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king-star · 3 years

Text

From Russia With Love

Warning: Blood, violence, mild suggestive jokes

Match: Bond!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Genre: Angst/fluff

A/N: This was inspired by a suggestion from my lovely friend @subjectac7 and the fact i watched black widow and No time to die in the same day. At some point i may actually write a part 2

Word Count: ~2000

At this point the amount of times you had “retired” was comical. When you had gone into M’s office and placed down the paper officially giving your notice for retirement he’d nearly laughed.

“Retiring again so soon 007? It’s only been a year and a half since the last time,”

his hand swished the contents of his shot glass while he kicked his feet on the table.

“Where is it this time? Jamaica? No no I believe we’ve already soul searched Jamaica. How about Australia? They have many islands where you can live out your days in a cabana, making love to women and drinking your martinis; Shaken not stirred. That is, of course, until some world saving mission drags you back and you humour us for another couple years,”

You screwed up your face at his words. You knew they were true. Despite all attempts to let your license to kill expire, you always wound up back here. In M’s office, feebly attempting to impress Moneypenny with your scarily accurate aim and poking fun at Q as he fitted you with new toys for supposed “suicide” mission. Because despite all your skill and innumerable declarations of death there were two things you knew for certain in this ever changing world: the greed of mankind would never cease to amaze. And this was a business you were never free of until you truly stopped breathing.

Still, you tried. Abs here you were. Not in Jamaica or Australia, but Norway. You had contacted many “friends” and set up a completely self sustaining home in a small town in Norway.

You were on your way to town. Your grey Aston Martin stowed away in the garage and traded for a simpler jeep. An older jeep but still a jeep. The car hummed loudly as cool air whipped through your loose hair. It was chilly, being September, but it felt good. Today was Friday. Fish Fry Friday. The day of the week your favourite restaurant opted for a more British approach to handling their fish. So trading in your normal canned soup for fresh caught fish and chips you'd climbed into the car and made the small journey to town.

Your Jeep came to a loud stop as you pulled into the restaurant parking lot. You stepped out into the night, wrapping your arms around yourself and pulling your puffy coat tighter to your goose bump speckled skin. Your hand reached for the door knob and you jiggled it. You found it to be locked. Your head turned over your shoulder where the neon “open” sign announced it was open for business. It was dead, and on the other side of the glass a message was taped.

“Sorry, Usual fish fry canceled due to shortage of catches today. Come again nect week”

You groaned deeply and kicked the ground. Hungry and defeated your eyes turned to the only place that would still be open this late. You dragged your feet as you walked into the beer stained, stuffy bar.

“One scotch, on the rocks,”

The bartender nodded and poured you a glass of scotch. You nodded and handed them the cash, scanning the bar for a place to sit. As you scanned your eyes landed on a red head in a long sleeve grey shirt. Even through the long sleeves her toned muscles were obvious. Normally you weren't attracted to women with strength that threatened to match your own, though you certainly had no objection to it. You took your glass and sauntered over to the table she was sat at.

“Mind if I join you?”

She looked up, ready to object, then realising this truly was the only open seat in the packed bar nodded a yes.

“Drinking alone?”

Her unfriendly demeanor had been so strong that when she willingly started a conversation it surprised.

“We’re all sharing a drink called loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone.”

She screwed up her face at the comment.

“You don't seem the Billy Joel type I must say,”

You laughed and took a sip of your drink.

“I’m not. Just someone who drinks in bars a lot. Piano man is a particular favourite of struggling performers who hope to make it big just like good ole Billy.”

She laughed, and the reaction surprised you more than even her starting the conversation.

“Never seen you around here before. You new, Queen Elisabeth?”

You rolled your eyes at the knock on your accent.

“As you so kindly pointed out, I’m not from around here.”

You knew your British accent did not blend at all with the friendly tone of the Norwegian’s.

“I moved to an off grid cabin about two months ago. What about you,”

You weren’t going to mention it but her accent was obviously American born and bred. There was something off about it though. Something that greatly rubbed you the wrong way but you couldn’t place.

“Ah yes. I’m from America. I moved up here for college three years ago and decided to stay after I graduated. I actually live in an airstream about 10 miles west of town,”

You nodded and took a sip of your drink. You realised suddenly that the two of you might be neighbours. The man who had set you up with the house had mentioned a few others lived in clearings of the wooded areas in the few miles that surrounded your house.

“That’s funny… I live out there too. Maybe we're neighbours,”

You both wanted to laugh at the comment but something about the unlikeliness of that coincidence had your guard up. Then she laughed and startled you greatly as a hand was set on your shoulder.

“Sorry I just realised. I forgot to ask your name,”

She smiled at you expectantly. You pondered the seemingly innocent request.

“Bond. Y/N Bond,”

She contemplated for a moment then reached out a hand.

“Natalia Rachmaninoff,”

You took her hand and shook it firmly.

“Like the composer?”

She just laughed at the comment and took a sip of her drink. The highly Russian origins of her name had your brain putting pieces together. Then it hit you. The tinge to her voice that you couldn’t quite place. All the skills in the world could never hide the round throaty accent of Russians from its almost polar opposite of an American accent. You downed the rest of your drink and then set it on the table.

“Your name is very slavic for being an American. Your family from there?”

Her eyes widened and though she controlled her breathing you could see a slight shake to her.

“Yes. My mother came from a town few miles west of St. Petersburg.”

You nodded and looked at her with an unimpressed face. Her lies weren’t believable. Whoever she was she wasn’t American but she definitely was a novice.

“Mhm. So are you going to tell me who you really are and who you are working for?”

You were met with an answer just not the one you wanted. She stood up and overturned the table moving to run towards the door. Yells were heard as the other people in the bar watched her run. No one parted the way and thus she was slowed down. You nearly caught up to her, slowed by the crowded bar as well.

She ripped open the door and ran out into the night. You reached for a gun at your hollister but since moving to Norway you’d lost the habit of carrying one. Natalia sprinted off towards a white land rover at an impressive pace.

You threw open the door of your jeep, pulled the pistol from under your driver's seat, and chased after her. Though she was quick you caught up to her just as fast. With the gun in your right hand you dove and trapped her legs with your arms pulling her to the ground. She grunted as her hand hit the ground, stopping herself. You let go and moved to train the gun on her head.

