#also the gay tension raising around them like PLEASE- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tohokuu · 1 year

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jjk men zipping up your dress

REBLOG MY WORK.

warnings : suggestive, light fluff, tension

a/n : something i did to my girl bestfriend the other day and it made me gay. also i didnt k is what to call this so… the name is misleading but 🧍🏽‍♀️

GOJO

“satoruuuu, can you please help me?” you whines prettily. gojo straightened up, looking at you away from the netflix tv show that kept him occupied.

“yeah. what’s up, baby?” he asked. you came closer, tiny little crop to sticking to your skin while the material of your jeans hugged your hips a little too tightly.

“i think i got them a size too small, baby. they won’t fit and i don’t wanna wear any other jeans with this top.”

gojo motioned you forward, leaning over to work his thin, long fingers around the buttons of your jeans.

these weren’t regular jeans. they were the ones with four buttons as a replacement for your zipper.

your panties peaked from underneath, if they could be even called that. you wore your thong out of your jeans today, showing off the cute dior imprint on the sides.

“toru, hurry up. i’m getting late!” you whined. gojo ignored your protest, squeezing your ass closer to him to make it fit inside your jeans.

“babe, if it wasn’t for your ass, this would’ve gone in perfectly ya know?” you rolled your eyes. fingers slowly trailing into his white hair, you tugged lightly while he worked four buttons through each hole.

you leaned back, getting annoyed at how long he was taking. you swung your hips side to side, a small habit when you felt bored.

but you were knocked out of your gaze when gojo pulled you roughly by the belt loop. you heard a thread snap and you looked down in shock.

his blue cerulean eyes stared up at you, blown wide open with lust and dominance.

“stop. moving.” he repeated.

you listened to him. not moving another inch as he pulled you closer using a finger hooked around a belt hoop.

TOJI

“tojiiiii, can you get this for me?” you said as you went up to your boyfriend. you turned around, showing him the extremely backless dress you wore. he raised his eyebrow, smiling to himself.

“you goin’ somewhere, pretty?” he asked. you nodded your head.

“i’m going out with shoko and utahime.” you chirped.

“mmm, dressed like this? coulda thought you was out to fuck other guys.”

his comment left a sour taste in your mouth. pulling away, you looked at him sadly, lip a little wobbly because how could he think of you like that?

he smirked at your distressed expression.

“i’m only messin’ wit ya.” you crossed your arms over your chest, still mad.

but toji knew how to make it right. he grabbed each wrist, pulling your arms around his neck and lifting your chin up so you could look up at him.

“look at me, babygirl.” he spoke in his husky voice.

you looked up, eyebrows still furrowed.

“you’re so fuckin’ cute with that face, ya know that? thinkin’ that it’ll really make a difference at all.” he crooned.

“shut up, toji. it wasn’t funny.”

“i think it was, babydoll.” he leaned in to your neck, pressing soft kisses around the column of your neck, right below your ear. you found it difficult to not gasp, breathing a little heavier as you tried to push at his shoulders.

toji wrapped his hands around the silky thread that ran across the span of your back, tugging it tightly while pulling you against his chest.

you gasped.

“ ‘m not done yet, where you think you’re goin’?” the deep timbre of his voice made your thighs press together, trying to hold in a squeak.

you felt your dress stick to your body tighter and together until a small snap was heard and your dress was all good to go.

toji pulled away, raising an eyebrow at your now pushed up tits.

he flicked your forehead softly, walking away to go back to whatever he was doing.

SUKUNA

“kuna, how do you do this??” you asked.

you walked up to him, almost tripping in the cloth that pooled around you.

he looked down from his throne, brows squinting as he saw your tiny form in a haori that was much too large for you.

he sighed..

“why are you wearing my haori, you bumbling fool?”

you tilted your head, looking down at the cloth that was wrapped around you, engulfing you in linens and silks.

“what?” you chittered.

“what exactly are you trying to achieve, brat?” his voice low and venomous.

“i just wanted to look pretty in a kimono.” you cried.

“well, that isn’t a kimono, for starters.” he sighed, watching your eyes tear up a little at the little mistake you had made.

within seconds, he appeared before you, a deep red kimono in hand.

his calloused hands pulled down his haori, exposing your shoulders to him. you blushed now, feeling more than exposed.

“k-kuna, what are you doing?” you asked.

“shut up. i’m aiding you.”

you kept quiet, fidgeting around a little until he raised his eyebrow at you, silently telling you to stop moving.

the haori was long gone and your body was naked and bare before him. he didn’t dare touch you slyly, though. his hands only grazed where needed and his eyes never left the fabric, not daring to look at anything he wasn’t supposed to.

his hands pulled the kimono taught around you, fixing it around your shoulders and then taking the obi to wrap around.

“life your arms.”

you did as told, lifting your arms and making a T-pose.

he worked the obi around you neatly, finishing off with a small brush to your side and a step back to admire his work.

“you look… presentable.” as he cringed.

you knew he just meant that you looked beautiful.

GETO

your roommate was the only available help you currently had. it was an awkward situation you got yourself stuck into.

“hey uhh, geto, can you please uhh zip this up?” you asked meekly.

he got up quickly, coming around so you could see each other in the mirror. you moved your hair to the side so it wouldn’t get stuck in the zipper.

he inhaled sharply, staring at the tramp stamp at the end of your back. it was cute, he thought.

he pulled your body back roughly, “sorry, my bad.” he wasn’t sorry.

you nodded, letting him carry on with the annoying zipper that just wouldn’t go up. his cold hands touched your back, making you arch away from him.

“sorry.” once again, he was not sorry in the slightest.

his heavy fingers played with the zipper a bit, trying to even it out so it could move up and down smoothly. a part of him could feel in his chest that you did this on purpose.

you probably wanted him to lay his plush lips along the juncture of your neck, kissing the skin and marring it with reminders of him.

but he pushed those thoughts away, reaching all the way down to where the waistband of your panties were, playing around with the zipper until it finally came up.

“mmm, there you go.” he said, but not before giving you a look through the mirror that made you regret not grabbing and kissing him.

CHOSO

you decided to head to the beach with your boyfriend today. you were tired and figured you needed a day off before getting back to work.

you packed your skimpiest bikini that left little to the imagination and left for a two hour beach drive.

things would’ve gone smoothly until the elastic on your swimsuit snapped.

you rushed across the sand, running to your boyfriend.

“choso, choso, my swimsuit snapped!” you whisper shouted.

he got to work quickly, putting a hand on your waist to pull your back against him. something about how rushed his actions were did something to you. a fire brewed in your belly as you thought that other people could see how close he was standing next to you, more than half naked while your tits almost flew out of your swimsuit.

“mm, maybe i’ll have gojo rent a private beach for us.” choso hummed behind you.

“why’s that?” you asked.

“so i can fuck you completely naked on the beach, obviously.”

your face turned red. “choso!” you shouted. he chuckled behind you, bending down to kiss at your neck. he bit the skin lightly, nipping just enough for you to let a small moan out.

“mmm, you’re not ashamed that others could hear, princess?” you shook your head, knowing he’d find it cute if you tried to lie.

“i should just untie this thing and fuck you right here.”

NANAMI

you were excited to wear a ball gown today. it was the first ball you were attending as kento had been invited and you were his date.

he purchased a beautiful white gown with golden accents. “for you.” he had left it on your bed with a note asking you to come down once you were done getting ready.

but if only it were that easy to wear a ball gown…

the top was a corset and you honestly had no idea how to even wear a corset. you whined as your arms got tired and you gave up trying to put this damn thing on.

there was a knock at your door.

“y/n, what’s going on?”

it was nanami. you felt a little hot. your boobs and your back was nearly out and he was the only one who could help with this current dilemma of yours.

you shook the thoughts from your head, reaching forward to open the door to let him in.

he gasped.

“oh.”

he spoke. you cringed, letting yourself curl inwards. “do i truly look that bad?” you asked.

nanami shook his head. “not in the slightest, but darling what’s going on with the back of the dress?”

you sighed, “i don’t know how to wear a corset.”

he chuckled, walking behind you and facing you in the mirror.

there was something intimate about this moment.

he used his front to push you straight against the dressing table, your mouth letting out a gasp. he pushed you down by the shoulder, acting calm and collected while your panties gained an extra layer of wetness.

you watched him in the mirror as he wrapped his hands over and over the bands of the corset until he finally pulled back really tight.

you felt the wind knock out of your legs, but you weren’t sure for which reason.

was it the lack of rooms your lungs had or how tight you were against nanami’s back?

he chuckled, tying the strings at the bottom of your waist, pulling away with just a gentle kiss on your temple like he wasn’t just in perfect position to fuck you.

REBLOG MY WORK.

taglist form.

©️ tohokuu. do not steal or plagiarize.

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steddiealltheway · 2 years

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After Eddie comes out to the party, Steve starts noticeably avoiding him. Eddie is a little hurt, but he knows homophobia runs deep in Hawkins, and he couldn’t expect everyone to accept him.

But it still bothers him that whenever they happen to be in the same room together - no thanks to Dustin - Eddie can feel Steve staring at him. As soon as he tries to look back, Steve is hastily looking away. Eddie almost announces, “You can’t become gay from eye contact.” But he doesn’t want to raise the obvious tension in the room.

Dustin starts to become bothered that his two older male friends aren’t getting along. He promises Eddie that Steve isn’t homophobic, and he does like him. But that’s definitely untrue based on the way Steve jumps when he sees Eddie and tries to stand on the opposite side of whatever room they’re in.

One afternoon, Dustin is clearly on edge about to snap and no one in the party can get him to calm down. Eddie and Steve don’t even bother to correct his tone because they’re both seemingly afraid of what will happen.

Dustin asks for everyone to sit around the table but tells Steve to grab something for him. He reluctantly agrees and goes into the other room, and while he’s gone, for some reason, Dustin doesn’t let anyone sit next to Eddie, so the only seat left when Steve comes in the room is the one to Eddie’s right. “Sit down,” Dustin demands.

Steve’s eyes dart around and finally land on the only empty chair. Eddie is sure that there is no way he can get out of this. But then, he finally settles his back again the wall saying, “I’m more comfortable standing.”

Then Dustin snaps. He slams his hands on the table. “Steve. Eddie. Come with me!”

Everyone else at the table start whispering to each other, but Eddie finds Max to be smirking at him for whatever reason. Eddie groans and gets out of his chair at the exact time that Steve is passing by. The other boy freezes and Eddie dramatically bows and gestures for him to go in front of him. He swears Steve looks like he’s also about to burst especially now that his face looks like a tomato.

Steve obliges and rushes off towards Dustin. Eddie follows at a slower pace, letting his eyes linger lower than they should.

They stop at the end of a hallway and Dustin gestures toward a walk-in closet. Eddie tries to ignore the irony. Steve puts his hands on his hips and raises his eyebrows. “You going to tell us what you need, Henderson?”

Dustin huffs, “There’s something in the back that I can’t reach. Please grab it for me. Both of you!”

Eddie and Steve both stare at Dustin.

“It’s really heavy,” Dustin explains.

Steve sighs and reluctantly opens the door and walks in, and Eddie follows close behind. “This is what got your panties in a twist?” Eddie asks Dustin, being careful not to touch Steve although the closet is smaller than he thought.

Instead of an answer, the door slams shut behind them, surround them in darkness. Then, there’s the click of a lock.

“Dustin!”

“Son of a bitch!”

The two scramble towards the door and Eddie starts twisting the handle and slamming his hand against the door. Steve, in his haste to get to the door, accidentally presses his entire body against Eddie’s. The sudden body warmth is quickly gone.

“I’m not letting you out until you solve whatever shit is going on between you two! Also, I turned the lock around yesterday, and there’s no way to pick it. I’ll be back!”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Henderson!” Steve shouts but he gets no response.

Silence surrounds them for a few awkward moments.

“Stuck in the closet again,” Eddie jokes.

Steve doesn’t respond.

Eddie figures he has nothing to lose. “I get it, man. You’re uncomfortable with me being gay, I’m used to homophobes by now, but for Dustin and the other kids’ sake can you try to act somewhat normal?”

Silence fills the closet. A hand finds its way onto Eddie’s shoulder causing him to jump, but then there’s a hand on both his shoulders.

“I’m not homophobic, man,” Steve insists while being the closest he’s been to Eddie in weeks. Eddie swallows hard. His eyes start adjusting to the dark enough to see how close Steve’s face is to his. “I just…”

“You just what?”

Steve’s hands squeeze Eddie’s shoulder probably unconsciously. “I just don’t know how to act around you anymore.”

“The same as you did before.”

“But things aren’t the same!” Steve’s voice raises. Then he immediately quiets down. “Things aren’t the same.”

Eddie’s hands flex. He wants to fiddle with his rings but he’s pretty sure Steve is so close that his body would block the movement. “Why aren’t they the same?” Eddie asks instead.

“Can being gay be contagious?” Steve blurts out.

Eddie takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know what the fuck to say to that.

Steve finally lets go of Eddie’s shoulders. “Ever since you came out, I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be gay. And every time you’re close it’s like… I want… I want…” Steve takes a deep breath, and Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck is happening. “I want to kiss you! I don’t know why. I’m not gay. But I just… want… that,” Steve finishes lamely.

Eddie tries to reply, but Steve cuts him off. “Then, I noticed that there are other guys that I wouldn’t mind… you know. Like Tom Cruise! And Tim Cury in Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

“You watched Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

“But I like girls! And boobies! I love boobies. But then…” Steve sighs.

Eddie takes a moment and carefully wracks his brain. “Do you know what bisexuality is?”

“Hm?”

Eddie fidgets with his rings. “It’s when you like girls and boys.”

“Oh,” Steve says then takes a while to think. “So, you’re bisex…?”

“Bisexual,” Eddie fills in. “And no. I’m gay, but… maybe you’re bisexual.”

Silence fills the closet once again, and now Steve is thinking even harder. Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

Steve breaks the silence. “How do I know if I don’t kiss a guy?”

Eddie hesitates then whispers, “Do you want to?”

He can hear and almost see Steve try to make his way towards him. He suddenly jerks back, and his hand reaches up.

Light floods the closet. Eddie sees the light that was in the middle of the closet the whole time with Steve’s hand on the chain. He feels slightly like an idiot for not thinking about it sooner, but also there are more important things happening at the moment. Like Steve approaching him with slightly wide eyes and a flush on his cheek.

Steve stops in front of Eddie and nods.

“What do you want, Steve?”

Steve’s eye flicker down to Eddie’s lips.

“You’ve got to tell me,” Eddie whispers.

Steve swallows and turns even more red. “I want to kiss you.”

Eddie immediately closes the distance between them and presses his lips against Steve’s. It takes a moment, but then Steve relaxes into the kiss and begins kissing back. When they part for air Steve says, “I think I’m bisexual.”

“You think?” is all Eddie says before pushing Steve back against the shelves in the closet and kissing him again. Steve groans and runs his hands through Eddie’s hair, raking his nails against his scalp.

“You two better not be fighti- OH MY GOD!”

The two boys look towards the now open door where Dustin is standing with his mouth gaping open. Before they can respond, Dustin is running away yelling to everyone else, “They’re not fighting, they’re making out!”

Steve groans and rests his forehead on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie softly chuckles and says, “Come on, time to face the music.” Steve nods but holds Eddie back by his wrist when he tries to leave.

“Hey,” Steve says, eyes looking anywhere but at Eddie, “Do you want to do that again something? Maybe. I don’t know uh...”

“A date?” Eddie hopes.

Steve looks at Eddie and his lips quirk up into a small smile. “Yeah. A date.”

Eddie tries to hide his smile as he replies, “I’d like that.”

They both stare at each other for a moment, but then Eddie bows and signals for Steve to leave the closet first. The other boy laughs and grabs Eddie’s hand leading the way to where all the kids have strangely lined up.

“What a way to come out of the closet,” Eddie jokes.

Everyone groans, but at least Steve squeezes his hand.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #steddie fic

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salamanderinspace · 1 year

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10 Best Ship Pairings in the New Pokemon Game

Here's ten pairings of named NPCs in Pokemon Scarlet / Violet, with some prompts and headcanons on what might make a good story for each! This post is rated M (but like, a softer, milder M) and will have some minor spoilers. No one is being shipped with a pokemon and there are no adult/minor relationships on this list (I think? It's hard to know some peoples' ages.)

Eri / Carmen - These two are obviously very close. Carmen is the only one who can talk Eri down and yet is also willing to put her body inbetween danger and her leader. It's adorable! They seem to be in the 16-18 range but I can see them getting married and running a business together and raising a whole family of baby Riolu. It might not be all sunshine and rainbows though--they do have a fraught backstory which would be interesting to explore.

Arven / Katy - They share a real passion for food! Katy appears to be a couple years older, which is fine, because Arven clearly needs a bit of mothering to be his best self. With Mabostiff in their supporting cast, these two cooking anime protags could share a fluffy romance that would be a delight to read about.

Raifort / Saguaro - He gets pegged. Ok, I'll expand on that. These are, like Barbie and Ken, two people who are so gender conforming that they tumble right over the bar into queer camp. Saguaro talks about struggling with the performativity of his masculinity, and I can see him wanting to experiment with a (incredibly gorgeous) strong woman like Raifort. She's very in control of her classroom, isn't she? Now, the way people act outside the bedroom is not necessarily indicative of the way they act in intimate moments. However, consider: he gets pegged. Argument made.

Geeta / Nemona - Big "notice me sempai" vibes between these two. Nemona is clearly at the end of her education, probably around 17-18 years old, and Geeta's face and frame puts her in her twenties--though her butch confidence and sharp fashion sense maybe makes her seem older. At any rate, the tension is there! A real power couple.

Mela / Iono - A crack ship in that they don't interact in canon, however, these two would be absolutely perfect for each other. Mela's snarky attitude would interact perfectly with Iono's cheerful personna and SPARK. They share off-the wall fashion styles and high energy combat styles, each prefering to be in charge of their own little realm. The fights would be epic. The make-ups would sizzle.

Clavell / Rika - I know what you're thinking. "Rika is clearly a butch lesbian." You are correct. This isn't about attraction and it certainly isn't about love or romance. It's about two people in positions of authority who clearly enjoy power and structure. It's about mind games and taking on different roles. It's dark and it's cruel and no one needs to know (except me. I need to know everything.)

Tulip / Dendra - Dendra lost a bet and now has to do whatever Tulip wants. This is classic fanfic trope territory. Please, I beg you.

