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cloudzoro · 3 months

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Pumpkin | Roronoa Zoro ♡

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

genre: smut with a little bit of plot (minors dni)

pairings: roronoa zoro x fem reader

wc: 8.4k words

cw: mutual pining, idiots to lovers, reader gets hit on in a bar multiple times, zoros feelings are all over the place bc he's a mess, monster cock!zoro, unprotected sex, soft zoro </3, marking, bad flirting

masterlist here

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You have feelings for Zoro and you know it, Zoro has feelings for you and doesn't know it. Everyone is collectively sick of your shit. It isn't until you get hit on in a bar and Zoro has to step in that he realises how deep his feelings for you run.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

If you squeeze that glass any harder, it's gonna shatter,” says Nami, nodding at the glass of beer Zoro holds in his hand. Zoro waves her off, sparing her a glance just to glare at her before focusing on the cause of his irritation. You're standing at the bar of the dingy lounge, talking to Sanji and the random guy who's been showing you around the new island the strawhats had docked up at. The place isn't too busy, so he can see you without looking past a crowd. Unfortunately, he can also see the new guy you've met. The guy is interested in you, leaning in to talk to you, which gives Zoro a nasty feeling in his chest. He chalks it up to being protective; he doesn't like how the man looks at you. For once, Zoro is actually grateful for Sanji's presence. The tall cook at your side, looking as enraged as Zoro feels, is intimidating to the guy who backs up a little.

“Your girl’s talking to other men. If I were you, I'd kill the guy,” says Usopp, and Zoro rolls his eyes. He is not even bothering to answer. You're not his girl. You're just friends. Zoro isn't even sure he's capable of falling in love. You step back from the guy, clearly uncomfortable, and Zoro starts to see red. It isn't until Chopper and Usopp reach out to grab him that he realises he's even stood up. Ready to jump into action. “Don't make a scene; I'm really not in the mood for a fight,” says Usopp, trying his best to push Zoro back into his seat.

When his eyes focus back on where you're standing at the bar, Zoro sees that Sanji has stepped in and told the man off. You're safe now. The man had run away with his tail between his legs, but the bitter taste in his mouth is still there. He watches intently as you walk back to the table where the strawhats are sitting, with Sanji in tow and drinks in hand. You set another glass in front of him, and just as you walk away to sit on the other side of the table, he pats the seat next to him. You raise an eyebrow at his request, his un-Zoro-like behaviour startling you.

“Just don't wanna sit next to the dumb cook”, he grumbles, looking down at the table instead of at you. You nod and slide into the chair next to him. Now that he can feel your presence next to him, he feels the weight lift from his shoulders.

“So y/n, what happened?” asks Nami, always a fan of gossip. You go to answer, but you're immediately stopped by Sanji, who butts in with his own account.

“That horrible ugly man was trying to steal our precious y/n away for his crew. As if she'd ever leave us.” he huffs out. Luffy laughs at how idiotic the idea of you leaving would be. Zoro doesn’t speak as he watches you sip your drink and roll your eyes at Sanji’s dramatics.

“That loser was just hitting on me,” you say, trying to play it down to get the attention off of you. Despite first appearing extroverted, you aren’t too keen on attention being on you. It's one of the reasons Zoro gels with you much better than some of his other crewmates. Once the conversation switches from the almost bar fight to whatever crazy made-up story Usopp tells, you lean into Zoro’s side to speak quietly in his ear. “I saw you stand up earlier; you looked like you were gonna kill him. Thank you, even if you were held back,” you say, laughing at how ridiculous he looked. Your thanks are sincere, even if you still tease him for it. Zoro has been a silent protector for you since you joined the crew. Everyone knows you’re in his top three Straw hats, alongside Luffy and Chopper. As much as he tries to convince himself that you’re tied with your captain, you’re number one and almost pulling a lead. It's clear to the rest of the crew that the only people in the world who can’t see how you feel are you and Zoro. Zoro offers you an amused smirk, close to a smile but not quite, and raises his glass. You do the same, clinking your glasses and continuing with your drink. You re-enter the conversation, talking animatedly with Nami and Usopp, but Zoro is more than happy to sit back and watch his family in a rare moment of peace. He only speaks whenever Sanji makes a comment that riles him up.