She kicked violently, knocking the pistol from your hands and threw herself so she was crouched. A movement you couldn’t do from the sheer amount of momentum you’d have to build and execute from your core. She trained a gun you hadn’t seen her get on your forehead.

You reached for the gun that had dropped from your grasp. Her foot stepped on your wrist. Your teeth gritted in pain. From the angle she could easily snap your wrist if it wasn’t fractured already.

“you get one chance. Tell me who you are working under or I blow a hole in your pretty face,”

She leaned down, sitting on your chest but her foot kept firmly planted against your wrist.

“you really think I’m pretty?”

She pressed in more and shifted so her weight was more on your chest. You gritted your teeth and growled.

“I don’t work for anyone. I retired but before i worked for MI6,”

Her eyes widened and she let up a bit. A rookie mistake. With a buck of your hips she fell forward. You trapped an arm and in a moment she was below you.

“Now this was more of the position I thought we’d be in tonight,”

She rolled her eyes and squirmed. Your weight was just too much for her to escape.

Your hands removed the gun from her hands and soon you have two guns on her. You placed them both on her temples and grinned.

“you get one chance. Tell me who you are working under or I blow a hole in your pretty face”

you repeated in a mocking tone. She growled and shifted up but you pressed the gun into her head to remind her it was there.

“I don’t work for anyone either. I-I’m trying to defect. I was trained as an agent for the KGB but I want to go to the US. Work for the agency there,”

Her features remained the same but some kind of pain swam in her eyes. She had a deeply emotional reason for this choice. No one left the KGB without being talented as fuck. Most wouldn’t risk it without a sincerely good reason.

You didn't let up off her but dropped the guns from her face and she relaxed under your weight letting out a huff.

“Well shit…”

She laughed and nodded.

“Shit indeed.”

Everything in you told you not to trust her. Trust the woman who by birth was against your country. Everything but your gut. The very thing you'd trusted and found love in. But you'd also buried that love. Even so you shifted your weight and kicked your legs out standing up. You reached out a hand.

“Always the cycle,” you muttered to yourself, “ I believe we have a good deal to talk about Rachmaninoff.”

She took the hand and vaulted herself up.

“Call me Romanoff.”

Tag List:

#black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff fanfiction #black widow x y/n #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel #mcu #avengers x reader #black widow x you #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #black widow fluff #black widow angst

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holylulusworld · 3 years

Note

for your 1200 follower celebration (congrats btw). I was wondering if you could write Mechanic!Dean and Teacher!Reader. She doesn't like him at first because she saw his angry side (you can pick what it was she saw) but then she sees him being sweet with his niece or nephew (you pick).

Pretty Nice

12,000 followers 2021 New Year’s resolutions drabble prompts

Summary: You should not judge people on first impressions.

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x Teacher!Reader

Warnings: angst, Dean being sweet, Uncle Dean, fluff, mentions of grumpy Dean

New Year’s Resolution: ‚Stop judging people on first impressions.’

Words: 890

Divider by @firefly-graphics

“You’re late, honey,” your colleague chuckles, watching you make a face. “Did your car leave you hanging once again? You really should finally see a mechanic, Y/N.”

“Singer retired and I didn’t find a substitute yet, Darlene,” you mutter. “Maybe I will walk, would be easier and faster,” you chuckle, watching the kids storm out of the building.

“I know a good mechanic and,” Darlene leans closer, grinning as you watch Sammy Winchester run toward a black muscle car, one you know too well, “this is a secret, he’s hot as hell. Sin on bowed legs. His name is Dean Winchester, and he’s the best.”

“No,” you violently shake your head, watching Sammy run toward her Uncle, squealing as he picks her up, twirling the little girl around. He plays airplane with her and you can’t hold back a chuckle.

“Ah, there he is,” Darlene almost squeals. “I swear, he saved my old wreck, and it purrs like a cat. Give him a chance, Y/N. Why don’t ya?”

“He’s loud and aggressive,” you mumble the words, watching Dean play with his niece. “After Bobby retired, I had car trouble and drove to his garage. When I arrived, that man threatened another man. I don’t like an aggressive man.”

“Dean Winchester is a lamb among wolves, Y/N,” Darlene winks at Dean, smirking as you nervously shuffle from one foot to the other. “He would never yell at someone. Maybe you should give him a second chance.”

“A second chance,” watching Dean open the door to the backseat for his niece, whispering something in her ear, making the girl giggle you ponder if you should give Dean another chance. You didn’t ask him why he yelled at the man, simply ran away, never looking back.

“I will find you, sweetheart,” Dean chuckles, searching for his niece. “Samantha Mary Winchester, your uncle Dean Winchester, master of playing hide and seek will catch you.”

“Never,” Samantha squeals, running toward the next hideout in Dean’s office. “Daddy said he’s the master of playing hide and seek and rock, paper and scissors.”

“Excuse me,” looking around the messy office when you step inside, you laugh as Samantha pokes her head out from under Dean’s desk, waving at you before she hides again. “I got car trouble and my friend said you are the best.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Samantha crawls out of her hideout to wrap you in a hug. “My Uncle Deany is the best. You’ll love him.” Picking his niece up, playing airplane Dean snickers as the little girl squeals, encouraging you to join their games. “Do you want to play hide and seek too?”

‘You shouldn’t make assumptions about people,’ you think to yourself, nodding at Samantha when she holds out her hand for you. “Sure thing, Sammy.”

“Later, Samantha,” a serious expression on his face Dean carefully places his niece onto the comfy sofa at his office. “Your dad wants you to eat healthily so you will eat your lunch and later, we can play some more.”

“Aw, Uncle Deany, please,” he shakes his head, pointing toward the prepared food. “I hate carrots.” Samantha scrunches up her nose, playing with her food, poking it.

“You’ll wait here, eat your food and I promise we will watch Scooby-Doo tonight,” now she starts to stuff the food in her mood, chewing slowly as Dean leads you out of his office.