Penny / Cassiopeia - Without getting too much into story spoilers, there is potential for something intricate and dark in this pairing, a sort of psychological exploration. Penny is always on her own and she needs someone who understands her. She can be nervous where Cassiopeia is decisive. And they have a lot in common. There's potential for love, hate, angst, and maybe even peace. Someday.

Hassel / Brassius - Two high drama art-gays who get overly emotional about EVERYTHING. If you haven't been through all the classes yet, I suggest doing so--these two have a passionate friendship and are practically proclaiming love in the scene they share. They inspire and aggravate each other. It's beautiful.

Jacq / Grusha - They don't have a ton in common except for being around the same age, being successful, and being underexplored in the story. I suspect Jacq is the one who gives you the Shiny Charm (not there yet, but I'm guessing) and I can see Grusha being interested in that. And I like the snowy aesthetic. If I was writing it, it'd be set at Christmas. <3

#pokemon scarvi #pokemon sv #pokemon scarlet violet #eri x carmen #arven #nemona #headcanons #prompts #meta

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fragileizywriting · 1 year

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dog i cannot explain to you what this is. at all. this night was a blur and somehow i ended up writing a little drabble for this idea we came up with in the ot3 server, and it's not done enough for me to put on ao3 but i want to go to bed and i still want to send it to them so here it is.

cw: mommy kink, next-door-neighbor and milf marinette, university students luka / adrien living off campus, ot3

“You two know I don’t mind homosexuality— oh, Christ, I sound like a grandmother. Please, no, let me explain”—it’s not as if they exactly have a choice, not with the way she raises a single finger to shush them both as if they were about to leap for her throats for the potentially upsetting comment—“I adore you both. I am very much pro-sex underneath our roofs, I’m a—”

“—Ally?” Adrien offers.

“God, no. A bisexual,” she continues, cool as a cucumber, “and I’ve always been ever since I was young enough to figure out that fingering girls in the bathroom at school was like heaven. I have nothing against gay sex and I never have, and I do not ever want my boys to think they’re not allowed to fuck.”

The silence settles again. Luka tries not to look at her fingers, and tries not to wonder how many times they’ve been in someone. He’s doing a shit job. His cock is far too interested to stop.

“But I just can’t let you two fuck without condoms,” she sighs at the two of them, putting her hands on her thick hips. The two of them shrink in their spots, shying away at being chided. “I want my boys healthy.”

“Marinette—”

“Healthy,” she reiterates, almost begging.

They’re on their lovingly used— he refuses to call it old— couch, each trying to keep modest with a single couch pillow over their crotch and a haphazard, itchy throw blanket over them both. Luka knows that the pillow wouldn’t have been enough for Adrien, who seems to move and itch and scratch the fabric all over in an attempt to have a reason to take it off and deliver some bullshit line about how Marinette deserves to see him naked.

Perhaps she’ll see me and think I’m delectable, Adrien always attempts to reason with him. Look at me. Who could resist?

That blanket is necessary. For his sanity and for Marinette’s… eyes. Adrien is a handful, though Marinette’s never not been able to handle him, but this is uncharted territory. Spare glances to one another and sexual tension aside.

She’s twenty years older than us, Luka keeps telling his boyfriend.

To which Adrien always answers back: Come on. Live a little. What other twenty-two year olds can claim they scored their next door neighbor who’s also a literal MILF?

God, how he wants to agree. He’s got it just as bad, though he reasons he’s doing a much better job at hiding it; meanwhile if Marinette wants Adrien to help her with chores around her apartment, Adrien’s at the door already scrabbling for the door handle in order to cross the hall and get into her space. If she calls him Kitty-cat, he’s purring for her.

Adrien is a lost cause when it comes to her. At least Luka hides his mommy kink, but his boyfriend is impossible to reason with when it comes to tits. Marinette’s tits.

Maybe Luka can somehow convince her to turn away. Maybe Luka can convince her to go back into the kitchen where she was mere minutes ago while he’d had Adrien at the bathroom counter— they hadn’t heard her walk into their own apartment, thinking that they didn’t have any guests— fruitlessly calling out their names in an attempt to get their attention. A left-alone Marinette is a dangerous one, and while him and Adrien have always known, they’ve both definitely learned their lesson tonight. The poor woman was just looking to tell them she’d made them dinner and was dropping it off…

Maybe he can stage an emergency.

He was checking my dick, Luka’s mind first comes up with. Or, rather, we just needed to make sure that his ass was in order. He’d complained that he’d lost feeling…

Not working. But it’s better than just staring at her in the same way puppies or kittens do when they’re completely unsure on how to navigate the room. Even sweat drying against the nape of his neck, with his balls aching and begging to be soothed and a dick that is harder than granite while staring at her cleavage, the most uncomfortable thing is how her eyes glitter at them both. He imagines a paddle in her hand, or at least a firm scolding with a lot of ass slapping, scolding them for misbehaving. Maybe Adrien’s imagining it too, though more… sexually… because Adrien’s breath hitches.

They’re screwed.

The more she purses her lips— even bothers to pull on a single lock of hair that she has in that high ponytail fitting for a mother who’s been in the kitchen all night— it makes more and more sense why Adrien’s fingers are moving quicker and quicker on the fabric. Thank god for this blanket.

She breaks the silence. “Also, you’ll fart come bubbles out of your ass if you don’t use a condom.”

Luka does his best not to get whiplash. “Huh?”

“Come bubbles?” she narrows his eyes when he refuses to recognize what she’s saying. She sits herself down on their ottoman, and Luka does his absolute best not to watch that poor little stool flatten and warp underneath such an ass. “You’ve never had come leak out of your ass? It’s so uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

Luka is so brave. He’s the bravest man in the world.

“I remember when I had my first orgy back when I was younger and it happened to me the first time. I was so miserable on that toilet, come dripping out of me like a damp rag.”

“How younger?” Adrien blurts out.

“Good question. I can’t remember where my kid was left with, if I’d left him at his grandma’s, or…” She’s prone to doing this a lot. She seems to misplace her kid everywhere, this poor man. Luka’s never met him, but feels sympathy. There’s a bit of an airyness to Marinette. Something ditzy. It goes with her personality and the way she expresses herself: lots of pink, and elegant little jewelry, like this set she’s wearing now. A simple v-neck dress that gathers and flows at her ankles in an attempt to be summery even though nights in their city dip into chilly weather, and a dazzling little gold necklace with her favorite bead that has a stick figure of a little boy. No shoes on as she digs her feet into their rug, anklets jingling as she bounces all of her weight on her toes, because even though they don’t have that shoe rule in their apartment, she does it anyway.

“Oh, I remember! I didn’t have a baby at the time, because it was my first true sex experience. Everything else was… nothing compared to this.”

Luka does the quickest math he’s ever been able to do. “Oh. Nineteen… eighty seven?”

“Not sure. I don’t think it was even eighty five, though. It certainly felt younger.”

He blanches. That’s. That’s not even legal. “You went to an orgy without being of age?” he asks. It’s a pathetic little squeak, really. He’s still dealing with his hard-on.

“Well, it was the eighties,” she lobbies. Side-eyeing him when she realizes he knows her birth year. “Seventeen and all. Anyway. Where was I?” Finding her point again, she trudges forward. “Ah, right! Come bubbles.”

Adrien squirms. “Marinette, I would really love to have this conversation, I would, I of all people know the importance of sex education, but we—”

“—I really can’t have you two fucking without a condom.” She waves Adrien off. “You know what come bubbles are, don’t you, baby?”

He has the audacity to narrow his eyes. “Why are you asking me and not Luka?”

“Well, I… it’s—”

“Do you think I’m always getting fucked?” Adrien asks honestly, a smile sliding onto his face. “Because I assure you, I like fucking people.”

“Uhm.” Marinette pinks. She has freckles along with age lines on her face, and it’s a symphony of beauty as she blushes. It’s hard to find her doing it, somehow always keeping her cool even when she makes it as far as coming across them fucking each other silly in their private bathroom in their private apartment, but now the reality seems to be dawning on her.

There are two young naked men staring at her under a scratchy blanket.

She found them fucking.

She’d brought them dinner as usual, only to find them like this. Distantly, he wonders if the dinner is actually an offering of peace after she’d woken them up the previous week during finals with her Nutribullet and devastatingly thin walls that had Adrien knocking on her door and begging for reprieve. They’d sent their valiant soldier. She’d been adamant about him trying her new spinach-kale delight. Adrien had promptly come back home and decided that perhaps god was in fact found in morning smoothies, something starstruck and horny on his face. Mumbling something about being ordered to drink from her favorite glass straw, Adrien had only been able to relay the bare bones about how apologetic she was, before burying his face in Luka’s chest, talking about how even at six in the morning Marinette wears lipstick.

Adrien adores her lipstick. Just as much as he adores getting his ass railed in the bathroom, which was what Luka was attempting to do before this divine intervention.

“Well I’m sure you do, Kitty-cat,” she murmurs. “But you’re the one I found bottoming, baby. Without a condom. Were you going to come inside?”

“He usually does.”

“How do you deal with the come afterwards?”

Luka wants to die as Adrien answers: “Felching.”

“Oh,” Marinette answers. Wisely. Smartly. Wide lips made smaller. “I guess you can’t get come bubbles like that, huh?”

And here’s where Luka has to nip Adrien’s next sentence in the bud before it takes root. He knows that face. “Would you like me to prove how effective it is in—”

“—Marinette, we really don’t need the condoms,” Luka tries.

“Shoot,” she sighs, as if she hasn’t heard them. Biting a corner of her nail as she looks the two of them over like she’s trying to tell them apart. “I’d give you mine if I had any, but ever since I got my tubes tied, I haven’t needed them.”

Luka’s hand goes flying onto Adrien’s chest before he tries jumping off the sofa and pulling away the blanket from his dick.

#speakizys #for lack of a good tagging system i'll tag this as:#demon lovin #though it is not #this is NOT demon lovin but it's the ot3. so

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bacchicly · 2 years

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I have seen a few posts lately which suggest it is problematic that the Modern Romance Industry / Genre label themselves as subversive ... and I 100% agree with the issues being highlighted around the fact that the content produced and promoted by the industry is problematic.

And like most industries - I am confident there is a need for more diversity across all areas of the industry...from authors, to editors, to execs... And like most industries which rely on selling creative works for profit, the Romance Industry / Genre is bound to encounter similar tensions around the fact that "quality work" or "revolutionary work" is not generally an "easy sell".

HOWEVER...

...stepping away from thinking specifically about Romance as an Industry / Genre... as I thought about the question of "what qualifies as subversive"...I kept banging up against something that I think sometimes gets lost in discussions by activists...which is:

I believe strongly that it is super important to acknowledge that subversiveness occurs along a spectrum and that to enact change there needs to be inputs (e.g. books, art, television, courses, conversations, signage, acts of rebellion, political movements, speeches, clothing, food, events, private acts, public acts etc) which span the range of what can be classified as subversive.

Yes, riots and protests and marches are extremely important - but so are the things that slowly over time reach the hearts and minds of people.

To be effective, a movement needs both types of actions and while we need to push for better across all arenas - the subtle stuff can and should happen simultaneously with the bigger conversations and the more idealistic actions.

Not everyone can do the big thing or the perfect thing - but most of us can do small things or imperfect things - and they can be just as important.

In fact, I would argue that if we let "the perfect be the enemy of the good" we on the left will be removing some extremely persuasive and effective weapons from the arsenal of promoting the changes we want to see in the world.

As a (mostly former 🙄) very "all or nothing" person - I can't tell you how many times I have chosen to do or say nothing because what I could do or offer wasn't perfect or enough... and where did that get things? Nowhere.

So now I do what I can as best as I can... and trust that what I do has a place in the landscape of promoting the change I want in the world.

I risk being imperfect and thus am - but as a result am doing much more than if I did nothing... this is true of you too.

Please be gentle with yourself and others.

Little actions matter.

Big actions matter.

....but you as an individual likely can only do one or the other in any given moment - you cannot (no matter how much our brains try to convince us otherwise) fight every battle or get everything perfect... so we each need to pick our battles... and sometimes? You need and deserve to step away and recharge and just be. You need to take care of you and your loved ones. And that is ENOUGH.

So how does this apply to the whole the "Romance Industry / Genre is problematic" question...

I am glad and thankful that some people are doing the hard work of calling out the industry and genre as a whole. It absolutely needs to be done...

...but there also needs to be recognition of those in the trenches who are working to change things from the inside. Who are writing B stories with gay or trans or disabled or aro or ace characters. Who are normalising a range of female sexual responses. Who are showing older, or fatter, or dyslexic, or whatever protagonists. Who are showing "brassy "women and "gentle" women within the same story and saying that both types of women are valid. Who are challenging toxic masculinity. For the publishers and editors that are seeking more diverse authors. These people are in the industry and it would do the left well to raise them up as examples and not just as "rebels within an oppressive genre / industry" but as the core of that industry.. (which is my experience - although I may be a selective reader in that regard).

Below the cut for those who are interested: What turned into a long, what one of my favourite YouTuber would call "a waffle", about why - as both a reader of mainstream (mainly historical) romance and now writer of romantic fanfiction - I ultimately believe the romance genre / industry as is (even though there is huge room for improvement) - is subversive - and why I believe it is important to acknowledge it as such...

Ok here I go...and I don't claim that any of this isn't self-evident.. so bear 🐻 with me...

In my experience it is both rare and unproductive to assume:

- change occurs purely because of a single instigating factor

- that a single work or act can be purely subversive and non-problematic

Rather as said above the cut, it is the culmination of many acts, choices, realisations and smaller changes that lead to the adoption of a new paradigm - and within that context - I think the assertion that the Romance Industry / Genre is subversive because they present a certain type of women penned fantasy is accurate. (Regardless of whether the motivation for making this claim is tainted or problematic - and I think it would not be difficult to make that argument.)

I also truly believe that subtle incremental shifts in perception can be very powerful when applied to large audiences over time AND which I have witnessed occur within the romance genre/industry over the last 25 years.

Sure! Subtle shifts are only one weapon in the subversive arsenal... but I think they do have a very key role to play... especially in the realms of sexuality, self knowledge, challenging cultural norms and stereotypes, and moving the bar on what individuals see as socially accepted norms and practices - because these are battles that must be won not only within public realms but in the hearts and minds of the general populace.

I would argue that the more you can get women (like me) who are part of the dominant heteronormative culture to expand their understanding and appreciation of the worthiness of their bodies, boundaries, and sexual urges (or lack thereof) - the more you can convince them that they are worthy of respect, not shameful, and/or in need of suppression and policing... the more likely you will be able to convince them that it is true for everyone. And I truly believe Romance has a powerful role it can play in that regard while meeting these women where they live.

Personally - and I am what some would call a moderate radical...

Others would say I am an extreme liberal and others could rightly accuse me of celebrating and perpetuating elements of the status quo and thus harming those who are not counted as part of the culturally dominant group.

... and the part of me that is radical and non-conforming and actively working to make the world a better place for everyone in my own small way that currently exists... reading romance was one of the key factors that helped me work towards that state... and if the genre had been regarded as more radical - I don't know if I would have accessed it as early as I did or would have stayed with it. And btw I firmly believe that reading romance as a teen (among a variety of other inputs) helped keep me alive and healthy.

You see, I love rules and templates and understanding expectations... they lower my anxiety, help me be productive, and counter things which I now know are partly the result of issues with executive function... which can be deeply at odds with more more subversive impulses and hopes and dreams for this world. But romance allowed me to both be rebellious and safe and ultimately served as a gateway for more radical beliefs and experiences.

Just a few days ago in fact, I was talking to a friend about how I love the trope of "arranged marriage that turns into a love match". Heteronormative? Yep...although I like the trope when applied to non-het pairings too. But I like it because it allows the author to investigate specific themes and models how good things can come from unexpected places. Are forced marriages (please note I say forced marriages not arranged marriages - by which I mean where one or more of the participants feels that for any reason they do not have the ability to say no to the union without consequence) a shitty awful should not exist situation? Yes. But can good come from showing how individuals navigate the situation fictionally even in an unrealistic positive way? Yes. I truly believe it can.

So, I would argue that yes modern romance is subversive.

...and yes it's subversiveness is partly rooted in showing some women's current and not terribly subversive fantasies... but also because works within the genre are introducing a wider range of romantic protagonists and relationships (admittedly often as a b story or within niche subgenres) but there has definitely been a shift in the last 25 years I have been reading romance...so the person who is there for the A plot is still being given the exposure to these variations on the dominant themes and that will lead to more variety and acceptance wrt women's fantasies and experiences with sexuality.

And as tastes and expectations of the women of the "dominant cultural norm" shift, more and more you will see a wider array of representation and definitions of "womanhood" etc reflected into the genre and popular media (unless there is a giant cultural paradigm shift which results in the abolition of the romance genre or industry etc etc...but that's true of everything)...

...and honnestly... it is important to realise that books differ from other media in that they are consumed privately and many people reading romance are there for comfort, relaxation, and escapism...and I do not see that reason changing... especially in the case of women where erotica and porn are not seen as socially acceptable but romance is (partly because men in their lives do not read them and do not know how far the authors are going with the content and just how subversive and educational and transformative reading even a very plain sex scene can be for a woman who has been denied other access points to learning about sex and how their own damn bodies work.)...

So what I am saying is in that within this context the subversiveness has to be subtle for it to have an impact over time...because if you hit too hard...the people going there because it is a place to find the fantasies they crave (and frankly whether they are aware of the problematics of the genre or not is moot - similar to how it is not very helpful to describe the harmful effects of cigarettes to a lifelong smoker)... if the "hit" of what they are looking for isn't there.. they will stop coming to the table... they will find their fix elsewhere and if you think they will replace mainstream romance with "better" books... as a reader of romance I would be surprised.

IMO is more likely a large group of readers will stop reading books or retreat to content sources that are even more conservative in their outlook.

So I guess what I am saying is...you don't have to read romance or believe that it is not problematic (which I fully acknowledge it is) - or even not be annoyed by what appears to be a truly hypocritical statement by an industry and genre founded on making money on works that are reliant on the status quo... but that it is more useful to look at in what ways it is subversive and is able to enact change across certain demographics and how that is useful in the quest to dismantle the hurtful systemic aspects of modern life that stem from the current patriarchal-heteronormative dominant culture...and how that can be capitalised on and slowly but steadily expanded upon.