Luffy and Usopp are terrible influences on you. Your captain and sharpshooter like to have fun, which often includes dragging you into their shenanigans. They’re always making terrible drinking games and challenges, egged on by Brook and Franky. You, not one to back down from a challenge, always end up joining them. You’ve put more alcohol away in one night than you have in the last month, and when it's time to leave, Zoro and Robin take it upon themselves to support you as you can barely stand up by yourself. You sway as the fresh air hits you harder than expected. You almost let go of Robin completely as you lean into Zoro. You mumble something about not wanting to walk anymore, and Zoro sighs, signalling Robin to carry on ahead. He crouches down and tells you to hop on his back. You do so, settling yourself and pressing your face into his neck. He hears you mumble a thanks into his skin before passing out.

This isn't the first time one of your crewmates has had to carry you back to the sunny, and it definitely won't be the last. Zoro doesn't mind your weight on him; he brings you to your room, sets you down in your bed, and takes off your shoes and jewellery as carefully as he can before leaving and walking out to the deck.

“One of you ladies should probably go in there just to make sure she doesn’t vomit in her sleep and choke and die”, he says as he walks up to the edge of the ship to look out at the sea. Robin says she’ll stay with you and walks to the girls' bedroom.

“So when will you tell her you’re completely in love with her?” asks Nami, startling him.

“When will you leave me alone so I can enjoy a peaceful night.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“You’re annoying,” he says, unable to defend himself in any other way. Nami sighs and pats his shoulder.

“You need help, dude,” she says condescendingly. Nami has mastered the art of irritating the men aboard the ship; it’s a form of entertainment for her sometimes. “The sooner you tell her you like her, the sooner you can bone, and then maybe you won't be such an uptight freak anymore.” Zoro can tell her own comment tickles her, but before he can spit out a sarcastic response, he is cut off by the voice of his airhead captain.

“Are we talking about Zoro’s y/n kink?” he asks, loudly chewing on the leftovers from earlier’s dinner. Zoro doesn't even dignify that question with a response. He stomps off to the boy’s bedroom and climbs into his hammock. Clearly, he’d only get peace aboard this ship by being unconscious.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The next day, You wake up with a throbbing in your head, and your stomach turns as you run to the ship bathroom. You empty your stomach of nastiness and head to the kitchen to get some water to drink. Sanji put some food away for you with a little note, and it warms your heart how your boys care for you. You nibble your way through your breakfast and set about looking for where everyone is.

The first person you find is Brook, sitting on a chair and drinking tea. You ask him where everyone is, and he informs you that most of the crew have gone sightseeing in the city at the island's centre. He tells you that Zoro and Usopp are the only people still in the area. Usopp is in his room, recovering from last night, and Zoro is just in front of the sunny, taking advantage of the space to get in a good workout. You decide to go and bother him.

“Hi, Zoro,” you say, approaching him. “Need a sparring partner?” you ask; seeing him shirtless is an excellent motivator. He looks at you in your sweats and tank top and laughs. He knows those are your comfy clothes and just woke up.

“That depends. Are you gonna vomit on me?”

“No”, you get defensive about your weak alcohol tolerance despite having proved your lightweight status regularly. “I don’t even have a real hangover, just a headache” you insist.

“That is a hangover, pumpkin,” he says. Pumpkin isn't a pet name; it's a nickname you were given when you first joined the crew, and almost everyone except Luffy and Robin uses it. Yet it still makes heat rise in your cheeks when Zoro uses it. It sounds different coming from him than it does coming from someone like Franky.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” If you keep pestering him, he’ll give in eventually.

“Fine, but I'm not going easy on you”, he says, enjoying how defensive you get at any insinuation of weakness.

“I’d be insulted if you did.”

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sparring session ends when Zoro pins you down on your back for the fifth time.

“You’re getting better at close combat. It took me a lot longer to knock you down this time,” he says. They’re simple words of encouragement, but they make your stomach feel funny. When you catch your breath, and the adrenaline is out of your system, you realise that he's still on top of you. There's something different in how you look at him now, and you hope he doesn't notice it. You're fully aware of how your feelings for Zoro have changed in recent weeks, but you figure he doesn't feel the same way, so you've kept it to yourself. Zoro isn't the relationship type.

He seems to realise by himself that he's still hovering over you, so he quickly moves himself off you and helps you up. He mutters an apology and walks with you in silence back to the ship. In the silence, all you can think about is the view of a sweaty, shirtless Zoro on top of you. You want the image seared permanently into your brain.

