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cjsinkythoughts · 3 years

Text

Not Your Captain

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1695

Warnings: Falcon and the Winter Soldier Spoilers!!!!! Lots of Angst in this one, guys, lotta feels, some Fluff to counterbalance it, but mostly Angst, Cursing

A/N: This is Part Two to my previous FATWS writing, His Only Contact. FATWS SERIES STERLIST HERE! This one is from Reader’s perspective and gives you a bit more about Reader’s backstory. There will be multiple parts coming out in the next day or two based just on this new episode because damn. It was loaded! Due to this and my workload this past week, I haven’t been able to post the first chapter of my College!AU, Erased From the Stars, but I promise it’s coming! This’ll be my main focus for the weekend though! Expect more parts in the next 24 hours! I’ll be making a masterlist for this particular project in that time, too! Taglists are open! Please contact me if you want to be tagged! Thank you and please enjoy, loves! (Not beta’d, so sorry for mistakes!)

AGAIN: SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

The moment you saw it on TV, you knew you had to get to Bucky. You weren’t planning on leaving until the next day, but there was no way you weren’t going. So you caught the first plane you could from the base you were staying at.

You’re feelings were all over the place. Steve had been your best friend for more than the past decade. You were the one there when he first woke up. You were the one to help him get situated. You were the one to help him whenever he needed, to go over to his little place in DC when he was having problems, like the time he thought he was having an asthma attack when it was an anxiety attack or when you had to help him find a new phone after he accidentally broke his.

You were that close to falling in love with him. But life went the other way and, in a weird twist of fate, almost as if the universe wanted to spare you of the heartbreak it knew would come if you gave your heart to the dashing captain, you ended up tripping over your own feet for someone else.

Someone you would never tell.

He was the last thing you had left of Steve and you couldn’t ruin that because of your stupid feelings. And you couldn’t ruin the relationship you had now because it was working. He trusted you, more than anyone else. He trusted you because Steve trusted you and you wouldn’t dare break that trust.

You just hoped, with everything going down in relation to the shield - to his legacy - that you’d be able to keep that promise you made to yourself.

You were in front of his door early in the morning - around four - hesitating to knock. It didn’t take long for him to respond the moment your fist did meet the door.

He looked…tired. You wished, oh how you wished, that you could do more. Anything more. He insisted you helped him plenty already; he claimed he never had nightmares when you were by his side. But it wasn’t enough. Not for what he’d been through. You felt as though you were merely putting a bandaid over a bullet wound.

His chocolate locks were short, above his ears. You could remember how hesitant yet eager he was about doing it. It was difficult to not cut his ear off because he kept moving in anticipation. You would know: you cut it. Those blue eyes that made you trip in the first place were outlined by thick lashes, dark ebony bags beneath them, making the azure pop. He was shirtless, as he usually was when sleeping (or at least trying to sleep), his dog tags resting against his sternum.

You could tell he hadn’t been sleeping. His eyes were bloodshot as if he was watching TV for too long and his hair was less messy than it would be if he actually slept.

The moment his eyes found yours, his plump, chapped lips turned up into the grin he reserved for you and he was pulling you in. Your reaction was instantaneous, your arms slipping around his waist, your chin resting on his shoulder as he found home in the crook of your neck.

He was touch deprived. You knew this, but you never brought it up. Especially considering you were one of the only people he touched willingly. You didn’t want him thinking he was broken, more so than he thought he was already. And you definitely didn’t want to push him into fixing himself. So you didn’t tell him, even though you were pretty sure he knew, and you just let him take the lead.

Sometimes it meant he grabbed your hand in large crowds, or tucked you under his arm when he was threatened. Other times it meant laying his head in your lap when he was tired late at night, or a soft hug in greeting.

Hands slowly tracing his spine, fingers dancing up and down his back, you gave a small smile when you felt him practically purring in your embrace. You could never decide if he was more puppy or kitten. You used to make jokes about the three of them, Steve, Bucky, and Sam, being like a puppy, kitten, and bird that you had to reluctantly pet sit for a friend. You would give almost anything to be joking around like that with them when you went to visit Bucky in Wakanda with Steve.

“Buck?”

He hummed. You didn’t want to pull back, you wanted to stay connected with him for as long as possible, but you had to talk. You didn’t want to talk about it, because that would make it more real, but you had to. You had to.

“Have you seen the news recently?”

His eyebrows furrowed, his lips pulling down. “What happened? Is it Wanda?”

You looked down the hall, your lips pressed together tightly, before nodding inside. “We have to talk.”

He nodded, stepping back and pulling you inside. Seeing the makeshift bed on the floor against the far edge of the sofa made you inwardly sigh, but you didn’t say anything about it. Steve was the same way at first.

“Is she okay? Did you find her? Where-”

“It’s not Wanda.” Turning, you faced him, trying to control your own anger at the situation, knowing it wouldn’t help him any. “It’s…it’s about Steve.”

Those spectacularly blue eyes narrowed, bottom lip being sucked in between his teeth. “What about Steve?”

You gestured for him to come closer, holding out your hand in offering. He took it and followed you as you led him to the couch. A cleared throat and a deep breath later found you gently explaining what happened to him. That the government had taken back the shield and had given it to someone else. A ‘hero just for America’. A ‘new Captain America’.

You could see his features harden with every word, his jaw ticking dangerously, his chest heaving and his nostrils flaring. You squeezed his hand as you finished. “He’s got meetings and stuff with senators and governors. They’re taking him on a tour this week. They-they want me to meet him, considering I’m the last of the original seven. Active on Earth, at least.”

The tears that started forming in his eyes made you swallow your own emotions down thickly. He didn’t need your hatred of this wannabe to fuel his own. He needed your support and comfort. He needed to know you’d be by his side through this.

“Are you?”

You blinked, not expecting his first words to be that question. “Am I what?”

“Going to meet with him?”

“I-I…” You stopped talking, knowing that if you continued you’d end up ranting about how he wasn’t your captain. How he could never be your captain. Debating answers, you decided on a simple, blunt reply. “No.”

“Why…”

Running your thumb over his knuckles, you leaned over slowly to press a chaste kiss to his bare skin and blood shoulder. “Take your time. Collect your thoughts.”

He responded to your words by taking a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut, his jaw so tight you feared he might chip his teeth. It was a tense minute before he said anything, the room being filled with his harsh breathing. “You said he gave them the shield.”

“What?”

“Yesterday. You told me he gave up the shield. They put it in the Smithsonian. But you just said they took it from him.”

“He did give it to them, but-”

“Why?” His eyes snapped open, his features twisting into ones of frustration and resentment. “Why’d he give it to them?”

You shook your head, knowing Sam didn’t mean for any of that to happen. He had called you a few weeks ago to ask about your opinion on the matter. You told him that Steve trusted him, and you trusted Steve, so if Sam thought that was the right thing to do…you trusted him. “It’s not Sam’s fault. Don’t be mad-”

“Don’t be mad?! Don’t be mad?!” Bucky shot up, ripping his hand away from yours, making you bite your lip and hang your head as he paced in front of you. “Steve gave it to him! And he just gives it away like he’s regifting a shitty frisbee as a Christmas present! And you don’t want me to be mad?! Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N?!”

Cringing at the use of your name, which you rarely hear fall from his lips, especially in vexation like just then, you looked up at him, eyes pleading. “Bucky, I get it. I do. I’m mad, too. I’m-I’m furious. But you can’t blame Sam. Please. He just - he’s trying, Buck. Just like me. Just like you. We’re all trying.”

Bucky’s shoulders fell as he stared at you, eyes darting from feature to feature as he studied your face. Before you could say anything else, he was on the floor in front of you, in between your legs, arms wrapped around your waist and face pressed into your stomach.

You could tell he was holding something back - something big - but you wouldn’t push him. You never did. Displaying feelings was always hard for him, even in the early 1900’s; Steve used to tell you stories when you were looking for him after the fiasco in DC. Bucky grew up being the oldest of four and the only boy. On top of that, his best friend was a scrawny, stubborn, punching bag of a boy. According to Stevie, neither of them really learned how to cope or how to deal with feelings. And it showed. Boy, did it show.

Instead of getting on him and asking what was wrong and begging for him to talk to you, your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching his scalp, as you sat back to make the position more comfortable for him.

“Stay with me. I need you.”

You leaned down to press a soft kiss to his head, nodding into his hair. “I’ll stay. For as long as you need me, Buckaroo.”

Taglist (OPEN):

@happygoreading, @thatsdarwinism, @satellitespidey

2K notes · View notes

berrynarrybanana · 4 years

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My Only Angel

A/N: A rewrite of one my favorite pieces that I’ve ever done. I added an entire extra part onto it and I hope that you all enjoy the new addition.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol use, mentions of drug use, tiny bit of a daddy kink

Word Count: 5k+

I promise to edit this later, but for now, I am posting this as is!

Masterlist

The bass was shaking the sticky floor of the club, shooting straight up your spine as you swayed on your sore feet. It had been a long night and you were slowly starting to fade. The party was dwindling down, some of your friends trailing off to the bathroom to do lines before they moved onto the next party that would surely be held at someone’s flat. You were leaning heavily against Harry, his large (and deliciously warm) palm resting on your side as you sipped at the water in your hands. Your head found his shoulder almost an hour ago, the soft tendrils of his curls tickling your bare shoulders and collarbones as he chatted with one of your mutual friends.

Harry had been trying to get away from the conversation for the last sixty minutes, squeezing your side sympathetically every time Nick brought up a new topic to chat about. It was only after someone pulled Nick’s attention away that you were able to escape from the elitist bar with Harry’s blazer draped over your shoulders. His fingers easily tangled with yours as he pushed the front door open, flashes greeting your heavy eyes aggressively. You knew the drill better than you knew most of the people Harry considered friends. Keep your head down, eyes on your feet, let Harry lead the way, and don’t talk. It wasn’t hard to do in theory, but in practice it proved to be a little bit harder than it sounded.

Harry shut the door behind you, jumping as a pap started to smack the glass. Harry’s driver, Benny, was quick to step on the gas at Harry’s command. Harry’s right hand slipped over your knee as the fingers on his left hand started to toy with his bottom lip nervously. You gave him a soft, reassuring smile when he looked in your direction with concerned eyes. He let out a shuddery sigh of relief before leaning over to kiss your forehead. You tucked yourself into his side once more, letting your eyes drift shut as Harry pulled out his phone.

When you finally made it into his newly renovated home, you let out a content sigh. Lifting one leg at a time, you pulled at the straps of your heels until they fell in a heap by the front door. It wasn’t like you wouldn’t pick them up later and pack them away again. You were only here for a few days before you traveled off to another destination for work. As much as you hated it at times, you owed your demanding and stressful career for giving you Harry. Without a work trip to Amsterdam, you wouldn’t be sitting on his kitchen island while he kissed your lips.

“Missed you.” He brushed his nose against yours as you let out a soft hum, your chapped lips curving into a smile. “How long ‘ave we got?”

“Four days.” You brushed your fingers against the crisp, white fabric of his button up. “But I don’t intend on leaving this house for anything.”

“S’that so?” He chuckled, ducking his head down bashfully. “Not even to visit Mum for a night?”

“Doesn’t sound half bad, I have to admit.” Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as you peppered kisses over his forehead. “I do miss her sangria.”

“I’ll let her know to make a batch.”

Your head tilted back, a breathy sigh of pleasure escaping from your lips as he sponged kisses over your collarbone. You felt it in your core first, the soft aching reminding you that it had been a while since you’d last been with Harry. If you remembered correctly, it had been at least six months since you’d last had him in a tiny Paris hotel room. It had been six months since you’d felt him, really felt him give it to you like you needed. Just as your fingernails dug into his broad shoulders, the doorbell rang out loudly. It made you jump, causing Harry to laugh into your neck before he pulled away.

“Ordered us some food.” He pressed a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be right back, angel.”

You watched him walk away with a pout on your lips and an unsatisfied throbbing between your legs. Had he been quick enough, he could have had you on the countertop before the food arrived. A quickie was better than nothing, and right now that’s what you had - nothing. Impatiently you waited for Harry’s return, gripping the edge of the counter with puffed out cheeks as your feet swung back and forth. Your heels tapped against the sleek cabinets softly as you looked over his kitchen, The remodel was finally done and you were so proud of what Harry had done with his London home. It was undeniably him, from the cabinets to the paint in his bedroom. A smile graced your lips when you noticed a picture of you and Harry hung in a cluster of photos on the wall.

You were sandwiched between a picture of Harry with the band, and a picture of Gemma and Harry on the beach. You were so enamored with the pictures on his wall that you almost didn’t notice him walking back into the kitchen. Without the light flipping on suddenly, you probably wouldn’t have noticed him. A groan left your lips at the sudden brightness, and a chuckle left his at the sound of your annoyed noise. He set the takeout bag on his countertop before turning towards the cabinets opposite of where you sat. Two plates later and Harry was by your side, scooping chips onto your plate with his nimble fingers. He handed you the white, ceramic plate with a quick peck before he turned back to make his own plate up.

“Sir,” You hummed out, popping a chip into your mouth, “Where is my malt vinegar and tomato sauce.”

“It’s comin’, angel.” He snorted, shaking his head before he lifted his thumb to his mouth.

Your face paled and your lips parted as you watched him suck the salt off the tip of his finger absentmindedly. He turned around on socked heels, moving towards the brand new fridge to retrieve the condiments you requested. He held the bottles between his fingers, reaching out for his plate with one hand before he nodded towards the doorway of his kitchen.

“Let’s take this upstairs and get comfortable.” He suggested. “I’m dying to get out of these bloody jeans.”

“They keep getting tighter and tighter, don’t they.” Your eyebrows moved in a suggestive manner as Harry rolled his eyes, turning his back towards you as you hopped from the countertop. “I do have to say I’m enjoying it.”

“You already know how big my dick is, there’s not really much left for you to imagine.” He snorted out a laugh as you both walked down the hallway, towards the staircase.

“Your bum looks really fucking good in them though.” With a soft pinch to his rounded cheek, you proved your point.

“Oi!” Harry jumped, shooting a playful glare over his shoulders. “Keep your hands to yourself, missus. I don’t need my house smelling like malt vinegar because your grabby hands made me drop the bottle.”

“You love my grabby hands.” You giggled as you followed him up the staircase. “Have I told you that I love the remodel yet?”

“Mentioned it once or twice.” He chuckled lowly. “Thank you for all of your very strong opinions on the color palette, by the way.”

“You’re very welcome.” You hummed out, reaching for a chip as you cleared the last few steps of the staircase. “I think it looks really nice.”

“I really like the darker tones that you picked.” He pushed his bedroom door open with his elbow, revealing the emerald, burnt orange, and blush tones of his bedroom. “I especially love your idea for the bedroom.”

“It’s almost as if people pay me to write about this kind of stuff.” You snorted, setting your plate down on the side of his bed that you claimed over a year ago. “Wild.”

“Piss off.” He rolled his eyes, setting his own plate on the velvet comforter. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring you something comfy to change into.”

“Mkay.” You effortlessly lifted the hem of your little black dress over your head, dropping the garment to the floor before you slid under the emerald sheets.

The rich, jewel tones combined with the blush and light tan created the perfect seventies rockstar vibe. The shapes and artwork on his wall brought pieces of his favorite time period to his everyday life, fueling his inspiration as continued to embark on his musical journey. After Harry returned, already dressed in his pajamas, you took the vintage band shirt he offered with a smile. You slipped it over your body as he climbed in bed next to you. The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, eating your late night fish and chips with content hums and greasy fingers. You felt your head start to come down from the high the tequila brought you, the dizzy cloud hanging over your head drifting away with each bite you took. When you were finished with your food, Harry disappeared with your dirty plates before returning with two large glasses of water. He turned the lights off in the bedroom, handing you a glass with firm instruction.

“Drink up.” He started to sip at his own water as you rolled your eyes, tipping the glass back like you were asked.

When your water was downed and you were finally laying down next to Harry, you reached up to brush your knuckles over his cheek with a sleepy smile.

“Hi.” You whispered.

“Hello, lovely.” He turned his head, kissing your wrist softly. “I’m glad to have you back for a while. It’s been far too long since we’ve caught up.”

“I know.” Your hips wiggled until you were nearly flush with Harry’s front, your legs slotted between his as your hand brushed over his side. “I missed you.”

“I missed you.” He mumbled against your forehead. “Don’t leave me for so long again.”

“If I recall, you left me in Los Angeles.” With a tilt of your head, you capture his lips with your own in a tender and slow kiss.

Everything was innocent until your hand slipped between your bodies, subtly palming his cock through the plaid of his pajama pants. Harry gasped when you bit down on his lower lip, palming him with a little more enthusiasm than before. It didn’t take long for Harry to have you on your back, his hips pressing yours into the mattress with little rolls and grinds. Desperate hands pushed under soft shirts, grasping at clammy skin as Harry started to kick the duvet towards the end of the bed. When his lips started to trail over your jaw, and down your neck, you started to lose the patience you had stored up.

You didn’t want to wait any longer.

Impatiently, you tugged at Harry’s shirt until it was over his head and on the floor alongside your dress. Your shirt was the next to go, falling in a heap with the other fabric as Harry sponged kisses over the swell of your breast.

“Harry,” You gasped as his tongue swirled over your nipple. “Please, baby.”

“M’getting there.” His voice was low and hoarse as he moved to your other breast “Let me take my time, angel.”

“Please, Harry.” Your fingers scratched lightly against his back as your hips lifted up. “I can’t wait.”

He lifted his head from the crook of your neck, looking down at your face with a smug grin.

“You need it that bad, angel?” Sparse kisses were left over your warm cheek as Harry waited for your answer. “Need to hear you say it.”

“I need you.” You whispered. “I need you to fuck me.”

“There’s my good girl.”

His lips pressed into yours hungrily as your hands pushed his pajama pants down.

You gripped his bum, making sure to dig your nails into the sensitive skin softly. Your giggle was drowned out by the groan that vibrated against your lips. He didn’t stop though, his tongue slipping over yours as he pushed your panties to the side. Your hand worked over his cock in long, slow pumps as he panted against your lips. Soon, he was the one who was desperate to be inside of you. His hips were rutting into your hand, the leaking tip of his cock bumping against your soft thigh as you continued to tease him.

“Thought you needed me.” He let out a breathy chuckle, glancing between your naked bodies to watch your hand stroking over his cock. “Let me in, angel.”

“I’m having fun.” You whispered, adjusting your head on the mound of soft pillow behind you as Harry looked into your eyes.

“I’m not.” He grumbled. “Promise to make it so good for you, angel.”

“I know it’ll be good.” You lifted your chin, puckering your lips out. “Kiss me.”

When his lips met yours, you guided the head of his cock towards your entrance.

It took him no time at all to sink into your velvety walls.

When you initiated this, you assumed the movements between you would be fast and desperate. You were both tired and sobering up, the clock reading well past three a.m. on Harry’s bedside table. In theory, you should be trying your best to rub one out before passing out in a heap in the middle of the bed. But Harry refused to let your first time after six months apart be rushed and desperate. His thrusts were planned and deliberate, sharp and precise as he hovered over your body with hungry eyes and a clenched jaw. His curls brushed against your neck and your chest, causing you to giggle and shrink away from time to time.

“I swear to fuck I’ve never felt anything so heavenly.” Harry gasped against your cheek before his head tilted down. He watched his cock, coated in your combined arousal, plunging in and out of your needy walls. “So tight and wet fo’ me, aren’t you angel.”

“Yes.” Your fingernails dug into the slick skin of his sides, searching for something to keep you anchored to this earth. “I’m close.”

“Can feel it.” He nipped at your bottom lip. “Squeezing me so tight.”

“Are you close?” A whimper followed your question, the head of Harry’s cock nudging the perfect spot in your walls. “Fuck, H.”

“Yeah, angel, I’m right there.” Nimble and calloused fingers started to circle your clit, moving in the direction that never failed to push you over the edge. “Cum fo’ me, love. Cum on your favorite cock.”

Your lips parted, breath catching in your throat as you clenched your eyes shut.

The tight knot in your lower belly exploded, causing your toes to curl into the sheets and your hips to lift off the bed. Soon, they were pushed right back down as Harry grunted into your collarbone, his hips pushing forward as his cum coated your walls. The skin of his chest against yours was tacky and warm, sweat shared between you both as his arms wrapped around your torso to keep you close as your walls milked his cock.

When all was said and done, you were sprawled over Harry’s chest.

Your fingers trailed over his butterfly tattoo as you tried to keep the blissful smile from your lips.

“I love you.” Harry’s nose nuzzled into the hair at the top of your head, his words causing your finger - and your steady breathing- to stop. “I love you so fucking much and I’m tired of pretending that I don’t. I’m tired of going to these parties and spending our nights out with those people. I’m tired of acting like this is just something we do when we’re bored of everyone else, Y/N. I love you and I need to know if you feel the same way.”

Your eyes watered, a happy emotion bubbling up in your chest as you tried to process his words.

Harry loved you.

“You were never just something to pass the time when I was bored.” You croaked out, lifting your head up as a few tears fell onto his chest. “I’ve always loved you, Harry, and I don’t ever want to let you go.”

“M’yours if you’ll have me.” His voice was gruff as he lifted a hand, brushing his thumb over your soft cheek to catch your tears. “I promise.”

“If you’re mine, them I’m yours.” You pushed forward, connecting your lips. “S’about time you made a move. You’ve been calling me missus for years.”

You snuggled back into Harry’s chest as he let out a tired chuckle.

“Always knew you’d be my missus one day.” He mumbled. “Gonna keep you around forever, angel.”

🕊🕊🕊🕊🕊

You had the string of the tea bag twirled around your forefinger.

Slowly, you dipped it into the mug of steaming water, humming along to the record you put on Harry’s vinyl player in the corner of his kitchen. Even after your very late, and very active night, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay in bed past seven, no matter how hard you tried. That was something you had in common with Harry. You were both early risers, your natural body clocks pulling you out of slumber as the sun started to rise in the sky.

After laying in bed for an hour with open eyes and a silly smile, replaying Harry’s words from the night before, you decided to stumble out of bed for a cup of tea. You slipped Harry’s discarded pajama pants, pulling the red and black checked flannel up your legs and over your hips before you grabbed his shirt. It was one of your favorite shirts he owned and you knew that he would have some choice words to share with you when he saw the fabric hanging off your frame.

You set Harry’s mug aside as your tea steeped, leaving the bag in his mug without any added water. If you were going to get some work done while you could, you didn’t want his tea to go cold on the counter. Blowing the steaming liquid in your mug gently, you turned towards your laptop on the kitchen island, pressing your hip against the edge of the granite countertop. Your mug found it’s home by your left hand as you powered up your laptop.

Harry liked to joke that you were a workaholic and that you needed to learn about work life balance, but you would always snort at his words and roll your eyes. He knew he was being hypocritical, but he loved getting a rise out of you from time to time. If you were being honest, you loved letting him do it. When your laptop was on, you started to move the wireless mouse around the granite countertop, squinting your eyes at the picture your editor sent you. As you lifted your mug of tea to your lips, you heard the shuffling of socked feet against the hallway floors. A happy smile pulled at the corner of your lips when Harry’s lips pressed into the back of your head, his fingers curling around your shoulder to stable himself as you put your tea down.