Basically that was a very long ramble about why I say when writing my silly joyously smutty (and for the most part reinforcing heteronormative tropes) stories... that I am trying to "change the world... one smutty story at a time..."

But I am also quite happy to give the occasional smile, or help someone reach a lovely thoughtless orgasm, or hide from their troubles with moment of escapism... because goodness knows we all need those things sometimes...

But hell... by my definition... all those "non-subversive" parts of my writing? They are subversive in a way...or at least have a role in promoting the more subversive ideas I try to promote to an audience.

If you got this far...thanks for coming on the trip and let us/me know if you have any thoughts or experience to share that is relevant to all this.

PS - yeah I know - if Romance is a potential weapon of the "left" - it is also a potential battle field for the "right"... but choosing to ignore that it is a potentially influential battle field and ignoring the skirmishes it is winning (and it definitely is winning many) and if EVERYONE on the left is just heaping derision on something that those who disagree with us hold dear is not going to advance our agenda.

Ok that's all. It may have been a lot of "OBVIOUS WOMAN STRIKES AGAIN"... but it was useful to me if no one else.... and if I want others to accept work that is "better not perfect "... I suppose part of that is leading by example and taking a risk and posting something that I am not 100% sure of...

#romance #writing #subversiveness #personal #long post #bacchic waffles

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ziamxlifestyle · 3 years

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Then the writers start playing with your feels 🧍🏻‍♀️ ouch-

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

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( chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes from this lovely set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

#vacant mirrors #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barns x you #bucky/reader #winter soldier x reader #mcu imagine #tfatws imagine #A LITTLE LATER THAN PROMISED BUT SHE IS HERE

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winterscaptain · 3 years

Text

pretty/drunk

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this doesn’t have any gendered pronouns, but some of the content was fairly fem-coded and i didn’t want anyone to experience anything triggering/unpleasant, so i tagged it fem. all my gals, gays, hes, and theys can be pretty and wear fancy underwear!! (i can always adapt a super super gender neutral version if anyone wants it! or hell, even male-coded. we’re inclusive in this house!) also my smut taglist is...not updated. yikes.

words: 2.5k warnings: alcohol use, drunk!aaron, smut (oral w/reader receiving, penetrative sex, creampie)

summary: “compliments cost nothing, yet many pay dear for them.” - thomas fuller

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

“You’re so pretty,” Aaron says, his words only slurring a little. He’s followed you into the bathroom at Will and JJ’s like a lost puppy and can’t keep his hands to himself.

You laugh, pulling his arms further around you. “Aaron, honey, you’re really drunk.”

His brow crinkles. You can see it in the mirror. “Do I… not tell you you’re pretty when I’m not drunk? Because I should do that.”

“No,” you assure him with a pat to the back of his hand. “You do, but you have less of an agenda when you’re sober.”

He laughs in that delightful little way he does when he’s drunk and he knows he’s been caught. “That’s not true. I always have an agenda.”

As if to make his point, his mouth drops to your neck, finding that spot that makes you sigh. You can feel your heartbeat in your bits at this point, but you won’t give him the satisfaction.

You turn, holding his face in your hands. His eyes are only a little glassy - he’s playing it up because he knows it makes you laugh. “You’re not very subtle, sweetheart.”

“But you’re so pretty,” he grumbles, tucking his face into your neck again.

“Okay, love. Let’s go. C’mon.”

You eventually get him back down the hallway and into the living room.

Emily smirks at you, but you only roll your eyes and shake your head.

Don’t be ridiculous.

She shrugs. Not the first time it woulda happened.

Fair point, your eyebrows say. She laughs.

Jack’s running soccer drills with Henry in the backyard - still full of energy despite the ridiculously late hour - and JJ’s offered to have the boys over at her place tonight.

“You’re sure?”

“Pfft, absolutely. What’s one more? Jack’s easy.”

You laugh lightly. “Can’t argue with that.”

“And,” she adds, “I figure you guys could use the night. You know, sober up and stuff.”

Squinting at her, you say, “I’m not drinking tonight.”

“Just sayin’.”

With a roll of your eyes, you take Aaron by the elbow and lead him out the door and into the car. He’s terribly floppy when he’s just passed buzzed, but you know he’d never get drunk enough to actually make you babysit him.

He’d explained it to you once.

“Sweetheart, I’m not in my twenties anymore so wicked hangovers are an inevitability. And it’s inconsiderate.”

+++

He’s particularly handsy as you walk up to the apartment, impeding your forward momentum as he drags you back against him, grinding playfully against you at every opportunity.

“Aaron, quit!” You whisper-shout at him, mindful of your neighbors. It’s much later than your usual arrival time and you’re actually aware of the sleepy nature of the suburban apartment complex on a Saturday night.

You finally let yourself into the apartment and lock the door behind you, setting the alarm as soon as you take your shoes off.

Aaron’s leisure is apparent - he’s taking his time with his winter trappings (though you’re pretty sure he’d trip if he went at his normal pace). You watch him methodically place his shoes into the rack and hang his coat, brushing imagined debris off the sleeve.

When he’s done, he turns back to you with a look he might think is smooth. Really, he just looks rather undone.

Delightfully undone.

You sigh and cross the room, pulling his lips to yours and winding your fingers in his hair. He moans into your mouth and you’re violently reminded of the other perk of an inebriated Aaron: while already vocal, his lowered inhibitions increase his volume in… almost every situation.

“Come to bed, baby,” you whisper against him.

You can feel his smile. “Okay.”

Taking him by the hand, you drag him to your bedroom and close the door behind you out of habit.

He presses you against the wall, his hands wandering down your ribs, your hips, your ass, up your shirt as his searing kisses poke holes in your desire to sleep.

You pull back, your head against the wall. “I have something for you. Wanna see?”

His eyes are firmly stuck on your mouth, but he nods.

“Wait for me. I’ll be right back.”

With a wolfish grin, he steps back (carefully) and starts to undo his belt buckle. As nice a visual as that is, you know you have a limited window before he crashes.

Drunk Aaron often means Sleepy Aaron. If your estimation is right - you have about ten minutes.

Slipping into the bathroom, you dig around in your side of the cabinet until you find the little bag you’ve been hiding. It’s lingerie you bought last year on his birthday, but hadn’t had the occasion to show him - between cases and Jack, there was never an opportune time.

You change somewhat leisurely, giving yourself the time to get really worked up, thinking about the way Aaron’s hands and mouth feel on every square inch of your skin. When you’re well and truly warm, you open the door -

And find Aaron completely zonked, naked, halfway-under the turned-down covers.

Looks like it was more like five minutes.

You can’t help but smile at the sight. He’s adorable with his face all squished into the pillow, curled toward your side of the bed.

You strip, leaving the treats back under the cabinet, and slip under the covers wearing nothing at all.

+++

You’re sure you’re having the best sex dream of your life. Getting all worked up before bed often had its own consequences, but you find yourself waking before you can really grab onto the feeling.

A bit frustrated, you rouse yourself and realize Aaron grinding against you isn’t part of your dream. You reach back, tangling your fingers in his hair - not enough to pull, but enough to let him know you’re awake.

“Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

You let out a shaky breath and arch your back, sending your ass right into him. He groans and you feel his hand wander from your abdomen to your center, aching and soaked all the way to your thighs.

His talented fingers wander over your heated skin, circling your clit and dipping into you but not enough. You wiggle against him impatiently, but he shushes you, laving your neck and shoulder with languid, wet kisses that leave you squirming.

Your eyes flutter shut as he ducks under the covers, his kisses traveling down the curve of your spine, to your waist. You squeak when his teeth sink into the soft skin above your hip, immediately soothed with his tongue. Letting him lead, you wait until his fingers wrap around your knee before you swing your leg over his head.

His pleased hum is audible and it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your heel slides up his shoulder in your attempt to get him where you want him, but you can feel the muscles of his back ripple as he resists you, pillowing his head on your thigh.

Aaron presses kisses to the crease of your thigh until you’re well and truly squirming.

He lets out a drawn-out moan as his tongue makes contact with your slit and you swear he drinks from you before sloppily licking and mouthing his way to your clit, rolling the little nub on his tongue.

“Perfect,” he whispers against you, wrapping his lips around you and sucking for a moment before taking one long pass from stem to stern with the flat of his tongue.

You whimper, pressing the back of one hand to your mouth while the other tangles in his hair, holding him in place.

He lifts, even against the pressure of your hand, and looks up at you, his nose, mouth, and chin glistening in the low light. “Nobody’s home, baby.” He drops a kiss to your clit. “Let me hear you.”

You keep your eyes on his as he positively devours you. After what seems like forever, he drops his gaze, giving you a breathtaking view of his long eyelashes resting against his cheekbone.

His arms slide over your lower back, wrapping around you to hold you steady as he rocks his face into you. It’s sloppy, loud, and immaculate.

Closing your eyes and relaxing everything you can, you focus entirely on the sensation of his tongue against your clit, the way the whole lower half of his face burrows as far into you as he can get, ever seeking something more, somewhere closer.

Your walls flutter on their own, pushed to the brink by his ministrations. Your hips buck a little and you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding in a huff.

“Fuck, Aaron. You’re so good.”

“Mhmm.” His hum doesn’t leave your skin, but he still sounds way too full of himself. When you yank on his hair in light admonishment for his own self-awareness, he lets out another groan from deep in his chest.

It rumbles through you, all the way to your bones. You can’t help but shudder again and his arms tighten around you.

You can feel his muscles pull and flex under your calf as he chases friction, grinding into the sheets. His expression belies none of it - there’s not a grain of tension in his forehead, his eyebrows sit relaxed when they’re not pulled together in surprise or pleasure.

One of his arms slides out from under you, running his fingers over your thigh before lifting his mouth from you. He wets his fingers, pulling them slowly from his lips and dropping them to tease your entrance.

He raises his eyebrows expectantly, meeting your eyes.

You give in.

“Please.”

With a smirk, he runs his fingers from your bundle of nerves to your slit, slipping them inside you with unbearable lack of haste. You wiggle against him and he relents, diving back into you with more than enthusiasm.

Your voice is somewhere between a gasp and a whine. “Aaron, you’re gonna make me come.” You twist, but his arms hold you fast as you curl into your pillow.

He doesn’t falter for a second, going down on you like it’s his favorite thing to do (it is, actually) until you’re overcome, shaking and overwrought with pleasure. His gentle guidance through your peak only prolongs it, sweetening the pleasure until it hums through your body.

Finding his way back to you, he takes the same route he took on his way down, kissing his way to your knee, taking your leg back over his head, and wandering up your back with his lips and tongue.

He settles behind you again and wraps you in his arms, pressing kisses to your neck.

You turn your head and he meets your lips with his own. It’s an awkward angle, sure, but sex by definition is awkward - what’s one more element?

You kiss the taste of yourself off of him, his little pleased noises only egging you on. Impatiently, you reach behind you and wrap your hand around his cock, stroking just the way he likes it (with a twist of your wrist at the tip) until he stops you with a hand over yours.

“Either I come inside you or not at all.”

With a little laugh, you release him. “By all means, darling. Be my guest.”

Aaron’s got a stupid little smile on his face you can only see half of, but you make it clear you have no intention of moving, arching your back again to give him more access.

Positioning himself between your thighs, he runs his cock over your heated flesh, between your lips, still sensitive from your orgasm. You relax into him with a shaky exhale, rocking back and seeking friction.

His breath is hot at your ear as he eases into you, the angle from this position new and tight. You move with him, meeting him inch for inch as he slowly gives you more and more with each thrust.

He brings his hand to your waist and you can feel him trembling. You bring your knees closer to your chest and he shifts so the top of his thighs are flush with the back of yours.

You whimper as he finds that place inside you, and hits it over and over and over with alarming consistency. He’s bottoming out with every thrust and you’re seeing stars.

The arm underneath him snakes under your pillow and around your shoulders, his fingers splayed over your chest. The arm at your waist sneaks down to your clit and you do him a favor - lifting your knee as close to your shoulder as you can get it.

He loops his arm around your thigh, holding you open for him, while he drowns his fingers in his handiwork from before. It’s been almost two years and he's mastered that angle on your clit - the one that has you nearly in tears within seconds, gasping little sobs leaving you as you’re once again pushed to the breaking point.

“Harder,” you tell him. “More.”

His lips glued to the slope between your neck and shoulder, he pounds into you faster, harder, the sound of his hips snapping to yours filling the bedroom.

Your orgasm crests over you all at once and you can’t even thrash as your vision whites out and your legs violently shake - his hold on you is tight and all-consuming. He well-and-truly fucks you, chasing his pleasure while riding you through yours.

He gasps and you know he’s close. You bring your hand behind you to his hair again and hold him to you, the softness of his ungelled hair grounding you as the rest of your body continues to alight with sensation.

“Fuck, I’m -” His brief warning is rough, breathless, and relentlessly hot. You look in front of you, seemingly for the first time, and realize your mirrored closet doors are right there.

Your mouth drops open as you watch Aaron drive into you, deep, and unlatch from your neck, his eyes squeezing shut and mouth open, a groan leaving him. You can feel him inside you, warm and full, as he releases, his hips barely leaving yours as he shallowly ruts into you.

You can’t tear your eyes from his reflection. He’s beautiful - perfectly undone and entirely blissed out. You clench and flex, milking everything you can from him until his body seems to melt into yours, the tension drawing out of his fingers, arms, then finally his brow.

He hooks his chin over your shoulder, laying his cheek against yours. A low hum leaves him and a content smile curls at his lips.

Yours matches, and you lace your fingers through his, pulling his arms tighter around you. “Did you tick off all your agenda items?”

His eyes remain close as he answers with a little nod. “Mhmm.”

“Are you still a little drunk?”

“Hmm…” He actually thinks about his answer for a second. “Only a little. Mostly wanted to make you laugh.”

You’ll have to go clean up eventually, but he snuggles impossibly closer, still inside you as he softens, and kisses your cheek, sweet and chaste.

“You’re so pretty.”

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#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic #aaron hotchner smut

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dcbutinamrev · 3 years

Note

can i get historical lams-ish where laurens finds out one of the other soldiers is in a relationship with another man and laurens helps tell the soldier it's okay because he's also in a gay relationship

As always, ask and ye shall recieve! (There might be some small angst...)

***

Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens sighs dreamily as he stands by his and Hamilton's shared cot in their tents. He smiles wearlly as he combs his fingers through his lover's bright auburn locks, tilting his head a little as he watches Hamilton sleep. Hamilton sighs peacefully, muttering in his sleep before curling himself up into a small cocoon with the bedsheets tucked up towards his chin as he snuggles into the pillow, thinking Laurens was still in bed with him.

Laurens chuckles to himself, shaking his head fondly as he leans down to press a kiss to Hamilton's forehead, right between his brows. Hamilton smiles in his sleep as Laurens goes to grab his blue Continental coat off the back of his chair at his desk, sliding his sleeves through and adjusting his ruffled cuffs and soothing out his lapels. Laurens ties his honey-blonde hair up in a tight braid, securing it with the dark blue ribbon. He grabs his sword nearby and slides it into its sheath and grabs a pistol, sliding it into its holster before grabbing his black tricorn hat and situating it comfortingly on Laurens's head. He glances back over his shoulder at Hamilton in the bed, soft cooes escaping his half-parted lips. Laurens smiles again, a thin smile, before pressing his lips to Hamilton's. Once, twice, three times before finally leaving his tent. The flap of the tent fluttering shut behind him.

Laurens walks along the line of tents in camp, heading towards General Washington's tent for his assignments and orders. Laurens sighs as he enjoys the peace of mother nature, the beauty of it. He breathes in the cool warm breeze of early Spring, watching the birds flap their wings as they chirp, flying along the dark blue sky. Dusk becoming dawn in a matter of seconds. If Laurens had to guess, it's probably around 5:30 in the morning, or perhaps 6:00 at the latest.

It's peacful with the other soldiers sleeping soundly in their tents, the horses pitched by the soldiers tents, sleeping as well. As Laurens walks by, he notices a few soldiers were already awake, getting themselves ready for the day or already beginning to do thier tasks or just simply eating and/or walking about like Laurens is now.

As Laurens slowly makes hsi way towards the General's tent down the end of the road, Laurens hears soft grunts and hushed whispers coming from near by. Laurens skids a stop when he nears the tent he heard the sounds from, furrowing his brows together with confusion, a crease shows in his forehead. Laurens tilts his head as the sounds grow louder as he approaches the tent a few tents down. He knows those sounds, he knows what they mean.

Laurens's heart pounds against his chest as he cautions himself, grabbing the hilt of his sword just in case, slowly rising it out of its sheath as he nears the tent's flap. He peeks through the cracked entranceway slightly, frowning with concern and confusion. Inside he shadows along the tent's walls, a body's shadow figure, hunched over something..or...better yet...someone. The inside of the tent glows with a faint yellow light. Laurens knows instantly it's a candle. Curious, Laurens presses his ear agaisnt the tent's walls, keep himself out of the field of vision, his hand gripping around the sword's hilt.

The grunts grow louder and the breathing becomes labored. Laurens furrowes his brows deeper as he frowns, tilting his head to hear the conversation inside. Though he has a feeling he knows what's going on. His stomach twists with nervousness as he begins to eavesdrop.

"Rob," a voice grunts and pants sharply. Laurens quirks an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued. He listens in. "We can't! T-The soliders--"

"Now, now, my Oliver," a second voice, slightly deeper than the first who Laurens guesses must be "Rob", teases. He hears "Rob" growl low before Laurens seens the shadow dive down.

His face pales and his eyes widen with realization and his expression softens to one of understanding. He smiles slightly, knowing their risks, knowing their fear, understanding what they are.

"Rob," "Oliver" grunts. Laurens can see with thier shadows flickering faintly, Oliver has hands on Rob's chest, forcing him to stop. "Please. I...I want to do this too...badly...as much as you...but, my dear, if...if we...if someone were to walk in--"

"Shh," Rob says. "Let's not worry about that, my love. As long as you remain quiet, we shall be well."

As soon as Rob dives down, Laurens takes this oppurtunity to knock on the tent's flap. Rob yelps with surprise while Oliver gasps, sitting himself back up and quickly grabbing the sheets to cover himself up while Rob quickly dresses back into his Continental uniform. Oliver rolls onto his side, his back facing the entrance, pretending to be asleep while Rob scrambles towards his desk chair where Laurens now sees the lone candle flickering back and forth, and quickly grabs his quill and parchment pretending to be writing out a letter, smoothing out his deshevled brunette hair.