“YAY!” Samantha giggles, watching Dean open the door to his office. “Uncle Dean is the best, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Do not call the kids hotline or play with your food,” Dean warns, smirking at his niece. “But you can fill out my tax filing, sweetheart. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Let’s have a look at your car,” Dean hums when you push the button to unlock the hood. “I didn’t think you’ll come back, not after you ran last time.” ashamed you look at the dashboard, chewing on your lip, taking your time before you leave your car.

“You were busy,” swallowing thickly you watch Dean check on your car. “I didn’t want to disturb your ‘conversation’,” you huff when Dean looks up at you, nodding silently.

“Wasn’t one of my best days,” he grumbles. “Usually, I don’t freak out that easily. I’m a bit grumpy sometimes, but that guy, he had the guts to tell me he’s going to ruin the business my godfather Bobby left me-“ Dean cleans his hands on his greasy jeans, giving you a cracked smile, “His name is Dick Roman and he tried to ruin Bobby’s business for years.”

“I’m sorry for running off like that,” rubbing your arm nervously you look at Dean. “I shouldn’t have made assumptions about you. That man, he deserved to get yelled at.”

“Your car, it needs a few new parts. Let me check on, and I’ll call you tomorrow,” nodding you watch Samantha run out of the office, Dean’s tax filing in her hands. He smiles, waving at the little girl and you must admit, he’s a pretty nice guy.

“I’m done with your papers,” she proudly exclaims. “I think you’ll get back a lot of money, Uncle Deany. Can we play hide and seek now with Miss Y/L/N?” Dean looks at you, furrowing his brows when you take Samantha’s hand.

“I guess this means it’s hide and seek time with Uncle Dean,” laughing Dean runs after you and his niece, threatening to find you…”

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

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#12000 followers 2021 New Year’s resolutions drabble prompts #pretty nice #dean winchester #mechanic!dean winchester #mechanic!dean x Reader #mechanic au #mechanic dean #mechanic dean winchester #mechanic!dean x teacher!reader

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luvteez · 4 years

Text

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

��Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

#blame 5*os for the creation of the band au idea #ateez smut #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #ateez hard hours #atz smut #luvsmut #the ending is rushed oopsie but i never know how to end smut scenes ahahaha

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gifted-burnout-archive · 3 years

Text

Mistletoe and Wine

Word Count: 3.1K+

Author’s Note: So I have had this idea for literal months, one that I really wanted to write but never quite knew how to. So here it is! We started with fluff, we move on to angst, and there will be smut further down the line. Inspired a fair amount by the songs ‘Remeber that Night?’ by Sara Keys and ‘To Love Someone Else’ by Avery Lynch. Plus, Bobby deserves some fanfiction! Also, I know these are kinda short but I thought it would work best so don’t hate me pleaseeee.

Pairings: bobby/trevor wilson x reader - platonic!reggie and alex x reader - former luke x reader

Warnings: discussion of death, general angst, upsetting circumstances.

1999.

Bad habits are a hard thing to break. Doing something over and over, getting used to the action of it, deciding to take that thing out of your life entirely is a conscious and difficult decision. It’s why people fall back into bad relationships, or start smoking again, or pick up that extra tub of ice cream: breaking that habit when it didn’t feel so bad in the first place is hard. People like familiarity, people like to be comfortable, people like to be docile in their own lives.

Well, some people do.

But there is a flip side: when good habits are broken by external factors, they can be hard to retrieve, replaced by bad ones instead over overcome. The external factor varies, of course: moving to a new house can stop someone from exercising; a change of job can ruin a healthy sleep schedule; anxiety over test can stop someone eating.

The lost of a loved one can cause someone to cut of friends, family, places: everything and everyone that held them together.

It was Y/N’s first time back in Los Angeles since it happened.

The incident she never found the courage to speak about: that prompted her to pack her things and move to the other side of the country and live with her grandparents until she finished at college. The incident that forced her to make friends with strangers, to go to church every Sunday to keep good faith despite not even being Christian: and yet she had still arrived back where it started, standing on her parents’ porch, looking down towards the garage she hadn’t seen in years.

“You changed your hair.”

“You got famous…”

The young man walking up the driveway dressed how Y/N expected him to: gone were his hand-me-down too-baggy jeans and the black and white striped top he never seemed to take off, the leather vest jacket he had glued spikes onto the shoulders of. He had replaced it with suede shoes and a leopard print shirt, a hat perched atop his mess of hair like he was still in the southern hemisphere, not LA at Christmas.

“I brought wine. Old stuff, good stuff.” He said with a grin she couldn’t help but smile back to, though it was only ever so slightly. He suited his new look; he exuded an air of confidence that matched the person she had known four years and a half years before.

“Why are you here, Bobby?” Y/N finally asked, finally looked to her old friend, pulling out a cigarette case from her pocket, then a lighter, sitting a stick between her lips and lighting her face with the orange flame from the zippo. “Last I checked,” She said through the cigarette, inhaling before blowing out a stream of smoke. “You were in Sydney, on the big world tour.”

“I go by Trevor now, you know.” The young man corrected her, making his way along the driveway and bouncing up the porch steps, resting himself against the wooden railing beside her. When she offered the cigarette, he accepted, passing it back as wisps of smoke blew from his nose. “Your parents called me; said you were in town again…” He let out a sigh, looking over at the girl he knew, her face lit by the Christmas lights the family had wrangled onto the front lawn’s bushes. “Do you really not want me here?”

“Of course I do.” Y/N replied, her eyes drifting back towards the garage. “I just… I don’t know if I can even go close to it anymore.” Her voice was barely a whisper, her body tense until bobby’s arm came over her shoulders and pulled her close, the taller boy hugging her from behind. They stayed that way for a few minutes, swaying a little when the breeze demanded it, sharing the cigarette and another in mutual silence, all while her parents let Cliff Richards play in the kitchen beyond the front door.

“We said we’d all spend this Christmas in that garage, no matter what happened, remember?” Bobby reminded Y/N of the reason she had even travelled back home in the first place: to fulfil a promise she had made to her friends all those years ago. “1994, we were all 17… We made the promise to one another to spend Christmas together five years from then.”

“They didn’t keep their half of the promise, Bobby.”