“Woke up this mornin’ and I couldn’t find my pajamas.” His voice was still thick with sleep, his words cracking on every other syllable. “But I guess I’ve found the culprit.”

“Guess so.” You chuckled softly, tilting your head back as you lifted your hand to squeeze his fingers that rested against your shoulder. “Kettle is still hot.”

“You mean to tell me-” His arms were quick to slip around your body, pulling you close as he whispered in your ear. “You stole my pajamas, left me in bed all alone, and now you’re not even gonna fix me a bloody cup of tea? How positively rude of you, my love.”

“Harry!” You giggled and squirmed as he began to nip playfully at the skin of your neck.

“What love?” He teased, squeezing you hard as he moved you back from the counter. “Can’t handle a bit of scruffy kisses.”

“More like toothy kisses!” You squealed as he lifted you a little, your toes brushing against the hardwood floors. “You’ve got no scruff!”

“Take tha’ back!” He laughed loudly, his arms loosening around you before he flipped you around. You were facing him now, his sleepy smile creating little wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, and his lips raspberry red. You glanced down quickly to see him in only his boxer briefs, his tattoos on full display. “Take it back right now.”

“No,” You giggled before pressing your lips together, shaking your head defiantly.

“Take. It. Back,” He said slowly, backing you towards the counter with a sinister smirk on his lips. You shook your head again and he returned the gesture with a soft chuckle. “You’re a brat.”

“I am not.” You smirked. “I’m an angel.”

“An angel?” He snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re a little devil, that’s what you are.”

You tossed your arms around his neck, gripping his hair as he ducked his head to your neck again, nipping at your skin as your back hit the counter. “Harry,” You said in a soft warning.

“What?” He mumbled into your skin. “Can’t take it?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” You whispered, rolling your lips in after you’d said it. He lifted his head, his eyes narrowed playfully.

“You think I won’t finish this?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. “You think I won’t take you right here?”

“I know you won’t,” You taunted him, biting your lower lip. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but I would,” He chuckled, his fingers already digging into the band of his own pants on your hips. He snapped the band softly before leaning in to brush his lips against yours. “Turn round love.”

“Make me,” You whispered, quirking your brow up with a smirk of your own.

Harry laughed softly before spinning you around.

Your hands slapped down on the countertop, steadying you as your knees began to quake ever so slightly in anticipation. He quickly pulled your pants down, your panties sliding with them as he kissed over your t-shirt covered shoulder. Your lower belly clenched from the swift movement and you nearly moaned out as his hand gripped your bare bottom, squeezing softly as he sighed out. With a pained moaned, Harry’s thumbs spread you apart, baring you for his hungry eyes to feast upon. The cool air has you clenching, your eyes fluttering shut as you inhaled.

Soon, his fingers skimmed around your hip to part your clenched thighs, slipping between your legs in a teasing manner. He brushed the tops of your right thigh with his nails in a light scratch as he pushed your hair aside with his free hand, kissing over the back of your neck. You were practically thrumming now. You didn’t know you were ready for him until he’d started teasing you so charmingly. That man could make you wet within seconds just with a look.

“Do you want it like my shirt says love?” He whispered in your ear, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand up.

You were confused for a moment as he pushed your feet aside with his own, spreading you a little more as his right hand pulled your hips back towards his, his left hand pushing your lower back until you were in place with your ass up and your knees knocked to the countertop. You felt so vulnerable and open, the cool morning air brushing past your soaked lips as Harry put you into the perfect position. You gasped when you finally felt him, the leaking tip of his cock brushing over your ass before he moved it between your legs. He brushed his tip over your lips, the sound shooting straight to your core as you wiggled your ass just a little for him in the form of a desperate plea.

“Yeah, my angel wants it hot n’ hard this morning.” A devilish chuckle caused you to whimper before your teeth sunk into your lower lip. “Isn’t that right?

“Fuck, Harry.” You keened out as Harry sunk into your waiting walls, bottoming out swiftly.

“You didn’t answer my question, angel.” He tutted, settling his hands on your hips as you felt your walls flutter around his shaft. “Tell me how you want it.”

“I want it,” You gasped out, nodding your head. “I want it just like that, Harry. Please fuck me like your shirt says, please.”

“See,” He grunted, pulling back out to the tip before pushing in again quickly, knocking your hips forward. “You’re no angel.”

“I am,” You whimpered as he started his rhythm, desperate whines pulling from your lips as he continued his torturously slow thrusts. “M’an angel, H. I’m your angel.”

“Prove it love.” He gritted out between clenched teeth as you clenched around him. “Be good for me, my love. Be the sweet angel that I know you are.”

“I’m your angel, I- I promise,” You cried out as his hips started to pick up speed. He still pulled out, holding his tip in your entrance for a moment before slamming back in, but it was quicker and a little sloppier than before. You could tell that he was close. “Harry fuck, please.”

“Please, what?” He gasped, pressing his chest into your back as his right hand slipped up to fondle your breast, his left hand sliding down to your clit. “You want me to make you cum?”

“Oh,” You cried out as he started to roll his hips, his thrusts deeper with the new angle he was fucking you at. “Yes, please make me cum around your cock. Please make me cum, daddy.”

“Such dirty words from such a pretty mouth.” His breath was hot against your ear for just a second, his hips knocking yours flush against the countertop with harsh thrusts. “Thought you were my angel?”

“I am!” You cried out as he lifted his chest slightly, his right hand gripping your hip tightly as he held you in place. “M’your angel.”

“Not with a dirty mouth like that,” He chuckled darkly as your torso fell to the countertop. “My beautiful girl, you want so bad to be good for me don’t you? You want to make daddy proud, don’t you?”

You nodded eagerly as he grunted, dropping his forehead to your shoulder with a low curse.

“Then cum for me,” He growled out the order, moving his fingers faster against your clit. “Cum.”

By some miracle, his command had your body slipping over the edge just moments later. Maybe it was the sound of your hips smacking together in a place that wasn’t meant for sex. Or maybe it was the grip he had on your hip, holding you in place while he fucked into you without mercy. Or maybe it was just your body wanting to prove that you were his obedient little angel. It was like you belonged to him in the sweetest and most sensual way.

Your ograsm hit you like an earthquake, causing you to toss your head back as your knees turned to jello. He stilled inside of you, crying out as he fell into you, pressing you harder into the countertop so that you both had some sort of support as he released himself inside of you just like he did last night. Nothing felt better than going bare with him, nothing felt better than him cumming deep inside of you this way, claiming you as his own in some sort of primal way.

“Fuck,” You cried out, your voice hoarse and your throat dry. “Just wanted a bloody cup of tea you animal.”

“This was all you,” He snorted out a laugh, kissing your shoulder repeatedly as he slowly slipped out of you, trying not to hiss as the chilly morning air hit his softening cock. “You taunted me.”

“You were being mean to me,” You pouted, turning around slowly to look up at him. “Called me a brat and everything.”

“You know you’re my angel.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “You always will be.”

“Thank you,” You hummed softly as he gripped your hips and pulled you closer for a deep kiss before peppering his lips over your cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” He mumbled into your lips, smiling at the new sentiment that you now had the chance to share with each other. “But I am tired and I would like to spend the morning in bed with you.”

“I’ve got some work to do.” You whispered. “I’ll make you some tea and you can snuggle up on the couch?”

“S’not the same.” He pouted, whining softly. “I want you next to me, my love.”

“Fine, I’ll sit with you for a little bit.”

“Thank you,” He smiled happily. “Can you bring me cereal too?”

“Yes, master.” You snorted, rolling your eyes again. “Right after I finish cleaning myself up and putting my clothes back on.”

“I have an even better idea though,” He whispered lowly, brushing his nose against yours. “I take you upstairs and clean you up with my mouth and we don’t put clothes back on at all.”

“Fucking hell.” You whimpered as he dipped a hand down between your legs again, plunging his middle finger into your walls. “Harry, I’m-“

“Shh, let me clean you up,” He smirked, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Let me have a taste of us. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day after all, angel.”

#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry smut #harry fluff #harry one shot #harry writing #harry fic #my writing

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dallaswinstonsleatherjacket · 3 years

Text

New Fic Cause Why Not

It’ll also be on my AO3, the format might be better there.

Taglist: @lipsticksandcigarettes @hellsfanatic @dollsroses @pepsi-and-cigarettes @goth--rose @neptunic--disaster @just-a-bisexual-demon (if you want to be added look in my pinned post)

There were around six of them, all grinning at me like Cheshire cats, and I swallowed, trying to calculate my chances of surviving if they all jumped me at once.

I didn’t know what to do. I knew if I screamed, they’d pummel me. It might be too late before someone gets here. Ever since Bob died, the Socs have been more restless. Angry. Harmful.

I shouldn’t have been walking alone. I hadn’t even brought a wrench or anything from the DX to defend myself. It was fair game, and I was bound to lose.

One of them moved, and I reacted too fast. They all lurched, grabbing my arms and pinning me down faster than I could fight back. I couldn’t escape, kick and try as I did.

I only remember bits of it. I think I might have hit my head, because I blacked out at some point. All I knew was that I was there for what seemed like hours. All the anger over Ponyboy was beaten into me, and I might have cried, I can’t remember.

It stopped suddenly, I heard shouting and running and a car engine starting and whirring away, and footsteps walking over to me.

I mumbled a plea to stop, to let me go. Hands touched me again and I winced. They were rough and cool, but they held my head off the ground softly.

“Sodapop, can you hear me? Soda?”

Dally.

I could barely speak, I tried to make a noise but nothing escaped my throat. I couldn’t move my hands, or anything else. I could barely keep my eyes open.

“It’s okay. Hey, stay awake for me okay? It’s gonna be okay, Pepsi-cola.”

I would have smiled at the nickname if I could. My whole body was numb, but still seemed to burn with pain as he helped me stand, slinging my arm around his shoulder.

I stepped forward and then yelled out. It felt like I’d broken my ankle, maybe my foot.

“Shit”

I felt the same way as Dally. I couldn’t explain this to Darry.

“Okay, I’m gonna try to lift you up. Is that okay?”

I nodded as best I could, tensing as I felt his arm under my knee and another around my back before being lifted off the ground.

He was so warm. I was freezing, I realized, it was cold and I was cold and he was so warm and strong and I leaned into him unconsciously.

He tensed as I had done earlier before starting to walk.

We must have made it to my house because I heard a door open. I heard voices, they were all too loud, I buried my face in Dallys jacket. Too loud, too much.

I couldn’t remember much after that either. I remembered clinging to Dally as if he were a life raft. I remember being taken from his arms, and then being put back there. He smelled nice, like whisky and cinnamon.

I remember stinging, all over. Aching too. My foot hurt like hell. I remember crying, just a little, holding tight to Dally.

I remember waking up. It was morning, I could see the sun through the window. I was in my bed-I wondered how I got in my bed. I wondered who’s arms I was in.

Dally.

I looked up to see him asleep. He seemed to have dark circles under his eyes, his arms were wrapped around me protectively, hugging me to his chest. I didn’t want to move.

Pony walked in and started, running out again when he saw my eyes open. I closed them again. The sun hurt.

I could hear Darrys heavy footsteps coming down the hall and I winced. I knew what was coming, a lecture for walking home alone, for not bringing a switch, for-being in Dallys arms?

The door opened and I could feel Darrys hand on my forehead. Like he did when me or Pony was sick. Weird, I wasn’t sick. Why was I still in Dallys arms?

“Hey, buddy, you awake?” Darrys voice was gentle, and I stirred and opened my eyes.

“Who’s sick?” I asked.

Darry smiled, a hint of sadness. “You are, Pepsi-Cola. Scared us all half to death with that fever.”

I pushed away from Dally. “What?”

“You’ve been sleeping on and off for almost a day, we couldn’t get a complete sentence out of you-you just kept asking for Dally, you wanted Dally.” Darry stopped and rubbed his eyes. “Dal told us what happened-you must’ve hit your head or something, gotten a concussion, you’ve had a bad fever. You seem to be okay now.”

Dally stirred under me and I looked up at him again, his eyes opened and he looked down at me and then back to Darry.

“Is he okay?”

Darry nodded. “He’s okay. Just woke up a minute ago.”

Dally looked back down at me. He seemed to be debating something, and then he gently moved me off of him and stood up.

“I should go.” His eyes were tired, he sounded drained and stressed. Darry nodded.

“Thank you. For staying.”

Dally nodded and didn’t even look back at me before he slipped out the door.

I wanted to yell for him. I missed his warmth already, I missed his arms around me. I wished I was sick again, so that he would hold me. My whole body ached, I felt sick, my head hurt.

I slept again, more restlessly this time.

***

It had been a week. I could stand now, my head hurt less. I had grown to be embarrassed of how I clung to him.

He was on the porch, smoking. I walked out there, still in my pajamas and with bed-hair, a bandage around my ankle. He didn’t even glance at me as I sat down next to him.

It was silent for a moment before I spoke.

“Thank you.” I thought that was the right thing to say.

He blew smoke out towards the fence. “For what?”

“For-uh-for staying. With me. The other day.” I looked down. I wasn’t wearing any shoes.

He didn’t answer, so I continued. “I’m sorry for-keeping you there, I didn’t, I wasn’t-lucid. I wouldn’t have asked you to stay-not that I mind-but not like that, you know what I mean-and thank you for saving me and for chasing the Socs away and-“

“Shut up.” He spoke quietly, dangerously.

I shut up. It was silent for another minute. I worked up the nerve to speak again.

“I’m sorry-“

“If you don’t shut up right now Sodapop Curtis I am going to kiss you until you do.”

I nearly fell off the porch. I think he did too, realizing what he had said and instantly regretting it. For some reason I hated that he regretted it.

“I mean-that’s not what I meant” he managed finally, and I sat there. My head felt heavy. I felt tired. I wished he would kiss me.

“I wouldn’t be opposed” I said quietly, still staring at my feet.

It went dead silent then, I’m pretty sure even the wind stopped moving for a second. I didn’t even breathe.

I turned, slowly, to look at him. His cigarette had been dropped in the grass below us, still smoldering. He was watching me.

“I-“ I began, but he leaned over and kissed me.

I felt like I was flying. His lips were rough, chapped, he tasted sweet and tangy and wonderful. His hands were in my hair, I was clambering onto his lap and pulling him closer to me. I didn’t give one thought to anything before, anything after, I just flew with his lips against mine and our bodies pressed together and kissing each other hungrily like we were the last men on earth.

I pulled away first. It was wrong. I’m sure it said it somewhere, although in my book I had never felt more right than in that moment. To be honest, I was a little light headed.

“I-wow.” My voice was hoarse, quiet. He was watching me carefully. As if he had done something wrong. How did I tell him that that’s what I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing. I could barely form words.

“I’m sorry. I just-I thought something else.” He spoke quickly, coldly as if he had offended me. He began to stand up.

“No-no, Dally-it was wonderful, I lo-it was great, I promise, thank you.” I didn’t know quite what to say. Did I thank him? For kissing me? I felt like I should.

His gaze hardened. “Don’t.”

“What?” My voice was barely a whisper now.

“Don’t act. If you’re not going to-“ he stopped and turned away again. I grabbed his hand.

“I like you. I do, really. I promise.”

He looked at me again, searching my face. I begged him not to leave. Not again.

“You should eat something. Breakfast. Lunch.” He spoke finally. I nearly cried with relief.

“Will you come-do you want to eat?” I nearly kicked myself a second after. He was clearly trying to get rid of me.

He looked at me and smirked.

“Sure, Sodapop. I’ll come.”

#starspams #/pos #the outsiders #dallas winston #sodapop curtis #dallypop #the outsiders fanfic #the outsiders fanfiction #starsfics #sickfic #or something #hurt/comfort

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violetnotez · 4 years

Text

Bakugo x reader

⤷ Genre: Fluff+small amount of angst

⤷ Word Count: 5307+

⤷ Warnings: Drunk reader, cursing, also reader+Bakugo will be aged up (early 20′s, cause no underage drinking in this house!)

⤷ Synopsis: Bakugo doesn’t have any feeling for you. You’re just one of his shitty friends and that’s it. He’s only picking you up from a bar after your breakup because you drunk called him and not because he’s worried you’ll get hurt. He doesn’t feel his heart pang when you say you want him to drive you to his apartment, not yours. He doesn’t completely turn beet red when he sees you change into his clothes.But, as much as he denies it, Bakugo realizes he loves you when you cry to him drunkenly , saying you wished you had a lover as sweet as him

This fic is for the @bnhabookclub Bingo Event! Here’s my masterlist to see all my work for this event! Also this was actually inspired by @shoutogepi HC of Bakugo and Kirishima taking care of their drunk s/o! I honestly loved this headcannons so much, and they really inspired me to write a more angsty sort of spin on it. Here’s a link to her post (I also explicitly asked her if it was alright to take inspiration from her headcannons, just in case!)

Bingo Slot: Realized Feelings

Bakugo stepped his foot deeper into the gas, the engine in his car roaring as it zoomed through the dark streets.

Damn you and your shitty decisions.

He had been woken up in the dead of the night to his phone ringing annoyingly against his bedside table. Your caller ID of “Cute Shithead” was shining brightly against his face, his finger immediately taking the call.

He had to admit, he was a little annoyed for you calling him so damn early in the morning, but hearing your voice immediately melted any irritation. By the way your words slurred together, you sounded completely wasted. That alone could turn him into a worried frenzy, but the tone of your voice sent ice down his spine.

You sounded so lonely, so defeated, as if you had lost all hope and were giving up.

He rammed his foot again into the gas, following the directions to the club you said you were at as closely as possible over the roar of his engine.

He was just being a decent friend and helping you out, he told himself. There was no other reason why he was helping you...it wasn’t because his heart practically dropped at the sound of your voice, or how he felt his chest tighten when you said “Please come get me Katsuki”

Or that you had called him, not anybody else, to come and get you. It was all platonic-he had to keep telling himself that.

He hastily pulled into the parking lot, his car swerving into a spot a little too haphazardly. He yanked the keys from the vehicle, closing the inky black door with a thud as he looked at the building in front of him.

A bright, Neon green sign lit up the roof, a line of club goers filtering through as they waited for the bouncer to allow them in. It was pretty late in the night-2 am to be exact-so more people were stumbling out of the club than actually going on.

Bakugo quickly began to walk over to the establishment, his body weaving through drunken couples clambering to their cars or taxis. He was searching everywhere, helplessly trying to find your face in every person he saw.

Where the hell were you?

Bakugo turned to his side, looking at the asphalt that lead into the club. There were parking spots right there, all empty, probably for Ubers and Lyfts to come pick up people who had ordered them. THere were a few people sitting on the curb, waiting for their rides as they sat on their phone or blabbered drunkenly to their friends.

But then he spotted a familiar body, their shoulders slump down in exhaustion, their eyes downcast in defeat. He quickly made his way over, knowing exactly who that body belonged to.

“Shit y/n, the hell are you doing here by yourself-“

He quickly bent down, looking at you square in the face.

You gave him a weak smile, your eyes so full of relief and sadness he felt his heart ping from your expression.

He had to admit- you looked like a wreck. Your once meticulously curled hair was frizzy and in shambles from dancing, your makeup splotchy in places and black coating under your eyes.

HIs calloused hands wrapped around your waist, his other arm gently pulling your free hand around his neck for support. He felt like he was moving a ragdoll-you complied with each of his movements, your body resting against his as if you depended on him

“Well, I did have some f-friends… with me…” your murmured out, your voice thick from sleep deprivation and alcohol.

“And the hell are they?”

“-they left a few hours ago…” you slurred,” I said I’d stay… a little longer”

Bakugo began to walk you to his car, the walk more like a stumble as he tried to guide you on your wobbling feet. He felt his insides heat up with an intense flame of rage, licking up and consuming his insides. How the hell could your ‘friends’ just leave you? THis was nothing like you, to be so impulsive that you became incredibly vulnerable in public. Something was seriously wrong with you, something you had to be going through.

“Shitty friends for leaving you like this.” he replied gruffly, making no attempt to hide his obvious anger. “Are you okay? Did anybody try and do anything funny to you?”

He was worried, he had to admit that to himself- you were clearly in a wrong headspace in a pretty sketchy place. Anything could go wrong, and he wanted to make sure that nothing happened.

Not because the idea of you dancing with another guy makes him want to punch a wall.

Or trying to lure you to his apartment made him want to yell and break that imaginary mans jaw, in order to keep you safe in his arms.

Nope-strictly platonic.

You scoffed at the blonde's words, a harsh chuckle spilling out of your chapped lips. “Of course Bakugo, everybody here wants to grope the girl who looks like she’s been crying all day-

“I’m fine-really”

Somehow, even with your slurring words and clouded mind, these words were the first sober syllables you had uttered.

But- if you were fine, you wouldnt be going to a club this late at night. You would have been smart enough to at least stay alert, not completely wasted, and you definitely wouldn't be by yourself. Your werent fine, and Bakugo knew it, because you werent being you.

He was impulsive, irrational, and went with his gut feeling, even if it was a stupid or dangerous idea. You on the other hand, were like his better half: calm yet forceful, a commanding tide to soothe the volcanic eruptions of his anger.

But now you were different, a choppy whirlpool of emotions that were locked away deep inside you, the effects changing your once calm and rational demeanor into something saddened and desperate.

Bakugo gave you a long look, his red eyes slanted as he tried to read what was on your mind.

He stopped your two’s trudging, finally being in front of his car.

A protest was dying to spill from his lips, to retort and fight back the obvious lie you had just uttered. But something in your tired voice made him falter, making him feel more empathy for you than frustration

“Okay then…” he sighed, “let’s get you home,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

It was unnervingly quiet.

Bakugo had the music off, worried that the thumping bass would aggravate any possible headache you had as you curled up in the seat beside him, your high heeled shoes long forgotten on the floor of his car.

He drove much more smoothly than before, his eyes desperately trying to focus on the road. He wasn't used to this kind of you-he missed your smile, and the way you would joke and laugh with him. Of course he would act like he didn't like it, giving you snarky comments and off handed insults that would only push you even more to joke with him.

Now he felt like he was next to a shell of you- you were there, right next to him, but- You weren't there. Your smile, your spirit, your light- it was being blocked by some darkness inside you.

“Are-are you mad at me Katsuki?”

You finally spoke to him, making Bakuo’s eyes wide and his heart stop in his chest.

Why did you sound so timid?

Bakugo continues to glue his eyes on the road, his voice gruff yet uncertain.

“The hell I’d be mad at you for?”

“I don’t know…” you replied softly, “you just sounded-mad”

Shit- now he felt guilty, making you feel worse than you probably already did. It was just that he was worried, and sometimes his emotions came out quicker than his words. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you out of all people could act like this.

“Well, I’m not mad at you-I’m just-“ he sighed, trying to find the words.

“- the hell were you out that late? The club scene isn’t your thing”

You shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to him, cuddling yourself in closer to your body.

“I thought I told you-” you answered sadly, ‘I got dumped”

Bakugo blinked a couple times, the shock vibrating throughout his body. He knew you had a boyfriend, apparently Shindo Yo, the damn pretty boy of another hero agency. You were his closest friend after all, so he dealt with the news as best he could, but Bakugo has never liked the guy. He always chalked it up to him being protective over you as your friend, but the way he used to feel so angry and so frustrated whenever he saw you hold hands or hug made him want to scream. A small amount of happiness filled up his chest by hearing you say you were single, instantly making him feel guilty as he saw how distraught you were.