Laurens clears his throat, gaining Rob's attnetion as he slowly pokes his head through, peeling the tent's flaps slightly open. Rob tenses, clenches his jaw as he grips his quill hard, hard enough for it to nearly break in half when he sees Laurens enter, his hand still gripped on the hilt of his sword.

"Sir?" Rob says as he shakily stands from his seat, his arms clasped behind his back, chest puffed out slightly. He swallows hard, Laurens could see that, and licks his lips. "May I ask why you're here, Lieutenant Colonel, sir?"

Laurens sets his shoulders as he glances around the tent, his expression showing one of suspicion but he knows what they were doing. He has done this himself, after all.

Laurens pinches his lips and furrows his brows into a worried frown. "I heard some...commotion...going on in here as I was heading towards General Washington's tent. And I became worried and I wanted to make everything was alright."

Rob swallows hard as he keeps his eyes trained on Laurens's bright blue ones and nods once, sharp. "Yes, sir. Everything is well. I apologize if I had somehow managed to disturb you or startle you as I was...as I was..."

Laurens raises a prompting eyebrow but says nothing.

"I was...uh...getting ready for the day," Rob continues, his face turning a bright shade of red almost in a instant. Laurens could still see the lustful gaze in his eyes, desperately wanting to continue to share his intimacy with this "Oliver".

"Oh?" Laurens says.

"Yes."

"Hmm..." Laurens hums as he glances around the room again. "And what is your name, sir?"

Rob nods once again. "Lieutenant Carson, sir."

Laurens nods. "And him?"

Laurens gestures his head towads Oliver. He can see Oliver tense but he tries to remain "asleep."

Rob swallows, grimacing as he does. "Lieutenant Anderson, sir."

Laurens as he scans the room once more, noticing both soldiers tense. Laurens chuckles to himself as he puts both hands up beside him, to prove to them he comes in peace.

"At ease, sirs," Laurens says with a chuckle. "You are in no way shape or form in any harm."

"How can we trust you?" Oliver says, rolling back onto his side to face him. Rob tenses immediately, shooting Oliver a warning glare over his shoulder.

Laurens smiles as he begins to walk towards Oliver, to comfort him somehow, to somehow ease his fears. But is blocked by Rob with the tip of his sword nearly jabbing into Laurens's stomach. Laurens's breath hitches with surprise and his eyes widen slightly, as he himself grows tense. Rob scowls as he clenches his jaws.

"Don't you dare go near him," Rob says.

Laurens shoots both of his hands back up again. "I come in peace, sirs."

A pause. Rob and Oliver glance at each other hesitantly. Laurens smiles.

"I am one of you."

Confused yet curious at the same time, Rob slowly begins to lower his sword.

"What do you mean?" Rob asks.

Laurens smiles softly as he claps the man's shoulder. "I know what you two are." Another pause. "I am one myself."

It takes them a moment to figure out what Laurens means by this but once they do, their eyes widen with surpirse and smiles replaces their serious and frightened expressions and all the tension in the atmosphere eases at once.

Rob puffs out a breath of relief as he collapses down on the cot, putting his face in his, elbows on his knees. Oliver sits up on his knees to rub Rob's shoulders comfortingly. He glances up at Laurens.

"You're one of us?" Oliver says.

Laurens nods. "I am. I know how you two fear. I know what you two do. I do this myself."

Rob leans back agaisnt Oliver, gripping his wrist that's dangling over Rob's neck. "I thought for sure you were going to send us to General Washington, have him call us out or worse...hanged because of...well...you know..."

Laurens laughs as he pulls out the chair and flops down, taking off the tricorn hat and nods in understanding. "Indeed, I do. We fear that every day. But death shouldn't be a punishment for love. No matter the gender."

"What's yours?" Oliver says with a kind smile on his face. "What's he like?"

Laurens smiles as he vividly sees his Hamilton before him in his mind, letting out a breath. "Well..." Laurens glances back up at the men. "He's...he's just the most beautiful person I had ever laid my eyes on. He's sweet and kind, trusting and perhaps a little cocky from time to time. Intelligent. Very intelligent." A pause. Laurens frowns as he tries to figure out what else could best describe Hamilton. "Clingy. He's very clingy."

Rob and Oliver both chuckle at this. Rob jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "So is this one."

"Hey!" Oliver gasps, whacking Rob in the back of his head. "You didn't have to call me out like that, Robert!"

Robert winces and mumbles, "Ow" as he rubs the back of his head achingly chuckling along as he shifts himself around to face Oliver. He smiles fondly as he tucks a lose dark brown curl behind Oliver's ear. He glances at Laurens hesitantly. Laurens nods encourgingly, assuring them it's alright, as he leans back agasint the chair with crossed arms.

Laurens smiles wide as he watches the two kiss in front of them, relaxing as they now know they're not alone in this, his heart fluttering, wishing Hamilton were next to him.

Laurens thinks they would become great friends indeed.

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ambiguousdisorderken · 3 years

Note

in your expert opinion what are some of the most destiel-heavy episodes of spn? i stopped watching around season 7 and have no interest in engaging w the plot of the show at all but i’m in the mood for some gay yearning ykwim

Hi anon! Thank you for reaching out to me about this, I’m, no-joke, very flattered. I’d seen a couple posts on this same question, very thorough and detailed lists on Destiel-centric episodes, but at the moment I cannot find any of them, that would’ve answered your request much faster. So, in advance, sorry, my reply is probably coming in extremely late, but I did write this from scratch, so yeah.

Even though storylines in SPN can be very shitty and hollow, I do feel that to get the full Destiel experience -that long-drawn yearning- one would have to watch the entirety of the show, even if Cas isn’t in the episode or if there’s no explicit mention of their relationship/bond because it gives you a better understanding of them as characters and of how their relationship affects the narrative.

Now, you mentioned you stopped around S7, which is completely understandable and justified given the Dick plot game was very weak and, in my opinion, annoying (so little Cas!). I’m going to start listing from S7 in case you want to refresh your SPN before jumping straight into unseen episodes. Also, since you mentioned no interest in the plot and are specifically craving those sweet crumbs of gay yearning, I’ll skip most one-sided / too subtle episodes and cut to the chase.

Lastly, I hate spoiling things, but you’ve probably seen it all on Tumblr. I tried to keep the episodes’ descriptions short, as it might come in useful. Stuck to key words, quotes and/or little comments.

Season 7

7x01 – Meet the New Boss: Godstiel, sincere apology. Cas: “I'm gonna find some way to redeem myself to you.”

7x02 – Hello, Cruel World: Mourning. Trench coat melancholy. The heart-wrenching eulogy: “Dumb son of a bitch.”

7x17 – The Born-Again Identity: Emmanuel!Cas, reunion, longing, hurt.

7x21 – Reading is Fundamental: Honey!Cas, hug, hurt, reunion, that painful SORRY (board game) scene.

7x23 – Survival of the Fittest: Honey!Cas, forgiveness, adorable, wified Cas. Dean hits us with: “Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas!" but also “I'd rather have you, cursed or not.”

Season 8 (this season is so good and Destiel is the driving motor of it, I swear. If you can, watch it complete.)

8x01 – We Need to Talk About Kevin: Dean in Purgatory looking for the angel. Cas is referred to as “your [Dean’s] angel.”

8x02 – What’s Up, Tiger Mommy?: HUG!!!, Purgatory reunion, face touch, very romantic. Monster: “ You'll find your angel there.” // Dean: “Let me bottom-line it for you. I'm not leaving here without you.”

8x05 – Blood Brother: Cas vs. Benny cat fight lol. Dean: “Cas... we're gonna shove your ass back through the eye of that needle if it kills all three of us.”

8x07 – A Little Slice of Kevin: Cas comes back from Purgatory, but before that Dean starts seeing him in places. Very tragic; hallucinating your dead significant other trope. Has That boner scene. Dean: “I did everything I could to get you out! EVERYTHING!” Cas helps Dean see what truly happened in Purgatory and not his self-altered memories. PACKED!

8x08 – Hunteri Heroici: Hilarious, romantic, intimate. Dean and Cas have an heart to heart. They actually communicate. Cas “I’ll watch over you.”

8x10 Torn and Frayed: They work a case together, and when I say heart eyes…

8x17 – Goodbye Stranger: THIS. EPISODE. Dean “I need you.”

8x19 – Taxi Driver: Separation. Naomi to Dean: "You're hoping Castiel will return to you. I admire your loyalty; I only wish he felt the same way."

8x22 – Clip Show: Lack of trust, hurt, tense interactions. Romantic too (basically, Cas gets Dean an apology basket).

8x23 – Sacrifice: Meaningful conversation and a gay couple hit by Cupid parallel. Dean “So this is it? E.T goes home?"

Season 9

9x01 – I think I’m Gonna Like it Here: Dean prays to Cas IN.A.CHAPEL. Worry, longing, separation. Dean “Please, man, I need you here.”

9x03 – I’m No Angel: Human!Cas and jealous!Dean.

9x06 – Heaven Can’t Wait: Human!Cas TEXT-BOOK LONGING. GAY AS FUCK. Gazing, touching, they even TALK (for real).

9x09 – Holy Terror: Adorable Cas, flirty vibes, happyish, funny. Cas: “Cas is back in town!”

9x10 – Road Trip: Cas comforts Dean, Cas and Crowley bitching at each other, overall protective!Cas.

9x18 – Metafiction. Cas finds out about the Mark of Cain.

9x21 – King of the Damned: Hug, strong boyfriends vibes.

9x22 – Stairway to Heaven: Cas gives up an entire army, for Dean. Metatron about Cas “He's in love………………………. with humanity.”

9x23 – Do You Believe in Miracles?: At this point, it’s canon stated that Cas will do anything and lose everything if that means saving Dean. Metatron to Cas “You draped yourself in the flag of heaven, but ultimately, it was all about saving one human, right?”

Season 10

10x01 – Black: Demon!Dean and sick/brokenhearted Cas in a slutty robe missing his man.

10x03 – Soul Survivor: ICONIC. Angel on Demon action! Cas turns down Hannah because he’s too gay and in love. Intimate Deancas talk.

10x05 – Fan Fiction: No Cas, but Destiel references.

10x09 – The Things We Left Behind: That.Lunch.Date. Deancas introduction to co-parenting.

10x14 – The Executioner’s Song: We get Daddy Murder aka Cain. This is a Pivotal episode to understand Dean’s character development. Plus, it has Deancas interactions.

10x16 – Paint It Black: No Cas, but Dean opens up in confessionary; repressed BISEXUAL AS FUCK.

10x18 – Book of the Damned: Charlie meets Cas. Gay energies everywhere. Cute domestic little scene.

10x20 – Angel Heart: PARENTING! Essential to understand Cas from this point forward.

10x22 – The Prisoner: Just… just watch it. One of THEE Destiel episodes.

10x23 – Brother’s Keeper: No Deancas interactions but it’s the finale, and I recommend watching it because next season takes off literally right from here. No time jumps.

Season 11

11x02 – Form and Void: Could skip to the very end which is when Cas comes back.

11x03 – The Bad Seed: Cursed!Cas. Dean takes care of him, even wraps him in a blanket. He also cradles his face. Extreme Hurt/Comfort. Jacting joices rejoice.

11x10 – The Devil in the Details: Could skip but has Casifer in it. Interesting to see his dynamic with Dean.

11x18 – Hell’s Angel: Casifer. Dean "It? It's not an it, Sam, it's Cas!"

11x23 – Alpha and Omega: Huggg! Cas willing to go on a guaranteed suicide mission with Dean. Very tender and sad.

Season 12

12x02 – Keep Calm and Carry On: ANOTHER HUG! Dean presents his boyfriend to his mom<3 Soft and romantic.

12x09 – First Blood: Reunion hug<3, Cas pining… as in he counts his every minute without Dean.

12x10 – Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets: Direct parallel with canon couple. Crystal-clear mutual affection. One of the best. Angel Ishim to Cas about Dean “I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna cure you of your human weakness same way I cured my own… by cutting it out.”

12x12 – Stuck in the Middle with You: A dying Cas confesses his love. “I love you. I love all of you.”

12x19 – The Future: We find out Dean gave Cas a MIXTAPE!!! Very romantic and full of yearning, also worry and what could be seen as a betrayal (ish…).

12x23 – All Along the Watch Tower: Hands down, one of the most distressing Destiel episodes. Cas dies.

Season 13

13x01 – Lost and Found: This is the worst because you have Dean trying to assimilate Cas’ death. Core of Dean’s widow’s arc. Jack introduction, that’s their new kid.

13x02 – The Rising Son: Widow’s arc (you could skip it, but why would you?).

13x03 – Patience: Widow’s arc (you could skip it, but why would you?). Dean to Sam “He manipulated him, he made him promises, said, ‘paradise on earth’ and Cas bought it and you know what that got him? It got him dead! Now you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!”

13x04 – The Big Empty: Continuation of widow’s arc and Cas wakes up in the Empty. The Empty to Cas: "I know who you love. There's nothing for you back there." // Dean to Sam “I need you to keep the faith, for both of us. ‘Cause right now, I… Right now, I don’t believe in a damn thing.”

13x05 – Advanced Thanatology: Suicidal and hopeless Dean gets his win. Cas comes back. Gives me the chills.

13x06 – Tombstone: COWBOY BOYFRIENDS!

13x14 – Good Intentions: Happy and fun Destiel scene. So Very Married.

13x23 – Let The Good Times Roll: Season finale, Dean talks about retiring (plans include Cas of course) and just very nice to see them interact.

Season 14

14x03 – The Scar: Reunion.

14x08 – Byzantium: Deanand Cas dealing with their child’s death, then bringing him back by Cas making a deal with the Empty. IMPORTANT EPISODE.

14x09 – The Spear: Cas uses the royal We – married behavior.

14x10 – Nihilism: Dean is stuck in his own mind, and Cas and Sam try to bring him back. Cas “Please, you have to -- you have to try to remember, because the people in your life -- in your real life, out there -- we need you to come back.”

14x12 – Prophet and Loss: Dean gets his very own Dr. Sexy, aka Dr. Cas.

14x14 – Ouroboros: Basically another date (their kid tags along) and They TALK. Very intimate and established marriage vibes.

14x18 – Absence: Shits starts to go south. [ Dean: “Who cares what Jack said? We don't know what happened! But I swear, if he did something to her, if she is -- (points to Castiel) Then you're dead to me. (Castiel looks crushed after Dean says that).]

14x20 – Moriah: Tense and very upsetting. Relationship very damaged.

Season 15 (I would advise watching the entire season because it relies heavily on Destiel. They’re the heart and the emotional motor leading the plot onwards.)

15x01 – Back and To The Future: Deancas’ in the aftermath of their kid’s death. Tension gets worse.

15x02 – Raising Hell: Tension rises, this is very intense. Cas “Dean. You asked, "What about all of this is real?" We are.”

15x03 – The Rupture: Breaking point ends in divorce.

15x06 – Golden Time: Painful phone call which speaks volumes about the current state of their relationship at the time. Also, good to see where they’re standing and how they’re coping.

15x08 – Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven: Strained relationship so obvious they’re offered couples’ therapy.

15x09 – The Trap: MASTERPIECE. Back to Purgatory. Can (and is) taken as Dean’s love confession (because it is).

15x12 – Galaxy Brain: So married. Little domestic date, you can see LOVE written in their faces.

15x13 – Destiny’s Child: AU!Dean and Sam. Not a yearning episode per se, but AU!Dean? SO GAY.

15x17 – Unity: God reveals that the only act of free will in any universe he ever created has been Cas choosing Dean.

15x18 – Despair: Cas confesses his love to Dean.

#Anonymous #thanks for coming to my ted talk #im posting this at 2:30 am so i'll most likely reblog it at a more reasonable hour ..in case anon is closer to my time zone #why am i even saying this..im sleepy #destiel #answered #destiel episode guide #there might be number/name mistakes because again sleepish.forgive me #long post

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willowbird · 3 years

Note

For the prompt game: andreil and 5/6/2

Bookstore! Oblivious idiots in love! Inside my favorite disaster gay's closet!

(You guys REALLY wanna see what happens inside Andrew's closet, don't ya? XD )

---

Two short knocks, then the quick patter-tapping of nails against the door: ta-te-ta ta-te-ta ta-te-ta. Andrew sighed, but only one person ever bothered to knock when invading his domain - and he always did it in the exact same way. Two knocks and three quick series of ta-te-ta. Instead of calling for the idiot to just come in or going over to open the door, Andrew grabbed a due-out from a nearby pile of returns and hurled it at the door.

Neil apparently took the harsh thump of hardback-on-door as the permission it was and opened the door, scooping up the weaponized book on his way into the closet and letting the door swing shut behind him.

It wasn't actually a closet - it was the shop's back room. But it was such a tiny back room that the staff of The Foxpaw Bookshop had taken to calling it "the closet". There was even a sassy note on the door that said:

If it isn't on the shelf we don't have it. No, we cannot 'check the back'. There is no back. This is not a room. It is a closet.

Yes, Andrew had been the one to make up the note. Yes, he instantly regretted it when every time he stepped out of the room some idiot just had to shout "Andrew's coming out of the closet everyone BE SUPPORTIVE OR HE'LL STAB YOU!"

Yeah. Yeah.

Neil appeared on Andrew's right and instead of setting the book on the narrow table Andrew was working off of, he set a giant cup of coffee from the shop across the street. What followed was a paper plate that Neil then wordlessly unloaded the contents of a takeaway bag onto.

An orange scone, a chocolate muffin, a strawberry-frosted donut - with sprinkles, a chocolate-filled croissant, a brownie.

Andrew looked from the offering up to Neil and back again. He did not resist when Neil eased the PDT from his hand and took his place scanning and sorting titles. Instead, he stepped back to let Neil work, if only to give himself time to process what the fuck was going on. He frowned at the tiny feast, then frowned at the tiny menace beside it.

"Is it poisoned?" he asked without an iota of sarcasm or irony.

Neil looked over at him, both eyebrows raised. Then his expression smoothed out into something truly offensive. His brows relaxed and the tension he always carried around his eyes and mouth completely melted away, making him look softer and younger and too goddamn beautiful to be allowed. He wasn't smiling, not quite, but there was a warmth about the whole expression that always made Andrew feel uncomfortably... good. He did not have a word for the kind of "good", or if he did he wouldn't allow himself to even think it because those things - those warm, good, happy things were for a very different kind of person than Andrew Minyard. People like Andrew Minyard... they didn't get those things.