“How do you know?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before breaking their embrace, turning Y/N so they stood side by side, his arm coming over her shoulder as she smoked the last of the cigarette, his other hand still holding the rather pricey bottle of red an assistant had recommended before he got on the plane. “We do this together… I have a feeling they may just be waiting for us there…”

Bobby’s words, and his height, weight and strength advantages, caused Y/N to let herself be dragged down her old driveway in defeat, shuffling in a pair of old house shoes her mom used to wear, the rest of her still dressed up in the more fanciful attire she had picked out for brunch with her mother that morning. His hand squeezed her shoulder, a comfort despite their years apart.

It was nice to know they were still friends after everything...

Bobby only let her go to open up the heavy garage door, handing the bottle of wine over to her before doing so, the wood creaking and groaning after years of disuse. Y/N screed the cap off the wine, taking a swig as she watched on, and attempt to calm her heart perhaps; it seemed to be racing a thousand miles a minute and faster with every inch wider the entrance to her garage got.

“Bobby-”

“Too late… It’s open.” Bobby cut in, the door wide enough for him to slip inside and flick on the light switch, the dim glow sparking Y/N’s curiosity as she followed him into long lost memories.

The room was almost exactly how the guys had left it those years before: blankets strewn over the couch; instruments sat, set up for the next band practise. The only difference seemed to be the excessive amount of dust that covered the furniture, and the deflated air mattress on the far side of the room. But there it was: under the flickering solo lightbulb, with air so thick it had Y/N taking another gulp of booze to wet her throat, the old studio.

“It feels like we’re 17 again, doesn’t it?” She managed to whisper, noticing Bobby in a similar state of awe from out the corner of her eye, him being the first to take a step further into the room, and another. She watched him walk through the furniture, the instruments: all the memories they had made in that little shack at the end of her driveway.

Y/N could see it all too, like a movie being played before her eyes. She saw the boys practicing until the early hours, constantly full of energy and life and adrenaline, no matter her parents’ half-hearted nags for them to abide by quiet hours. She could see nights of song writing on her family’s old patio furniture, takeout ordered in from the Chinese place two streets over. There was a constant sense of joy, of pure unfiltered happiness that came from their music, from the months they spent perfecting their first album and hustling for that fucking gig at the Orpheum.

In an instant Y/N’s subconscious smile turned to a frown. All the happiness was overshadowed by the weeks after; of nights spent sobbing into her pillow, of the three funerals they held within a week, of Bobby leaving when they needed each other most.

“Hey, hey.” Bobby’s worried words brought Y/N back from the daydream, his hands cupping her face as his thumbs swiped across her cheeks, collecting the tears she hadn’t noticed falling. “Are you alright, love?” He asked gently, lifting Y/N’s chin for their eyes to meet.

“I shouldn’t have come home… I should have stayed in Chicago at my job and worked through the holidays.” Y/N said quickly, through shallow breaths, her vision blurring. “I didn’t want to do this but I told myself I should. I didn’t want to do this again; I didn’t want to be here again…”

“Y/N…” Bobby pulled her into a hug, one hand holding her head, the other around her back, opting to rock back and forth slowly, gently, a trick he had learned when they were younger. The other guys never quite knew how to deal with someone crying, let alone a girl, and let alone Y/N. But Bobby did.

It wasn’t every year you changed decade, century and millennium, and Y/N and Bobby decided to call in the 2000s together.

They had been together since Christmas Eve, inseparable really. Bobby opted to stay in LA instead of head for the ball drop in New York, and he felt good about that choice: it meant more time with Y/N, to reconnect, to catch up on the lost years when he was touring the world and Y/N was getting her degree.

Her parents liked it, watching the pair laughing again at Christmas Dinner: it felt like the first time Y/N had laughed since it happened. They didn’t get in the pair’s way when they chose to clean up the garage, spending most of the limbo between Christmas and New Year dusting and vacuuming the shack at the end of the driveway, restoring it to something beyond its former glory.

They strung up lights, washed down the windows and added houseplants, and Bobby took on the heart-breaking job of tidying away the instruments that lay strewn around while Y/N focused on carpet cleaning, on high reach dusting, on anything but the still looming presence of the friends they had lost.

By New Year’s Eve, as Y/N’s parents informed the pair they were headed to their friends’ party, the garage was readied for a night of the two friends drinking: bottles of champagne had been bought, an old antenna tv had been set up to watch the countdown that would take place by the end of the hour. They both dressed up, Bobby in a suit, Y/N in a dress. She did her makeup, he polished his shoes, they styled their hair.

They deserved to have fun, to have something good again.

“And welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the 2000 Countdown! We are five minutes out, and the party is well underway!” The grainy picture on the tv spoke through crackles as Y/N and Bobby lounged on the couch watching, a champagne flute in each of their hands.

“It’s your turn to fix it.” Y/N smirked, gesturing to the television with glass in hand, the sudden gesture causing the liquid within to splash against her hand. “Oops!” She squeaked, the pair sharing a glance before bursting into giggles, both taking another sip of the alcohol. They had been drinking since the afternoon, and as midnight came ever closer the pair became extremely inebriated. It was for different reasons, of course: it was more than just to have fun and get drunk, they were both fighting the urge to run, to shut up the garage and never come back to it.

“Only because you look so darn cute in that dress, alright?” Bobby smiled with his words, pushing himself off the old couch and setting down his drink to fix the antenna. His eyes as he moved the metal rod were on Y/N, watching her reactions to the screen’s picture, stopping when her eyes widened and she smiled wide. “Got it?”

“I love this song!” Y/N exclaimed once the sound came back, some band Bobby hadn’t heard of playing for that particular news channel’s New Year Bash, the only channel they had managed to find after a solid 70 minutes of searching earlier that night. She jumped from her chair, putting her own drink, the slow beat and sweet melody not assisted by the terrible sound quality on the box, but good enough for her to offer a hand to Bobby.

“You know, if you’re not careful I’ll sweep you off your feet.” Bobby teased as one hand landed on her waist, the other taking her hand in his as her second held his shoulder.

They didn’t do much dancing, more swaying to the song as Y/N sang along with the lyrics, her head pressed to his chest, his senses overcome with the scent of her shampoo. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, their eyes closed, they stayed like that through that song and the next. Just holding one another, just being there, the way they wanted to be.

