’s Babes: @liloldlou @calamitychaos

Rich’s Bitches: @warlockwriter @archangelgabriellives @green-draws0 @waywardtricks @hankypranky @briars-glenn @thewhiterabbit42

Invisible Touch: @somewhatnatural @missihart23 @whodoesntlovefanfics @baritonechick @nobodys-baby-now @marichromatic @black-angel-bahamut

tags are still open.

#invisible touch #ch.5 #gabriel x reader #spn #gabriel #gabe #gabe x reader #spn fanfic

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