"No," Neil said softly, his voice matching the stupid look on his stupid face, "it is not poisoned."

Andrew snorted and picked up the coffee. He pulled off the top and inspected it, pausing at the suspiciously familiar scent. Carefully, he sipped. It was... perfect. It was exactly the way he took his coffee. Andrew's frown deepened. He took another sip, just to be sure. Then another, because it was fucking delicious and he hadn't had his coffee yet today thanks to having been called in early to deal with the surprise early delivery of their holiday stock.

"See?" Neil said, and this time there was a distinct note of teasing in his voice. Andrew shot him a glare, and Neil turned his head back to his work - but not fast enough to hide his smile.

Fuck he was pretty when he smiled.

No. Nope. Not going there. No.

Andrew took another sip of his coffee then set it aside to poke at the offering of baked goods. He picked up the brownie first. After a far-too-satisfying bite of that wonder, he asked, "Why?" He kept his tone mild, unbothered, unaffected. You know, like a lie.

Neil gave a small shrug as he manually entered an ISBN that wouldn't scan (their sole PDT was a singular piece of shit). "You had to come in early. Figured you wouldn't have time to get coffee. Even if you did, it's not like you wouldn't have use for a second cup."

This morning when he'd gotten the text from Wymack about coming in early to handle the delivery, Andrew had had to drag himself from bed and directly to his car in order to get there on time to meet the truck. Normally, he and Neil carpooled - so he'd had to text Neil at a stoplight to let him know he'd have to find his own way into work. Neil was a resourceful little fuck, so Andrew hadn't thought about it again. It certainly had never occurred to him that Neil would... do this. That Neil would do anything. That Neil would... care at all.

"That explains the coffee. Not the breakfast."

Another careless shrug from the puzzling little terror. "You like sweet things. There were a lot of sweet things in the bake case."

"So you got one of everything?"

"No, you don't like almonds, and two of the other treats had almonds on them. You also once told me that bagels are the buttholes of bread, so I didn't think you'd want to eat a bread butthole."

Andrew almost choked on a bite of brownie. Not because of the reminder of his denouncement of bagels from a few months ago, but because of the bright, delighted grin on Neil's stupid pretty face. He had not had enough coffee to deal with this idiot.

"Good call," Andrew managed dryly once he was sure he wasn't going to asphyxiate on fudgy goodness.

Looking far too pleased with himself, Neil returned to his task. Andrew glared at him for a moment, then he picked up his coffee and took a determined gulp, despite the fact that the coffee was still too hot for gulping. The burn was good, though. It woke him up a bit, helped ground him. So what if Neil detoured to the coffee shop on the way to work just to get him coffee? So what if he knew exactly how Andrew took his coffee. And that he hated almonds. And that he thought bagels were fucking stupid.

So what? It's not like it meant anything. It didn't mean anything. It didn't - it couldn't.

...right?

#asks #aftg prompts #aftg fanfic #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #bookshop au #aftg

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kj-1130 · 3 years

Text

Listen to Me

Uswnt x reader

⚠️mentions of fighting/violence, cursing, Chad being an asshole, mentions of racism, homophobia, and sexism. Lemme know if there’s more I missed.⚠️

Main Masterlist

It was time for another camp. You were the last to arrive due to still being in school and having to be there as many hours as you possibly could.

So here you were in the airport walking towards a pissed off Alex Morgan and Christen Press.

The day before your flight to camp, you had gotten into trouble. Trouble meaning you got into a fight. And word got to your teammates.

“Hello my favorite, most amazing people in the whole wide world.”

Alex simply rolled her eyes and grabbed your suitcase before walking towards the exit with you and Christen trailing behind.

You lowered your gaze to the terminal floor. Christen tried to catch your eyes but ultimately failed and decided just to look straight forward as she talked.

“You know, you shouldn’t resort to violence, (y/n). I don’t know what happened but everyone’s pretty upset and disappointed right now.”

Ouch. The disappointment card. Just had to pull that one like you haven’t heard it just about everyday of your life. You were honestly confused if people were actually disappointed when they said it or just used it as a guilt trip.

The ride to the hotel was full of silence. And not one of those silences where you feel comfortable with the people you adore and love. It was one of those silences where it made you nervous and anxious. It made you fidget and uncomfortable.

Getting your room assignment, being with Tierna, you tried to book it up the stairs. That worked for all of five seconds until you were called into the meeting room.

You reluctantly stepped down and made your way to the space and left your suitcase by the door. In the room were almost all the responsible/‘scary when they want to be’ ones. Sitting down in a chair with a sigh, you looked down at your fidgeting hands and waited for someone to start talking.

The silence that filled the room was very tense. All that could be heard was the movement of your hands and breathing.

When you thought things couldn’t get any worse, the most mama-bear of them all, Carli, spoke up.

“You know you can lose your spot for stuff like this right? You got into a fight, this is not something you need to be taking lightly at all. I don’t care what caused it, but you need to fix whatever’s going on with your behavior and attitude because you’ve been off for the past few weeks anyway. If something like this happens again, we won’t hesitate to take some disciplinary actions ourselves. Am I clear, (y/n)?”

You mumbled ‘crystal’ and attempted to leave the room only to get pulled down by Ash. “Now do you wanna tell us what started the fight?”

You were honestly getting really uncomfortable. Any movement you were making at the moment was probably the only thing keeping you from breaking right now; the furrowing of your eyebrows, the rolling of your shoulders, scratching your arms, bouncing your leg. You probably looked crazy.

You shrugged your shoulders and started spinning in your chair.

Ash put her hand on it and prohibited it from being able to move. “That was not a suggestion.”

Sighing and dragging your hands over your face you told them, “A boy knocked books out of my hands and pushed me so I pushed him back. He didn’t like that so he threw the first punch and I wasn’t about to let him push me around so I beat his ass.”

It wasn’t a total lie but it wasn’t the full truth. Yes he did push you. And yes he did hit you first. But there was so much more to the situation than that.

“Look I’m tired and I have work I need to do. If you want to scold me anymore, just please save it for tomorrow.”

Honestly you had never run up stairs so fast. The situation was so awkward and the way everyone was staring at you didn’t make anything better. There was so much disappointment in their eyes.

It’s like what you do will never be enough for anyone.

The next day everyone came down from breakfast. You went to sleep after 12 due to having work piled up from your asshole teachers. It’s not like they grade half of it anyway.

You still didn’t understand one of the lessons so decided to watch some YouTube videos on it and take notes while eating breakfast. That also gave you an excuse to sit away from anyone who would possibly want to lecture you about your ‘reckless actions’.

You were the last one down. Deciding to already have headphones in—to ignore anyone calling your name—you grabbed your breakfast and sat down at a table by yourself. Pulling your notebook and pencil out, you started the video and took notes while eating.

You could feel their eyes burning holes in your head. You’d honestly prefer they just come ask what they wanted than staring at you like some museum exhibit.

You just ignored it and did your work. That was easier said than done as Casey came over, sat next to you, and snatched your earphones out.

“Hey!” You scrambled to pause the video so you didn’t miss anything. “I was watching that.”

Turning to Casey, you pushed your glasses up and gave her a look that said ‘can I help you?’

“Don’t give me that face. I’m not the one you need to be having an attitude with.”

“I-I don’t have an attitude though.”

“Stop talking.”

You purse your lips, nod your head, and start bouncing your leg waiting to hear whatever she wanted to say to you.

“Look, I don’t know what’s been going on at school or at home but everyone can tell you’re on edge. Isolating yourself isn’t going to help anyone-”

“But I’m not isolating myself.”

“Interrupt me one more time, child.”

Casey was your first team mom. When you joined the red stars, she immediately took you under her wing and she became your mentor. The two of you worked well together and she constantly kept you on track. She was very nice but could be very strict when she wanted to be.

“All I’m saying is you’re making yourself look more guilty to them because you’re sitting over here looking like you’re all up in your feelings. You aren’t in your feelings. Right? Cause that’d be another conversation I’d have to have with somebody’s child and-”

You cut her off with your chuckle and shook your head. “Casey, I’m fine.”

She nods her head and contemplates for a few seconds, “Alright, come sit at the table with me then.”

“But I’m working.”

“Okay. You can work over there too.”

You simply watched as she grabbed your phone, notebook and breakfast to the table with a gaped mouth.

You blinked at her while she mouthed ‘come here’. Reluctantly, you pushed yourself out the seat and slowly made your way over. You sat down and reached out for your phone only for Casey to snatch it away.

“I need to do my work. What did you do that for?”

“Your work can wait. Socialize,” she said while putting your phone out of work.

With raised eyebrows you said, “Seriously?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding?”

Huffing you turned in your seat and played with your food. You’d honestly lost your appetite this morning; it was only 9 in the morning and people were already testing your patience.

You looked up and your eyes locked with Carli’s.

“Stop playing with your food, (y/n).”

You put your fork down and just got up to throw your food away. You couldn’t deal with this right now.

The two weeks of camp was boring and went by agonizingly slow. It consisted of pretty much the same routine; you’d do work after training, work during breakfast and spend any free days or breaks by yourself (occasionally with Tierna) in your room, on your phone looking at ways to improve and tricks to do.

It became annoying when all the vets constantly reprimanded you for the smallest of things. With Carli, it’d be ‘stop playing around so much’. With Alex it’d be ‘pick up after yourself’. Even Kelley was doing it for fuck’s sake.

You honestly couldn’t wait to leave and at least be somewhere where all the attention isn’t on you.

When you got to the airport, your girlfriend was there waiting for you. She pulled you in her arms and any leftover tension from the past two weeks immediately went away. She always knew how to make you feel better.

The two of you drove to her house and went over some school work before going to bed for the night. It wasn’t an unusual routine between you two.

When the alarm went off in the morning both of you groaned. The school you went to was a total pain in the ass and regardless of what day it was, you could count on it to be an awful day. It was a predominately white school with only 2 percent being a person of color; you and your girlfriend being part of that 2%. Half of them were racist, sexist, homophobic, and just all around assholes.

Walking into the school building, you could immediately feel all eyes on you. Trying to get past it, the two of you just went to your lockers with your heads down.

“Aye! Look at me you freak!”

It was the same dude you got into a fight with last time(his name is Chad by the way). Apparently a black eye didn’t teach him shit.

“When I tell you to do something I expect you to do it.”

He grabs your shoulders, turns you around and pins you to the lockers.

“You see my eye?”

“Yeah, you got your ass beat by a girl. What you gonna do about it?”

He punched you in the stomach hard.

“(Y/n)!” Your girlfriend. You looked up at her and shook your head signaling her not to get involved.

“Ima make you look worse than you made me-”

“Are you sure about that? Last time you failed, what makes you think it won’t happen again?”

Chad chuckles and shakes his head.

“You think you’re all that with that equal pay shit, and your racial equality and women loving women crap. Guess what you little bitch I’m going to end you and all those lesbians and gays and anybody else who thinks they deserve equality because you don’t. You don’t belong here. Just go kill-”

You kicked him in his balls, twisted his arm behind his back, and pulled it. When you heard that crack you smirked and leaned down to his ear.

“I don’t wanna embarrass you in front of your racist, sexist, homophobic, buddies, but lemme tell you. You don’t own anybody nor are you superior to anybody. Do I make myself clear?”

He only grunted but you pulled tighter which made him yell out.

“I said, ‘do I make myself clear’?”

“Yes!”

You pushed him on the ground and walked over him to your girlfriend.

“Why in the world would do that? You know what they’re going to do to you. You might not even get invited back to camp!”

“Babe, calm down. I honestly don’t care at this point. And neither should you.”

“(Y/n) (L/n)! My office! Now!”

You gave her a kiss and walked away slowly.

“Wish me luck.”

“You seriously got into another fight! What is going on with you!”

It was the first thing you heard when walking into the hotel lobby. Literally everyone was there. From the youngings to the vets. Surprisingly, you were called back to camp, but you honestly think it was just so everyone could scold you. Carli was absolutely livid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything at the moment since you were so pissed.

Walking past the team, you attempted to make it to the stairs, only for Casey to grab the back of your shirt and pull you back towards the tables. She pushed you down into a seat and took your belongings away from you.

You tried to get back up but you were only pushed down again.

Carli bent down and stared you dead in the eye.

“What is going on with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. What I did was what I intended to do. It was no mistake.”

Alex interrupted, “(Y/n), you don’t understand-”

“No you don’t understand!” You stood abruptly from the chair and slammed your hands on the table. The chair fell and it was absolute silence.

You’d never been so loud. You were always on the quiet side and this was the biggest reaction anyone had ever seen from you.

You were heavily breathing, staring at Carli, the adrenaline pumping through you.

“Did they tell you what he did to me?! Did they tell you what he calls me, my girlfriend and every other female, lgbtq member, or person of color in that school?! No! Because they don’t give a shit. And they won’t give a shit until it’s one of their kids getting hurt!”

There was no dry eye in the room. Your hands were shaking and you took a deep breath to calm down. In a lower voice you spoke.

“They don’t give a damn about my well-being so why should I give a fuck about theirs?”

Taking a few more trembling breaths, you wiped the tears off your face.

“So excuse me for being off for the past few weeks. This shit will take a toll on anybody. And you can cut the bullshit with the ‘don’t fight fire with fire’ cause that’s the only way something gets through those thick ass skulls. They don’t allow you to do it peacefully. They don’t allow you to educate them.”

You looked at Casey with tears in your eyes.

“I just wanna go to school and get an education and be treated like a normal human being. What’s wrong with that?”

Crystal came over to you and caught you before you fell. She lowered you both to the floor as you sobbed your heart out. You kept mumbling ‘I’m sorry’ into her neck between breaths as she rocked you back and forth trying to console you.

Casey and Christen were the next ones over, the latter rubbing your back while the other was trying to wipe away the onslaught of tears on your face.

“Shh, shh baby. You did nothing wrong.”

Soon, every member of the team was crowded around. Tears were streaming down everyone’s face. Their baby, only 16, was going through all this stress and pain. Because of something no one deserves.

You eventually calmed down after 15 more minutes of crying. You’d been transferred to Casey’s lap, and your team mom was trying to comfort you to the best of her ability.

Casey took your face in her hands and wiped all the tears off. “You don’t need to be sorry, alright? There was nothing you did wrong. Stop saying sorry.”

You nodded your head and she kissed your forehead.

Everyone was still crying or wiping waterfalls of tears away.

They watched as you got up and searched frantically for something. You got your phone out of your backpack and turned it on. While you were pacing, the Home Screen popped up and you quickly logged in to text your girlfriend. One, because you always text her when you get to the hotel and two, if Chad and his stickman buddies hurt her, you were absolutely going to lose your shit.

When you logged in to your phone, you saw she already messaged you saying that you should talk to the others.

“Kinda late for that,” you muttered.

“What did you say, hun?” Christen asked.

You just shook your head and texted her back.

Gf: I mean we could always try to talk to the board.

You: Or

You: We could go on strike.

Gf: I-

Gf: I’m done talking to you.

You: wait no! Don’t leave me.

You: I love you

You had a frown on your face when you put your phone away.

Casey pulled you back down into her lap. “What’s with the frown?”

You groaned and threw your head back. “She’s such an asshole. She left me on read!”

The team chuckled, glad to see you was somewhat back to yourself.

Your phone dinged and you pulled it out. She said ‘I love you too, weirdo’

There were a few moments of silence as everyone was thinking of what to do.

“Can we go on strike?”

“No!”

Casey flicked your ear for that.

Tobin spoke up, “Let’s create awareness first. Maybe identify the school board, post all the school’s faults on social media. I don’t know, just some ideas.”

Carli nodded her head. “Look, we’re here for you. For everyone in that school that’s been wronged. We’re gonna help you alright?”

You nodded your head and leaned back onto your team mom.

“And if all else fails, we go on strike.”

“Oh my god.”

—————-

Lowkey think this was trash but eh. I don’t really care at this point but uh this topic is very serious and what I put in here doesn’t even compare to what happens irl.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagines #Uswnt imagine #Uswnt #alex morgan #tobin heath #christen press #casey short #megan rapinoe #carli lloyd #mallory pugh #sam mewis #emily sonnett #crystal dunn #kelley ohara

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creativeashproductions · 4 years

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What If...? III // Alive!Luke Patterson

Summary: The aftermath of both the car accident and the proposal is something Luke struggles with dividing you two for the first time. With an ultimatum in place Luke finds himself standing in front of his childhood home but can he open the door he had locked and shut?

Warning: Swearing, talk of injuries, self-guilt, angst, Unsaid Emily (I’m a terrible person), and fluff (I SWEAR THERE IS FLUFF IN THIS)

Words: 4.0k

Requested: By @beautifulblogsblog . There will be two more parts at least.

A/N: Grammarly estimates that this will take a little over 15 minutes to read. I also almost made you not get an answer to a make or break question somewhere in here but I wanted to make up for the cliffhanger in part one.

*Bobby’s last name in this is Willis, it will come clear why soon.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist (other parts for What If can be found in the masterlist)

(This goddamn shirt is also a warning holy christ)

Hollywood 1996

Life after the car accident was strange, to say the least. You lived with the guilt that your father couldn’t pick up a guitar. He had severely broken his arm in the crash in the instinctive moment to protect you. Your mother hovered, and Luke was there, but something changed since his hospital proposal.

There was a weird tension between you and him that concerned Alex because Luke wouldn’t talk about it. He would change the subject whenever Alex inquired about that empty ring box he found. Luke hadn’t told the guys he planned to propose and being rejected wasn’t something he wanted to share. However, one night he finally did.

“You could propose at the Eiffel Tower!” Reggie suggested having seen a commercial with the tower in the background. His excitement was visible to the band members in the living room.

“Too cheesy.” Luke grumbled, rolling his eyes slouching down on the couch, “I’m not proposing.”

“I understand it’s a big step b-“

“I’m not proposing because I already did.” Luke snapped running hand through his messy hair with a glower. Alex was quiet, taking in the news and watching Luke’s body language.

“Oh congrat-“

“Read the damn room.” Luke snapped, slamming his pen on the coffee table as he stalked up the stairs to his bedroom. The resounding slam of his door marking his anger more prominent. Alex flinched at the sound.