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5…” The tv counted them down, Bobby moving a half inch back and letting go of Y/N’s hand to lift her chin. Their eyes met. “4, 3,2 ,1.”

Their lips colliding with the announcement of the New Year was soft, and desperate and sweet. Y/N’s lips were soft against Bobby’s, the heat of his body radiated and blocked out the chills of the cold LA night. His hands came to her cheeks, cupping them as the kiss heated up, the pair stumbling back and into the heavy doors. She kissed him back for a moment, allowing herself the chance to have fun, to feel something other than grief.

But it was short lived.

“Bobby-”

“I’ve been waiting years to do that… I even brought along mistletoe on Christmas. I chickened out, of course but-”

“Bobby.” Y/N said again, louder that time, stopping the man in front of her in his excited rambling. He looked in her eyes, his smile fading when he saw her frown.

“Why not?” He asked before she had a chance to refuse him: he had expected something like it happening as a worst case, of course he had… But this wasn’t meant to happen. “We’re good together, aren’t we? Hasn’t the last week proved that?”

“I’m saying no, Bobby. Can’t you just leave it at that?” Y/N found herself snapping at him, moving from his hold and towards the centre of the room again, downing her champagne glass in one go.

“What did I do wrong? Whatever it is I’ll fix it, Y/N.” Bobby’s words were sincere, a promise to amend anything she asked of him, but her face stayed deadpan as her hands switched from the glass to drinking straight from the bottle.

“Nothing.”

“Then why don’t we give this a shot?!” Bobby demanded, the short fuse on his temper gone. Y/N wasn’t shocked by it, in fact she was angry at herself just as much as Bobby was. “Because I don’t understand how we’ve gone by years and years of grieving and we can’t choose to be happy now! I don’t get why I’ve been in love with you since we were seventeen and you won’t even give us a fucking trial run or something, Y/N!”

“Because of him!”

“Because of who?”

“Luke!”

Silence hung heavy in the air, nearly suffocating the pair as they faced off, Bobby stood by the doors and Y/N stood by the booze. The moment the name left her mouth, tears slipped over, running down her cheeks and ruining the makeup she had worked so hard on earlier that evening.

“Luke?” Bobby asked, his expression clearly one of astonishment as he processed the information. He walked over, until they stood at dancing distance again, and wiped away a tear from her cheek. “I didn’t know…”

“We were dating. Four months.” She confessed with a shaky breath, the relief lifting the dead weight from her shoulders. “We didn’t want to say anything: he and Alex had just finished; I didn’t want to ruin the friendships over something so little…” She paused, stepping back from Bobby. “I didn’t want to come here. I never wanted to come back home, because I knew he’d be here. They’re all here, just watching on, knowing how much I screwed up my life after they went… Bobby, I…”

“Y/N.”

“Don’t fucking pity me!” She snapped again, the raising of her voice causing Bobby to back up, to take a seat on the couch as she began to pace. “He just left. Everything with the Orpheum gig meant we didn’t say goodbye that morning, when you all headed out. It was so instantaneous, so easy… He was just gone. I loved him and he just left, and I’ve been trying to pick up the pieces since and every time I get close I drop the all again, and they scatter, and I have to start all over.” She explained through tears and quick steps, stopping only to gauge his reaction and frown. “Don’t look at me like that. God, I hate when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Bobby asked, defensive, having done his best to just listen to what she had to say.

“Like I’m 17 again and attending funerals every other day!” Y/N yelled. “Like you need to fix me!”

“What if I can though?” Bobby suggested, standing up from the couch. “What if we fix each other here? You didn’t go through that alone, Y/N.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be fixed, Bobby.” She stated decidedly, eyes cold as she fumbled for her cigarette case from her dress pocket.

“You’d rather mop over someone who died five years ago than be with me?” The words were ones of hurt, of disbelief, of anger and sadness and something else Y/N didn’t want to discover. Tears stung her eyes.

“I’m not saying that I-”

“He wasn’t some fucking saint!” Bobby yelled, cutting her off in an attempt to make her see sense. “Y/N! You’ve clearly got some image, some fantasy in your head about Patterson that differs from fucking reality!” He reminded her of their dead friend’s faults quite happily, and Y/N slammed down the champagne bottle.

“You’re one to fucking talk!” She countered. “It’s a shame that only I know you stole his entire fucking song catalogue!”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. It was true, after all. He had reasoned that letting the music go unheard was stupid, selfish even, when he had the means and talent to release it to the world. He had told himself it was good, what he was doing, and for a moment he pondered if it was a mistake.

“To think I gave up New Year’s in New York for this shit…” He muttered, watching Y/N light a cigarette with shaky hands. He ran his own through his hair, taking a heavy sigh as Y/N processed his words.

“Get out.”

“Gladly.”

“And don’t ever contact me again, Trevor.” She added, the smoke trailing from her lips as he marched out. Leaving her alone in her memories, without friends or hope for any sort of future.

Alone on New Year’s, with bad habits she couldn’t break and haunted memories of a life she might have had.

Tags (same as last time ish because i am lazy... oops.): @reggiesleatherjacket @parkeret @calamitykaty @crybabyddl @delicatelukepatterson @lukespatterson @kcd15 @siennanoelle01 @eries45 @lolychu @lazydaisy19 @reggieandthereggies @writerinlearning @mjflower @uhmitstori @walkingonshunshine @kristencoontz @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @ritz-hell-hotel @mishappend @dovegranger @dmcfarland1 @cherrymaybank @oswinsleaf @only-here-for-jatp @jatpfan99 @n0wornever @bookdealer5 @epikskool @thesweetestsinner @fangirlangioma @moviesbooksandfandoms @ohyoureaqueenbutuncrowned @saroo-hawks @charliessunset @bigdesi @avngrsinitiative @emotionalbruv @korydickson @uglypeachh @rogersangel @independentgirl @mon-charmante @writingforphantoms @musicconversedance @heimdoodle @-episkey- @obxmermaid @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @simp4madi @aliciameix @kinda-just-chillin-here @blueyed-one @ghostlyb1tch @leahstypewriter

what comes next? wait and see

#abby's twelve days of christmas #bobby wilson x reader #jatp bobby x reader #luke patterson x reader #jatp luke x reader #julie and the phantoms #jatp #jatp alex #jatp reggie #alex mercer #reggie peters #angst

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modern-vellichor · 4 years

Text

In Her Blood; Four

Summary: The camping trip opens old wounds for everyone.