“The hell-“ he gulped out quickly, “what for?”

“Dont know..” you sighed, your face contorted in a grimace, “he-he said he needed to focus on his career-and that-that I was going to stop him from achieving his goals-”

Bakugo instantly felt anger erupt in his chest, his hands becoming clammy against the leather steering wheel.

“Wait-that dickwad, Shindo Yo, right? The damn extra won't amount to nothing, the hell he-”

He was rambling, the spiteful words spewing from his lips. He just couldn’t understand why your piece of shit of a boyfriend would dump someone as amazingly kind and caring as you, and go as far to say such awful words. It made him incredibly furious, and all he wanted to do was confront your now ex and give him a piece of his mind for causing you to act this way.

He was surprised though to hear your voice interject him, your tone stern yet pleading.

“Bakugo, can we not talk about it? Please?”

He wanted to kick himself for being so inconsiderate, an embarrassed blush creeping into his cheeks.

“Shit-I-okay,yeah”

The car ride continued in silence, Bakugo staring at the road in conflict, you cuddling yourself into a small ball on the leather seat.

It continued for a few minutes, until Bakugo broke the silence by clearing his throat.

“Want me to drop you off at your place?” He asked gruffly, looking at you slightly from the side.

He noticed you shift, turning to look at him with large, pleading eyes.

“Can-can we go to your place instead?” you squeaked out, almost as if worried by his response. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound mean earlier….I just- always feel so safe and warm when I go to your apartment, Katsuki”

Bakugo felt his heart quicken in his chest-you called him “Katsuki”, his name. Something in you saying that made him feel hot from flusteredness, but then you said you felt safe with him...he had never been more thankful for the darkness of night, because he knew his face was completely red.

He gulped, trying to build up the wall around his emotions you were trying to knock down. With each word or truth that spilled from your sleepy, drunken mouth, he found it harder to keep his feelings at bay. He took a deep breath, his clammy hands readjusting on the steering wheel.

You two were just friends.

He didn’t like you like that and you-you probably didn’t either.

He needed to be Bakugo, your best friend, your rock in hard times, not Bakugou, the blushing mess next to you that was concerned with his own feelings.

He clicked the turn signal on his car to the right, taking the route back to his home instead of yours as he sighed.

“-Fine.”

Bakugo pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, the bumpy street roads now turning smooth as he fit his car through the metal gate and settled into a parking spot near his apartment.

He turned the key of the car, killing the roaring engine as he stepped out of the car, the closing door as a soft thud as he commanded you to “Stay inside”.

Your sluggish head instantly perked at the statement, unable to understand what he had meant by that. But your body felt too tired, mentally and physically, and too weak to even protest. You stayed there, cuddled into the seat as Bakugo opened the door of the passenger seat, his arms outstretched as they tucked themselves under your body.

“Wait what are you-“ you asked sluggish, your eyes barely open as you wrapped your digits around his arms.

“I’m picking you up”

HIs tone was calm and forceful, as if this was a completely normal occurrence between the two of you- which it wasn't.

You instantly blushed at the prospect, excuses already forming on the tip of your tongue.

“You don’t have to, I can-“

“I could barely walk you to car and that was in flat ground,” he retorted back, I’m not gonna walk you up stairs-”

“Just let me do this”

He stated a little more softly, his voice gruff and low as he picked you up off the seat as if you weighed nothing to him. Your hands instantly latched onto his neck finding comfort by burying your head into the crook of his neck.

Shit-why you had to go and be so cute?

His grip around your body tightened, making sure you felt secure as he walked you up the plight of steps to his apartment.

Something about this felt so surreal- your warm body against his, his hands wrapping your thighs, the way your hair felt against his cheek...these were all sensations that left his heart pounding.

All of this seemed to frustrate him as much as it brought him joy-he shouldn't feel any of these tingling sensations around you. He shouldn't feel weightless and giddy, or terrified he'd do the wrong thing around you all the time. It bothered him to know end, and made him feel so frustrated.

But the most frustrating part was the fact you were oblivious- that you had this secret power over him and you didn't even know it.

He finally stepped foot in his apartment, setting you down gently as he ruffled through his pockets for his keys. His hand was still wrapped around your waist, giving you some stability as he opened the door with a slow creak, ushering you inside.

You stepped inside, feeling somewhat out of place- you had been here countless times before: parties, get togethers, the meet up place before you would hang out with the Bakusquad….so why did it feel so strange?

The room felt more intimate in a way-you had never been here without someone else, usually Kirishima.

And youd been here at night, but never this late, and the fact you had asked to sleep over- well, everything just felt so new and raw.

Thankfully Bakugo broke through your rapid thoughts, his vermillion eyes looking down at you with slight worry.

“You good? No needing to throw up or anything?” he asked gruffly.

God he felt so close- you could practically feel his heat radiating into your body still, making your cold digits beg for his touch.

Your cheeks warmed at the thoughts, a small “Mm-mm” and a shake of your head the only thing you could muster to do.

He led you over to his room, passing the small kitchen and bathroom as he did.

“Then you need new clothes- get you out of that clubbing crap”

Your mouth instantly formed into a pout, your eyes looking up at your best friend.

“It's not crap-its pretty”you corrected him, your tone playfully hurt.

“More like tight,” he replied snarkily, “ how do you even move in that thing?’’

You were about to quickly retort back that he should wear the dress and find out, but then a sudden image of Bakugo wearing your skin tight dress at a club made you instantly double over in giggles.

Bakugo gave you a questionable look, his red eyes almost judging your drunken, laughing form.

“I just keep it down with my hands silly,” you said in between giggles, your body flopping onto the plush comforter of his bed. Now you felt a little more at ease, as if the courage of alcohol had kicked into your system yet again.

Bakugo shook his head, his blonde locks swaying at the motion as he quietly said ‘Giggly ass drunk” under his breath. He began to rustle through his closet, trying his best not to stare at your form laying across his bed in such a body accentuating dress.

You hadnt seemed to notice Bakugo's rhetoric or dilemma, a soft smile gracing your lips stiill. Your propped your body up on your elbows, your tousled hair pooling against your skin.

“so what amazing little number are you gonna put me in now?”

“-This,”

You felt cloth instantly hit you square in the face, as if Bakugo had thrown it over his shoulder-most likely on purpose.

Usually you would attack the asshole for doing something like that, but you just felt too tired to even throw an insult back. Your lips pouted out once again, a small whine escaping your throat as you ripped the shirt from your face.

Bakugo grinned slightly at you ,finding your expression adorable as well as funny. He watched you inspect the shirt, the fabric as dark as your dress.

“You would think interning with Best Jeanist would have left some fashion sense in you,” you spewed out, your face clearly distraught by the shirt he had given you.

He rolled his eyes, his grin now turning into a grimace.

Was drunk you really that picky over a shirt?

“That was 5 fucking years ago, and I only interned with him cause he was one of the best,” he tried to defend himself, feeling his cheeks grown warm from your drunken disapproval. But his fiery personality kicked in, his tongue beginning to stutter over his words. “- just throw the goddamn shirt on before I let you sleep in that shit you call a dress”

“Or I could sleep in my underwear, there's other alternatives,”

your words flew out of your mouth faster than you could stop them, a triumphant grin on your face as you saw how beet red Bakugo became.

A giggle escaped from your lips, the sound ringing softly against his ears.

“Dont worry Katsuki, Ill wear the clothes,” you gave him a soft smile, cuddling the clothing to your chest.

He blinked a few times, trying to get his heart to settle back into a steady rhythm.

This wasn't real.

You didn't make him nervous.

You were just his best friend- you being in his room, in a pretty dress, making flirty remarks didn't affect him.

You were drunk-you weren't yourself right now- so why did he feel so hopeful? And for what?

He quickly spun on his heel, turning around before you could catch the glowing in his cheeks.

“Whatever-just call me if you need help” he threw over his shoulder, his hands closing his bedroom food with a loud slam.

Bakugo sat himself on the couch in his living room, his hands resting on his face, his elbow connected to his legs.

The hell was going on with him?

As he was brooding over his conflicted emotions, he heard the door of his room click open, and it seemed all his feeble attempts to slow down his heart went out the window.

There you were, clad in his black tshirt, the fabric pooling around your thighs and making your arms look tiny in the flowing fabric. You must have been wearing the shorts worn from under your dress, but still- he got a full view of your beautifully plush thighs, making heat rise to his cheeks.

Strange sensations filled his stomach, that tingling butterfly sensations filling his stomach-

The hell was wrong with him?

“For your clothes being so bland, they are pretty comfy…” you smiled up at him, his heart quickening at the small gesture.

You walked your way over the couch, resting your body opposite him, giving ample space between the two of you as you sighed in content.

“I could go to sleep right now”

Bakugo snorted, his arms wrapping against his chest as the heat continued to rise in his cheeks.

“The hell your not-”

You instantly pushed yourself up, cocking your head at Bakugou in confusion.

He had to admit it to himself- your looked-cute-, sitting there, your legs crossed with his shirt wrapped around your frame, your eyes wide and hair a mess.

He could get used to seeing you like this-

But shit he couldn't-didnt-think like that. You were his friend, nothing more.

“What do ya mean?” you asked “You were complaining about me two minutes ago, wouldn't you want me to go to sleep?”

He gave a small chuckle, his eyes looking down at the floor.

“Sure but-I'm not letting you go to sleep with all that shit on your face-”

Your hands instantly went to touch your face, your digit scrubbing against the skin.

“Huh?-Oh”

You looked down, and there on your hand was your foundation, a tiny bit too dark as it had mingled with your bronzer and highlighter, black running against your skin like tire streaks on a road.

How did you not even feel that was on your face? How drunk were you?

The thought of you being so intoxicated you forgot you had makeup on seemed like the funniest thing ever, giggles dribbling out of your lips.

“Oh my god, I forgot!” you laughed, chuckles wracking through your body.

Bakugo simply shook his head, unable to contain a smirk from gracing his lips. He got up slowly, walking over to your side of the couch to offer you his hand.

“Alright cmon-you giggly ass drunk,” he smirked, his lungs tightening as you gave him a smile of your own, your smaller hand slowly taking hold in his larger one.

You leaned into his body, already accustomed to him being your support- he would at least admit it right now...you were cute

He walked you over to his bathroom, his digit flicking on the light switch.

It was a little small, with enough room to hold two people inside. He gently pressed you against the wood of the cabinet, his hands grabbing your waist as he hoisted you on to the counter.

Any other day you would be embarrassed by this sudden closeness with your best friend but something about this felt bitter sweet. It had been so long it seemed like since someone had truly cared for you, being there by your side and making sure you were okay. It felt comforting to have Bakugou near you, but you knew this wouldnt last. You were drunk and feeling broken-is was just his obligation as your friend to get you through the night. Once you sobered up, itd be back to the way things were-bitterly lonely.

As you muddled in your emotions, your feet dangling against the cabinets, Bakugo was rummaging through in the cabinet next to you, emerging with a bottle of makeup remover.

You cocked your head at the bottle, the liquid inside an artificial yet soothing blue.

Why did he have that?

Bakugo stared down at the bottle in his hand, his red eyes quickly glancing at the writing on the side and setting it down on the counter, now rummaging for a cloth.

“This shit should work-”

Your hand grabbed the bottle, now inspecting it in curiosity.

“When did you get this?”

“Remember last time you came over,” he asked over his shoulder,” when the power went out in your apartment and you said you had to do your makeup?”

You simply nodded your head-you remembered that day. You had planned to go and watch a movie with your boyfriend-ex, and the screening was at exactly 12 am since it was premiering. You had wanted to look at least a little decent, but fate had gone against you and destroyed that plan halfway into putting on your makeup. So you had of coursed called Bakugo, who grumpily obliged to let you use his apartment.

Bakugo’s hands gently took the bottle from yours, his hot skin brushing against yours as he applied the liquid to the cloth. His frame fit snugly in between your legs, your inner thighs brushing against the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Well, You left it-”

He simply stated, everything in his being trying to keep his tone leveled as he began to wipe your skin clean of the events from the night.

You had never seen Bakugo be so gentle- he was taking his time, focusing on one small area and then moving onto the next. His strokes were even and light as air, not digging into your skin or forceful in any way.

“And- and you kept it?” you gulped out, your eyes searching his own vermillion ones.

Bakugo was scared, terrified even-he didnt want to look you in your eyes.

Would he do something he regretted if he did?

He was trying to control himself, to fight everything in him all night to not let you catch on to him, to not let you or himself see his true emotions...he was getting too tired to fight, and he was scared that he’d let something slip that he didnt even know about himself yet.

“Well yeah, I wasn't just going to throw it away,” he answered,” I figured you'd come and get it,”

He paused, his hand faltering against your skin for the smallest second. Maybe-it wouldn't hurt to say something...you were drunk after all, you wouldn't remember most of tonight probably….

“-also,” he gulped out, his heart beating in his chest, “ Its nice to have reminder of you here too,”

Your eyes instantly widened, the wind knocked out of your chest, constricting almost in pain.

Why did that make you feel so-so fluttery inside?

And why did it hurt so much?

Maybe because it almost sounded like-Bakugou may care for you? More than just a friendly way?

No-it couldn't….he was your best friend….but god, it felt so good to be cared for, to actually feel wanted-

And of course had to be by someone you knew you never had a chance with.

Your shoulders began to shake, realizing how much you must have screwed up-you lost your boyfriend, was humiliated by him, and then humiliated your own self by losing control.

Bakugo was the only one you had truly could count on-he was the one person you called, and he had shown up to get you. He had tried his best to keep you comfortable, went out of his way to keep you safe, his best to keep you happy…

How long had it been since someone had been this caring to you?

Your shoulders began to shake, the weight of everything crashing down on you, tears spilling across your cheeks like rain droplets outside a car window.

How did everything turn out so wrong?

Bakugo instantly noticed your change, his body instantly panicked and worried.

“Shit-y/n, you okay? Whats wrong?” he asked, his tone desperate as he set the cloth down and wrapped his hands around your forearms, securing you as wave after wave of tears racked your body.

He wrapped you into a slow hug, his warm palms placed firmly against your back as you instantly wrapped your arms around his neck.

He felt so warm and safe, your noise buried into the soothingly sweet smell that was him.

“Katsuki I-I-Im sorry, I didnt mean to-” you blubbered out, trying your best to apologize over your heightened emotions.

Bakugo had no idea what to do- was this just something you did when drunk? He had no idea why you had started crying, and he hoped it wasn't something he did- but telling by how in pain you looked and how quickly you welcomed his embrace, this was something he didnt do and couldn't fix-at least not quickly.

He continued to hold you tightly, his hands beginning to become clammy against your back.

“Dont say sorry-Your fine, just- tell me whats wrong,”

He felt your hands ball his shirt in your fists, your chin digging deeper into his skin.

“I wish I could find a guy as great as you,”

Shit.

Bakugo’s face turned beet red, his arms stiffening at your words- when he asked what was wrong, he didnt mean something like that.

But the truth comes out when you're drunk, and Bakugo fully believed in this saying…

Did that mean-you liked him?

He couldn't deny it now- it was too hard and everything was against him at this point.

Just the small prospect of being your lover made Bakugo’s heart quicken, the little sentence you just uttered destroying the wall he had kept to protect himself from the truth.

He liked you.

Alot actually.

He scoffed, trying his best to remain calm as he cradled you in his arms.

“Im not as great as you think I am,”

He felt you cuddle yourself even deeper into his neck, your hair tickling his jawline.

You seemed to be calming down as Bakugo had had a mental crisis….your sobs were now sniffles, and you werent breathing as hard. But you still were cuddled deep into his body, as if using him to block yourself from the outside world.

“No you are, you really are…”you sighed quietly, “ even if you are an ass sometimes, you are very kind and sweet-

“I just wish I could date someone like you,”

Shit.

How could he even say anything after that?

How was even able to respond?

He wouldn't-Bakugo decided to hold you quietly, as if you never said anything...but those words were echoing inside his head.

God- you could date him in a heartbeat. But, reality kicked into Bakugou- you were drunk, and just got dumped. You were just starved of touch and affection from that.

There was no way sober you would have said something so revealing as this- you saw him as his best friend, nothing more and nothing less of that. You wouldn't jeopardize your relationship by saying something that could mean the end of your friendship.

Bakugo felt the tightness of your body loosen, your breathing now regular, something so different from a few minutes ago.

“Y/n?” he asked quietly, almost timidly as he waited for a response.

Nothing.

Bakugo sighed, a small, tired smile playing on his lips

“You fell asleep huh?”

Bakugo playfully rolled his eyes as your quiet demeanor spoke the truth for him.

His hands found themselves placed against your back, wrapping against your body once again so that your legs were around his waist, his arm supporting you as he carried you back to his room.

Maybe in the morning you would remember this...maybe not. He was conflicted- a part of him hope you didn't, so your relationship could resume as normal, but- something in him hoped you remembered. And hoped you wanted to talk more about it- because if you felt the same way and meant it, he wouldn't mind to see if you two could be more than just friends.

He pecked a look at your sleeping form, your smushed face against his shoulder making his heart fill with warmth.

“Shit-if only you knew...I would date you-

“even if your a giggly ass drunk,”

598 notes · View notes

durotoswrites · 3 years

Note

For the writing meme thingy: 🍄how do you get yourself in the mood to write? 🍑 do you/would you write smut? 📒 any fics planned?

🍄 How do you get yourself in the mood to write?

Getting in the mood to write and actually wanting to sit down and start writing are two very different things, but they're connected, so I'll explain both.

To set into “creative mode” it helps me to do these things:

Listen to music that makes me think of a character/situation in my story/stories. I've got playlists separated by character and pairing. Sometimes I also just work on curating those playlists for fun and get my brain going.

Bounce overall ideas off of my friends and husband/editor (but he's my best friend, too 💗)

Reread old chapters or recent ones and future snippets based on what I want to do.

Once I actually want to put words down, I get a little more strict with myself. I get distracted verrrry easily sometimes and I have to fight the urge to open a million more tabs when researching a small detail.

I move to instrumental music (I have playlists for different moods like “emotional”, “soft”, “sad”, etc. I usually listen to “soft” as a general soothing background sound, as I can get pretty dang emotional when I write, especially with the stuff I've been churning out lately.

So, yeah, I need tissues within reach if I get upset. (Wow, I'm not making this sound fun at all, lmao)

After sound has been established, I like to eat a snack (something with protein) because I can be under for hours, lol. Eat it and finish it. Otherwise, I get distracted.

I also like to have drinks available. I always have a bottle of water, but I also like having a hot cup of tea. I think it's the time of year for me to switch to cold barley tea.

I write while seated on a recliner with my feet up. I have my laptop on a lap desk and it's a pretty cozy setup.

I basically try to remove any excuse I have to get up once I start writing, because I am the worst procrastinator I know.

🍑Do you/would you write smut?

Heheh... heck yeah, I do. Waaaaay more than most people realize. Stuff I've actually posted? It's pretty limited. I posted a couple pieces (Let Me Love You and You're Like the Sunshine) a few years ago, but I've been practicing ever since. One of my planned stories literally has what I refer to as a “smut dump” in the draft where I've been experimenting with writing different moods. I like the intimate scenes to play a role in the overall plot or have it be a bonding experience.

Despite that, I do have a shameless Gray x Mary story I should just get out there that has zero plot, just two cuties in love. In my mind it's so naughty and kinky and I get flustered thinking about it (Mary is hot, okay?), but it's probably hella vanilla, lmao. I really am grateful that people have been really supportive about my writing smut despite what I usually write, and they've been so encouraging, too! I honestly feel like the smut I've posted is really stilted because I was so self-conscious about it. I don't feel like they are terrible for first attempts, but I have definitely grown more comfortable writing it.

Will The Shy Newcomer become explicit? I kinda really want it to, but I might separate the chapters for those who don't care for that content. Overall, I'd like to write more and post more, and I want to write more than just male x female smut as well. I have some of those in my planned pieces (more about them later).

📒 Any Fics Planned?

Firstly, I'm super tickled more than one person was interested in this. I copied the answer I wrote earlier.

Short answer: Yes. I also plan to bring more of my stories over from ffn to Ao3.

Long answer under the cut, heheh. I rambled quite a bit.

Ask me about my writing processes and stories!

I have so many WIPs that haven’t been touched in years that I’d like to finish, so new planned fics aren’t posted yet. Some of them have more adult themes than most of the stuff I’ve been writing, so I get flustered sharing them. I’ve been at a crossroads, as I feel that you can’t have growth without changing things up. On the other hand, I feel like a lot of my readers associate my works with a specific “wholesome” feel-good mood. It’s kinda nice to be known for something, although that might just be my ego talking, thinking that people recognize my work as a “type”.

Regardless, in the end, I feel growth is necessary.

I don’t want to leave a lot of unfinished WIPs waiting because they stress me out and I have too many of them already, so I’d like to have a bulk of my new stories with a good chunk written before I decide to post them.

Among those include:

A longfic featuring Pete’s farm in Forget-Me-Not Valley (A blend of HMDS with the FoMT plugin and AWL). It takes place in the same universe as The Shy Newcomer (Claire in Mineral Town) and there are a few overlapping moments, although Pete’s story starts first. Pete’s personality is verrry different from Claire’s, and his story was kind of supposed to be the yang to TSN’s yin. Pete’s best friends in his story are Ruby (not sure if I’m adding Tim yet), Nami, and Rock. Readers will be treated to a poorly-socialized pre-Mineral Town Cliff (if you think he was bad at the beginning of TSN, well… heh… he’s a wreck here).

Another planned unpublished story is a crossover of Harvest Moon and the movie “In This Corner of the World”, based on a manga of the same name by Fumiyo Kouno. It was written as a gift for a friend. I have the entire outline figured out and have slowly been filling it in. My friend asked for an AU where Claire and Cliff have an arranged marriage and live with his family in Akiyama, the hometown I had created for Cliff in The Shy Newcomer. I took the opportunity to expand the characters in his family. I have it written during the same time period and society as “In This Corner of the World”, but had decided to write a spreading disease as an allegory for war, but then COVID happened and some parts of it just got really hard to write. There are also a lot of sexually explicit content as Claire slowly grows and learns from her spouse that it’s okay to express what she wants despite sex being a taboo issue. If there’s enough interest in the story, I’ll post it, but I worry it’s a little too niche for there to be many people into it.

Pastor Carter and Doctor Trent are one of my favorite rare pair ships. I’ve had a partial draft for a story about them for a few years now, especially focusing on Trent growing up and acknowledging that he has an unhealthy addiction for things that he knows he can’t have. There are some more adult/sexual themes in this piece, too, including the main character lusting after a married woman (who also happens to be his patient) and some lemons. (Does anyone call it that anymore or is it just referred to as “smut” nowadays? Haha) I always feel so bad for neglecting the folks at the clinic in-game and wanted to write a piece that focused more on them, Trent specifically. It’s a multi-chap fic, but I don’t think I’m going to let it get as long as some of my other pieces.

I also really want to write a short romantic oneshot for every marriage candidate in Mineral Town, around 1,000 words each. So far, I have one for Cliff and one for Gray. I want to write Claire with everyone, because I think it would be fun to explore all the different personalities.