“Was it something-“

“Seriously man?” Alex groaned, shaking his head at the bassist standing up from the armchair leaving the bassist the lone sitter, “You are so lucky you can play bass.”

Alex left Reggie downstairs to enter Luke’s room where he was throwing darts at the board harshly. Luke didn’t need to turn around to know Alex was in his personal place with one goal in mind, to cheer his bandmate up.

“What happened?” Alex asked, sitting in the second-hand office chair with a hole in the seat. His blue eyes watching the jerky movements from the obviously frustrated guitarist.

“She said no.” Luke whispered, rubbing a hand over his weary hazel eyes, more of a blue with the sadness he felt, “I proposed, and she said no.”

“I’m sorry. Did Y/N say why?” Alex hesitated to ask the question fearing Luke would fully snap as he had down a few times in the past. The one time was when he found Alex crying as an asshole overheard Alex admit to his crush on Jonathan Taylor Thomas after seeing him on Home Improvement. Courtesy of Luke, that asshole never breathed a word about it.

“An ultimatum. She won’t say yes until I fix things with my parents.” Luke sighed collapsing onto his bed, staring at the blue ceiling. Going back home after hurting his mom was something hard to do.

The night he left had been filled with a lot of words he regretted saying, he can’t even remember the last time he told his mom he loved her. The last time dinner hadn’t been tense and filled with anger. There was a pang of deep guilt for running out on his family, his mother and seeing the missing person posters further hammered the guilt in.

“She has a point.” Alex admitted, “We made it. We proved to our parents that this band was worth it. Take it from me. I would give anything for my parents to be the way they were before I told them I’m gay.”

Luke was quiet.

“You have a chance to fix things and Luke, that’s something you’ll regret. Remember the night of The Orpheum? We were gonna get street dogs? If we had, we would have died man.”

“I guess we got lucky?” Luke half-smiled remembering when they had been walking near the Orpheum a few days after performing.

The guy that sold the street dogs was arrested, and an ambulance was taking a couple to the hospital. The couple died, and it made the guys think how close they could have come to dying all the times they ate out of the Oldsmobile.

“We did. She loves you, Luke, but if you love her. You’ll reach out to your parents. I know they would love it.” Alex spoke, squeezing his best friends’ shoulder before he let himself out of the bedroom.

Alex joined Reggie in the living room watching a VHS they had rented from Blockbuster this morning. A smile appearing on Alex’s face as the muted familiar sound of a guitar came from upstairs. The sad melody Luke had taught his band playing.

“So, what year do you think we should release a country album? I can play the banjo.” Reggie asked, looking over at Alex with a thoughtful expression, “I’ve been writing this wicked song. I’m thinking of calling it ‘Home is Where My Horse Is’? How long would it take you to learn how to fiddle?”

“Reggie. I love you man, but I am not gonna be barefoot in overalls fiddling.” Alex spoke, shaking his head at his bandmate who pouted softly.

Alex and Reggie fell asleep on the couch that night while Luke worked tirelessly through the night on Unsaid Emily. It was by far the most personal song he had ever written, but it was the only way he could release the feelings he had. By the time morning came, his eyes had turned bloodshot and swollen.

Luke’s hands trembled at the sight of the childhood home he hadn’t been inside in months, not since that cold December night he left. The car was parked in the very same spot with the front bumper still dinged from when Luke was practising for his license.

Luke had developed a streak to avoid the bitter taste of disappointment from his parents. He would sneak out to gigs or little known locations with Alex; either for the band and his secret relationship. Luke never breathed a word of the relationship for the safety of Alex and avoid anything that would spike his boyfriend’s anxiety. The guilt died down when he and Alex mutually decided to be friends instead, but the band topic was different. At fourteen it was becoming apparent to Luke’s parents that this band wasn’t a hobby to him anymore, the first time his parents regretted buying the guitar.

“C’mon!” Bobby hissed from the safety of the curb. Luke was behind the wheel of his family’s station wagon in the dead of night. Reggie stationed in front of the car and Alex behind it, “This is stupid guys!”

Luke shakily took a breath in putting the car in drive to align with Reggie before he placed the vehicle in reverse. Learning to parallel park seemed to be going well as Luke did okay pulling into the parking spot. He got ahead of himself; however, when he moved to drive forward to center between Reggie and Alex. He may have hit the gas too hard.

“Ah!” Reggie screamed as the car bumped in him in the leg. The boy went down shuddering while his three friends hurried to his side.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked not minding the sting of the asphalt on his covered knees seeing as he just hit his best friend.

“I’m good.” Reggie raised one thumb in the air. Each boy leaned back in relief confirming the bassist was as good as Reginald could be.

“Why the hell didn’t you move out of the way?” Luke demanded helping the boy up from the ground with a deep frown.

“I was a traffic cone. Cones can’t move unless they get moved.” Reggie proudly announced with his typical oblivious attitude. Reggie wasn’t stupid, he was definitely the comedic relief in the band and prided himself on it.

“I-what. Okay..” Alex whispered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Sometimes I don’t know Reg.”

Reggie shrugged it off while a familiar girl jogged down the road with a furrowed brow, a girl that had lived in Luke’s neighbourhood for a while. She was moving to a bigger house soon, but she was an acquaintance that had never acknowledged the group.

“Are you okay?” The girl, you, questioned the bassist scanning him over as Luke stared dreamily at her. His ever-changing eye colour turning a soft mossy green at the girl that had held his heart for years; only temporarily vacating it for Alex.

“Oh, totally. This doesn’t hurt as much as the amp.” Reggie supplied waving it off whereas you were more worried the guy hit his head. Your gaze scanned the boys of Riot Curve. A deep developing on the pale cheeks of the Patterson boy.

“Aren’t you guys in my grade?” You questioned pursing your lips together, “You’d be like thirteen. Why are you driving? Aren’t you a little short to see over the steering wheel?”

A bark of laughter fell from Bobby Willis’ mouth, earning him a glance from you, closing his mouth as Luke’s look of disgust.

“I’m not short!” Luke shouted, “I’ll have you know I grew!”

You snickered at his offended expression, “Dude, I’m joking. You’ll get a growth spurt soon. Besides, I think you have bigger issues than your vertical challenge.”

A question fell from Luke’s lips before he followed your view. The bumper of his parent’s car had a small dent that his father would most definitely discover at some point.

“Oh, I am dead meat.” Luke sprouted just before the guys started brainstorming explanations that didn’t include four fourteen-year-old boys out after curfew driving.

“Hey, I have a little experience with bands and whatnot. Just a suggestion, maybe consider changing your band name from Riot Curve to something else.” You suggested starting to jog back to your house, “See you in class!”

Luke once again stared dreamily after your form forgetting what he should be worried about.

“Our name is already-“

“Sunset Curve.” Luke shouted, earning weird looks from his bandmates at the rather uncharacteristic change of mind, “We are renaming the band.”

“Why?” Bobby scoffed, “We agreed on Riot Curve!”

“Uh, no. You two did. Reggie and I weren’t there.” Alex raised one his eyebrows facing Bobby, “I was sick with the flu, and Reggie was at his aunt’s second wedding.”

“Why the name?” Reggie asked his pining lead singer flicking his gaze between Luke and the empty place where you had been.

“Because that was the first time, she talked to me. A sunset behind her brightening the pretty curve of her smile.” Luke sighed scrambling when the front step light at his house turned on. Each boy running for the safety from the Patterson windows.

“I like the name! I didn’t like the violence in the other name!” Alex shouted, rushing towards his bicycle to head back home.

That was also the last time Luke saw you until 1993 at that concert as you moved to the medium-sized mansion by then.

Luke grinned at the memory of how he actually spoke to the girl of his dreams before everything went full to shit. Reggie’s parents started fighting, Bobby grew more into girls than music, Alex told his parents he was gay. Luke finally sat down with his parents telling him that he wouldn’t go to college and didn’t want to finish high school. He did finish high school to appease his parents even after running away.

“Luke?” The breathless question brought the guitarist back to the present time and to the blue eyes of his father. The shock on the man’s face preceding the tears building up, “Son.”

“Hon?” Luke’s knees collapsed as he heard the soft voice that had read him stories and sung lullabies when he was a child. Emily gasped as she saw the one person she had wished to find for so long, “Luke.”

“Mom.” Luke choked, raising his hands to press them to his face, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t-“

“Sh. Baby.” Emily wasted no time in scooping her son into her arms, so thankful nothing terrible had happened to him. She didn’t care where or what he had been doing as long as he in her arms again.

A hand clapped his shoulder to squeeze, announcing his father silently thanking whatever God there was for bringing his son home. That they didn’t have to worry blue and red lights would precede news no parent wanted to hear.

“Can I come in?” Luke asked tentatively. A soft hand brushing his hair away from his eyes for his parents to finally see the unique eye colour their son had inherited.

Emily ushered her son into the kitchen that hadn’t changed in the time Luke had been gone, the only difference being the Christmas decorations put away. They would reappear the last week of November; Emily wouldn’t have to struggle to put the ornaments on the tree without her son.

“I don’t know how to say what I want. Could I…could I sing please?” Luke murmured to his parents. It was a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to be answered. He hadn’t brought his guitar just in case it was the wrong move. His parents regretted buying him that guitar.

“Of course.” Mitch spoke, climbing to his height, “Just one moment.”

Luke watched his father leave the kitchen only to shortly return, holding a beautiful acoustic guitar. He had never seen it in his life either. He was confused when Mitch set the guitar into Luke’s lap.

“You’re like your mom. When she worries the only thing that can help calm her is knitting. I figured the guitar is your way of knitting.” Mitch calmly told his son choosing to not bright attention to tears in either of the Patterson men’s eyes.

Luke settled on the couch in the living room while Mitch and Emily took to their respective long known spots. Ones that faced the windows perfect for knitting and reading with natural light. Emily reached over to hold her husband’s hand while Luke started strumming.

First things first

We start the scene in reverse.

All of the lines rehearsed.

Disappeared from my mind

When things got loud

One of us running out

I should have turned around.

But I had too much pride.

No time for goodbyes

Didn’t get to apologize

Pieces of a clock that lies broken

Not a dry eye in the Patterson home as Luke gave the best performance of his life. Performance didn’t build a bridge between him and his parents, why make a new bridge when the first one only needs repairs.

“Please record that.” Emily choked wiping her face of tears, “I want that on your first album, I loved it. I’m going to buy the first CD it’s on.”

Luke Patterson smiled a piece instead of healing at her words and the acceptance he had craved. Now he just had to propose again.

The cosy soft knit blanket Emily gave you at Christmas the first time you met Luke’s parents when it became clear that the relationship was serious. It was one that you cuddled into for a sense of comfort, eyes focused on the demo the song was waiting. Fingers itching to put in the CD player and listen to the finished product.

“Hey. Sweetheart you gotta stop blaming yourself.” Lance spoke coming to sit beside you on the piano bench. The bench you had learnt how to play directly across from the couch that you spent hours with him on learning the guitar.

“How can I? I asked for a ride, and you might never play again.” You scoffed, bringing your knees to your chest. Lance’s heart broke, hearing the guilt leaking from your words and the slump on your shoulders.

“I picked you up because I love you. You’re my daughter, my baby and I’m gonna tell you something that hope knocks some sense in that head.” Your Dad sternly spoke, taking your hand to place on his cast, “This? This doesn’t matter. If I hadn’t done this, you would be dead, and I wouldn’t be able to hold a guitar because you wouldn’t get to hear me play. I’d rather not be able to play and have my daughter alive.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks as your hero wiped your tears tugging you in his arms, “Besides I’m a Y/L/N, we don’t let other people tell us how to live.”

Lance leaned over to insert the CD into the machine before pressing play bringing a soft melody in the room. You snuggled into his side as his rich voice broke through into the most beautiful song you had ever heard. Unbeknownst to you, Luke stood in the doorway with his bandmates listening to the gorgeous record.

“I love it.” You whispered glancing over your shoulder, feeling the gaze of someone, and while you expected your mother, the sight was welcome. Not a dry eye in the room as the last chord rang with the joyful voice of a little girl; your voice from a family video.

“That’s beautiful.” Luke breathed grinning when you swiftly made your way into his open arms, “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you like I should have been. I was hurt, and I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Was that the song that was playing- OW!” Reggie exclaimed rubbing the back of his head that Bobby had thumped. The bassist grimacing at the pain clueing that it wasn’t the greatest question he had said.

“Bittersweet was the song playing. This is the finished product.” Lance confirmed standing to his full height, “How about I let you see some unreleased songs?”

Lance ushered everyone but you and Luke from the room for privacy only winking before closing the door. Luke breathed out, leading you back to the couch with his hands squeezing your own.

“You were right,” Luke announced brushing the pad of his thumb under your eye to swipe an eyelash. His hazel eyes showing more of the green with the adoration gleaming from them, “It hurt being rejected but you were right about it. I hurt my parents by running out one them, especially my mom. I don’t want to hurt her more by excluding her from the biggest moment of my life.”

Your own hand raised to cup his cheek heart bursting when Luke turned his head to press a chaste kiss to the palm.

“You couldn’t guess how much it ached telling you no. I wanted to so badly, but your mom was always so good to me. I didn’t want her to miss out on anything.”

“She won’t miss out.” Luke replied, tugging you to your feet, “I went home, and we talked it through.”

Your feet cemented to the floor, ��You went to see them?”

“I did. I was no sure Mom and Dad hated me for running away, for choosing music over them.”

“You didn’t choose music over them, Lu. You made a decision that they didn’t like, but you did what you were raised to do. They taught you to stand up for yourself, never second guess or quit.” You passionately told him, “They love you with their whole heart, they just didn’t understand how important music is to you at the time.”

“God, I love you so much. I would do anything for you.” Luke tugged you into his arms, bringing your attention to his different outfit choice.

He was wearing his best black jeans with no holes but still the chains, but his wallet wasn’t on display. His lucky blue rabbit’s foot was clipped to his necklace laying over the long sleeve purple corduroy shirt. The shirt he wore a lot when he wanted to be wanted to a little more dressed up.

“You’re wearing that shirt.” You stated glancing up to the boy, “And your lucky rabbit’s foot is not on your chains.”

Luke smirked, leading you through the house to the backyard where Luke had asked Nancy to be. Your mother sat at the piano with your father beside her, Nancy and Lance Y/L/N hadn’t sat at a piano together since you were tiny. Tears built up as Luke gently brought you into his arms entirely in time with the notes that Nancy began.

Heart beats fast

Colors and promises

How to be brave

“Are you trying to make me cry?” You choked as he used the dance lessons he took with his mom twirling you around. As if you couldn’t cry more your gaze found Reggie strumming the acoustic guitar. Alex waiting at his drums with a grin at Luke and you.

I have died every day, waiting for you.

Darling, don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years.

I’ll love you for a thousand more.

Everything faded as you two gazed into each other’s eyes, in his you swore you saw every moment with Luke play. The sweaty palms shy to hold each other to the first kiss, the second kiss, sharing the most vulnerable time at sixteen, his serenading at seventeen after signing with a label and everything between those precious moments.

Time stands still

Beauty in all she is

I will be brave

I will not let anything, take away.

What’s standing in front of me

Every breath, every hour has come to this.

Bobby made his presence known harmonizing with you mom so low you barely heard, but it was Luke singing that enthralled you. Everything about this moment you would remember for the rest of your life.

The music faded as Luke took a step back to kneel down in front of you with the ring he had yearned to give you. The ring his mother had held on to for the girl Luke would fall in love with. She had given it a few days previous so thoroughly happy she got the opportunity to pass it down.

“Luke.” You breathed cupping your hands, one still in a brace, over your shocked face. His expression softened into the most loving one you had ever receiving in the years you had been together.

“My life has been leading me to this very moment. I believe that I was guided into music because of this absolutely perfect moment. Surrounded by the people who cheered us on and gave wisdom. The people that gave us a look at what true love is supposed to be.” Luke began keeping his entire focus on the love his life, “I knew about you before you knew me. I was ten when I saw you during recess sitting up against the tree with your walkman. I fell for you at that moment, but it wasn’t until I hit Reggie with the car that I got to talk to you.”

You giggled as you remembered running to a group of guys after seeing one get hit. If only you knew who they were at that time.

“Our first real conversation was at a concert, and I fell in love at that moment, and I am so thankful you gave me a chance. There isn’t anyone else, sorry, Alex!” Luke teased over his shoulder, earning a chuckle in response, “There isn’t anyone I want to spend my life with. You are my muse, the person I share every lyric with, my love and my soulmate.”

“Luke.” You choked reaching up to cup his cheeks so close not a single sheet of paper would move between you.

“Will you marry me? In front of our parents and our friends?” Luke shakily questioned begging for his rabbit’s foot to work with it being close to his heart.

“Yes.” You answered, reaching up to pull his face down to yours. The most passionate kiss of your life he wrapped his arms around you waist lifting you in his arms; he twirled around with you.

This was his most significant moment ever. The Orpheum could never live up to this.

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#luke patterson imagines #julie and the phantoms imagines #jatp luke #luke patterson x reader #charlie gillespie imagines #what if...? luke patterson #caitsy and ash productions

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Yoga

Summary: Vincenzo hides his jealousy as well as he hides being part of the mafia.

Author's note: it was supposed to be a cute jealous yoga story I don't know why this ended in angst 😂😂😂 I really need to get my life together. Also Vincenzo rubbed me the wrong way today and some people are trying to convince me that I'm interpreting the show incorrectly and explaining to me why it didn't offend them and why everything was fine and I just need you to know, my opinion isn't changing but listen if you had a great time today watching the episode please don't let me stop you. I don't need anyone to be outraged with me. I'll be mad all by myself I promise! But just to be clear my problem was the creation of yet another gay character who an awful person in a kdrama. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen gay characters not be predators or abusive.

Anywho I give you jealous aerial yoga fun that ends in man pain!

He probably believes that he's being inconspicuous again, hiding this side of him as well as he'd thought he was hiding being a member of the mafia. But he's just as obvious as he always is in her eyes, much like her he's too theatrical to ever really conceal how he's feeling. He talks too much and reveals his cards too easily- especially to her.

He's attracted to her that much is painfully evident, if her father's nosy assistant hadn't interrupted they would have kissed. She would have been laid across the table and taken apart, his eyes promised a great time as he devoured her. She was just as attracted to him, she wouldn't have stopped him from doing whatever he wanted.

It is getting more difficult to ignore the quiet moments though, when she can feel his eyes on her and it's not sexual at all. He's just looking at her and she feels bare, naked.