Pairing: DadsBestFriend!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: murder(not really but its insinuated), mentions of suicide, angst!!!, age gap relationship, mentions of ptsd, uncomfortable family situation, bad father figure, smut, blood play if u squint

Masterlist ||

The next morning you pack the cars. Bucky throws his case in the trunk of your car.

"you riding with me?", you ask.

"yeah, Sarah wants to drive with your parents. Didn't wanna leave ya alone", he shoots a tight lipped smile in your direction.

A look of disappointment flickers on your face, but its soon replaced by a playful and childlike grin.

"okay", you giggle.

You hop in the drivers seat, Bucky buckling himself in next to you. You pull out after Sarah and your parents, following them the whole way there.

Early 2000s punk plays through the stereo. You bang your head lightly, mouthing the words to old Blink 182. Bucky chuckles softly to himself at the sight.

After an hour you pull into a garage. You leave Bucky in the car and meet Sarah at the door to the shop, you take her hand playfully and rest your head on her shoulder while you walk in. Bucky smiles.

You come back with two cokes and a bag of different snacks. You slide in next to him with a smile and a chuckle. You launch a sandwich and the coke at him, he laughs.

The rest of the drive is silent. Only another hour or so.

You arrive at the site by noon, a small enough cabin and a beautiful lake, the dark woods framing most of it.

You take your sisters hand, leading her to the room you're sharing. Your laughs echo through old, damp wood.

Sam and Steve take the master, Bucky is left with the small guest room at the end of the hallway.

The group recollects just as the sun is going down, the sky painted bright pink and orange, a gloomy forest casting haunting shadows on the site.

The fire crackles quietly while you eat. Sam tells childhood stories, the rest of you laugh and nod along. Bucky cant help but let his gaze wander to you.

Then you're pulling off your top and running towards the lake, Sarah close behind you. You're laughing as you dive gracefully into the dark water, barely making a splash. When you resurface, your head breaks in the centre of the lake. Bucky laughs, so do your parents.

You and Sarah play for a while, swimming and diving and bringing up rocks and little shiny things you find.

The first night is peaceful. Morning arrives and Steve, Sam, and Sarah go for a hike. You stay at the cabin, you sketch the rustic view from your window.

The next evening, you all sit around the fire. You drink and you laugh, you shoot Bucky soft looks all night. Its homely and peaceful. Then you pull the box of cigarettes from your pocket, you let the flames lick it alight and retreat to the edge of the lake. You're out of the way, but Steve still sighs.

"are you kidding?", he snaps at you. "now?"

"Steve", Sam mumbles, trying to calm him down. "she's all the way over there, leave her". Its to no avail.

"those things kill you, you know", he barks.

"just like you", you murmur under your breath, he cant make out what you're saying. You make yourself small, nursing your cigarette.

"what did you say?", Sarah and Sam both start trying to calm Steve, you stay silent. "answer me, Y/N!"

"stop, you're scaring Sarah", you mumble, Bucky stands up and begins to approach, ready to jump in if needed.

"This isn't about Sarah", he's shouting now. You snap then.

"It's always been about Sarah", you crush the cigarette under the toe of your boot. "I never minded when daddy got angry, but Sarah always cried when he shouted"

"stop it!"

"Remember when you broke that plate, Sarah thought daddy got the gun from the loose floorboard and shot her sister dead. Sarah who thought daddy was gonna kick Y/N out, Sarah who thought she was gonna find Y/N dead on the bathroom floor", you shout with a sick smile, you advance on him as Steve stumbles back. He throws empty threats at you, but you don't listen.

Sarah begins to cry and Sam has to carry her inside, he closes the door behind her and runs back to Steve. He pulls Steve away by the bicep and you turn back to the lake. You sit by the waters edge, lighting another cigarette as Bucky sits next to you.

You rest your head on his shoulder and he wraps his arms around you, he coos softly, half expecting you to cry. He's confused when you don't. It's a strange comparison, how Sarah went screaming, but you stood still, quiet.

"what happened, kotenok?", he purrs, soft and sweet.

You stumble over your words for a moment, "Sarah has always been more.. sensitive", you whisper, smoke drifting from your lips. "She's always been more prone to breakdowns and crying and things"

"you're like Steve, he's a suffer in silence kind of guy"

"like father like daughter, eh?"

He chuckles softly, "I guess so, yeah"

You sent him away after a while, choosing to sit by yourself. You sat there until the sun started to rise, the time Steve would normally go out for a walk. Sure enough, he came and tapped you on the shoulder.

He smiled down at you apologetically, offering his hand. You took it.

"wanna come for a hike?"

You nodded with a smile and followed after him, a few steps behind.

"I'm really sorry, about last night, about everything actually"

"its okay", you mumble, not wanting to get into it.

"I'm proud of you, you know", you stopped at his words, stunned. "yeah, I was just like you when I was young. I wanted to go to art school. I know I made a big deal of you dropping out, but I'm proud of you"

You gave a genuine smile as you hugged his side, he mumbled an 'I love you' into your hair and the two of you continued hiking in happy silence.

Sarah wasn't talking to either of you, you couldn't bring yourself to face her either. So while she was outside that evening, you slipped into your shared room and grabbed some spare clothes before trudging down the hall and knocking on Bucky's door.

"Hey", he chimed, when he took you in, he was slightly confused. "you okay?"

"yeah", you chuckled, mumbling slightly. "can I stay in here?"

He was more than happy to let you sleep in his bed, the two of you curled up together behind a locked door. He ran his hands through your hair, stroking his knuckles softly over your cheek. He traced the curve of your nose, the outline of your lips, even the line of your collarbones.

You kept your eyes closed, just let him admire you. You only opened them when he tucked himself against you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him. You loosely slung your arms around his shoulders, tracing your fingertips over the plates of his metal arm. You hummed when they clicked and whirred softly under you touch.

"you're so soft", he mumbles into your skin.