I have more installments planned for A Single Day, including a day in the life of the following characters, all with drafts in varying degrees of progress:

Anna

Doug

Nora (yes, I’m writing from the point of view of the cat living at the inn)

More to come – I think Lillia and Thomas would be especially interesting to explore

I do still have that Legend of Zelda Majora’s Mask piece I’ve been pondering where Link befriends the soul of the deku scrub child while possessed by the mask. I don’t have much written about it, but I really love the world of Majora’s Mask. Such a fun game.

I also think about the lead carpenter’s son in Ocarina of Time and that weird side quest involving the blue chicken and the son being lost to the forest. Then that unique-looking kokiri girl explaining that all who get taken in the lost woods become stalfos. Like, did the guy die? Was he sick? Did he want to die? There’s just so much going on there that would be fun to explore.

I also have played OMORI recently and have like… A LOT of feelings about it. I don’t know what I’d write, but I’m still damn impressed at how well the characters are developed in such a short game.

Other games I’ve had vague ideas about writing for include the following:

The Flame in the Flood: I’m thinking a survivalist/action story fleshing out Scout’s backstory a bit more and her thoughts as she’s traveling. I feel like she’s a very lonely person, but isn’t given the chance to really dwell on it.

Night In the Woods: I’d love to write more about Mae’s dreams and what they mean to her. She doesn’t really talk to anyone about them openly, so it’s really hard to tell her feelings about them in some regards. We know that she’s distressed about them, but I’d like to dive a little deeper. Do the nightmares end after the games does? What about Bea’s new nightmares?

Hades (Supergiant Games): I think it would be fun to write more about the events that take place before the game starts, like Zagreus’s duties in the house of Hades, and expand on the strained relationship with his father.

#ask games #writing #jake-marshall

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tommodirection · 3 years

Text

Miss You More

Louis Tomlinson x Singer! Reader

Masterlist

Word Coung: 2.5k

Warnings: swearing, death, cancer, mentions of death

Disclaimer: Miss You More is an actual song that I wrote, and it isn’t published or anything, but it’s one I wrote about the loss of my grandfather, and so I may link it here if I feel like it so you know what the song is and what it’s about, there are just a few words you’d have to change, but anyways!

A/N: Heylo! I’m going to be honest with you, this is not my favorite thing I’ve ever written, and it’s a little corny, and poorly worded, but eh. It’s one am, I’m going to sleep after this! Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy! Thank you, and have a nice day!

——————

Ever since you were a child, you knew you wanted to sing.

It all started with your mum. When you were little, she’d always sing to you, every night before you went to bed.

Soon enough, you began singing back to her, and she loved every second of it.

You sang together every chance you got, singing in the car, in the house, at parties, even when you walked the dog together through your neighborhood.

She had encouraged you to make a YouTube channel for your music, knowing you’d make it big. At first, you were hesitant, not confident enough to post your voice on the internet, but you finally agreed weeks later.

You mostly did covers at first. Of course, your 14-year-old self didn’t know what she was doing. All she knew was that she was doing something she loved.

About a year after making the channel, you began making custom content. You learned to play the guitar and you’d use it almost every second. You took it everywhere. Well, everywhere you knew you’d be able to show off.

The songs were mostly about crushes and school and friends, the main things circling around your life at the time.

But it all changed when you were sixteen.

It was no secret your mother had cancer. She had since you were little, yet she had kept fighting it, succeeding for a few years.

The doctors had said she was getting better, on her way to becoming cured, well, as cured as she could be.

But out of nowhere, it plunged. She was coughing up blood, and could barely stand, needing assistance to go the bathroom. It just kept getting worse.

One of the worst parts of losing your mum was the fact that it was the holiday season, ruining the time of year for your family for years to come.

You remembered her final day alive. She was laying in the hospital bed, lips chapped and all colored drained from her face. Her lips were bloodied as well, reminisce of the blood she had hacked up minutes ago.

Your father and siblings were there beside her. Your father held your little brother, he was four at the time, and your younger sister was standing next to you, she was twelve. Alex didn’t fully understand what was happening, he just knew his mum wasn’t well, and he mostly hid his face in your father’s shoulder.

Morgan, however, understood exactly what was happening, and she was crying beside you. She was trying her best to hold back, maintaining a straight stance and trying to hide her shaking hands. You watched as tears flooded down her face, making small wet patches on the sheets.

You looked at your mum, studying her. She had done so much for all of you, but there was nothing you could do for her as she layed in the bed, motionless, save for her eyes, darting between all of you.

You knew how much singing meant to your mother, and so you did the only thing you knew you could do. You sang.

Her favorite holiday song was Silver Bells, so you started the song, your family soon joining in. Your mother smiled gratefully at all of you.

She joined in towards the chorus, her voice still weak, but just as beautiful as when you first heard it.

Those were your last moments with your mother.

She passed away hours later, the anticipated news crushing your family.

You had all slept together that night, knowing you couldn’t be apart. Alex didn’t know what had happened, and you knew your father couldn’t handle it, so you had stepped in, trying to explain to the boy that his mum was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

—

After she passed, you had stopped uploading to your channel, getting emotional every time you even tried singing.

But months later, you had decided not to give up. Instead, you chose to move forward. You started writing again.

The song you were writing was about your mother, it seemed fitting. You knew no amount of words could ever sum up your relationship with her, nor your grief, but you tried your best in the song.

You had spent a few months writing the song, not it a rush. You were pouring your heart into this song, and if it was rushed, you knew it’d have no meaning, just some words with a few riffs thrown in.

A few days after your seventeenth birthday, you uploaded the video onto your account, the first video uploaded since your mother had died.

After uploading it, you decided to turn your computer off for the night. You knew how obsessive you got with checking your feedback, you normally refreshed the page until your fingers were sore.

Instead, you walked into the kitchen, guitar forgotten. You hadn’t shared the song with your family yet, and you knew you needed to do acapella, it was much more fitting.

You were scared of how they were going to react, especially your dad and Morgan.

Immediately after finishing the song, Morgan tackled you in a hug, burying her head in your shoulder, “Thank you,” she mumbled and you pelt tears pricking your eyes.

Your dad stood, his hand over his mouth. Alex was sitting at the table, eating his cereal. You waited in silence for a few moments, waiting for your dad to say something, but nothing.

Alex interrupted the silence, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you sing in a while, sissy,” he said, a wide grin. You don’t know where your family would be without Alex. He knew exactly how to light up a whole room, he knew how to make people feel better.

“I know, bud,” you smiled and he gave you a toothy grin, turning back to his cereal.

You dad finally let out a small, choked sob, “I miss her so much,” he said, opening his arms. You quickly collapsed in them. He was the one you wanted approval from the most.

“I do too, Dad,” you whispered.

—

Years later, you found yourself at Triple Strings Record Label.

A man sat in front of you, shuffling through some papers at his desk. He sighed loudly, and shoved the papers aside, giving you his full attention, “So, miss L/N, we’ve heard some of your work, and were quiet big fans,” he said, folding his hands in front of him.

“Thank you,” you smiled nervously, and he glanced at the clock.

“Well, my name is Bryan, Bryan Detreon. I’m an agent here for all the upcoming stars in the music industry, although I can’t take credit for finding you, that goes to the creator of the label himself,” he chuckled and you froze.

“Wait, the owner as in, like, Louis Tomlinson?” You asked, suddenly sitting up in your chair.

Of course you knew who Louis Tomlinson was. You were a year younger than him, grew up with him on the screen and on the radio.

He let out a small laugh, “Yeah, as in Louis Tomlinson, he found you personally and requested you be brought in. He’s offering you a contract, I’ve emailed it to you, but I’d like to go over it now, just to point out some things! Now, he said to take as much time as you needed to decide. You can have a lawyer look over this if you’d like, and just back to us when you have an answer! Although, he’d probably prefer to have it before the beginning of his tour! Oh yeah! He wants you as his one opening act!” He finished, pushing a copy of the document towards you.

You took a second to process what he had said, and when you finally had. You nearly fell out of your chair. “He wants me to open for him?!”

“Yup,” he continued as if it were nothing. “Now, in the first section…” you tuned him out, you’d read it at home.

Louis fucking Tomlinson wanted you to open for him. How were you supposed to say no? Your dream come true, after years of posting on YouTube and going to school to study music, hoping someone would find you, and it had all led to this.

Twenty-six years of your life, all leading up to this moment.

“Any questions?” Bryan asked, locking eyes with your

You quickly shook your head, gathering your stuff and standing up. “Nope, thank you so much for this opportunity, I will definitely look it over and email you as soon as I know! Thank you!” You rambled, and ran out the door, trying to rush home.

“I got fucking signed!” You screamed into the empty household. You had your own place, but you felt the need to run to your family’s home to share the news.

Your dad walked in from the kitchen, Alex trailing behind him. Alex was fourteen now, which now meant he was starting to call horn father out on his bullshit, not that there was much.

“Welcome home to you too,” your Dad teased, and Alex looked up, his face instantly lighting up. He ran and wrapped his arms around you, he was beginning to tower over you.

“I missed you,” he grumbled, trying to hide his face.

You laughed and patted his back, “I missed you too bud.”

“What’s this about being signed?” Morgan strolled into the room, she was still living at home, finishing her last semester of university. She had grown into a beautiful woman, looking almost identical to your mother.

“Right! So, I got a call and email about an interview, and it said to meet at the Sony label here, and to go to the Triple String label office! I get there, and the guy tells me that they’re huge fans and want me to sign a contract with them! Turns out, LOUIS FUCKING TOMLINSON WANTS ME TO OPEN FOR HIM!” You screamed, not caring about the neighbors.

Morgan swooped you into a hug, you hated being the shortest. “Aw, my big sis is going to be a pop star!”

—

Months later, you stood backstage, picking at your sleeve. You glanced behind the curtain and saw hundreds of people standing and an endless chatter.

It was your first show of the tour, you had rehearsed hundreds of times, but that did nothing to settle your nerves.

Louis only had one opening act. You. You were all the crowd got before him, so you had to impress them.

You felt someone grab your waist from behind, as you nearly jumped out of your skin. You heard a small giggle in response, recognizing the voice.

You turned to playfully glare at Louis, your boyfriend of four months. You had bonded during rehearsals, and bonded over your similar life experiences, and soon enough, you had begun dating.

Only a handful of people knew, his family, and the crew on tour with you. You weren’t prepared to tell your family yet.

“What are you lookin at?” He asked, wrapping an arm around you. You rested your head on his chest.

“Just looking at the crowd, it’s huge,” you mumbled and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’ll be alright, they’ll love you,” he assured, and you smiled at him, grateful for his company.

“Thank you Lou,” you went to give him a proper kiss, but you were interrupted by the stage manager, telling you it was time for you to get in your position.

You quickly waved Louis goodbye, and ran to your platform under the stage, the one that you’d be rising up on in seconds.

They gave you a countdown, and a crew member handed you a mic.

On one, they hauled you up, your hand already in their places.

You were met with a roar of cheers and applause as you surfaced, singing one of your most popular songs, ‘Don’t Start With Me Now,’ written about an old, toxic, best friend.

It was thrilling, hearing the people singing your lyrics back to you, you were shocked they knew them. Being on stage gave you adrenaline you’d never experienced before, and soon, all your nerves flooded away.

As you finished your song, you heard the crowd erupted into cheers, whistles being scattered throughout the crowd. Monologue time.

“Hey guys!” You greeted. “My name is Y/N L/N, and I have been chosen by the honorable host, Louis Tomlinson, to open the show up for you guys! I won’t be up here for long, just enough time to play a few more songs, but don’t worry, I’ll be back soon enough!” You hinted, the crowd screaming in response.

You played through all of the songs you’d written, well, except for one. You hadn’t played Miss You More yet, there was a surprise to come later on.

You gave a farewell to the audience, and stepped off stage, the hair and make-up people touching you up before you could even regain your footing.

Louis didn’t particularly like breaks, so the second you were off the platform, he was getting on.

You stood by, waiting for your cue.

The stage manager nodded, and you stepped onto the platform, your dress changed into a skirt and a nice blouse, courtesy of the costume department.

“Now, I have a special guest here to be with me on stage tonight. We both lost our mothers, when they were both remarkably young, and both to cancer. We’ve both written songs about it, and we thought we’d make a mash-up for you guys tonight!” He exclaimed, and the crowd's cheers nearly popped your ear.

Your platform began moving up, revealing you to the crowd. The cheers echoed through the stadium, and you smiled, waving at them, taking your place beside Louis.

You were counted in, and your mashup of Two of Us and Miss You More began. It was one of your favorite things you’d ever taken part in creating, having input from both you and Louis, not just some producers telling you what to do. This was all you.

The last chords of the song bellowed throughout the stadium. The audience’s cries and shouts of praise filled the room once again.

You looked over at Louis, who was busy admiring the crowd, his blue eyes lit up, a genuine smile on his face. It was at this moment that you realized something; you were in love with this man.

His eyes finally caught yours, and he gestured to the crowd, who was still burning as bright as before.

You smiled and whispered, “I love you.”

You knew Louis had gotten great and lip readings he had basically mastered it.

He quickly out his mic back on the stand and pulled you into a hug, leaning down to say something into your ear, just loud enough so you could hear, “I love you too.”

—

The next day, Louis was pulled into an interview before you headed to the next location. The questions were pretty simple ones, mostly openers for him to promote the movie, but there was one question at the end that made you both smile.

“What song did you fall in love to?”

You knew the answer.

A/N: Let me know if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist! Just send an ask or a message!

Permanent Taglist: @everything-is-alrightt

#louis tomlinson fanfiction #louis tomilson #louis tomlinson x reader #louis tommo #louis tomlinson #two of us #fanfic #i’m bored #sorry for being depressing #one direction x reader #one direction

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taeyohonic · 4 years

Text

Just a Taste – Chapter One

Summary: Being asked to take a blood test just to work at a merchandise booth should have been the first read flag for you. But you just gave them a sample of your blood in exchange for a very much needed paycheck and a summer job during BTS’ world tour. After the youngest member of the popular kpop band finds himself in a difficult situation, you come to realize that this wasn’t the last time you shed blood for your idols. or: You becomes the new donor for seven bloodthirsty idols, who seem to be way too interested in their new food source.

Pairing: OT7xfem!Reader

Genre: Fantasy, Smut, (Fluff)

Warnings: blood, they aren’t very nice to you...

Words: 2.7k

Chapters: Prologue, Chap. I, Chap. II, Chap. III, Chap. IV, Chap. V, Chap. VI, Chap. VII

“What do you mean ‘all the bags are gone’?”

Your supervisor does not look amused. The girl with an abnormal amount of glitter on her face does not look amused. Hell, even you don’t look amused. The stadium hasn’t even begun to let the fans in and your merch booth ran out of the official “speak yourself”-bag ten minutes ago.

This job is in the top three most gruesome things you had to do for money. But money was tight, and you didn’t want to survive another summer on ramen and cheap wine. The job ad was harmless at first glance. Just another sales job. But they promised good pay and international traveling, which was enough to let your eyes linger. There was no company mentioned, just a post box.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when BigHit responded to your application a week later. With Bangtan’s rising popularity and the massive size of their tour, extra staff had to be hired. Still, the ARMY in you couldn’t contain her excitement. This was a big deal for you. Touring with one of your favorite kpop bands, traveling to Japan and getting first dips on all the merchandise? This was a no brainer. Hell, you would have even paid them to tag along. So you dressed to impress when you attended the interview, keeping your giddiness locked behind a professional smile.

“You want what?”, you ask – disbelieve coloring your voice.

“A blood test”, the interviewer repeats nonchalantly without looking up from her questionnaire.

Was this normal procedure? You had only ever worked in your aunt’s bookstore during senior year of high school and at a fast food place all through undergrad. Neither asked for your freaking bloodline.

“What? Do you discriminate certain blood types?”, you say in mock humor. A laugh disguised as a cough rings through the room, as the cute guy in the back of the room tries to hide his amusement. His eyes are locked on your features.

“We just want to make sure all our employees are healthy. You’ll be travelling to a foreign country, working long hours.”, the woman in front of you replies, ignoring your bad attempt at a joke. She continues: “You don’t have to – of course.”

“But then I won’t be asked back for a second interview, am I right?”

The woman looks you in the eyes for the first time since entering the room. She doesn’t look as evil as she sounds. “No”

So, you guess you’ll leave with a bit less body fluid than you anticipated.

There wasn’t a second interview. The test results came with a pre-signed contract.

***

“What the fuck is up with this boy today?”, Joo-Won swears as his eyes are glued to the screen in front of you. Your shift is officially over. Most of the merchandise is packed up, all the sold-out item IDs are sent to the head quarter and you already got a notification that the next delivery will be arriving first thing tomorrow morning. Now you’re sitting together with some crew members, a half-finished soju bottle in your hand and an empty carton of take-out on your lap. The guy at your job interview turned out to be quite fun.

Joo-Won introduced himself during the briefing on your first day in Japan. He is responsible for the ARMY Bomb stands, which seems to be a very big deal around here. This is his third tour with Bangtan and he seems to know nearly every henchmen in this operation. So it came to no surprise when a stage assistant invited you both to watch the concert from one of the twelve monitors backstage. Of course, you didn’t look too out of place with your name badge and the Love Yourself-hoodie you may or may not have purchased with your employee discount.

The stage assistant, whose name you can’t remember, is fuzzing with screen number five as you take another sip of your afterwork drink. You stare not really focusing on anything. Just blank nothingness.

“You did see this as well, right _______?”, Joo-Won asks breathlessly.

You can only nod. The Fake Love performance just ended. And even though all seven idols were on fire, the youngest was just out of control.

“What did we just see?”, the boy continues.

“Rudeness”, you answer and empty the bottle with a hefty swing. You knew Jungkook would lift his shirt. You were prepared as you had seen their comeback stage more times than you’d be comfortable to admit. This was not news to you. But the aggression in his stare, how dark he growled his verses, the hard edges on his mouth, not even hinting a friendly smile, was making you uncomfortable.

Before your new friend can respond his headset beeped. Joo-Won answer, his eyes still on the screen.

“Yeah?” After a beat his eyes flash to you. You squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

“_________ is with me”, he says and you need a second to register your role in the conversation.

Joo-Won’s stare lingers on your face – a silent question in his eyes.

“Sure, sir. I’ll bring her to you right away.” Then he ends the call sifting, so your knees are brushing against one another.

“Care to explain, why Bangtan’s prime management wants to speak with you, _______?”, your friend asks, no judgement in his voice. What?

***

“So, I have to sign another NDA?”, you ask the manager in front of you, trying to swallow your nervousness. This is the Sejin, Bangtan’s right hand advisor. Every fan knows him from countless Bangtan Bombs and can easily recognize the fathering care in his work.

“This one… is more specific”, he explains and moves the stack of papers to you. You try to calm your excited fingers as you grab at the legal document, flipping through it.

“And it’s time sensitive”, Sejin adds and searches your eyes for attention. You give it to him.

“Time sensitive?” The papers abandoned on the table. “Is something wrong with the boys?”

There will come a time and place when you reflect on the choice of calling these men “the boys” as if they were your closest friends. But it’s not today. Today you just see a glint in his eyes.

“Yes, it’s Jungkookie”, Sejin starts and your memories flash to their concert an hour prior. How Joo-Won and you both discussed how beastly the youngest looked – how aggressive.

“Wh-what?”, you answer in question. The manager’s hands move on top of yours.

“He is ill and … you might be able to help him. We can’t transport him. And we are not sure he’ll survive an ambulance ride.”

Your brain blanks as you stand up in a swift move. This is simple: One of your most cherished idols is ill and his trustworthy manager tells you that you’ll be able to help. This is a no brainer.

“Take me to him”, you order, not even caring that Sejin’s words are not making any sense. How can a twenty-four-year-old college dropout help the golden maknae? What even is his illness?

Sejin’s smile should have been another red flag. “Slow down, _________”, he sooths and moves around the table so he is standing in front of you. “This is important. You have to sign the documents. You’ll have to transfuse blood to him.” He is handling you a pen. “There are health risks. This isn’t … the most optimal environment for a blood donation.”

Jungkook needs your blood – memories of your job interview come back.

You sign the contract, not even reading all the small-printed clauses on the pages. Before the ink is even dry, Sejin is moving you through a long corridor. His hand rests on your neck – squeezing reassuringly. A glimmer travels across your body and you try to ground yourself. Of course you are nervous. This is reasonable. You’ll donate blood to one of your favorite idols. Maybe you’ll see him, when he gets better. Hell, maybe he’ll even thank you in person! Meeting Bangtan is the closest form to aspiration you have at the moment.

“When is the nurse coming?”, you question the logistics as you move towards the farthest door labeled “BTS”.

“Which nurse?” You look at Sejin in surprise – if not a nurse, who’ll take your blood?

“Then a doctor?”, you ask and Sejin shakes his head, a humorless chuckle escaping him while you both come to a halt in front of the door.

“There is… no time I’m afraid”, he answers – with remorse in his voice. There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, some of the fog lifted. How the hell should you give Jungkook your blood if there is not even a transfusion station here?

Sejin knocks at the door, ignoring your thumbing heartbeat and opens the door, softly pushing you into the room. “I’ll explain everything; I promise.”

***

The starving vampire smells your sweet blood as soon as the door opens – Sejin a mere decoration in his vision. Jungkook’s whole body turns towards you while your eyes nervously shift across the room. Time slows down as the maknae swiftly moves straight to you. His muscles ache and he cannot even recognize his swallow breathing. His stare is fixed on the nap of your neck – deliciously soft, milky. Not even the slightest imperfection in this human before him.

You do not even sense Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s presence as your eyes take in the predator advancing towards you. The older ones seem frozen as their youngest stops just a breath away from you. You look mouthwatering – clad in one of their merchandise hoodies, hair pinned in a mess at the top of your head, some bold eye make-up, but otherwise barefaced. You look… just right.

Before Jungkook’s grin spreads across his face, Jin takes action – trying to move between the sarved vampire and this … girl. What the hell was Sejin thinking just throwing her in here? Did he want this human dead so badly?

But the oldest is too late – Jungkook growls aggressively as he snatches you against his firm chest. All the air leaves your lungs – your breasts pressed painfully against solid muscle.

“Ahh”, you groan. As soon as the noise leaves your mouth, his lips descend against the white of your neck. The maknae hisses in pleasure; and then he is biting – hard.

Your scream misses the volume and you feel tears on your cheeks as you gaze into Seokjin’s overwhelmed eyes – hands outstretched.

Blood flows freely into Jungkook’s mouth and you hear a sickening slurping sound. The pain is blazing against your skin, every fiber of your body vehemently trying to get away from the maknae. But your fingers don’t push him away. No, the curl around his biceps – acting against every rational though inside your brain. You cling to the man sucking your blood as if he’s merely leaving a love bite.

The pain in your body slowly ebbs and you feel a bright bliss surrounding you. You’re not even sure if you are still standing at the door. There is no room – just lips against your neck and whimpers in your throat… and Namjoon’s voice far, far away.

“Jungkook stop now.”

“This is an order.”

“Jin, help me.”

“Let’s lay her down.”

“Is there a pulse?”

***

“How do you take your coffee?”, Yoongi asks while starring at you with such indifference in his eyes you’re not sure your answer even matters.