Those moments scare her in a way she hasn't felt before. Ergo she presses them deep, deep into the dark corners of her brain behind all the different ways that she has concocted to throw off others, she's used to being strange and having men overlook her for it.

She's never been what others would consider "sexy". But then he appears and suddenly men seem to see her in a new light. Or maybe he brings her attention to it.

It all begins at the coffee shop, they've made a habit of starting their mornings together by getting coffee. She doesn't analyze what exactly they're doing but some may consider it a date, she hasn't giving the outings a title there's no need to.

She feels comfortable with him and he hasn't been resistant to her pushing her way into his life. She has always been like this, too much and overbearing. Usually it drives people away and she pretends that it doesn't hurt that she's something that people need in doses, she's heard that so often that it's etched in her brain.

Friends in college, boyfriends and her colleagues to name a few.

But for some reason he keeps coming back for more doses, regularly smiling at her shenanigans even egging on her antics with full body laughs.

So he'd taken her to get coffee grinning once again as she dragged her caffeine deprived body dramatically like a puppet with its strings cut to the counter, plopping herself on the surface before crying out, "If I don't get a large sewage water in five minutes my death will be on your hands!" The barista behind the counter grinned over at her, used to her dramatics. He was young, barely nineteen and he'd tried his hand at flirting with her a few times. She had promptly laughed in his face the first time, spewing coffee everywhere before strutting out of the shop.

Laughing and punching a stranger in the arm, ignoring the loud "Hey! What are you doing," before she danced down the sidewalk, hand on her hip as she flipped her hair before shouting to the sky, "I've still got it, baby!"

That day he had glanced at Vincenzo before walking over to her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I didn't realize I had so much power over you. What if I say I won't give it to you unless you let me take you on a date?" She remembered her eyes widening in shock and then disbelief and finally landing on bemusement, he was persistent she would give him that much but she was no cougar so his flirting was futile.

She opened her mouth to let him down easy- laugh in his face again and remind him that he had to be this old to ride her ride but suddenly her Italian was leaning across the counter, all cool lines with a deadly smile on his face.

With a his deep voice he chillingly said, "If you don't give it to her your death will be on my hands."

There was heavy silence.

He continued, "I know how to kill a man with only a coffee cup and a string."

The barista, Heon, stared at Vincenzo with all of the blood draining from his youthful face. She didn't blame him the man did sound unnervingly serious and the look in his eyes was a little too real to be purely acting. Plus there was conveniently a coffee cup and a string right there on the table, it was an oddly specific thing to say.

Then after a pregnant pause, he started laughing loudly filling the entire shop like a mad man and she looked over at him as if he had lost his damn mind but this was her favorite coffee shop, she couldn't be banned so she started laughing with him, guffawing and pushing the idiot on the shoulders.

"He's just joking! HahaHAHAHA, laugh it was a joke! LAUGH!!" She leaned across the counter to pat the scared boy on the back but then Vincenzo leaned into her, draping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her back until she was no longer touching him. His laughter static and too robotic to be anything other than a hoax.

She'd never seen anyone brew coffee that fast before. It was impressive what a person could do when they felt as if their life was in danger she'd thought, she gave him a generous tip before leaving.

Heon mysteriously stopped working when they would normally come to the coffee, another barista informed her that he had switched his hours. A certain Italian was really cheerful upon hearing the news, whistling an unknown tune as he sipped his tiny cup of espresso- double shot, traipsing away with a pep in his step and the wind beneath his suit coat.

His random violent outbursts continued.

Bartenders. Businessmen. Traffic officers. Other lawyers. A librarian who had flirtatiously whispered that she wouldn't need to be quiet when they were alone. Suddenly there were men everywhere and she was the hottest thing on the menu, her lower back probably had an imprint of his hand by now from all the times he would steer her away from her suitors.

Every time his excuses were the same, "I'm just protecting you. Guys like that are scum, you deserve better."

Well the one she wanted had no intention of staying so why was he blocking anyone else from trying?

Thinking about it makes her chest feel tight and she welcomes the weekend, she has booked an aerial yoga class to release some of the stress and tension just being around the Italian causes.

It's a warm day so she dons a small set, a light blue sports bra with matching shorts throwing a light jacket over in case the temperature drops at the end of the day. Looking in the mirror she scoops her hair into a low ponytail, pushing back baby hairs that frame her face.

She swipes a thin layer of chapstick across her dry lips before grabbing her phone, keys, gym membership card and her gym bag with a change of clothes.

The drive to the studio is short, she listens to BlackPink on the radio happily screaming about her dududududu complete with car choreo that consists of arm shakes and a lot of hair whipping. It's another miraculous day where she does not cause a car accident, she gives herself a high five for the small victory.

She parks her car haphazardly driving onto the sidewalk several times before getting it right. With a satisfied sigh she hops out of her car, opening the back door and bending over to grab her gym bag.

"Cha-young ah?"

A familiar voice surprises her and she jumps bumping her head into the roof of her car with a cry, she drops the gym bag and leans out of the car rubbing her throbbing head with a pained grimace.

Vincenzo is standing in front of her, in what is the most casual outfit she has ever seen him wear. A pair of navy blue sweatpants, a plain white t-shirt and expensive looking black sneakers, leave it to him to wear Balenciagas when trying to look casual.

Her mouth becomes very dry as she takes in the unexpected but very much welcome sight.

Shaking herself out of her stupor she raises an eyebrow at him, "What are you doing here?" She asks once again leaning into her car to retrieve her gym bag. When she turns around slamming the door shut she watches Vincenzo peel his eyes away, quickly looking away from her direction.

Had he been checking her out?

She smirks at the thought before openly checking him out. Eyes perusing his body up and down in a slow and thorough examination.

"Are you checking me out?" He asks amused as he folds his arms across his chest, making his already impressive biceps look even bigger and more enticing. She knows exactly what he's doing, he's about as subtle as a bulldozer.

"Yes, I am. Do you need me to turn around again so you can check me out?" She laughs easily as he sputters and tries to deny her claims, once he realizes that she doesn't believe a word he's saying he finally stops, admitting defeat.

"Those are...great shorts." He drawls, gone is the embarrassed act. Now he's freely eying her shorts clad body, eyes hot as they trail up and down her legs.

Shaking her head she smiles at him, "You never answered my question. What are you doing here?" He struts over to her prying her gym bag from her hand and throwing it over his free shoulder. She tries not to get too affected by his sudden closeness, his cologne filling her nostrils with the fresh earthy musk.

"My gym is here. I came to work out. You look like you had the same idea, you should have called me." There he goes again, making space for himself in her life although he has no intention of staying with her. It was cruel and she knows she should cut him off before it's too late.

"I don't think you'll be interested in what I'm doing." She answers walking ahead, holding the gym door open for him. They both show their card to the attendant at the front and the young worker smiles at her before saying, "Your aerial yoga class will be starting in five minutes. It's best to go early and secure a good spot."

She can see Vincenzo's questioning face in her peripheral but she ignores him to nod at the younger woman, tugging her bag off his shoulder and nodding at him in dismissal.

"Enjoy your work out." She climbs the stairs leading to the huge studio where the aerial classes are held. His eyes are like lasers on her back and she already knows that he's going to follow her, he's too intrigued to stay away. That's what she was banking on.

She would get him back for all his jealous tantrums this past week. There were so many places they were probably going to be banned from and all because he didn't know how to play well with others. She's wasn't some toy he could claim. Especially when she couldn't claim him back.

Finding a spot in the corner she puts her bag down on one of the mats that are provided, taking a few moments to do some light stretches. She bends over touching her toes before dipping her head and elongating her neck, then she does a few squats and jumping jacks just to get her blood pumping and her heart racing.

She can feel the exact moment that he comes, it also helps that all the women gasp and she can hear coy giggles about their new guest. She pretends not to notice him, stretching backwards into a perfect handstand holding it for a few minutes before tilting back and planting her feet until she's upright again. She almost loses her composure when she catches his expression in the large windows.

He looks shocked and aroused, neck redder than normal.

All the women settle down when the instructor comes to the front of the room, they have reached the point where he no longer shows them what to do instead he walks around the room correcting their form and giving tips or words of encouragement.

He's a beautiful man, with mocha colored skin and a lean muscled build and the most gorgeous head of coily hair. She has been coming here for months and they've become quite closer as they have a lot in common, most importantly they both love men. When they had run into each other and realized they were staring at the same guy's ass, it was love at first ogle.

When he comes over to greet her she immediately steps into his space with a mischievous grin. Sean grins back looking exasperated already but he still says, "What are you up to? I know that smile Ms. Cha-young." She leans closer certain that Vincenzo is avidly watching her every move. Trailing a finger up his thick bicep she whispers, "Nine o clock, don't look but I need your help to teach him a lesson. Are you up to it?"

Sean starts to turn his head before processing her order and stopping, he stares at her before a devilish look gleams in his bright eyes too.

"You know I'm always up." He replies voice full of innuendos and she fake swoons, bringing her hand to her forehead. "Don't tease me."

He chuckles at her before walking back to the front of the room, none of the other women react to their flirtations used to their antics and everyone already knows that Sean is as gay as the pride flag. Everyone except one fuming Italian.

She can feel his waves of anger crashing across the room and she tugs at the cloth in front of her testing the weight before easily hoisting herself up, letting it cup her bottom as her feet dangle.

She's ready to put on a show.

He hadn't stalked her per se, he'd merely overheard one of the tenants say that they'd seen Cha-young in a nearby studio on weekends so he'd went to see if she really did go there. And then there she was bent over in her car, pert little bottom sticking out the car and he wanted nothing more than to smack the flesh and watch it bounce and jiggle under his hand.

This was why he was so protective, not jealous. Protective. She was too careless with her body and there were salacious men out there ready to take advantage of that, she needed someone like him who had a pure heart to look out for her.

He was allowed to fantasize about spanking her while having a pure heart, it was called having duality.

So he'd followed her into the gym, a little peeved when she abandoned him without a word to attend something called "aerial yoga", he knew regular yoga and if it was anything like that he was very much interested.

In watching her do it.

Turning to the young worker who had been staring a hole in his face, he sent her a charismatic smile before leaning nonchalantly on the counter, he could tell that he had her full attention by the way her mouth fell open.

He almost felt bad, she seemed a bit wet behind the ears. But he wasn't really trying to seduce her so it was fine, he wasn't some old creepy predator.

"Hey, that aerial yoga class am I allowed to watch it? I want to see if it's something I might be interested in." He lies to the younger woman, watching her process his words before answering.

"Well technically that class is restricted for those who signed up..." She trails off looking at him and he smiles brightly, pushing his curly hair off his forehead he had forgo his products today and the way her eyes follow his fingers make him thankful that he did so. "But you won't do any harm by watching, I'm sure it'll be fine. Go on up." She finishes and he throws a mental fist pump, he still had it.

Outwardly he smiles serenely, thanking her before walking up the stairs that Cha-young just disappeared up. It leads to a spacious studio with a wall of gleaming mirrors and huge bay windows overlooking the city. He looks around before his eyes land on her, the reason why he's here.

He swallows a groan as he watches her stretch that slim gently curvy body, she's all smooth lines and feminine appeal. When she starts squatting he can't help but watch those firm cheeks tensing and tightening, he lazily leans back hungrily watching her.

Then he almost swallows his tongue when she bends backwards into a perfect bridge before lifting herself into a handstand, damn she was strong and deliciously flexible. Looking her in the eye was going to be even more difficult now.

His heckles raise when he sees another man approaching her suddenly, a Black man who seems way too familiar with his Cha-young based on the way they both grin and invade the others space. He sneers as he watches them whisper and grin at each other, who was this guy and why were they so close? He releases a sigh of relief when the man finally backs up, going to the front of the room before pressing a button and light soothing music begins to play.

He must be the instructor then. Wonderful. He prays that was the end of the unnecessary touching and standing too close to his lawyer. He doesn't want to have to make a scene.

It isn't the end. Not by a long shot.

The instructor who had introduced himself as Sean easily walked around, stopping every once in a while to correct someone or praise them for having good form. The ladies would preen and thank him and that was it, he would nod before moving on.

Cha-young was the only exception to this rule.

He watches mesmerized as the limber lawyer bends herself into a graceful pose that resembles a swan and he can't fight the images that start flashing in his mind of them in bed, her twisting around him with pieces of cloth. Tying him up and showing him just how flexible she is all night long until they both sore and sated.

When she suddenly releases the cloth and starts tumbling to the ground he finds himself jumping into action shoving the fantasy to the crevice of his mind, legs already moving to catch her before she saves herself with her ankles, her body swinging freely with her face only inches from the floor. His heart skips a beat before it starts chugging along again.

Why was she always worrying him?

"That was perfect Cha-young! You've finally let go of your fear of falling!" Sean praises her walking over and patting her legs, but he doesn't let go after the quick touch. He keeps those grabby hands on her thigh and helps her back up onto the cloth, he thinks that will be the end of it. He's wrong.

He moves her body into a new pose with the cloth wrapped around her shoulder and he glares when a hand runs down her back precariously close to her bottom before rolling back up. He pushes her gently on the cloth harness and she laughs gleefully before she whispers something to the instructor, it's hard to read her lips from this distance but he can make out, "with me."

He understands what she asked for when Sean nods and moves into position.

Sean wraps his arms around the same cloth and suddenly lifts himself off the ground, his face level with her groin and he wants to go over and rip the cloth from the ceiling and strangle the man with it. Then Sean pulls himself up and Cha-young slides out of her seated position, grabbing the cloth too until they're face to face and spinning in lazy hypnotic circles. They both have huge grins on their faces as they move together in perfect harmony, the last straw comes when she wraps her legs around his waist and their bodies are pressed together- he sees blazing red and disconcerting white and then finally pitch black.

He's fleeing before he's even aware of it. Bounding down the stairs, two steps at a time then shoving the entrance door open and letting the surge of cool air ease his anger. If he stayed another second the instructor would be dangling out the window much like that thug before except he wasn't sure if he would be able to pull him back up.

Why was he so anger? She'd looked fine, happy even. She clearly wasn't being taken advantage of. But his rage is bursting at the seams and he jolts when a hand suddenly grips his wrist. Instinctively he turns grabbing the person and slamming them into the nearby wall.

Cha-young looks up at him, face flushed and sweaty.

That will also be burned into his retina.

"You should know better than to sneak up on me." He warns taking deep breaths to suppress some of the frustration he feels looking at her, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"What's wrong with you?" She counters bringing her hands to his shoulders rubbing in a calming motion, "You look pissed. Did something happen?"

He watches her for a second, taking her in seemingly harmless question and recalls her legs wrapped around another man who wasn't him and he wants to punch that fucking handsy instructor right in his smug fac--

Wait.

She was smiling. No, smirking. Right up at him like she knew everything that was racing through his head.

He'd been played.

"Did you have fun?" He asks voice laced with snarkiness and he shoves her harder into the wall, red hot fury brewing in the pit of his stomach. She knew that he was part of the mafia but still acted like this. Did she not have any sense of self preservation?

"Were you jealous?" She asks in a ostentatiously cutesy voice like this is all a hilarious joke and he wants to kiss that damn smug look right off her face. No one has ever dared to treat him like this, acted like he was a joke.

She's playing with fire and he's not opposed to burning her up.

"Do you still think you have the upper hand right now?" He looms over her pushing his pelvis into her and she squeaks at the hardness that pokes into her. To his surprise she eagerly presses back, pulling him in by his waist until they are flushed chest to chest. He doesn't know if an upper hand exists anymore.

"Yes. I do, getting to see you jealous was the highlight of my day. Cute little jealous mafia lawyer."

He snarls at her feeling stupid because of how easily she can play him, and without thinking he wraps his arms around her.

"You looked really cozy with him."

She sniffs before pouting at him, "Yeah and you didn't fight for me at all. Where were the death threats and cold glares? Sean would have pissed his pants." Her giggles only make him angrier because she's seen through him all along.

He stares at her blankly before throwing caution to the wind and leaning down to capture her tempting lips, he runs a hand through her ponytail tugging her head closer to him and she moves easily with him standing on her tiptoes. He closes his eyes ready to put himself out of his misery when he feels a finger in his lips, he blinks his eyes open staring at her perplexed and a bit offended.

"What?"

"Are you staying in Korea?" She talks over him, her finger firm on his mouth.

They both stare at each other and her question spins in his busy mind, thoughts too full of her seductive moves earlier and how badly he wanted to destroy anyone who dared to look at her. He doesn't know why that question is coming up now, at this particular moment when he just wants to kiss her breathless. They can leave the rational thoughts for later, right now there should be more frenzied kissing. But when he tries to push her finger away she grabs his face hard, adamant.

He stares at her and finally he sees the chinks in her armor, gone is the overly confident Cha-young that he's so used to seeing and there's something softer in that stead, the vulnerability that always shrouds over her eyes when they have this reoccurring conversation is back and it leaves him feeling cornered as it always does.

He can't answer that question. The answer should be easy and it had been before her. He was going to take his gold and get the fuck out of this God forsaken country.

That had been the plan pre: Cha-young.

Now that plan was muddled and he could admit that he was jealous of other men stealing her away from him, at least to himself. Could admit that he wanted to wreck her completely, have her screaming in his bed those nimble limbs wrapped around him as he thrust into her over and over and over. But he wasn't ready to admit that he might feel something more than just intense attraction to her. That she had changed all his plans and made him consider settling down, with her. It was insane, he barely knew her and they weren't even in a relationship.

"No. I told you, I'm leaving."

He's a coward. He can admit that too.

She sends him a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes before ducking under his arms.

"Then leave and don't confuse me. I'm not yours to get jealous over. I'll see you Monday."

She doesn't look back, walking straight to her car and speeding away without checking any of her mirrors as she's wont to do despite him constantly reprimanding her for it, he's certain she's over the speed limit.

He punches the wall with a yell, the pain in his fist nothing compared to the pain in his chest. It was a huge mistake coming back here.

#vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #aerial yoga #don't try any of things I wrote about #you might die #i made this all up #man pain #emotional constipation

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foramomentonly · 3 years

Text

Saved-A Meet Ugly

Author’s Note: Behold, the promised meet ugly inspired by @aewriting ! Blatantly stealing titles from early aughts teen films of my youth at this point.

Summary: Alex discovers a) his new roommate is a Christian Fundamentalist who hates him, b) he’s love with said roommate, and c) he’s super wrong.