You chuckle in response, "what?"

"no one is ever gentle when it comes to that thing", he shrugs his left arm as he speaks, you watch in admiration as all the plates click in succession.

"I think it's interesting", you whisper. "It's actually kind of pretty"

He laughs at your response, but he doesn't realise that your sketchbook is filled with icy blue eyes and a shiny collaboration of vibranium where a limb should be, all sketches of varying degrees of completion.

He lifts his head to gaze at you, just for a moment before hes craning his neck to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips, you eagerly return. He crawls his way up the bed, cupping your face in calloused hands, now you're craning your neck. He slowly rolls himself on top of you, snaking one hand to the back of your neck. You kiss, because that's all you can do, with your parents right down the hall.

Eventually he falls asleep and you slip out of his grasp, finding scrap paper and a pen. You sketch the broad expanse of his back, taking extra care to map out his scars just right, you search for all the paper thin scars and the ones that look like freckles, you sketch them too. He's a beast of a man, you should be scared of him, but you aren't, you've got him wrapped around your finger.

The next morning he slides into the passenger seat next to you, you smile at him. He rests his hand on your thigh, occasionally wandering higher or pinching the soft flesh, sometimes he leans in and peppers feather light kisses to your cheek. He gently bites at your neck, making you whimper and whine behind the wheel.

When you finally pull into his driveway, he insists you come in. You wave at Steve, gesturing to Bucky's open door, he throws you a thumbs up.

You shut the door gently, and Bucky's on top of you in seconds, hand on your throat, pinning you to the door, you whimper.

"it's okay, kitten", he growls, "I won't hurt you", you stay silent. He presses soft kisses to your cheek, trailing them across your jaw and down your neck, and then he lands on your pulse point, and he bites down hard. You yelp, and he pulls you up the stairs.

He does the same thing when he has you caged against the bed, his hands massage your thighs as he trails loving kisses down your neck, before sinking sharp teeth into your pulse point, making you gasp.

He does it again once he's buried deep inside of you, one hand prying your thighs apart and the other holding your wrists above your head. He mumbles words of praise between kisses; "such a good girl for me, taking everything I give you", then he clamps sharp canines into your neck again, only this time he tastes blood.

It's a welcome taste on his tongue; warm and metallic, and strangely familiar.

When he's finished, panting and glowing in soft evening light, you examine him closely. He smiles down at you, and he wonders what you're looking for.

"you could tear open my throat, and let me die in your arms", you whisper, but you're only half here, your mind has wandered, but he knows you still expect an answer.

"I could", he says plainly, accepting of the fact that you were so fragile compared to him, that he could rip you up and tear you open and let you bleed out in his arms.

"why don't you?"

"I'm a sucker for art girls", he whispers jokingly, but when you gaze up at him, he can see that theres something bigger at play in your mind, so he takes a deep breath and tries again. "you're soft, and familiar, and you make everything a little bit better. Why would I kill the object of my affections, when I could just mark her, make her mine, and have her forever", he words it as poetically as he can, desperate to satisfy whatever thirst you needed to quench.

You nod slowly, taking in his words. Then you roll away from him and pick your jeans up from his bedroom floor, you fish around in your pockets before you pull out a carefully folded piece of paper and hand it to him.

It takes him a while to realise what it is. It's one of your sketches, he identifies that immediately. But then he realises that its him, it's his back, the night you slept in his room at the cabin. He looks at it more closely, ogling at the detail and the perfect placement of every imperfection staining his skin.

He takes you in his arms, and presses a soft kiss to your pulse point, blood seeping slowly onto his lips.

'his', you think, and a part of you wants to never let him go, and another knows that eventually, you'll need to.

@vicmc624 @adriannajackson @zizzlekwum @chipilerendi @madaroni37

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky fic #dadsbestfriend!bucky #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

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behindyourbarrette · 3 years

Text

hi! welcome to my blog—you're in the right place! here are a few helpful links that you may be looking for!

✐ masterlist ✐ read on ao3

➣ first off, i'm rory! i'm 18, and use she/her pronouns. i’m a lover of books, iced lattes, 2000’s garage rock and, you guessed it, spencer reid! if you'd like to learn more about the person behind the blog, click here!

➣ secondly, my blog is a safe space! this means i don't tolerate bullshit in the form of racism, sexism, transphobia, homophobia, ableism, any of that. if you're going to be a bigot, walk the other way!

➣ i write spencer reid x reader fanfiction! here is a link to join my taglist, and here is a link to my ask box. requests are now open; my only guidelines are that i don't write smut, heavy angst, and/or prison!reid. i can't guarantee that your request will be fulfilled but i'm open to suggestions!

➣ this blog is SFW. i ask that my dms stay 18+, but my ask box is open to all under the conditions that everything stays SFW! that's for both everyone's safety and my own comfort.

i hope you enjoy your stay! thank you for reading/sticking around :)

#blog nav #rory's big girl blog #disregard lol this is for pinned

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darth-el · 4 years

Text

You Put A Spell On Me

Pairing: Billy x Reader (modern AU) Warnings: Alcohol, smoking, implied smut A/N: This was requested by an anon who wanted the famous person trope with fated mates from table 5. If you want to request a couple of tropes you can find the post here. I hope you enjoy and feedback is always welcome. I really enjoyed writing this one. Masterlist

The winter sun was exactly what you needed. That's one thing you loved about touring, a lot of the time it took you away from the cold. You remembered when you first started out, you were in small venues with barely anyone watching. You were fortunate to find a few local circuits which helped you build your name. The trouble with what you were doing was that it was oversaturated, you needed something groundbreaking to make yourself known. You had been dancing since you could walk, you were fortunate to have parents who supported you. When you were ten you started saving your money because you were fascinated with the Argentinian tango and wanted to visit Buenos Aires to learn properly. You did exactly that when you were seventeen. You stayed there for three years. You also met the love of your life, Xavier who was there on business, on your 20th birthday. He was smart and successful and took you around the world with him and encouraged you to dance. He even built a very large dance studio in his apartment for you. One day while you were in Bali he took you to see fire dancers, you were hooked. You wanted to learn that, so you did. It took a lot of courage as the fire scared you, and you burnt yourself a couple of times, but fortunately it was never anything too serious. When it was one of those rare stints you were back home in New York, you stumbled across burlesque dancing. The women were glamorous, they were sexy, they were everything you felt you needed to be. You read everything you could have about burlesque. You started to take classes to understand the basics and it started to snowball into other things, from aerial to pole dancing, to pyrotechnics and sword swallowing. You decided burlesque dancing was what you wanted to do with your life, and that's what you exactly did. The more well known you became amongst the dancers and fans the more Xavier pushed you away because you needed him less and less. You realised you didn't need him at all when you twenty-four and walked away from him. You weren't going to let some man destroy your dream. After you ended the relationship you ended up dating a lot of business owners and trust fund children who hadn't worked a day in their life. You eventually grew bored of this and decided not to date anyone which became easier and easier due to touring.