“Uhm- I” His sigh interrupts you as he makes his way from the couch across form you to the kitchenette. The whole room is dimmed in a soft light, the furniture a clean white. You feel your head spin as you try to recall what happened. Weren’t you backstage? Didn’t Jun-

“Jungkook”, your voice more of an accusation than a whisper. Yoongi’s back stiffens, but he continues to brew hot water over a ceramic filter and soon a soothing smell of coffee drifts towards you on the white leather.

“Jungkook sucked m-y – he su”

“-cked your blood. Damn girl, how hard did you hit your head when you fainted?”, your favorite rapper asks – his body finally turned towards you.

Slow, leisure steps are taken and then he sits in front of you, taking you all in. You must look like a mess; grease and sweat from your shift in the booth, plus the incident with the youngest vocalist in the band. All the blood. Your stomach turns around uncomfortably.

Yoongi is looking into your eyes and for a split second you see something other than complete boredom behind his stare, but as soon as you try to pinpoint the emotion, it vanishes.

“That’s what vampire do”, he continues and you heart reacts before the triggering word even registers in your brain. Vampire. No way.

“Go-ood one, Yoongi-ssi. This… this isn’t – some romance novel for teenagers”, you scoff, disbelieve in your voice while your heart beats hard against your chest. Without missing a beat, the idol is in your face – literally just millimeters away. The air is stuck in your lungs as you try to calm yourself.

“You know what I hate, dumb human?”

His fingers draw lines across your face – just a feathering touch, barely more than an illusion. You can only shake your head; afraid your voice will give out if you try to answer verbally.

His face moves down to your neck as his hands frame your face – no longer brushing but locking your head into place. Then his mouth dives into your neck, just resting against your pulse. You can feel the sinister smile against your skin as you shiver.

“Talking to dumb people”, his lips vibrate and you feel goosebumps traveling across your body.

“You have all the proof, but your silly little brain still doesn’t – connect the pieces”, Yoongi trails small kisses across your collarbone; a stark contrast to his insulting words.

“Do you really think our little maknae just has a blood kink?”

He moves to the other side of your neck, while titling your head forcefully to the left. You can’t move your body – muscles frozen into place. You’re just passively… enduring what your favorite idol does to you. Now his teeth are grazing your right earlobe, as his voice drops another octave into a threatening growl.

“That we just hire a college dropout because of her work ethics?”

His words hurt, but you’re more concerned with the information behind them. They know about you, must have read your file. Shame colors your cheeks and Yoongi’s nose inhales deeply against the red of your skin.

“You smell fucking delicious”, he moans and places an open mouth kiss against your rosé cheek. You can feel his saliva on your skin and a whimper of your own escapes your throat.

“You like that, dumb human? Knowing I’d love… nothing more than to bite in your flesh? Drain you dry?”, he slurs. You both know that this is nothing more than a rhetorical question – your heart, your breathing and the wetness between your tights enough evidence.

But before he can act on his words, a searing pain flashes through your brain.

“Argh”, you groan pressing your head against his cold hands with virgo. The dead skin of his fingertips sooths the throbbing in your brain temporarily. But he knows that your time is nearing its end.

“Human, listen to me”, he whispers, his previously threatening tone making place for urgent whisper.

“When you wake up” What? His hands still a vise to keep you grounded, while the pain in your head expands to your whole body. “Damn human, focus!”

He searches your eyes for recognition, but your stare moves around the room – now noticing how alien the light looks, how… clean the colors are. Is this? Are you still sleeping? How?

“When you wake up”, Yoongi’s voice nothing more than a vibrating hum in your ears, “Say no to Namjoon.”

Now he is shaking you. “Say no”

***

“Good morning, sleepyhead”, Namjoon says after you open your eyes – the morning sun blinding you momentarily.

“I made you coffee”, he adds as he pushes a steaming mug in your hands. The familiar smell takes you back to your dream, to Yoongi, his words, his plea – and you gape at the leader in front of you.

“I thought we could talk?”

_______________________

A/N: What do you guys think? I am so thankful for the feedback you guys sent me. It means a lot! I hope you like this chapter as much as i do! I’d love to hear from you again! love, dana

taglist: @m0chilattae @gali-005 @fangirls94 @dinopowa @toddsgirl27 @littlemanismoon @dkck99 @slutkoo @subtlepjiminie @coffeebeanismylife @iloverubberduckiez-blog @geminidrawsstuff @olivialovemason88

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gundhams-pandemonium · 3 years

Text

Old Habits

Shuichi/Korekiyo, implied V3 Chap 3 spoilers But alternate universe (Non Despair/No killing Game/etc).

[Also posted on Ao3, ask for link if intrested!💕]

Shuichi, with half lidded eyes, sifted his fingers over and over through the long silky hair. There was no knots, the owner of the hair never slacked on his care for it, and yet it was a mesmerizing all the same. His hands glided like scissors cutting paper; so simple yet so satisfying.

He was so damned tired, with work that kept him up for hours and paperwork that gave his hands a work out. Not only that but his best friend's insistence on "working out at night" while gave him endurance left him utterly exhausted each night he came home.

However, despite that, he continues with this almost pointless motion. It was low energy, and calming. And the person beneath the lengthy hair let out the softest noises during such an activity, Shuichi couldn't resist hearing. They were in bed anyway, so it would be simple to fall asleep if it got too late.

"Dear, if you fall asleep like this, your fingers will be interlocked in my hair. And while I personally do not mind...I'm sure suddenly being jolted awake due to my hair getting tugged will do neither of us any good" Korekiyo murmered, his eyes long ago shut, yet not even the thought of sleep entered his mind.

"Hmm, I wont fall asleep yet," Shuichi insisted, though after finishing his sentance a yawn overtook him.

"Here, turn around," the other man said softly, gently moving the hand. The hair disconnected from his finger tips and for a second he felt sad. If his body would allow him he'd do it for hours upon hours. However be easily, and without hesitation, shuffled so he faced the other direction. He felt soft hands press against his shoulders, the tension that build up slowly releasing.

"I may not be anywhere near professional, but I learned a few tricks from mousses during my studies" the anthropologist continued to give him a light massage and Shuichi hummed back in gratitude "You are especially tense today... did something exceptional occur?"

"I wouldn't call it exceptional," His face scrunched together, the day had been rather rough. He just needed to find the right words on how to describe it. "Just... disappointing"

"Hmm, sometimes the day goes not how you wish it- yet you persevered through it. Soon you will drift to sleep and start a new day refreshed. Does that ease some of your disappointment?" Shuichi gave a small smile at his almost poetic words.

"A bit... its just- I know I dont talk much about work but we think we have a serial killer on our hands."

"How exciting," Kiyo continued to dance his slender fingers along his back.

"Not for me... we think they're an old one but they went dormant for so long... I'm sorry for talking about work. I know that its-" Shuichi began to tense up, any relaxation gone in an instant.

"It doesn't bother me, dear," He said the last word emphasized and tender " I'd rather you tell me about your day, then you obsess over it alone."

"Well, whomever they are they've been killing for awhile. However two years ago in September they suddenly stopped. They were one where almost weekly a case would be attributed to them. Now, I don't exactly belive they killed all those people, but a fairly decent amount... The department has always wanted to find them, even when they stopped for two years. But I never wanted to take it..." his voice trailed off, eyes heavy and fluttering shut.

"How odd... is your department sure that this is the same person from before?" He pressed into a particularly tight joint.

"Ehh, the exact details aren't supposed to be released but they are almost postive... I suggested the possibility of a copy cat but I hardly belive the theory myself," His voice was softer before, and he struggled to keep his sentence from fading off into nothing. His partner most definitely saw this, for he gently guided him down to a pillow.

"Do not fret, love," The term he rarely used, making it all the sweeter "sleep well, know that I am right beside you." The detective murmered something in reply but it was incomprehensible. Nevertheless, he felt the warmth of his reply; it was most likely supposed to be along the lines of "love you, goodnight".

He watched the rise and fall of his chest, the other soon was in a peaceful deep sleep. However the anthropologist's inner turmoil had only just begun. This news... was unsettling.

"... I'm so sorry dear. As the saying goes, old habits die hard. And I was doing so well not to regress... oh well, I can only hope nothing more becomes of it" With that, the whispers that no one but the air knew, complete silence filled the room.

#kaz writes #shinsai #shuichi x korekiyo #shuichi saihara #korekiyo shinguji #ask to tag #I NEED TO FINISH MY REQUESTS BUT BRAIN NO WORK 😔😔😔

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delirious-and-slightly-murderous · 3 years

Note

you reblogged this from me, so 1, 4, 10 for the writing asks please 🤗

Thanks for asking♥️. Honestly didn't think anyone would😊. So here's my incoherent rambling:

So I'm in a Berlermo phase now. Currently I'm working on a football (and when I say football I mean soccer) AU. It mostly came about because of Copa America, so I'm hoping to finish today so I can post tomorrow after the final. Apart from that I've got a Romancing the Stone AU, chap two will be done soon but Uni is killing me so I don't know. And then what I'm focusing on more since forever is a Supernatural Creatures AU, based on South American folklore. See how that works out.

As for something I'm proud of. Well I got this thing that just came to me out of nowhere and without context. I'm trying (and failing) to make it into a story. In any case I like it a lot because of the mood it gets me in:

The sun coming in through the dirty and broken blinds isn't enough to disturb the stilted calmness of the room. The bed, if it can be called that seeing as it's just some scraps of metal welded together along with a springless mattress and moth-eaten sheets; remains empty. To the side lies a lone figure, strewn all over the floor, discarded and forgotten like an old and dirty rag. The few rays of sunlight that manage to sneak in through the window play with dark brown locks the color of an oak and softly caress the hard angles of a masculine face. Even then the figure just lies there, unperturbed, almost lifeless. The only movement signaling any bit of life is the slight rise and fall of a naked chest.

Everything is peace and tranquility.

Suddenly the all consuming silence is broken, sucked out of existence by the jarring squeaks of rusted hinges and wood frotting against wood. The heavy, old wooden door opens to reveal a second figure leaning against the doorway. It's an imposing form, muscled and sturdy from years of labor, imperceptibly hunched over with an unfathomable tiredness. The man is dressed in dirty and torn jeans along with a sweaty and threadbare shirt. It is a figure and an ensemble that has seen better days and it shows. A cigarette dangles from a pair of thin lips.

"Martín." The voice is hoarse and worn down, proof of a life of smoke and cigarettes. The lifeless doll discarded on the ground doesn't even flinch while the sun continues to glide into the room.

"Martín, get up." Repeats the voice, this time louder. Violating balance and bringing change. The body on the ground growls, an upset and throbbing sound that emanates from deep within it's chest and then rolls til it smacks against the hard bedposts.

"It's too early." Is choked against the floor planks.

"No, it's not. Sun came up an hour ago. Daylight is precious and time is money. I don't care if you are too drunk to stand. I'll wait for you downstairs." The door closes with a dry thud and a cloud of dust rises to dance playfully in the sunbeams coming through.

The figure, or Martín to be more precise, rolls onto it's back to stare unblinking at the old ceiling. It used to be white but time and dirtiness and the occasional leakage have made it a dull yellow. Martín takes a deep breath that tastes of age and mold and gets ready to face a new day. A new day of boredom and the same monotonous movement of going forward, not because he wants to or because of a burning desire to live; but simply because he has no other option.

Outside, in the fields, the corn sways with the breeze.

(I've written like a few more pages of it. And it's great but it's currently going nowhere.)

Finally my writing process is simply put a mess. I decide I wanna write something. I start doing it on my phone, maybe finish it maybe not. If I like what I'm doing I force myself to finish, if not it's simply left to die in my google docs. I never make any drafts or time lines or character sheets. I have tried and I just can't seem to work that way. Any time I get a new idea I write it down on a post it and stick it to my bedroom walls. They are covered in them and they haunt me when I can't sleep and am itching to write.

#ask game #Berlermo #fanfics #what i do #and how I do it #I'm a mess #have been my whole life #so I've mostly just accepted it #and made the most of it #that little ficlet #i'm really proud of it #would like to make something of it #cause what i've got i really like #but for now i've been unable to #it is what it is 🤷‍♀️#story of my life

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dynamics-of-an-asteroid · 4 years

Note

Dont suppose you have a copy of the interview you could share?

For you, dear anon~

His Dark Materials: Andrew Scott on life after Fleabag and Sherlock

We’ve loved him as both Fleabag’s Hot Priest and Sherlock’s menacing Moriarty. Now, he’s back on our screens in the new series of His Dark Materials. Polly Vernon talks to our TV crush

Andrew Scott is mortified. The actor – formerly Moriarty to Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock, then the Hot Priest of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, imminently Colonel John Parry in the BBC’s adaptation of Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials – arrives at the photographic studio, bang on the appointed hour, in a fawn cashmere cardigan with a fine gold chain around his neck, bemoaning “this terrible, terrible eye infection, which is making me so self-conscious. I’m so sorry. It isn’t that you’ve massively upset me before we’ve even started. It’s so annoying. But anyway…”

Scott, 44, is small, vivid, wiry and garrulously Irish, with a face that is not handsome so much as mesmerising, intense, sharply boned, symmetrical, startlingly expressive. Sequences of emotions so subtle and complicated that I can’t begin to identify or keep up with them ruffle his brow from moment to moment. And, yup, the whole thing is rather disrupted by his left eye. This is no light kiss of conjunctivitis. It’s a swollen, red, perma-weeping situation that engulfs the whole socket. Scott turns his face two thirds on to me, so the infection is largely hidden, which would probably help if we weren’t sitting in a brightly lit hair and make-up room with a massive, inescapable mirror fixed to one wall. “Oh God,” Scott says every time he catches sight of his reflection.

Stress?

“Let’s be honest,” he says. “Let’s not skirt around the issue. It’s being overworked and…” Scott’s eye begins weeping. “Oh my goodness. I am so sorry. Really, really very sorry.”

Wanna wear my sunglasses, I ask, holding them out to him.

“That would be a bit more weird, wouldn’t it? I actually did think about that in the taxi, but I thought that would be some sort of weird and screwed Invisible Man-type thing. I mean, it couldn’t be worse. And then we have to go and get our photograph taken. It’ll be one of those pictures where, you know, those creepy pictures… Of people crying?”

That’s what Photoshop’s for, I say.

“Anyway. Let’s just ignore it.”

I wonder if it’s particularly hard to walk around with an eye infection at a point in time where you’re not merely famous, as Scott is – a star of stage, screen and Bond film, winner of multiple awards, including, as of barely two weeks ago, a Best Actor Olivier for Present Laughter at the Old Vic – but specifically famous for being sexy.

In 2019, Andrew Scott became synonymous with, well, sex. While playing a character technically known as the Priest, whom the general public instantly renamed the Hot Priest, the spiritual support turned transgressive love interest of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s supremely popular Fleabag, Scott became a cypher for the nation’s more exotic desires. A deliciously contentious pin-up. Ground zero on an earnest social media debate about whether the Priest’s relationship with Fleabag should be considered abusive, power imbalanced, “problematic”. And that was just for starters.

The Priest’s sexual iconography extended far beyond the limits of the show, becoming the subject of internet memes and real-life merchandise (visit online retailer Etsy for your £12 Hot Priest mug emblazoned with an illustration of Scott in priest’s robes, alongside the word “kneel”, a reference to a pivotal moment between the show’s lead characters, which takes place in a confession box, the climax of which, assuming you haven’t already seen it, you could probably take a stab at). There was an unprecedented upsurge in young worshippers, and women started bombarding social media “influencer” the Rev Chris Lee of west London with nude photographs. There was much foetid fan fiction.

To be publicly defined by so much sex, as Scott still is, a year and a half after Fleabag concluded, and then to be encumbered by something as visibly unsexy as an eye infection, I can see how that might make a chap self-conscious.

Scott isn’t here to rake up all that old Hot Priest stuff, mind. He’s here to talk about the second series of His Dark Materials, a lush, expensive fantasy drama based on the Philip Pullman books, jewel in the crown of the BBC’s autumn schedule. The series was filmed through 2019 and the beginning of 2020 and had all but wrapped before lockdown. Good timing, as it turned out, because the extensive post-production processes, unlike shooting, could be completed in isolation.

Scott’s Colonel John Parry is an explorer, the missing father of the central character, 14-year-old Will Parry. He’s a man who slipped into a parallel universe some years earlier, acquired a “daemon” – an exterior animal-formed expression of his soul, a female osprey called Sayan Kötör, voiced with public-pleasing symmetry by Phoebe Waller-Bridge – and never found a way back to “our” world and his son. I speak as a fan of the books, which you might describe as a darker, existential response to Harry Potter, although honestly? They’re better than that. The show is great, a deft, rewarding interpretation, and Scott is an exciting prospect as Parry.

Did he jump at the part?

“I did, actually. It was definitely something I was into. We were doing a play and it seemed like a fun thing to do.” Scott is one of those who slips into the third person when speaking about himself in a professional capacity.

Had he read the books?

“Yeah,” he says. “I think they’re extraordinary. The truth, but told on a slant. I love the way Pullman tells children about spirituality or religion in such an extraordinary, intelligent way. He doesn’t speak down to them. He talks to children’s souls.”

Given that Pullman effectively kills off God through the course of the books and Scott’s a lapsed Irish Catholic who has suffered his share of shame on account of the church’s grip on his homeland (more on which shortly), I’d imagine Pullman’s books talked to Scott’s adult soul too.

Presumably, he didn’t have to audition. Presumably, he never has to. Too famous for auditions?

“No,” he says. “Although I’ve always thought auditioning is a pretty good thing to do.”

Why?

“Because you’re able to understand, ‘Oh, this is the vibe here.’ You think, when you’re an actor, you don’t have much choice, but I’ve always felt like auditioning is a good opportunity for you to go, ‘Oh well, I don’t much like you either. I think you’re dreadful!’ ”

I don’t care that you didn’t give me that part?

“Yeah.” Scott becomes playfully, theatrically defiant. “I don’t care!” He flicks aside an imaginary rejection with a churlish hand.

Will John Parry and His Dark Materials be enough to eliminate all residual overtones of Hot Priest sexiness from Scott? Maybe. He is a fine actor, no question, entirely transformed from role to role. I saw him play Paul, a narcissistic, fame-addled touring rock star, at the Royal Court in 2014 in Simon Stephens’ Birdland, back when his deeply sinister Moriarty weighed almost as heavily on Scott’s reputation as the Hot Priest does now. I’d watched him become someone else entirely on stage. “Oh, you saw that?” Scott says, pleased.

I quote, “Am I cancer?” at him, his defining line from the play, as evidence.

“Oh Jesus. Oh f***ing hell. Oh my. I’d forgotten that line. ‘Am I cancer?’ ”

The Hot Priest association hasn’t left him yet, which is why I find myself asking what it’s like to be the very definition of sexiness.

“You get invited to more parties.”

Better parties?

“Yeah.”

Better than during his Moriarty phase?

“Definitely.”

It must be fun to find yourself le dernier cri in sexy, according to the whole nation.

“Yeah, that’s fun,” he says. “I didn’t really like being associated with scary. It’s not what I’m interested in being, in life, being intimidating to people. It’s not part of my nature, whereas being sexy to people…”

That is part of his nature?

“Well, they’re very different things.”

They’re both about having power over people.

“I suppose they are, yes.”

So did Scott, bored of scaring people, say to Phoebe Waller-Bridge, writer and star of Fleabag and a long-term friend (they met in 2009 while starring in Roaring Trade at the Soho Theatre), “Write a role for me that will make everyone think I’m just really, really sexy now”?

“That’s such a good belt. Are they two ‘Gs’?”

“Exactly.”

——————————

Andrew Scott is not the easiest interview. He’s utterly charming. Really, just a delight. In between prostrating himself for the offence of his eye and apologising for not turning up the first time we were scheduled to meet (ten days earlier; a delayed Covid test result meant he couldn’t make it), he ensures I have a good time in his company. He is playful. He makes me laugh. His every utterance is delivered as a grand performance. (“Shhhh! Just… Shhhh!” he implores, placing a finger against his lips while expressing frustrations over the mindless jabber of social media, and he does it so powerfully, he compels me to be quiet, breathlessly to await delivery of his next line.) He finds elegant ways to flatter me. He laughs at my jokes and is terribly taken with my belt.

Yeah. For Gucci.

“Oh. Ha ha! I thought it was the Golden Globes. I love the Golden Globes. Ha ha!”

And of course, he’s Irish. Clichédly, melodiously Irish, which makes everything sound softer and jollier than it might otherwise.

As for the actual business of being interviewed, of answering straight questions with straight answers, finishing off sentences, offering more than a slip-slide of vagaries punctuated by vigorous hand gestures, none of which translates into print? He’d rather not.

He tells me, as he’s told other journalists before, this is because he’s interested in navigating the line between “privacy and secrecy”, then says he’s aware he’s sometimes “got away with secrecy under the guise and respectability of privacy”, as if signalling potential incoming slipperiness, which means I prepare to throw every trick in the book at him.

First up: amateur psychology.

Might Andrew Scott’s gayness be at the heart of his reluctance to speak more freely? Perhaps. This is no scoop. He’s been out for almost as long as he’s been famous. “I mean, as a civilian, I was quite young [when I came out], you know? But then, as a celebrity…”

He tails off, allows me to fill in the blanks. This is another of his evasion tactics. I can’t very well quote Scott on the presumptions I make about things he never quite says.

He had to have another coming out?

“Yes. And I have another one coming up.”

He has another coming out coming up?

“Yeah.”

So that will be, what? Tier 3 gayness?

“Tier 3, yeah.”

Scott grew up in Ireland at a time when it wasn’t legal to be gay, which could certainly seed an enduring reluctance towards carefree openness in a person. He invokes the concept of shame more regularly than the average interviewee. He was born in Dublin in 1976 to Nora, an art teacher, and Jim, who worked at an employment agency. He has one older sister, Sarah, and a younger one, Hannah.

He was shy, so started attending a children’s drama course.

Did that help?

“Yeah. Acting to me is not pretending to be someone else. It’s more like, this is who I actually am. The lie that tells the truth,” he says. I am none the wiser. He was clearly talented. He went from adverts to his first starring role in a film aged 17 (Korea, directed by Cathal Black), won a bursary to art school but took a place at Trinity College Dublin to study drama instead, and ditched that six months in to join Dublin’s Abbey Theatre. He’s been gainfully employed in the field ever since.

How Catholic was his upbringing?

“Well, there were Catholic priests in my life,” he says. “None of whom I wanted to have sex with.”

Does it amuse Scott to know he inspired a mass fetishising of priestly ranks? That in 2019, the Hot Priest would make, “Can you have sex with a Catholic priest?” one of the most googled terms of the year?

“Absolutely f***ing mental,” he says.

Homosexuality wasn’t legalised in Ireland until 1993, when Scott was 16.

“I always think, if I’d had a boyfriend then, which I definitely did not…”

No?

“No.”

He knew he was gay, though?

“No. No, no, no, no!”

Was he suppressing it or not thinking about it?

“I would say suppressing. Definitely suppressing. I don’t believe people just don’t think about it.”

An upbeat, cheesy jazz remix of something or other starts playing outside the room.

“Oooh, this is the soundtrack for this bit of the interview,” says Scott. He wiggles his shoulders to the music.