CW: negative perspective on organized Christianity/Fundamentalism

Read on AO3

Alex meets his dormmate briefly in the hall as he and his parents are heading out to lunch. Michael Guerin is friendly, his barely-contained, nervous energy evident in the restless way he passes his hands through his close-cropped curls. His parents are formal, bordering on sour, and they glare at Alex’s eyeliner and polished fingernails with disdain. They don’t invite him to eat with them. Then again, Alex thinks as they part and he wanders towards the room he’ll share with Michael, his own father didn’t even bother to drop him off at school. Glass houses, or some shit like that.

Michael has claimed the left side of the room, his bed neatly made up with simple, blue sheets and his desk stuffed with thick textbooks, some already clearly marked with wear. A battered, clunky-looking laptop charges on his nightstand. Some secret tension in Alex slowly uncoils with the knowledge that he isn’t sharing living space with some rich prick; when he eschewed the Manes family military tradition for higher education, Alex left home with little more than his scholarships and a military duffle stuffed with clothes and stolen linens to his name. Knowing his days of watching douchebags like Kyle Valenti flaunt expensive tokens of their parents’ unconditional love are over is a small comfort.

That is, until Alex notices the crucifix resting on Michael's plaid pillowcase. It’s innocuous enough; Liz Ortecho's small home has plenty, family heirlooms hung as reverently as Texas gas station finds, and Alex counts her among his true family. But the facts fall into place like thundering dominos—Michael’s parents' disgust at Alex's makeup, the family's conservative clothes, Michael's closely-chopped hair and, after a bit of snooping, the two well-worn Bibles Alex finds, one in Michael's nightstand and the other on his small bookshelf. Fundamentalists, most likely. Alex swears loud and defiant into the empty room. He thought he'd left bigots and homophobes in his dust, but like a plague of fucking locusts, they followed him, and here he is about to share a sink with one of them.

But Alex also knows better than most that kids aren’t always carbon copies of their parents’ stupidity; he’d flip his shit if someone assumed they knew literally anything about his beliefs based on his asshole father. So when Michael returns to the room Alex is in stealth mode, spread out across his bed and feigning disinterest by flipping through his welcome packet, tracking Michael’s movements out of the corner of his eye. Michael blows a loud puff of air out through his lips and looks like he’s about to flop onto his bed. When he sees the crucifix, he freezes; Alex is about to celebrate a victory against religious indoctrination when Michael lifts the small cross reverently off his pillow and, after an appraising scan of his space, hangs it low on the wall above his nightstand, dragging his school-issued lamp in front of it. He jerks his chin down in a small nod of satisfaction before his eyes dart quickly over to Alex; he almost catches Alex in a glower. Instead, Alex is quietly seething over an intramural sports schedule, his face blank, eyes burning holes in the middle of the page. He figures he’s in the clear when he hears Michael’s bedsprings creak with the sudden weight of his body. Alex glances up and Michael is crossing his arms lazily behind his head. He lets out a loud, satisfied sigh and shoots Alex a disarmingly sincere grin.

“Free at last, huh?” he drawls, and Alex arches a cold brow.

“Sure.”

Alex has every intention of icing Michael out of his daily existence, but as months go by—months where Michael lets his curls grow wild, rambles on and on about the science of irrigation, offers Alex his extensive biology notes for midterms, and laughs loud and deep at all of Alex’s snarky asides—Alex finds himself smiling easily at Michael in return, willingly passing lazy lunch hours and weekend afternoons with him. It comes down to this: for all Michael hasn’t done—the crucifix is an ever-present shadow above his nightstand and weekly video check-ins with his parents are never missed—he just doesn’t fit the mold. He smokes weed on the abandoned picnic tables behind the dorm at night, signs every social justice-oriented pledge and petition shoved at him on a cheap, plastic clipboard on their way to class, and he never wakes up before noon on Sundays. He isn’t fire and brimstone, hate and hellfire. He’s marshmellow fluff; laid back and open, sweet and eager to please, all messy curls and broad shoulders and goofy smiles with too much teeth and—oh, fuck. Alex is in love with him.

Alex is in love with Michael and Michael probably thinks Alex deserves to burn in hell and it’s Kyle all over again. Alex was never in love with Kyle Valenti, but he loved him the way a neglected, angry little boy would love the popular, gregarious kid who was his only source of sunlight. Graciously. Blindly. Kyle was Alex’s best friend, and when middle school puberty made evident that Kyle was a stud and Alex was, well. Alex felt the betrayal of Kyle’s sudden targeted cruelty like a punch to the gut, long before Kyle or his new friends ever laid hands on him. And now, Alex realizes, Michael is his best friend and his heart’s deepest desire and, he’s finally ready to admit, who he jerks off to on lazy mornings after Michael’s barely made it out the door for his 8 a.m. class with a shirt on. Alex is well and truly fucked. “Damned” is too on the nose.

Then one day Alex is dragging his miserably-in-love ass back from class and he totally misses the tie that slipped from the doorknob onto the ugly carpet in front of their door and he opens it on Michael and some random guy going at it on Michael’s bed, sheets bunched at the foot of the mattress, shirts tossed inside out on the floor, and Michael’s hand deep down the guy’s jeans as he pants and whines into Michael’s mouth.

“Shit!” Alex cries, waffling between shutting the door behind him to shield them from the prying eyes of hallway passers-by or in front of him to shut himself out of his own room. “I-I’m so sorry.”

Michael looks flustered, but it’s not the bone-deep terror of being outed; Alex is intimately familiar with that darkest timeline of queer identity. His boyfriend—hook up?—just looks annoyed. His dark eyes glare at Alex and he snaps, “Do you mind, man?” with a sharp nod towards the door. Alex squares his jaw and opens his mouth to retort when Michael says softly, seriously, “Don’t talk to him like that,” shaking his head at his bedmate. The guy huffs in disbelief, rolling off the bed to pull on his shirt, still inside out, and fasten his jeans, brushing his fingers through messy, deep brown hair.

“You’re seriously kicking me out right now?” he murmurs low, and when Michael doesn't answer, he spits, “You are such a dick.”

Michael winces and bites his lip, normally bright eyes dim and gaze cast down towards his own hands. The sight of Michael cowed, flushed and hurt and getting told off by the same Hot Topic reject who was getting off with him not five minutes ago trips Alex's long-dormant kill switch. He steps into the guy's space, pulling back his shoulders so his shirt stretches tight over the muscles of his arms and chest, and draws up to his full height.

"You have thirty seconds to get the fuck out of our room," Alex says, voice low and eerily calm, even to his own ears. The guy glowers at Alex, but the corner of his mouth twitches and he blinks first, intimidation evident in his narrowed eyes. He brushes past Alex and slams the door behind him.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks, moving closer to Michael on instinct and setting a comforting hand on his bare shoulder. Michael gazes up at him with wide, honey eyes, opens his soft, pink mouth, and blurts, "I love you."

Alex blinks, gapes, and what comes out of his mouth is an incredulous, “But I’m gay!”

Michael snorts, cups Alex’s forearm gently and runs his palm up and down his skin, the soft hair on his arms.

“Yeah, I know. That’s kinda why I’m hoping I have a shot.” He pauses, hesitation creeping across his face, and he takes his hand off of Alex abruptly, as though he hadn’t quite realized he’d put it there in the first place. “If you’re not interested, I totally—”

“No, no, I am,” Alex says, and the wattage of Michael’s answering grin could power the university’s electric grid for the rest of the semester. “But I thought you were, like, Team Westboro or whatever.”

Michael’s face falls, his whole body withers, and he hugs his arms around his naked waist. The impact of Alex's words on Michael horrify him, and he drops onto the bed next to Michael, takes Michael's hand in his and strokes his thumb across it’s back, feels the knots of Michael’s knuckles as he grips Alex's hand in return.

“Why the hell would you think that?” Michael asks, staring at their palms pressed together in his lap.

Alex shrugs, answers, "I mean, I didn't. I don't. Not about, like, you." Michael turns his head, brow wrinkled in confusion. "It's just. The cross? The Bibles? Your parents, I—"

"They're not my parents, "Michael interrupts, voice flat. "They raised me, but. They never formally adopted me, and I'd have fucking run the other direction if I thought they were gonna."

Alex stays quiet, waits for Michael to continue, squeezes his hand gently to let Michael know he's listening.

"They're Fundamentalist assholes, for sure, but I never bought into that shit, especially once I—I realized I like more than just girls." Michael reaches out, pushes his lamp out of the way and glares at the crucifix. "I'd love to never see their fucking faces ever again, but winter break is coming up, and then summer vacation, and—" He hangs his head, nearly whispers, "I need to have a place to go. I can't afford an apartment on my own yet. So I play nice. Put that on my wall and make sure it's in the background for video calls. There’s, like, zero support for kids who age out of the system alone. I fucking hate it, but I need them."

Michael leans his head close to Alex's, catches his gaze and holds it with deep, whiskey-colored eyes Alex all but falls into.

"I'm not ashamed of what I like or who I love," he says, "and I'm so fucking in love with you, Alex. I just thought maybe you weren't into me."

Alex licks his lips, and a flush of arousal darkens his cheeks as Michael tracks the movements of his tongue with hungry concentration.

"I'm extremely into you," he says, his throat very suddenly bone dry, his voice husky. Michael's gaze hasn't moved from his lips, but he has flipped Alex's hand in his lap, starts running slow, feather-light brushes of his fingertips across Alex's palm and up his arm, fingers snaking under the short sleeve of Alex's shirt.

"I really wanna kiss you," Michael breathes, "but I’m also aware you just walked in on me hooking up with, like, Alex Manes-lite, so I—"

Alex closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Michael's and cupping his neck, fingers finding their way into Michael's curls like he's been fantasizing about for so long. They're silky, clingy, and Michael tastes like lingering mouthwash and he smells like rain and Alex presses himself into Michael's lap, desperate to feel Michael's arms around his waist, the hard press of his chest against Alex's.

"I really want to do more than kiss you," Alex pants when they reluctantly part for air, when Michael’s fingers slip beneath his shirt and his nails scrape down Alex’s spine, and Alex feels the touch much lower on the geography of his skin.

Michael laughs, loud and free, and his strong hands on Alex's hips guide his legs apart until Alex is straddling his lap, those same hands pushing Alex's shirt up his chest, over his head.

"Thank God," Michael laughs, and reaches for Alex's belt.

#roswell nm #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #college au #meet ugly #cw: negative perspective on Christianity/Fundamentalism

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charming-2d-boys · 4 years

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Hey there Love 💕 can I request a HC / Oneshot (whatever you feel like^^ ) with Hisoka in which he’s your bf and you always hide the fact you have a bf from your family and one a family get together they try to set you up with the son of a friend of theirs and then hisoka randomly appears?

Take your time and be save love& already thank you 💕

Hello! I'll choose a oneshot for this and thank you for requesting! 🙇

I hope you're taking care of yourself as well and are safe, as well as those you care about!

Enjoy and here’s the second part! 😄

Not an embarrassment - Hisoka x Reader

Your relationship with Hisoka could only be described as peculiar by 99% of those who knew or had met Hisoka. Hell, even you thought that at one point!

But, the more time you to spent together as an actual couple and the more things you discovered about each other, the... easier it seemed for you two to get along and find ways to make things work out. I mean, yes, you still had arguments (mostly you, Hisoka would either grin or tease you as if you were throwing a temper tantrum), but for the most part, you two just lived your lives, together, and tried to make it work.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t really tell your parents that you were seeing someone, much less someone as eccentric and... unique as Hisoka. It wasn’t that you were embarrassed to be with him - not at all. But you knew what your family was like and what they expected of you when it came to who you dated. It definitely wasn’t someone like Hisoka. Plus, despite how confident and unbothered he tried to appear, you knew how hurt Hisoka would be if he found out what your family thought of him and that they’d never allow someone like him to even be near you.

So, when you got a call from your parents about a family dinner with pretty much any friends and relatives you had, you were stuck on what to do. You couldn’t tell them anything about Hisoka, that was a given, but what were you going to tell him?

You just told him that you had to go for a family emergency. Simple as that. And Hisoka only smiled.

“Oh, I hope everything’s fine~ ♠️” He said calmly and you just assured him that it’s probably nothing. You hated having to lie to him, but you just weren’t ready for the backlash you would both get and what would follow after revealing your relationship - but you knew you had to do it. You just need a bit more time. And you hoped Hisoka would forgive you if he ever found out about this.

On the day of your departure, Hisoka was also ready to leave, having told you the night before that he had to leave for some business and that he might be back before you. You told him to take care and kissed his cheek, saying that you love him, as you always did when you had to leave. He only smiled and hummed, squeezing your waist affectionately before you got into your car and left for your parents’ place and your childhood home. During the drive, you dreaded the questions that would be on everyone’s lips as soon as you entered the house, from your parents to the most distant relatives to barely someone you’d consider an acquaintance: how’s your love life going? Anyone special in your life right now? And those winks and nudges... they were going to drive you insane.

Only that... it didn’t really go like that. It was even worse.

“Oh, honey, you’re going to love him! The new neighbours’ son is a surgeon, apparently, and he’s very handsome. Oooh, and you should see how much he wins per year! His car is brand new and he bought his parents a beach house!” Your mother whispered excitedly as soon as you left your shoes at the entrance.

“I already told him about you and he said that you seem really nice and he’d like to meet you! He’s single, you know? Each one of your cousins has been eyeing him ever since he arrived, but I pretty much told them that he’s off limits.” She was rambling so much that your brain couldn’t even catch up with what she said until you were practically shoved in front of a guy around your age who smiled in a friendly manner at you and introduced himself. Your mother left, but you could feel her hovering and watching your interaction like a hawk, ready to intervene at any given moment.

He was nice and respectful and when you bent over to whisper that you already had someone, because you felt as if you were cheating on Hisoka somehow, he seemed to sigh in relief.

“Good, so do I. We’ve been together since last summer, but I couldn’t find the courage to tell my parents yet. They’d never be okay with me being with a man.” Your eyes widened a bit, but you smiled happily and told him that your lips were sealed as long as he did the same. To outsiders, it looked like you two were two seconds away from announcing that you'd go on a date - at least that's what your parents hoped. Hisoka didn't really feel like celebrating, though.

You sensed his bloodlust before you saw him and you turned around just in time to see him eyeing your new friend with a creepy smile. People were starting to feel scared from the new and almost overpowering sensation and you quickly left towards Hisoka, grabbing him by his hand and dragging him outside with you for some privacy, though you had a feeling everyone was going to gather around you as if they were watching a live performance.

"Hisoka! What are you doing here?" Your voice sounded frantic, despite your best efforts to keep calm. Hisoka could only stare at you; he truly loved you and if what he saw was what he thought it was... then he could only hope that you'd said your last prayers because he was never going to let anyone trample on his heart like that.

"I don't like being lied to, lovely~ You know that. ♦️" His voice sounded teasing, but you knew better. He was hurt and suspicious and you knew what it must've looked like. Asking him what he was doing there would have to come later. Right now, you had to make sure everyone would leave your parents' house alive.

"Please, hear me out? I swear that it's not what it looks like. Please, Hisoka!" You could already feel everyone's eyes on you two and you almost gave into the temptation of casting them a glance, but you could only stare into Hisoka's eyes, hoping he'd listen.

"Okay~ ♥️️" He hoped. He really, really hoped that you had a good explanation as to why he had to follow you all the way there and why you lied to him about your so-called family emergency.

"My parents don't know that we're together and they never would be okay with us dating because I know how they are. I was just... waiting for the right time to tell them and get ready for the onslaught of negative reactions." You were trying to keep your heart from bursting. You didn't think this kind of a confrontation would take place, and so soon, too.

"Are you embarrassed to be with me? ♣" Hisoka asked without a smile, just a cold look in his eyes, mixed with love and hurt.

"No! I'd never be! I... didn't want you to feel hurt by them. They never liked any of my past dates and they never would unless they were the ones choosing. Please, believe me, Hisoka. I was just scared of what they'd say about you and all the threats and insults if I didn't leave you." You felt so close to crying because he looked as if he didn't believe you and you feared the worst. The crowd of onlookers stood still at the windows and the open doors, none saying a thing.

It was so silent and the tension could be cut with a knife. You didn't expect your mother to break it.

"(Y/N)? Who is this... person? How did he get in?" Despite the bloodlust, her voice held steady, but you could see how rigid her posture was from fear.

You couldn't do this anymore. You'd have to explain sooner or later, you knew that. And you were dreading the moment. But you were not ready to lose your relationship and everything you ever loved about Hisoka because of some prejudices and your parents' narrow-minded views. You were the one in a relationship with him, not them. If they didn't like your choice, it wasn't your problem.

So, you grabbed Hisoka's hand and smiled at him lovingly. He stared at you for a fraction of a second before his shoulders slumped slightly and you saw that little twinkle in his eyes return.

"This is my boyfriend, Hisoka." You announced proudly. Was it your imagination or did you hear a glass break?

"B-b-boyfriend? B-but..."

"We've been together for, what? Two years already?" You looked at Hisoka who was brimming with happiness and pride for you standing up to your parents, for him, nonetheless. You were definitely the right one for him.

"Yes~ And we're going to celebrate even more when we get home. ♥" Now you felt a bit embarrassed. But, oh well. This was your boyfriend, alright. You knew what a rollercoaster your relationship with him would be.

Your mother could only stare at the two of you in disbelief.

"Well, if that will be all, we're going home. See ya!" You said cheerfully as you and Hisoka turned around.

"Bye-bye~ ♦" Hisoka said, raising his hand and turning his head halfway. You smiled and waved at your new friend, shooting him a thumbs-up, to which he smiled and did the same.

"We should do this more often. ♠️" Hisoka said nonchalantly as you two got into your car and left, leaving behind probably anyone you've ever known and the sunset.

"What? Scaring everyone? You don't need me for that."

"You're very funny today, aren't you, lovely? ♥" He teased, putting a hand on your thigh and squeezing affectionately.

"Only for you, you know that." Another squeeze and a loving kiss at the red stoplight left you both grinning as you couldn't wait to see what would happen next.

BONUS

"By the way, who was that guy who-"

"He's gay, Hisoka. No need to worry about him. Put your cards back or you're going in the backseat."

"Okay~ ♦"

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x reader #hisoka #hisoka morrow #hisoka x reader #hisoka morrow x reader #hxh hisoka #hxh writing

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