Sitting in the dingy bar bought back all those memories, it was nice to have a night out in between shows. You wanted to say that it was nice not being someone else, but in reality your stage persona was you. That night you were dressed in a dark red velvet pencil dress, it clung to your figure in all the places. You stood out in the crowded room. As did he. He was rough around the edges, not the usual type you would go for. He was captivated by you and he had a cocky smile on his face as walked over to you. He was wearing a dark red shirt which was buttoned down exposing his chiselled chest with a leather jacket over the top and dark jeans. He wasn't that different to the guys you went for, he loved himself just as much. He leaned on the bar as he stared at you smiling, you flirtatiously smiled at him as you slowly looked away. “What you drinking doll?” He moved closer to you which made you look at him with a smirk on your face. “Vodka on the rocks.” You raised glass at him as you said this still with the smile on your face. You adjusted your position as you leaned on the bar yourself, to accentuate your legs and ass which definitely caught his attention as he was eyeing you up as he ordered two more vodkas. “Do you have a name darling?” The smile not leaving his face. “Y/N.” You hold out your hand to shake his and he cups your soft hand in his rough ones before kissing the top of your hand not taking his deep blue eyes off yours. “Billy.” His voice was husky and low, like you he knew he was going to conquer you. You knew he was used to getting any girl he wanted when he wanted, so you decided to make him work for you. You were the one in control. “How does a beautiful girl like you find herself in a place like this?” His said as he took a sip of his vodka. You look at the bar, it wasn't great, but it definitely wasn't bad. It was just a bit middle of the road. At least they had good vodka though. “I'm on tour,” You smirked at him leaning in closer, you could smell a mixture of cologne and cigarettes on him, and he could smell your expensive perfume on you. “You in a band?” He laughed gently at this, thinking that there was no way an elegant girl like you could be in a band. “Something like that,” You winked at him taking the last sip of vodka before paying your tab. “Might see you around.” You blew a kiss at him as you walked off confidently swaying your hips. He stared at you in awe wondering if you were real. You enjoyed your two days in LA of not doing anything except preparing for your show, which came around quickly. The show was sold out, you were performing to a crowd of over 2000 people. This wasn't the biggest crowd you performed for, but it didn't stop the nerves. As you squeezed yourself into your crystal encrusted corset and adjusted your extravagant headpiece. “GUYS, DOLLS, AND NON-BINARY PALS PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR THE BEAUTIFUL STRAWBERRY D'LITE!” Your partner in crime, Leah announced to the audience. You walk on stage and begin your routine. This routine involved you breathing and eating fire. The audience were starstruck. After the show you get dressed back up and make your way to the bar out the front of the venue and met with everyone who wanted to meet you and have photos with you. This was the favourite part of your night, as you got to meet people from around the world. You saw a few a familiar faces and enjoyed conversing with them and seeing what they were up to and how they were enjoying LA, or how they were enjoying the USA because some were from overseas and flew in specifically to you. That's when you see Billy again. This time he was with friends, you could tell it was his friends idea to go and see you as he looked like a fish out of water. He clocks you again and looked intimidated, he was like a shy school kid who was trying to pluck up the courage to ask you to prom. The crowd started to filter out and move onto the next place. You order two vodkas and bring them over to him along with a napkin which had your hotel address on it. His eyes are wide in shock as are his friends. “Repaying the favour from last night.” You smiled handing him the glass and napkin before walking off. His friend's jaws dropped so fast you were sure a couple of them could have swallowed you whole. The hotel suite was large, you had a view of the entirety LA from your private rooftop garden. You were lounging under the moonlight in a sheer feathered robe that made you look like you had just killed your millionaire husband. When you get a call from the front desk saying that someone wanted to see you. You instructed to let them up knowing exactly who it was. You make your way downstairs to the bar in the living area of the suite and started making yourself a cocktail. The elevator dinged and Billy walked through to where you were. “What can I get you?” You took a sip of your cocktail smirking. “I can see something I want.” He walked over to you confidently, taking the cocktail out of your hand and had a sip before putting it down on the bar. You say nothing and lead him to the bedroom pushing him down onto the queen size four post bed and gave him a show he never going to forget. The LA show signalled the end of your tour and you decided to hang around in LA exploring with Billy, which involved the historic music venues, a hike up to the Hollywood sign, and all the other touristy things. The day before you were heading back to New York he took you to his favourite secluded beach to teach you how to surf which was hilarious as you were really bad at it. You wiped out several times which made him laugh a lot. You spent all day with him, he was completely unlike anyone you had ever met. He wasn't trying to be anyone he wasn't. He had a real passion for surfing and worked as a mechanic in a garage. He had a younger step-sister that was studying to be a game developer. You instantly felt comfortable with him and he felt comfortable with you. You watched the sunset together, he lit up a cigarette and passed it to you who happily accepted it. You weren't usually a smoker, but it just felt right in the moment. You laid your head down on his lap still smoking the cigarette and he was playing with your hair gently. He was very content as were you. A wash of spontaneity came over you and you sat up examining his beautiful features. You decided not to go back to New York. “Do you want to go Thailand with me?” He looks at you in shock and nods with his mouth slightly agape.

#Stranger Things #Stranger Things Imagines #Billy Hargrove #Billy Hargrove x Reader #Billy Hargrove x You #Billy Hargrove Imagine #Billy Hargrove One Shot #Stranger Things One Shot

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