I switch to strict dominatrix interviewer mode. Focus, I say. You were about to tell me something good.

“Oh, shit, was I? OK. I think what’s really insidious is that people don’t ask you about sex or… People wouldn’t say, ‘Are you gay or are you [straight]?’ And the lack of directness is very damaging. They just didn’t go there.”

Does he think his family, friends, the people closest to him knew then that he was gay?

“No,” he says. “I don’t think they did know. Or maybe they have a suspicion, but they think, I want to be respectful, so I’m not going to ask about that. Then [when you do come out], people say, ‘Oh, I’m glad.’ You know? If you do talk about it. So I suppose what I feel now is, talking about sex or sexuality is important. Really important.”

Having said that, “There’s still getting rid of the shame. In a situation like this, 10 or 15 years ago, I would have been…” He fakes shock, horror. “Oh no! Polly’s just asked me about [he switches to a whisper] that.”

Scott will talk about his sex life only notionally. No specifics. For 15 years, between 2001 and 2016, he was in a relationship with the actor turned screenwriter Stephen Beresford (Scott starred in Beresford’s 2014 film Pride). Ever since, he’s refused to answer questions about his romantic life.

And he’s not going to talk about it now, I presume.

“No.”

What if we talk about it opaquely?

“OK.”

Where does he see himself, domestically, in an ideal world? Married with kids whom he’ll, I dunno, adopt or have via surrogacy?

“I like it. It’s bold. Am I going to adopt or…?”

Get a surrogate?

“I definitely think that’s something I would be open to.”

Great, I say, with blatant sarcasm. Thanks. How specific.

“Ha! I’m sorry. OK. Have I got any children at the moment? No. How can I… [explain]? OK. I was with a friend of mine in Dublin…”

His partner?

“No, no, no. Not my partner. Ah ha. I see what you were…”

Teasing. Yes.

“Ha! Yes. So, I was with a friend in Dublin and we were walking around and he was looking at apartments and I was like, ‘What about this place here?’ You know? And he said, ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Why not?’ and he said, ‘I don’t live a heteronormative life, so I don’t want a heteronormative house.’ ”

What’s a heteronormative house?

“Two up, two down thing. He goes, ‘I can live in a loft or a weird space. I don’t need those things.’ He was so proud of it. He really owned it. I think where a lot of one’s pain comes from is when you go, ‘I should want that.’ And so, to answer your question opaquely, I have kids I adore. I love children, genuinely, and I had a very happy childhood. But I also feel, if I don’t have kids, that’s all right. I think I would’ve attached a lot of shame beforehand, with not living a particularly heteronormative life… Even with being gay, there’s a sort of way of being gay that’s acceptable. And I don’t feel that any more.”

He feels you can be unacceptably gay?

“Exactly. Exactly!”

I ask when shame shifted for him and Scott says it was when Ireland voted overwhelmingly in favour of same-sex marriage in the 2015 referendum, which felt, he says, “like acceptance, genuinely. And I remember going out to this gay bar in Dublin and this girl came up to me, this cool Dublin girl, and she said, ‘What are you doing here? You need to go down to, I don’t know, blah, blah, this bar in some park.’ She was saying, ‘This isn’t the right gay bar for you. This is some shit gig,’ when the fact I’m in a gay bar in Ireland [at all] is a miracle to me, and then some person with a half-shaved head is telling me, ‘No, you need to go somewhere cooler.’ ”

His left eye starts weeping again.

“I’m so happy about that,” he says. “Even though I’m crying.”

I ask Scott if he has a game plan when picking roles, if he plots his course from Sherlock villain to Bond quasi-villain (he played Max Denbigh in Spectre) to sex icon, and, if so, what next? “No. Jesus, no,” he says.

We talk about the totalitarianism of social media, which he isn’t on, and share a mutual despair over it. “I thought it was something one would associate with the right, but actually, now it’s [the left] that is very ‘you’re this’ or ‘you’re that’. I find that quite frightening. It actually makes me feel ferocious.”

Is he not worried about being cancelled, of somehow saying the “wrong” thing, according to Twitter sensitivities, then having a thousand voices mobilised against him, demanding his firing, in the style of JK Rowling?

“I’m not,” he says. “I refuse to be. A very intelligent person I was talking to recently was writing a book and he said, ‘I’m going to get a sensitivity expert to have a look. I don’t want to get cancelled.’ I found that frightening.”

Is he rich? “Rich is the absence of worry about money,” he says. He can’t remember the last time he worried about money.

That must be nice.

“Of course it f***ing is. I think it’s a miracle. I really do. I was working in a French theatre in London for nothing – none of us was working for anything – and I remember the artistic director of the theatre talking about the fact we weren’t earning any money as some sort of virtue. I remember feeling really annoyed about that, like this isn’t good.”

This leads to an inevitable conversation about how the arts are suffering with Covid, including a segue down the Fatima route, the much shared government advert that depicted a young ballerina and suggested she retrain in something called cyber. “Her name’s not even Fatima,” Scott rails. “I think she’s called Desire’e. From New York.”

I mean to ask him about his experience of filming The Pursuit of Love with Lily James and Dominic West, stars of their own recent off-screen micro-scandal in Rome, just in case he lets any scurrilous insight slip, but our time’s up and it’s not as if Scott has much form on offering up scurrilous insight anyway.

Still, I feel grateful to him for meeting me halfway on the other stuff. And so I say goodbye to Andrew Scott, the UK’s foremost gay heterosexual lapsed Catholic faux-priest lust icon with a troublesome eye infection.

#''Tier 3 gayness'' is peak comedy #I'm not sure if I should put this in the tag but y'all can reblog if you need it on yours #long post #andrew scott

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missperfectlyfine13 · 4 years

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Could This Be Something Real? (Chap. 7/8)

Read Below or on AO3

“So, let me get this straight, you guys aren’t breaking up anymore?”

“Nope.”

Beca and Chloe had waited a couple weeks after getting together to tell Beca’s team. They didn’t want them all up in their business in the early stages of their relationship.

“And you’re actually a couple now?”

“Yup,” Beca can’t help the megawatt smile that spreads across her face.

“Well thank god, it’s about damn time,” her manager chuckles.

“So you’re saying we were the only blind ones here?”

“Oh definitely, but I’m happy for you two Beca, I really am.”

Beca spins around to look at her anxious girlfriend, who is perched on the edge of her bed.

“Ok they know,” Beca smiles, sliding her phone into her back pocket.

“And they’re ok with it?” Chloe asks immediately.

Beca nods, “They’re happy for us.”

“Good, I mean nothing could have kept me from you, but it’s nice to have their stamp of approval anyways,” Chloe smirks, reaching out for Beca’s hands, “you’re stuck with me Mitchell.”

“And there’s no where else I’d rather be,” Beca lets her girlfriend grab her hands and pull her down onto the bed next to her.

Chloe leans over and quickly captures her lips with her own. Beca eagerly kisses her back, she’ll never be over the feeling of Chloe’s lips against hers.

“I love you,” Beca whispers when Chloe finally pulls away.

“I love you too Bec.”

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

Beca is certifiably insane.

She’s only been dating Chloe for real, for about 3 weeks, but yet here she is…ring shopping. She holds the small, but brilliant diamond between her fingers, trying to picture how it would look on Chloe’s hand.

The thing is, this has been a long time coming for them. She knows Chloe better than anyone else in the world. They’ve practically been together for 6 years now, they just never labeled it correctly. Beca knows that Chloe is the only one for her and she knows that the red head feels the exact same way. Why wait any longer? Neither of them are getting any younger and Beca knows that she wants Chloe to be her wife.

Beca can barely believe she is at this point. If you had told her two months ago that she would be buying a ring for her best friend, her best friend she’d pined over for years, she wouldn’t have believed it.

Beca finally leaves the jewelers an hour later, with a beautiful engagement ring for Chloe and a ring for herself as well. She’s starting to doubt herself though, that swipe of a credit card and the bag burning a hole in her pocket, she’s starting to worry that maybe this will scare Chloe. What if she’s not in the same frame of mind as Beca? What if she’s no where near ready? They don’t even officially live together yet, they’ve only had sex like 5 times (Beca would prefer for that number to be higher but her schedule has been unbearable, so 5 times is pretty good considering).

Maybe she should start dropping marriage into their conversations casually and see how Chloe reacts. That seems like a safe option before just popping the question.

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

Beca stares nervously over at Chloe, who is curled tightly into her side as they watch a movie. Chloe came over as soon as Beca got back from the studio that afternoon. She’s at Beca’s more than she’s at her own place but this is the first night Beca has had free for a while and she plans to use it wisely.

“Hey Chlo?” Beca tries not to let her voice waver, even though her nerves are running high.

“Yea?” Chloe turns to look back at her, her baby blues sparkling.

Beca swallows hard, “So how do you feel about marriage?”

Beca could kick herself, so much for being subtle.

“Oh, um well I would definitely like to be married someday, why?” Chloe looks a little thrown off at the question.

“I was just curious,” Beca says quickly.

“You know I do see it being you…I hope that doesn’t scare you,” Chloe’s cheeks turn a subtle shade of red.

Beca shakes her head no, “Of course not…I see it being you too ya know. You’re it for me Chlo.”

Chloe abruptly pulls Beca into her, smashing their lips together. She must have said the right thing. Chloe kisses her so passionately, yet so tenderly, it makes Beca’s head spin.

Beca finally pulls back, when the need to breathe overcomes her, “Would it freak you out if I said I see us married in the near future?”

“Beca Mitchell…is this your way of asking me to marry you?”

“Uh well this isn’t how I saw it happening but,” Beca fumbles around to come up with an answer that doesn’t give it all away.

“So you’ve thought about it?” Chloe raises a curious eyebrow.

“Yea,” Beca squeaks.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Chloe asks softly, grabbing her hand.

It’s Beca’s turn to blush furiously, “For a couple weeks.”

Chloe places a soft kiss on her cheek, “If you ask…you know my answer is yes.”

This isn’t how Beca planned it. She wanted to do something big, grandiose, something that Chloe will remember forever. It was going to be a surprise, but something about right now, right here on this sofa seems right. This is the moment.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, standing up off the sofa.

Chloe looks at her quizzically, “Bec…what?”

“I’ll be right back,” Beca turns on her heels and runs up to stairs.

She grabs the little velvet ring box from her dresser drawer and races back downstairs. She’s a little out of breath by the time she’s standing in front of Chloe.

“I wanted to do something more special than this…believe me, but I can’t wait,” she pulls the box from behind her back so Chloe can see.

The red head gasps, her hand coming to cover her mouth. Beca kneels down in front of her girlfriend, her hands shake as she opens the lid.

“Chloe Marie Beale, will you be my wife?” Beca looks up at her hopefully, pulling the delicate diamond from the box.

“Yes,” Chloe chokes out, her eyes shimmering with tears, “of course I will.”

Beca grabs her hand and slides the ring onto her finger. She can’t help the wave of emotion that crashes over her at the sight of the diamond on Chloe’s hand. She feels a couple happy tears roll down her cheeks as Chloe pulls her up off the floor and right into her lap.

“Yes, I’ll be your wife,” Chloe whimpers before kissing Beca with everything she has.

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

No one is particularly surprised at Beca and Chloe’s recent engagement. According to their friends, families and the rest of the world, they have been dating for months. It only really knocks the wind out of Beca’s team, but ultimately, they understand.

“So Beca, tell me about this,” the morning TV talk show host points down at the diamond on her ring finger.

She came onto the show to promote her upcoming album, but she knew these questions would come.

She can’t help the way she starts to smile, thinking about Chloe and their upcoming wedding, “So, as you might have seen around the good ol’ internet, I proposed to my girlfriend Chloe 2 months ago.”

“Congratulations! Any idea when the wedding will be?” the hostess beams back at her.

Beca looks behind them, at the screen which is now displaying a picture of her and Chloe. She instantly recognizes the picture, Beca posted it on Instagram a few weeks ago. It’s a selfie of the two of them, Chloe is pressing a kiss to the brunette’s cheek, her hand resting on Beca’s shoulder, her engagement ring sparkling, clearly in view.

“We’re not sure yet, it was a quick engagement and we just want to take our time and enjoy what we have right now,” Beca finally manages to pull her gaze away from the picture of her and her finance.

“Well I think that’s great and I wish you and your fiancé all the best,” the host replies happily.

“Thank you,” Beca couldn’t erase the smile off her face even if she wanted to.

When Beca finally gets back to her hotel room that night, the first thing she does is pull out her phone to start a video chat with Chloe. She hates been across the country from her girlfriend, but she still has a job to do. New York is a little bit farther from California than she’d like though.

It only rings a few times before her phone screen shows her fiancé, smiling back at her.

“Beca!” Chloe squeals excitedly, “how was your day?”

Beca flops down on the bed, “Busy, tiring, but good.”

“I saw you on Good Morning America, you were great.”

“Oh my god, I did so many interviews today I almost forgot I was on that,” Beca chuckles tiredly.

Chloe looks at her sadly for a moment, “I miss you so much Bec.”

“I miss you too, two more days and I’ll be back,” it’s only been three days, but she misses Chloe so much it hurts.

“That’s too many days,” Chloe whines.

Beca stares back at Chloe longingly, they don’t talk for a couple minutes, just happy to be in each other’s presence, even if it’s through a screen.

“I want to get married before your tour starts,” Chloe says abruptly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Beca’s album drops in a week, and two months later she starts her world tour. It would be a lot to try and throw together a wedding before then but Beca is willing to try.

“Are you sure Chlo? That’s only like a couple months away,” Beca gently reminds her.

Chloe nods, “Yes. I want to be your wife and I don’t want to wait a year. We’re both going to get busy and I just don’t think I can wait that long.”

“I don’t want to wait forever either…but do you think we can pull it together that quickly?”

“I may have been working on some things already…especially with you being gone this week,” Chloe smirks, pulling a binder of paper into view, because of course she would.

Beca laughs, “You’re crazy…and I love it.”

“You better love it, because you’re stuck with this crazy.”

#bechloe fanfic #pp fanfic #bechloe #fanfic #my stuff

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wthzoe · 4 years

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chapter 5 - don't let it bring you down

"but don't let it bring you down and turn your face into a frown"

series masterlist - here

previous | next

a/n: wrote this right after i posted chap 4 and it's already 4 am 😃 im still not sleepy rip. so as i said, ive been writing the whole night so i don't know if this chapter makes sense sksksks

Kuroo had a volleyball game coming up in two weeks which made him busy after school. He hadn’t been able to pick up the triplets from daycare and look after them. As for you, he only saw you in the mornings and briefly during classes as they had volleyball practice even during class hours. To say he misses you is an understatement. He even went as far as setting the picture he secretly took of you as his lock screen wallpaper so that you were the first thing he sees when he turns on his phone. He made sure to be careful as to not let a stranger who doesn’t know of your circumstances see it.

Akaashi approached Kuroo who was sitting on the floor with his head tilted back. The curly haired male handed him a bottle of water before sitting down next to the bed haired one.

“Bokuto and I could feel how much you miss (Y/N) from a mile away.” Akaashi bluntly stated.

“Really, now.” Kuroo replied, too tired and (Y/N)-deprived to think of a snarky reply. He chugged down the water Akaashi gave him and stood up to leave. “Well, I’m going first.”

“We’ll be going, too.”

With that, all three of them went back to their respective homes. Upon arriving home, Kuroo went straight into the bathroom to shower in able to go straight to bed. Stepping out of the shower topless while drying his hair off with a towel, he fishes his gym bag for his phone only to be met with anything other than the said device. He felt his heart race. Just when he had something to hide in there, he just had to lose his phone. He poured out the contents of his bag into his bed and he felt the fatigue in his body leave him.

Meanwhile back in the university, a student who had business in the gym saw a phone light up. She picks up the phone and turn it on to try to identify the owner. The lock screen was a photo of a woman carrying what seems like a two-year old baby. She takes a closer look and was finally able to identify that it was you.

Back home you were doing your homework when you hear a series of knocks on your door. Opening it, you were met with Kuroo looking quite jittery and pale. You furrow your brows before asking him what was wrong.

“I, uh. Can you do me a favor? My phone’s missing and I’m pretty sure the location’s on.”

“Oh, sure, sure. Come in. Do you want some water?”

“I’m fine but thanks anyway.”

The two of you work together to locate his phone and he was so relieved to find out that it was just in the university, most likely in the gym. Then he remembered what he had set as his lock screen a few days ago. He quickly thanked you then rushed to pick his phone up, silently praying that no one saw his wallpaper. He didn’t think that you’d be ashamed of your sons, but then you didn’t really seem like you intended to tell people you’re not close to seeing as people usually don’t have anything nice to say. He wanted to respect that decision of yours but because of him losing his phone you might have a hard time. When he got to the university his phone was at the lost and found which only means that someone had seen his lock screen. Fuck.

The next day rolled around and you were in Kuroo’s backseat with the triplets as usual. The two of you drop them off at the daycare and when you went back to his car, he seemed paler than before. He was also tapping the stirring wheel repeatedly, something he does when something is bothering him.

“Tetsu,” the way he flinched at the sound of your voice had you even more worried. “Are you okay?”

He debated whether he should tell you what he’d done. If by chance someone did see it and the news had spread, it’d be his fault and there was a big chance that this would be the last time you’d talk to him. However, he didn’t want to keep it from you and wait before you find out yourself. He sighed, here goes.

“Listen, (Y/N). I just want to say that I’m sorry in advance,” your brows furrowed, heart beating faster. “Why don’t you go grab my phone then turn it on.”

You do as he says, eyes widening at the candid photo of you and Masao. It was surprising, but you didn’t get what was making him so troubled.

“Remember when I left that behind at uni last night?” He glanced at you to check your reaction. Your expression remained confused. “I got it from the lost and found. So, that being said… it’s highly likely that someone saw that lock screen.”

It took you a few more seconds to get what he was saying and then, oh. Oh. You got it. There’s a big chance that at this very second, people would be talking about you and your sons. You didn’t know whether to laugh or what. It was like high school all over again. You were sure of one thing, though. You were scared. Scared of having to walk through the hallways with all eyes on you, hearing their whispers. The disgust and disappointment evident in the way they looked at you.

Your silence made Kuroo even more tense. He couldn’t read your expression from the little glances he’s taking as he drives. You carefully place his phone back where it was before speaking.

“Oh.” You reply shortly. Tears were starting to pool around your eyes and you were sure your voice would break if you speak. You didn’t want Kuroo to see you being weak and worry so you turn your head away from him. He took this as a sign that you were indeed mad at him, his heart broke thinking about how he ruined everything between the two of you.

When you arrived you quickly stepped out of the car and walked ahead. Usually, Kuroo would open the door for you then you’d walk together, but of course, today would be different. Maybe even the following days, weeks, months, years. Who knows? All Kuroo knew was that he fucked up and he’d driven you away from him.

You wiped away your tears before entering the building. Just as you’d suspected, almost everyone was looking at you weird and whispering amongst themselves. You were even able to hear one of the few things they said.

“I heard that the child looked like it was already at least two, that means…”

You clenched your fists and carried on. When you entered the classroom, you were surprised to see people sitting down in their respective seats quietly. Too quietly. You expected the classroom to be the place where there’d be more people talking about you. It still didn’t change the fact, however, that some others have their eyes on you.

“Mornin’, (Y/N)!” Bokuto greeted. You smiled back at him curtly. Akaashi was looking at you with worry but you didn’t notice as you immediately sink into your seat.

Classes dragged on longer than it used to and lunch became unbearable as you decided not to join your three friends. Instead, you lock yourself in a bathroom stall, head tilted back as you try to stop your tears from falling. You thought you’d be safe there but you were proved to be wrong when at least four girls entered, gossiping about ‘that freshie who already has a child.’

‘Please, let this day end already.’ You thought.

When the classes were finally over, you went straight home instead of at work, wanting nothing else but to wrap yourself in your blanket and cry yourself to sleep. You didn’t even realize that you haven’t picked up the triplets from the daycare when you’d fallen asleep.

Kuroo was staring at your number on his phone, debating whether to call you or give you space. When he was about to turn his phone off and shove it into his gym bag, he felt it vibrate. However, instead of your name popping up like he hoped, it was an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Sir Kuroo! I’m the triplets’ teacher. Ms. (Y/N) hasn’t come to pick the boys up. I know it’s only been twenty minutes but Ms. (Y/N) is never late unless she calls to say so. She wouldn’t answer her phone either. I was hoping you could check up on her.”

He felt his heart beating faster. “O-okay. I’ll pick the boys up on the way as well. Thank you for calling me.”

“Okay, I’ll have the boys ready. Have a safe drive, sir.”

The call ended and Kuroo slung his gym bag on his shoulder. He turned to Bokuto and Akaashi who were also taking a break from practice.

“Guys, I’m going ahead. The triplets’ teacher called, apparently they haven’t been picked up yet and (Y/N)’s not answering her phone. Cover for me.” He didn’t even wait for their response when he practically sprinted to his car.

When he picked up the boys, they were staring at him with a curious look on their faces. Kuroo wasn’t able to pay mind to it as he couldn’t stop thinking about you. After the three were safely seated in their car seats, they drove to where you worked but alas, you weren’t there. Your boss explained that you didn’t come in that day and that usually you’d call when you weren’t coming in. This didn’t make Kuroo feel any better at all. The only place he knows to check was your apartment.

Back at your apartment you’d just woken up, panicking when you saw that it’s already dark out. You tried to recall if you even picked up the boys. When you remembered that you didn’t, you sprung up. Muttering a string of ‘oh shit’s, you run out of your room. You were about to open the door when someone from the other side beat you to it. Kuroo was standing in front of you, hands on the triplets’ shared stroller. Without a word, you grab the stroller from him and slammed the door on him. You were 100% sure that there were clear traces of the breakdown you had earlier so in fear of having Kuroo see you in that state, you had no choice but to cold heartedly slam the door on him.

Once again, Kuroo Tetsurou’s heart broke.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo imagine #kuroo imagines #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro imagines #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou imagine #kuroo tetsurou imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu au #haikyuu #with a smile series

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years

Text

For Your Eyes Only-- bodyguard!ashton [Chapter Seven]

Summary: Ashton Irwin is the head of security for Princess Alouette who is a kind, gentle young woman. Secretly pining for one another, those feelings will soon come to light as an occurrence will change Alouette’s life forever, and Ashton’s.

Word count: 4,820

Warnings: smut

Author’s note: So sorry for the long wait but here’s chapter seven! thank you so much for your patience and feedback is always welcome! :)

Masterlist

Chap. 1 || Chap. 2 || Chap. 3 || Chap. 4 || Chap. 5 || Chap. 6

“I want to go to the lake house,” Alouette says while she and Ashton are eating their breakfast. It’s been two weeks since she made her address to the nation.

It’s a wonderful spread with all of her favorites, english muffins, fruit, pancakes, pure maple syrup and warm banana bread.

She’s graduated from eating in her room to the dining room. Her dogs are lying by her feet in hopes of something falling and to mainly stay by her side, much like Ashton has.

Ashton purses his lips after he takes a drink of his coffee. Her lake house was only an hour and a half away, he obviously knows the security measures there are top notch. He’d make sure the guys are with him and there’s extra security surrounding the lake just in case. It’s doable but he wonders if it’s too soon for her to be away from home.

“Are you sure you’re up for the travel?” he peers over the white ceramic brim.

The last of her stitches were just taken out on Friday by Dr. Hunt, Ashton held her hand the whole time and talked to her soothingly when she winced at the tug and pull.

“Yes,” she nods, “I need to be there, Ashton. You know it’s my safe space. I don’t. . . I don’t feel like myself yet.”

“I know. Do you want to invite Neva and the other girls?”

“No, I want it to just be you and me . . .” she says softly twiddling a blueberry with her fork.

Ashton’s heart skips a beat. She wants to be alone with him in her lake house and not as her bodyguard? The idea excites him as it equally terrifies him. It’s obvious their bodyguard/Princess relationship is no longer. They’ve become closer than ever in the short weeks since he’s rescued her.

The bleeding on her back has stopped and her stitches worked marvellously on her wounds. She’d still complain of aches and pains but refused to take her pain medication anymore for fear of becoming dependent on them.

Ashton admired her for that steadfastness but it also pained him to know she’s still enduring that pain and that he can’t do anything to help it.

He’s never left her side still sleeping beside her in case she wakes up from another nightmare which occurs every other night. She tosses and thrashes under the covers and Ashton has to wake her up gently then holds her in his arms until she’s calmed down.

It always takes her a moment to come back to him, for her nightmarish visions to disappear.

He’d kiss her tears away then talks with her until she falls back asleep. When she first got home she’d wake up about four times, now it’s reduced to two.

During many of their private times, Ashton has tried to ask her what happened and she goes silent or changes the subject as if she didn’t hear him.

“Do you not want to?” her voice falls flat.

“No, that sounds great, angel. I’ll call Calum and set everything up,” he nods.

The smile she gives him makes his heart soar.

•••••

When Michael parks in front of the house the four of them sit in silence, no one gets out. Luke and Michael awkwardly look at each other then turn to look at Ashton who’s in the backseat with Alouette. Calum is in the second SUV with all their luggage, he pulls up behind them.

“What?” Ashton asks.

“Aren’t you going to get out and scope the place?” Michael asks.

“Yeah, your 270 second thing?” Luke asks glancing at Alouette who smiles at the number.

She looks to Ashton and nods.

“I’ll be okay. I know you’re never late on time,” she assures squeezing his shoulder lightly.

“Don’t get out until I’m back,” he warns the guys then kisses her knuckles quickly before exiting the vehicle. Calum joins him and they disappear to do their check.

Alouette counts in her head, her leg bounces anxiously as she waits for him. She has to remind herself that he’ll come back and soon they’ll be in her house, alone and together doing whatever they want. She wishes he’ll kiss her, but this time on her lips. She loves when he kisses her cheeks or forehead but it’s not where she craves him.

“Where we at?” Luke asks looking at her through the side mirror.

“Should be twenty more seconds,” she answers quietly.

Sure enough, twenty seconds go by and both Ashton and Calum emerge from the front of the house, smiles on their faces. Alouette struggles to open the door before she scrambles out to join him. He takes her hand rubbing her skin with his thumb. Michael and Luke follow behind but gather all of the bags.

“What do you want to do first?” Ashton asks walking inside.

“I need a nap, then we can go on the boat,” she yawns.

“All right, I’ll get the bags unpacked,” he smiles.

When they enter her room she falls onto the large bed, the cotton blue duvet puffs up around her and she pulls up the soft blanket around her. Ashton takes his bags from Michael then goes out the door.

“Where are you going?” she sits up.

“To put my things away.”

“Where?”

“In the guest bed.”

“Oh, you don’t want to stay here?” she bites her lip.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to, I don’t want to suffocate you.”

“Why would you think that?”

He opens his mouth but then closes it, swallowing down his thoughts.

“Do you want me to stay here with you?”

“Yes please,” she says twiddling her fingers together.

He smiles then sets his bags down by the door and makes his way to her on the bed. He brushes her hair back before kissing her forehead.

“I’ll let you nap then I’ll unpack, yeah?”

“Okay,” she whispers pressing her lips to the inside of his hand.

Ashton’s eyes widen slightly, it’s usually him who gives her kisses. She’s never initiated anything before and it makes his stomach flip. He sighs at the longing ache he has for her. Yes, he’s been with her for the past month while she’s been recovering, but this is all still new to him.

“I’ll let you rest. Me and the guys will look around for food or send someone to get some for dinner later.”

“You won’t go, right?”

“Nope, I’ll be right down the hall, angel,” he smiles.

•••••

After her nap Alouette and the boys had lunch then lazed around watching TV. She was too tired to go on the boat now.

Ashton brought some chicken to grill so once they finished eating he made a campfire which Alouette insisted on making smores.

One by one the boys left to go to their posts or get some rest so it was just Alouette and Ashton. Before Calum was the last to leave he was talking about security detail with Ashton and Alouette scoots closer to him on the bench nestling into his accommodating arm.

She loved smelling his cologne and the smell of Ashton in general. She loved being in the safety of his arms and his presence alone.

“You’ll be fine, I’ve already triple checked everything and everyone is at their posts,” Ashton tells Calum and rubs Alouette’s shoulder.

“All right. Goodnight, Princess,” Calum bows slightly with a playful grin on his face.

“Goodnight, Cal,” she smiles sweetly up at him and he leaves.

The crackle of the fire and the chirps of crickets surround Ashton and Alouette now. She sighed, wishing that he would kiss her for real. They came so close in Paris, their lips touched but before it could be more their moment was halted by Luke.

That all seems so long ago.

“Getting sleepy?” he asks.

“No,” she sighs again, “just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“And a dollar for your insights,” she smiles easily up at him and he laughs.

“I’ll share what I’m thinking after you, my lady.”

“I’m thinking . . . how warm you are right now. Share your insights, mister,” she pokes his chest.

“My insight is how beautiful you are,” he sighs, “and . . . .”

“And?” she persists sitting up a little straighter.

“And how terrified I am to kiss you.” His throat works as he gazes at her. Their almost-but-not-quite-kiss in Paris is on his mind as well.

“I—what? Why?”

“I don’t want it to ruin things. I’ve . . . I’ve been in love with you for so long I don’t want to ruin it,” he confesses stroking his long finger across her cheek. She trembles from his touch.

“You have?” her heart is beating so rapidly she thinks it’s going to fly out.

“Yes, you’re the best woman I’ve ever known, Alouette. You have the kindest heart, everything about you is gentle and sweet and yet you’re so strong. So brave after what you went through.”

Her eyes searched his that are illuminated in the orange glow from the fire. Ashton is the epitome of warmth and sunshine and she’s finally getting to be close to him after years and years of yearning.

“Kiss me,” she whispers, heart pounding loudly.

He moves slowly, cautiously, as if this is some sort of fever dream and any sudden movements will cause him to wake. He uses his fingers to tilt her chin up, the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is Alouette closing hers. Her long lashes cast long shadows over her cheeks and he presses his lips to hers oh so softly.

It’s electrifying. A spark courses through them both and she gasps giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth. He brings his other hand upon her cheek, his fingers get caught in her hair and Alouette brings her hands to his biceps.

Their lips move in perfect sync until they’re gasping for air. Ashton pulls away first letting his fingers skim over her cheeks, his thumb traces the shape of her lips. He watches her intently, her eyes are still closed, so he continues to trace her lips that are glistening in the firelight from his kiss.

When she finally opens her eyes, he smiles happily.

“Hi,” he greets softly brushing his fingers onto her cheeks.

“Hi,” she smiles lazily back.

He’s filled with such elation he knocks his forehead against hers, their noses bump together and he nuzzles into it.

“I’m trying so hard to be a gentleman and not kiss you again,” he confesses.

To his surprise Alouette brings her hand to his sideburns, her nails scratch at the stubble and combs through his dark hair. It feels heavenly and he closes his eyes at the sensation.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I want you to kiss me whenever you want to,” she tells him then pushes her mouth on his. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

They stay outside kissing softly into the night until the fire has gone out. It isn’t until he felt her shiver against him that he pulls away and suggests they go inside. The moon is high in the sky with stars scattered all over and the two have never been happier.

••••

The next morning Ashton awakes to Alouette snoring softly by his ear, memories of last night come flooding in like a tidal wave and he’s smiling instantly. He shifts in the bed so he’s on his right side. With careful fingers he brushes her honey gold hair away from her face then strokes her cheek before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her temple.

She stirs beneath him and he continues to kiss her face until she makes a disgruntled noise. Her eyes are heavy as she opens them staring blearily up at him.

“Good morning, angel,” he greets then clears his throat of leftover sleep.

“Morning,” she whispers followed by a tired smile.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Great. I had a dream you kissed me all night, was that real?” her eyes are playful.

Ashton scoots lower in the bed so he’s face to face with her and he has his hand on her lower back. He tilts his neck forward so he can give her a proper good morning kiss, sucking on her lip to gently wake her.

“It was very real,” he mumbles moving in to kiss her again. She retracts and covers her mouth.

“I have morning breath,” she muffled.

“Don’t care,” he hums with a shake of his head removing her hand so he can kiss her again.

Alouette smiles into the kiss putting her hand onto his neck to keep him close, she hooks her leg around his hip as well. Ashton rolls onto his back bringing her with him so she’s on top of him, he holds onto her waist while their lips get reacquainted again. His hands rub up her back,

She lets out a noise of discomfort then pulls away to move his hands back down on her waist. He releases her immediately so she’s just on top of him with no support of his hold, he thinks he’s done something wrong or moved too fast.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop,” he apologizes immediately.

“No, no, it’s just . . . some of the scars on my back aren’t healed all the way. You pressed on one,” she explains with a small grimace.

His heart falls then quickly switches to anger at the men who caused her this pain in the first place. The anger comes back around to himself for making a bonehead mistake in leaving her alone which resulted in her being taken in the first place.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she assures painting her fingers over the anger lines in his face. She smiles gently at him. “You didn’t know, it only hurt a little bit.”

“It shouldn’t hurt at all,” he mutters grabbing hold of her arm and kisses the inside of her wrist. He can feel the pulse of her heart.

“Ashton, please, don’t blame yourself anymore. What’s done is done, all right?” she stretches up to kiss him but he pushes her back gently.

“Let’s get some breakfast, angel,” he sighs, “then maybe we can go out on the boat.”

He slips from underneath her easily and moves to the closet to get changed. Alouette is left alone, cold and kiss-less wondering if he’ll ever kiss her again.

After a quiet breakfast is interrupted with the other guys barging in, she heads upstairs to change into her suit. She still has some faint bruising all over her body and is nervous about them seeing her. She can’t possibly wear a two-piece.

She’s especially worried about Ashton and how he’ll react to them so she opts for a one piece suit that covers her back at least.

That’s where the worst scars and burn marks are. The front of the suit is low cut with a hole opened on her stomach. She pulls on her shorts and t-shirt and heads back out into the kitchen where the guys are waiting.

“All set, Alou?” Michael asks happily.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she forces a smile and tries not to let Ashton looking her over get to her.

He’s not scrutinizing her, he’s looking for any form of discomfort that’s all.

Once they’re all on the boat, Ashton is in charge of driving and Alouette sits way up front so the spray of the water and the sun are on her face. For only being 9:30 in the morning it was already 80 degrees out and the spray of the lake water feels amazing.

“So, you and Ashton finally kissed, huh Alou?” Michael asks who is suddenly sitting next to her.

She opens her eyes to look at her longest friend. His features are soft and full of excitement for her, she glances back at Ashton who averts his gaze from her. She knows he’s brooding over what’s happened.

“Yeah, I don’t think it will happen again.”

“What? Why?”

“He pressed on one of my wounds that isn’t exactly healed yet and now he’s thinking about what happened again, how it’s his fault but it isn’t,” she sighs playing with the seam of the boat seat. “I’m self-conscious of you all to see my bruises.”

“I can try talking to him, no one is blaming him but himself. He’ll get over it, and as for the bruises and scars, we won’t say anything. We never would. It hurts us to see them on you but don’t be self-conscious, all right?” Michael touches her shoulder and squeezes gently.

Ashton remains on the boat while everyone else jumps into the lake, Alouette hangs back and positions herself on his lap. He welcomes her willingly but she notices his hands are barely touching her, like she’s a china doll about to fracture at the slightest touch.

With a huff she pulls off his sunglasses so she can look at his eyes, even then he won’t meet her gaze.

“Will you look at me?” she says with a little bit of bitterness in her voice.

He’s never heard her speak like that, to him or to anyone, so he looks at her in shock. His hazel eyes searched her face for the anger but he still sees softness.

“Are you never going to kiss me again?”

He sighs then shakes his head. “No, of course I will,” he cups her cheek then hesitantly wraps his arm around her waist. He keeps his hold light. “I don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”

“You’ve never hurt me and you never will. I know you’re thinking about everything that happened but I’m telling you to stop. I’m going to use my Royalty Privileges as your Princess and I command you to stop thinking those thoughts in the name of me,” she scolds squeezing his shoulder slightly. Her eyes are fierce.

His eyes crinkle as he laughs at her command. He has no choice but to listen to her now.

“Yes, my lady,” he chuckles some more and presses his lips to hers.

“Good, now come in the water with us. I’m sweating off a layer of skin.”

She pops up from his lap and begins to undress before him. He makes it a point not to look at the bruises and scars he can see and follows her actions in undressing.

“Alouette,” he calls and she turns around. His throat tightens when he sees the light purples, greens and yellows discoloring the skin of her belly. “If anything hurts, let me know and we’ll go back to the house.”

“I will,” she nods, “but the water will help. Come on,” she holds out her hand for him to take.

Shirtless and in his swim trunks now, he takes her hand and they jump into the lake together. Michael, Luke and Calum hoot and holler at them for finally joining in on the fun. The four guards and Princess float in the water until she becomes hungry and they head back to the house.

Alouette is more at ease now and sits freely in her suit while the sun dries her as they boat back to the house. For the rest of the day is spent with relaxation.

She lays in the hammock or feeds the fish at the end of the dock. All the while Ashton is with her and he flashes her a smile each time she looks at him. She’ll lean over and kiss his cheek.

•••••

A few nights later, Ashton is sitting on her bed with his legs propped up, his elbows on his knees as he watches her head into the closet to change into her pajamas.

“Alouette,” he calls gently just before the door closes.

“Yes?” she cracks the door open wider.

He swallows the lump that has now formed in his throat from what he’s about to ask her. He scoots to the edge of the bed letting his legs hang off, feet touching the floor.

“Can . . . can I see the scars and bruises that still need to heal on your back?” he asks in a rush and swallows again.

Alouette licks her lips then nods coming back out in front of him. His eyes look up to her as she yanked off her t-shirt, her bra is purple and lacy with the lace hugging her breasts perfectly. His throat dries at the sight of her before him and then she turns around sitting on the edge of the bed in between his legs. She brushes her hair to the front and Ashton’s mouth gapes open at her back.

Beneath the straps of her bra and all over, really, are still small fresh scabs from what happened to her nearly a month ago. In the center and on her lower back are burn marks that have yet to scab over. A majority of her large three wounds are healed but her back is almost a Jackson Pollock painting with all the colors and lines.

Without hesitation, Ashton inclines forward and presses his lips to a jagged scar on her right shoulder. Alouette gasps at the unexpected sensation.

He kisses the whole length of the scar that reaches to the clasp of her bra. Ashton brings his fingers to the clasp then asks her quietly, “Can I?”

“Y-yes,” she clears her throat.

With careful fingers he unhooks it, kissing her spine as it opens then gently moves the straps off her body. He continues kissing each and every mark on her back, snaking his arms onto her stomach to pull her close to his warmth. She shivers as his large hands rubbed over her belly, his fingers dancing dangerously close to her breasts.

“Are you cold?” he asks on her skin which feels warm to him.

“No,” she answers with conviction then twists her body so she’s facing him and gives him a gentle kiss.

Alouette adjusts herself so her legs are leaning against the bed but Ashton hooks her thighs around his waist. His fingers tangled in her hair to keep her lips pressed against his. Her own fingers are scratching against the stubble on his jaw while their tongues massage against one another’s.

Alouette slips her other hand down his chest to the hem of his black t-shirt, her fingers dance along the hem until he understands what she wants. The kiss breaks so he can pull the garment off, before he kisses her again he stares at her face. He’s giving her this moment to say no, to tell him what she wants or doesn’t want to do.

“I’ve always been yours, Ashton,” she tells him softly as if reading his thoughts, “have me.”

With an excited huff he kisses her hungrily, giving her all of him that he’s always wanted to give. He stands easily with her pressed against him so he can turn around and lay her on the bed properly. Moments after both of their clothes are strewn about the room and wandering hands explore new territory.

She’s dreamed of what his muscles would feel like under her fingertips and the real thing is better than anything she could have dreamed. He’s strong and soft in all the perfect areas. When she scrapes her fingernails on the sides of his waist it causes him to shiver.

While her hands explore the expanse of his back Ashton’s lips travel along her neck and into the valley of her clavicle bone. She smells of the sweetest rose, and tastes even sweeter. He makes sure his kisses are soft because he sees fading bruises still on her skin.

After longer moments of searching and getting to know each other’s bodies, their eyes never falter as they connect for the first time. Alouette arches her back slightly, a gentle moan coaxes through her lips and Ashton caresses her face while the other holds tight to her fingers.

They’re connected as intimately as they can be.

Waves upon waves of pleasure radiate through their bodies, she pulls when he pushes in perfect tandem. Stars explode and new galaxies are formed behind their eyelids as the twisted heat in her belly is finally unfurled. She exhales his name as he inhales hers and yet the moment isn’t quite over yet.

The yearning they’ve had for each other has been ongoing for so long, all that pent up love and adoration is taking its sweet time to pour out but neither one of them is complaining. Her fingers curl in his hair as another explosion hits, her nails scratch up and down his back as the desire keeps coming in pulses of pleasure.

With one final push to the edge Ashton loses his willpower and mumbles her name through moans and grunts in her ear. She coaxes him through it with sweet praises and then he collapses on top of her, their bodies sticky with sweat. Heavy breaths fill the air while she combs her fingers through his hair and he pecks her shoulder multiple times.

With his heart still racing, Ashton lifts his head to gaze at his Princess, his lady, his Alouette. Her eyes are glazed over with love and exhaustion and he can’t help himself when he ghosts his lips over hers. It’s a lazy kiss but filled with so much love.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you,” she smiles bumping her nose with his then lets out a tired sigh.

She excuses herself to use the bathroom then when she returns Ashton is waiting with open arms which she gladly slides into. They hold each other naked--there are no secrets now-- their voices soft as they talk well into the night and until Alouette falls asleep against him. He continues to pull his fingers through her soft curls until he drifts off into a peaceful sleep, in his dream he’s surrounded by rose petals.

•••••

For the rest of the week, Ashton and Alouette don’t hold back on their affections anymore. Calum, Luke and Michael knew better than to comment on it because they knew how testy Ashton could get, especially when it came to Alouette.

Which is why, unknown to the Princess, the three of them are still trying to find answers as to why she was captured and who the mastermind behind it all was. Ashton is making sure to keep tabs on whoever was involved, including keeping their original felon under custody. Ashton will find out why this happened if it takes all his life.

Today, rain is in the forecast for the whole day and after a morning of soft lovemaking, Ashton and Alouette decided to stay in bed all day. It’s filled with easy conversation and tender touches but there’s a burning question on the tip of Ashton’s tongue.

“Are you all right?” Alouette asks when she returns from making tea for the both of them. She sits next to him on the bed, handing him his tea.

“Mm, yeah,” he nods clearing his throat before taking a sip of his tea.

“Ashton,” Alouette places her hand over his holding onto the mug. His honey green tea eyes blink up at her, she frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Ashton sighs switching his mug into his other hand then laces his fingers between hers. He’s concentrating hard on what he wants to say and also on the softness of her skin.

“What happened when . . .” he inhales deeply before continuing, “when you were in that room?”

After a long moment of silence he risks looking at her, and she’s staring at him. Her blue eyes vacant as she stares, but he can see her pulse racing in her neck. She squeezes his hand.

“What?” she croaks.

Thunder rumbles in the distance and the rain pelts the roof, beyond the windows the storm is creating white caps on the lake. But as Ashton stares into her ocean eyes, there’s a storm equally as strong in them.

“I just . . . I want to know what happened to you. You haven’t told anyone and I . . . I want to help. If I can,” he confesses.

“I don’t--” she shakes her head pulling away from him. She’s withdrawing into herself and Ashton can feel the panic. “I can’t. Not yet. Please, Ash, I just---I can’t.”

“Okay, okay,” he hushes reaching forward to cup her cheek in his other hand. “I’m sorry angel, I didn’t mean to upset you. I want to help that’s all, if you’re not ready I won’t make you talk about it. Okay? I’m sorry.”

She nods stiffly, a silent tear escapes the corner of her eye that Ashton catches with his thumb. She falls into him, wrapping her arms around him as he does the same and kisses the top of her head.

“Thank you,” she says quietly into his shirt.

The only sound is the steady fall of the rain, the rolling thunder and their beating hearts.

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #ashton writing #ashton irwin au #ashton irwin writing #ashton 5sos #ashton fic #ashton fiction #ashton irwin fiction #ashton fluff #ashton smut #ashton angst #for your eyes only #michael clifford #calum hood #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin angst #fyeo

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twiceinadream · 5 years

Text

Twice HC- How They Would Kiss You

Requested: Yup

Request: How they kiss their s/o headcanons please 😳

a/u: Hey, guys! So I really want to dedicate this post to Twice’s 4th anniversary, and Mina’s comeback at the Halloween Fanmeet. Thank you for everything! (This also has a lot of puns. My bad)

Category: Fluff

Nayeon

Nayeon would be the type to make it a big scene

The two of you could be walking in the park, and she’d just grab you

You looked at her confused, till she gave you a signature “bunny smile” and pulled you in

Her lips were warm against the cold air, and when she pulled away you felt drunk on her

Blushing when you noticed the number of people passing by, as you shoved her away

Quickly bringing her into a hug

Jeongyeon

PDA did not exist in Jeongyeon’s mind, it’s not that she was ashamed; she just didn’t like people staring

So after a particularly long day, she came home to you cooking dinner, and something about it just made her tear up

You turned to face her, when you felt arms wrap around your waist

Your eyes met, as she quickly cupped your cheek; bringing you into a soft kiss

You could feel her tears against your cheeks as she pulled away slightly, panting out a soft, “Thank you, I love you so much.”

Momo

You had been watching Momo dance for the past three hours and you couldn’t believe how beautiful your girlfriend was

After seeing you stare at her for awhile Momo abruptly stopped her movements to face you, smiling, “Care to dance, Y/N?”

You shook your head, “I have two left feet, Momoring.” But she just shrugged as she pulled you up, a slow along starting

You shrugged as you took Momo in your arms, swaying across the practice room floor, as the song ended you spun her slowly into your arms

Momo gave you a small smile as she kissed your cheek, “You may not be a dancer. But you’re one hell of a romantic, Y/N-Chan.”

Sana

You smiled as you breathed in the salty air of the beach, Sana and you had vacationed to

It was fairly early and fairly empty, which was perfect; since Sana wanted some alone time for just the two of you

The two of you set out your towels, as you walked hand and hand into the water, wading deep enough into the water that the two of you could still stand

But before you could warn her, a wave had come up and knocked Sana over, making you laugh as your girlfriend spit out the salty water

You smiled as you helped her up, pulling her into chaste kiss, licking your lips as you pulled away, “Salty. Reminds me of you.” Sana looked at you in disbelief, before she pushed you into the water.

Jihyo

You threw your phone onto the empty space next to you on the couch as you growled, “Dispatch, needs to keep their nose out of people's business.” You frowned as you looked at the new reports of your girlfriend’s weight that had resurfaced.

That night when Jihyo came home, you immediately wrapped her in a hug, as you began to kiss your way down her body, “How can one person be so perfect?” You looked up to see the tears fall from your girlfriend’s eyes

You came back up as you held her closer, kissing away her tears, “How can you say that, Y/N? I’m so far from perfect, but you still tell me I am.”

You smiled as you cupped her cheek, and used your thumbs to brush away her tears; lifting her chin so you could connect your lips together

As you pulled away, you smiled as you looked into her eyes, “Because you read so many fake reports that are only there to hurt you. I figured you need to hear the truth. So you can understand what’s, Fake and True.” Jihyo rolled her eyes at you pun, “You’re lucky you’re cute and that I love you.” You smiled, “Well lucky me then; I have the most perfect girl in the world in love with me.

Mina (Our precious penguin)

It had been a long time since you had seen Mina, and not having your girlfriend around was slowly starting to kill you

You sighed as you looked at the ending text from your girlfriend a few minutes ago, ‘Goodnight, Jagi. I love you, Happy Anniversary.’ You frowned as you got into bed, her spot colder than usual

When you woke up that morning something about your bed felt different, it was warmer than usual

You couldn’t believe your eyes, as you opened them to see Mina staring back at you, you saw her luggage against the wall; as your eyes filled with tears, “You’re back?”

Mina smiled as she pulled you into a kiss, you doubt you’ve ever felt something this good, “I’m back, Y/N. And I’m here to stay.”

Dahyun (Dubu as Genie)

It wasn’t a secret your girlfriend loved Halloween, so every year she would always surprise you at the fanmeet with her costume; since she would always keep it a secret

But as you waited for her, you were not prepared for her to come out as, Genie from Aladdin. You couldn’t hold back your laugh as you brought her into a hug, praising how good she looked

Dahyun looked down shyly as her cheeks warmed at the attention, “Wow, Dubu. You made all my wishes come true.” She smiled as she pushed you away slightly, “Jagi, that was bad.”

You just shrugged as you kissed her head, “Maybe. But this costume certainly isn’t. Who knew you would look good with a beard?”

Chaeyoung

Chaeyoung has been out the whole day, and she hasn’t her phone once and you were getting genuinely worried for your girlfriend

That was until the front door of your guy’s shared apartment opened and Chae calmly walked in; you rushed to her, pulling Chaeng into a hug, “Where have you been?”

She smiled as she carefully removed her jacket, plastic covering her arm, “Getting a surprise for you.” You looked at her in confusion, till she showed you her forearm

Behind the plastic were beautifully written Roman numerals of your guy’s anniversary, you held in a small gasp as you looked at your girlfriend in disbelief

“Chae, you know those are permanent, right?” Chaeyoung smiled as she pulled you into a kiss, her slightly chapped lips brushing yours as she pulled away, “Yes. But so are we.”

Tzuyu

Tzuyu had brought you home for the holidays, and ever since you two have been home; all she has done is coo over Gucci. Not that you minded, you were just jealous...of a dog

Your girlfriend had left you home alone as she went out with her mom, so you decided to spend some time in the living room on your phone. Until Gucci decided to join in, and sit on your lap

You looked at him as you placed your phone down, looking him in the eye, “Look. I get you’ve been in Chewy’s life a lot longer than I have, but I really love her, okay. And ever since we’ve been here, you keep stealing her from me; and you’re cute and all, and I get you just want the best for her. But cut me some slack, please. I promise you can chew out my throat if I ever hurt her.”

You suddenly felt a soft kiss against your cheek as you turn to see Tzuyu, you flushed, “Uh...hi. How long have you been here?” Tzuyu smiled as you pet Gucci’s head, “Long enough to know what’s going on.” You groaned.

Your girlfriend just smiled as she kissed your cheek again, “Don’t worry, Y/N-ah. It was cute. And I love you too. The both of you.”

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mirkwoodshewolf · 5 years

Text

Confessing the truth to the rest; Queen x teen reader

*Author’s note*

Okay gang so here is the first filer chap. of my Rock Angel series. This oneshot takes place right after Protective Taylor which you can read on the link for the title. I hope you all enjoy this little filer and I hope to have the next chapter up sometime soon as soon as I’m done with school and finally graduate. It maybe another filer chapter where reader meets Jack’s family over their first Christmas not only with each other but as a couple.

Anyways so if I had to express any warnings it’d be mentions of abuse (just mentioned not really detailed but it’s mostly verbal and a bit physical but not on the reader), parent deaths, graveyards/cemetery, angst, FLUFF.

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@ixchel-9275

@waddles03

@platawnic

@queendeakyy

@onebigfangirlworld

@mr-badguymercury

@naturalswifty89

@kairosfreddie

@starswin

@dj-lowkey

@isabella-bby

@labessieisallama

@geek-and-proud

@5sos-wdw

@bohemiansweede

______________________________________________________

It was almost a week since I had told Roger the truth about my parent’s death and what my real homelife was like before I got the internship with the guys. And I was so fortunate that he kept the secret like he promised, if ever the other three wanted to bring the conversation back to what happened a week ago, Roger would redirect the question back to a song they needed to work on or just tell them straight forward to drop it.

I was currently finishing up some of Miami’s papers that needed his attention and was about to head on up to his office to give them to him, when I felt Roger wrap his arms around me from behind in a hug.

“Hey Rog.” I said.

“Hello lovie.” I felt him kiss the back of my head. I turned towards him and he rubbed my arms up and down. “I’m sorry about the interrogation earlier, I tried to get Brian to drop it—”

“It’s okay. Though couldn’t you have gone a little less protective?”

“Hey. No one tries to interrogate my girl but me.”

“Oh and why must it be you that can only do that?”

“Well isn’t it obvious? You’re an official Taylor. And if my sister can be interrogated by me, than so can you.” As he said the last part of his ‘royal decree’ he gently bopped my nose with his index finger. I smiled up at him and he grinned down at me.

It was then I also began to notice that Roger had that solemn look in his eyes. The look that just showed he was hiding a heartbreaking secret.

“And……I know what it’s like.”

“What do you mean?” he sighed and said.

“Come with me.”

“But I—I need to get these papers up to Miami before he flips.” He took them and called for another assistant to come and take care of it. Before I could protest, he took my hand and guided me over towards the wreck room and we went inside a pantry closet. “Uhh Rog, why did you bring me to a pantry closet?”

“Sorry, it’s the one place I knew where we’d be private when I tell you this. Because—not even the boys know about this. Not Deacy, not Brian or even Freddie.”

“Roger what is it you’re scaring me.” I asked worriedly. He took a deep breath in before exhaling out.

“I know—what it’s like. To be on the opposite end of—an abusive family figure.” No, not him.

“You—you mean you were……”

“My old man was—strict. About everything. What he wanted in life, how the house should be done, how his children should behave and act. He was more like a drill sergeant than a father. Most of it was directed at my mum. Mostly verbal stuff like your aunt and uncle did to you. But get a drink in him and he—” I immediately hugged him.

God never, ever, ever, ever did I think in a million years that the Roger Taylor, drummer of Queen, Mr. Too beautiful to be a man, was just like me.

A victim of domestic abuse.

“I’m so sorry Roger I—I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing you can say lovie. But I do appreciate the gesture.” He said as he hugged me back and squeezed me as emphasis on what gesture he meant. “Once my mum filed for divorce I knew we were finally free of his control. Back then I—thought I was the only one who went through shit like this. That something had to be wrong with me for this abuse to happen to my family. But then meeting you, and Prenter forcing you to see our expressions as he told us your family secret……..”

“For years I’ve been trying to turn myself into their puppet. To perform the way they wanted me to. But even when I thought I succeeded, I didn’t succeed by their standards. I felt so alone after my parents died, they never once comforted me after it happened. In fact my aunt said she was glad to hear that her sister died, said it would teach her a lesson.”

“Who the fuck says that to a child?” he snapped.

“I wish I knew Roger. It was hell living with them. And when they kicked me out after I told them what I really wanted to pursue in college I—I thought from then on in I would be alone.”

“Well you’re not. Because you’ve got me. And Freddie, Brian, Deacy, Miami, our wives. You’re now family to us (y/n). From the day you walked in those doors and we saw you playing the piano, you became family to us.”

“Thank you Roger. You guys—are my family too.” He smiled and he leaned his forehead against mine and gave my nose a gentle kiss which made me smile wider.

After having our special little talk, Roger and I walked out and that’s when I said.

“Hey Rog.”

“Hmm?”

“Since you guys are now technically done with the album, do—do you think you and the rest of the guys could come meet me at my place?”

“I’m sure we could. What’s the occasion love?” he asked.

“I think it’s time they knew. But I—I also wanna show you guys…..where they’re buried.” Roger’s eyes widened softly and he said.

“(Y/n)…..love you don’t have to—”

“I want to Roger. I—I need to get this off my chest once and for all. I mean it’d be unfair for just you to know the real truth and let the other three be kept in the dark. Especially if Paul tries to blab about it again in front of them.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I am Rog. Promise you’ll back me up in case things get—you know.” He smiled and wrapped an arm around my neck pulling me close.

“Of course lovie. We’re family.”

“Thanks Roger.” I said with a soft smile. He nodded to me and pressed a kiss on top of my head.

“What time shall we come over?”

“Probably 8-9am. It’ll be a 2 hour drive so the sooner we leave, the less likely we’ll be stuck in traffic on the way there.”

“I get it, autumn traffic is a bitch.” So after that, we headed back towards the recording room and I helped the boys finish up the rest of their album and soon the day ended there.

The next morning, I was eating some cheese on toast when I heard the doorbell ring right at 8:30. I took a few more bites and headed over to the door to see Brian at the door.

“Hope we didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

“No, just finishing up breakfast.” I said as I took the toast out of my mouth.

“Well we can come back when it’s convenient for you love, you know we don’t have a problem with that.”

“No, no, no it’s fine. Like I said I’m almost done. Give me about five minutes okay?” he nodded and I asked him if he wanted to come in and he accepted the offer. While I went back to the kitchen to clear off my plate, I saw Brian in the foyer looking at all the pictures of me, Adam and a few of our friends.

“You know I never really did ask you (y/n), what exactly are you studying in University?”

“Mostly songwriting and music accompaniment. I wanted to get a better understanding of what it took to make a song and how to choose the perfect accompaniment based on the song you’re writing.” I answered as my plate was finally clear and I ran it under the tap in the dishwasher. “And what of you Bri? I mean I know you were a scientist of some sort.”

“Astrophysics actually.” He corrected me.

“Oh right sorry. Now didn’t Freddie once say in an interview that your thesis was on stardust or something?”

“Interplanetary stardust. I wanted to prove whether the motion of dust was responsible for zodiacal light.” Damn. No wonder why he’s the clever one and always wins at the Scrabble games while on the tours or on breaks during rehearsals.

“Impressive. Guess that makes you the clever one out of the other four then?”

“Yeah I suppose it does yeah.” He teasingly bragged which made me roll my eyes and giggle as I put my dish in the dishwasher with the other dirty dishes.

“Okay, now let me make a quick note to Adam.” I took one of the post-it notes and quickly wrote down where I would be for most of the day. And to remind him that it was his turn to start the dishwasher and take out the garbage and to NOT. FORGET. IT this time. “Okay that’s it. Shall we head out?”

“Ladies first madam.” He said gesturing to the door. I playfully curtsied and the two of us walked out of my apartment. I locked it up and we walked down the steps and across the short walkway till we reached the car. I sat in the back with Freddie and Roger while Deacy was at the wheel and Brian sat in the passenger seat.

“So (y/n), where to now?”

“Glenfield, Leicester.” It was at that point I saw Deacy look at me through the rearview mirror.

“Glenfield? Why there?”

“Well that’s—where I was born.”

“Unbelievable.” He muttered.

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s just 20 minutes from where I was born and raised. Oadby.”

“Really?” I asked amazed.

“Well my darlings it seems as if you both were meant to meet each other. Two Leicestershire siblings coming together at last.” Freddie proclaimed dramatically.

“I must say though (y/n), for someone who was born there, you don’t quite have Deacy’s accent.”

“Well believe it or not lads. While I was there no one else spoke like me.” Deacy stated as he began to drive off.

“Yeah you’re a special case, but we love you anyways Deacy.” I said reaching over and kissed him on the cheek and patted his shoulder.

As we drove onwards, Roger was twirling his drumsticks while making up a random drumbeat. Freddie was working on a new sketch, I was listening to my Walkman which was playing a mixtape one of my friend’s made for me and the song that was playing now was Rubberband man, and Bri was doing a crossword puzzle.

“So darling why make us go all the way to Glenfield?” asked Freddie as he looked at me. I removed my right headphone aside asked.

“What was that Fred?”

“I asked why are we heading all the way to Glenfield?”

“Well I—uhh…..Just thought you’d all kinda like to see where I grew up.”

“I wouldn’t mind that. Maybe we could even meet your parents.” Stated Brian. At that point I saw the glare behind Roger’s shades but before he could do anything, I stopped him and I said.

“Possibly. I just—hope you guys are ready.”

“Any parent who could raise such a clever, intelligent and strong young woman must be equally strong and determined. I’ve actually been waiting for the day to meet the lovely darlings.” Freddie said as he softly nudged my arm.

“Yeah.” I said solemnly. I felt Roger take my hand and I looked up at him. He lifted my hand up and kissed my palm and pressed it to his chest over his heart. From that point the conversations died down after that, probably from either sensing my depressing mood, or fearing the angered look in Roger’s eyes that hid but they could feel behind his shades.

After over 2 hours of driving, we finally arrived at my childhood hometown. The place I hoped that I would never see again ever since my aunt and uncle kicked me out of the house.

“Okay so, where exactly do you want to go first?” asked Deacy.

“Can we drop by the flower shop? Go down this street and at the third stoplight, take a right.” I told him the directions and Deacy willingly followed. Once we reached the stoplight and Deacy made the right, I told him to go straight till we reached Lennon Dr. to the left, then another right until finally we reached Ms. Viola’s flower shop and bouquet.

“Any reason why we’re here first love?” asked Brian.

“All will be explained soon enough. For now just stay in the car. I’ll take care of everything here.” Roger then opened his door and got out first before helping me out and then hopping right back inside the car. I walked towards the shop and took a deep breath in before exhaling out and finally entering the flower shop.

And boy it hadn’t changed a bit. Various of flowers and plants hung and were displayed everywhere. Bags of fertilized soil were packed up in the corner of the shop inside some containment shelves. And there at the front desk with her now long graying hair was Ms. Viola’s.

“How can I help—(y/n)? Little (y/n) (l/n)?”

“Hey Ms. Viola, long time no see huh?”

“Oh honey come over here and give us a kiss.” I walked over to her and she gave me a big hug and a kiss. “Oh you’ve gotten so big since I last saw you, how have you been?”

“I’ve been—okay. I’m sorry I hadn’t visited the shop lately.”

“I know honey, Mr. Issacs told me what your uncle and aunt did. I never did trust them, but never did I think they’d do something like that to you.”

“Yeah well they’re radical thinkers, only want the most money and to be the perfections of high society.” I bluntly stated.

“So—the usual arrangements?”

“Yeah.” She nodded and then prepped my usual bouquet of yellow carnations and lilies. “The usual payment?”

“Actually, this one’s on me.”

“No I—I couldn’t do that to you.”

“(Y/n) it’s been years since I’ve seen your face in this town. Please take the offer and think nothing else of it. Next time you come around, you can pay me then.” I softly smiled and said.

“Thank you.” I nodded goodbye to her and she waved bye to me as I left the shop. Freddie opened the door for me and I came inside.

“Oh darling yellow carnations. What’s the occasion?” asked Freddie as he took one of the carnations out of the bouquet and admired it.

“Head back the same way we came but instead take the left at the second light. And head on down to Hoover St.” I simply said. Deacy nodded and proceeded to drive on ahead. About 10 minutes later we finally arrived at our destination.

GLENFIELD PUBLIC CEMETARY.

“Uhh (y/n)?” Brian started.

“Brian don’t.” Roger snapped firmly. He then opened his door once again and helped me out of the car. Deacy shut off the engine and soon the rest of the guys followed and I led them inside the cemetery.

We walked along the cobbled stone path further and further passing grave after grave till finally I saw the two familiar graves standing side by side each other pass the old willow tree. I walked up first wiped the leaves away from the tombstones that had my parent’s named engraved in plaques. Then I set the lilies down by my mother’s grave and the yellow carnations on top of my father’s.

“(Y/n) darling, are—are you okay?” Freddie asked concernedly.

“The real reason why I brought you guys all the way here is so that I could tell you the real truth about the girl you’ve allowed in your circle.” I stood up and walked behind the two gravestones and said. “Queen, This was my mum (m/n) (l/n) and my dad (f/n) (m/n) (l/n). They both died in a car accident one rainy night on April 16th, 1970.”

At that confession, all but Roger were stunned and I saw that familiar look of sympathy shining through their eyes.

“(Y/n) I—I’m so sorry. Had I know that—” Brian said.

“But you didn’t. So there’s nothing you need to apologize for Bri. I—didn’t want any of you guys to know where I came from. What my life has been like, but now—after what happened last week I’m ready.” At that point Roger came towards me and took my hand in his and gave it a gentle and comforting squeeze.

“You mean the incident with Paul?” asked Deacy.

“Yes. What I’m sure roger probably expressed his anger about towards Paul, it—it was true.”

“So—”

“Guys let her fully explain. Don’t interrupt her, it’s hard enough to let her relive it as it is.” Roger spoke defensively.

“It’s okay Roger. No need to get hissy with them.” I assured him as I stroked the back of his hand with my thumb trying to relieve him of his anger. “My parents were—the kindest, most strong people I ever knew. They loved music so much that they themselves tried to make it big. But all they could afford was pub gigs and small gigs at hospitals or openings. When they had me they—kept up their work but of course it didn’t always pay the bills, so they had to work real jobs at either a coffee shop, restaurant or the library. Well…..when I was 8 years old, they went for a drive to their first official gig they hadn’t had in years since I was probably 4-5 years old. It…..was pouring down so hard they could barely see the road and they…..didn’t make it to the hospital to be saved. They were pronounced DOA.”

I took a shaky breath in as I tried to keep the tears at bay until I got through everything.

“After the funeral, I was taken into the custody of my aunt Johanna, my mum’s older sister, and uncle Graham. And they—were the absolute worst people to ever walk the planet. Every day was a living hell. They verbally abused me, told me that I was worthless and that I would never amount to anything. Even when I thought I had succeeded like graduating secondary school with a 3.50 average, they still saw me as a failure because I didn’t graduate as Valedictorian or get a straight up 4.00 with the highest level of my grade. But the worst thing was when I told them what I planned on studying at University……I……they kicked me out.”

“They what?!” all three of them chorused out.

“When I said I wanted to study music, they were beyond pissed. We fought for hours and hours on end till it was dark. Then next thing I knew, my uncle packed all my things and tossed them out before he and aunt Johanna both said ‘get out of our lives you witless bitch! And never do we want to see your face again!’. So I—bought myself a ticket and came all the way up to London and struggled to find a housing. I had no support from them throughout my first year of university. But then again I never wanted their help even if they offered. But for nine years I struggled with depression and self-confidence because of everything they’ve said to me for over a decade of living with them.”

I don’t know when exactly it must’ve started, but I felt tears dripping down my face. I wiped them away from my face and held in a sob. That was until I felt Roger bring me close to him, I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried myself into his chest.

“Then last week Paul had to reopen those wounds when he went through her files and somehow got her aunt’s and uncle’s phone number and told them about this internship.” Roger explained as he rubbed my arm comfortingly.

“That son of a—” Brian started out with a huff.

“Next time I see him I’ll wrangle his neck with my bass strap.” Threatened Deacy.

“Darling we are so sorry. I’ll talk to Paul about it tomorrow when we get back into the studio.”

“It’s alright guys.” I sniffled.

“Are you sure love?” asked Deacy.

“Yes.” I then gently got out of Roger’s embrace and wiped my tears away and took a few deep breaths. “But can I ask something of you four?”

“Yeah. Name it poppet.” Said Brian.

“For years not only did I have to deal with the abuse from my aunt and uncle, I also had to deal with my friends and random strangers giving me sympathy. Everywhere I went, they always went ‘oh there’s poor (y/n). Treat her specially, poor dear lost her parents she did’. After a while I got sick of it. That’s why I didn’t want you guys to know because I refused to be given sympathy when they don’t know how I feel. So please guys, if any of you fuss about me or look at me differently, or worse of all give me more sympathy then you’re just wasting your time. Because all I want to do is help you guys make your music with the time I have for this internship.”

They nodded in agreement.

“Done.” Freddie said.

“And—even though you said you don’t want to be given sympathy, can we—still give you a hug?” asked Roger. I smiled and said.

“From you guys? Anytime.” And it was then the guys came up to me and had me in the middle of a group hug.

Being surrounded by warmth, love and support from 4 rock gods was something I never thought I would happen to me, but I’m honored they were and are willing to give me the support and love I needed.

Feeling their hands gently ruffle or pat my head, rub my shoulder and back, and feeling the occasional kiss or two.

“I love you guys.” I said as I smiled and a tear of happiness fell from the corner of my eye.

“We love you too (y/n). You’ve become more than an intern or helper to us, you’re family now. And we always protect our family.” Brian said. I looked up at him and said.

“You mean that?”

“If you’d like to be a part of it, we won’t question it. Even after the internship is over, we’ll still need you.”

“Brian I—nothing would make me even happier.” He pressed his forehead against mine, nuzzling our noses together in a gentle Eskimo kiss.

After being in the group hug for what felt like forever I was then surprised to see Freddie kneel down before my parent’s grave and he said.

“(F/n), (M/n), my darlings, you don’t have to worry about your little girl anymore.”

“You’ve done your best to watch over her, but now you both no longer need to worry. Because now we’re here.” Roger continued for Freddie as he now knelt down beside him, specifically kneeling before my father’s grave.

“You both raised an incredible daughter. And I know you both must be very, very, very proud of the woman she’s become.” Said Deacy as he knelt on the other side of Freddie. Then Brian knelt beside Deacy and he finished.

“You both can rest easy now. We can look after your daughter, if you’ll allow us. She’s—” he looked right up at me and softly smiled as he took my hand in his. “She’s become more to Queen than we could possibly imagine. You both have fussed over her long enough, allow us to continue that in your stand.”

I smiled and shook my head as the tears once again fell down my face. I then knelt down between the two guitarists of Queen and as they both rubbed my back comfortingly, I choked out.

“I’m okay now mum and dad……You can trust these boys. They may seem crazy but—I love them. You both can rest in peace knowing I’ll be okay.” The soft autumn wind blew through our hairs gently and I know it sounds crazy but I swear I thought I heard my mum and dad’s whispers along the wind saying.

Thank you Queen.

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