When you return to the sunny, you get washed and changed. While you're in the shower, you can't help the way your fingers wander between your legs, pleasuring yourself with the thought of Zoro clouding your mind. The combination of an orgasm and a shower has refreshed you, and you decide to go into the centre to find Nami and Robin. You pass Brook on the way out, who has now been joined by Usopp.

“Were you showering with your boyfriend?”

The question stops you in your tracks. Boyfriend?.

“I don't have a boyfriend, Brook. What do you mean?” Usopp matches your confused expression, looking between you and Brook

“Are you not dating our swordsman?”

“No, of course I'm not. Why would you think that?!” you ask, exasperated by his audacity. Then it clicks in your head. You remember what you did in the shower that could've tipped him off.

“I heard you saying his name.” As the words leave Brook's mouth, Usopp gasps, finally realising where the confusion has come from. You must not have been quiet enough when touching yourself to the thought of him. Usopp looks completely embarrassed, and you hope he'll keep this secret. He's too ashamed of knowing something intimate about you.

“Nope. You were just imagining things. Anyway, I have to go and find Nami and Robin, so I'll be going now. Bye, guys, see you later,” you yell as you rush off the ship to escape the embarrassing situation as quickly as possible.

You catch up with Nami and Robin pretty fast. They split from the boys a while ago and are about to wander through a local market. They're happy to have you along as company, and Robin makes sure to ask about your hangover. You tell them that you were training with Zoro before coming out, and the mention of the green-haired swordsman makes Nami smirk. You already know how the conversation will go, but it's unavoidable.

“Did you finally tell Zoro how you feel about him?” she asks. You turn to Robin, and she just smiles and shrugs, which is code for ‘I want to know the gossip, but I don't want to seem like I'm not on your side’.

“No, because I've told you a million times that Zoro doesn't think of me that way. We had a training session today, and all he did was make fun of me for being a lightweight.”

“Are you stupid? He carried you home last night,” says Nami.

“Everyone's carried my drunk ass home at least once.”

“He's obsessed with you.” She laughs. “In every way.”

“I think Nami's right”, says Robin, and you feel like you're about to be driven crazy.

“I already told you he doesn't feel the same way. He's had so many opportunities to ask me out, and he's never even hinted at it. He's nice to me because we're close friends. That's it,” you say, frustrated at the topic. “it hurts, though; I really do like him”, you say sombrely.

They're good friends to you and respect your boundaries as much as they love to gossip. They can see you don't want to discuss Zoro anymore, so they change the subject to buying cute clothes. You look around the market for handmade garments by real natives of the area. Learning about other cultures through food and fashion is your favourite part of travelling the world.

When you arrive back on the Sunny, You go straight to the girls' quarters, avoiding Brook and Usopp, and put your bags of clothing away. You lay on your bed and let yourself completely relax into it, allowing the wear and tear of the day to seep out of your body.

Zoro, however, is less relaxed than you. Luffy has been asking him what he talked about with Nami all day. He feels seconds away from punching the over-excited man. He's repeatedly said he's not interested in a relationship and certainly not you. He's insisted time and time again that you two are just friends.

“oooh, how about you go into town with her and spend some alone time?” Before Zoro can interject and ask why, Usopp hurriedly continues. “it could be a good way to have a proper talk and find out how she feels about you.”

Zoro, angered by his friend's persistence, finally responds.

“If it gets you two idiots to shut the fuck up, I'll do it. But it's not because I like her or anything.” He says, getting up and dragging himself inside. He passes the girls’ quarters on his way down, decides to pull up his big boy pants and knocks on the door. When you call to open the door, he pushes it open and sees you relaxing. He insists he doesn't have feelings for you; you’re just close friends, but seeing you dressed down and chilled causes a switch in his brain. He wishes Nami had never said anything the night before, or he wouldn't be second-guessing his feelings towards you. “You wanna come into town tomorrow?” He asks, as straightforward as he always is. You nod and smile at him. He hums in acknowledgement and shuts the door as he walks down to his bed. You know Zoro’s personality, so his response - or lack thereof - doesn’t phase you at all. You let sleep take you as Zoro begins to cloud all your thoughts.

“They’re so into each other it's gross,” says Nami, crossing her arms. “I don't understand why they don’t just fuck and get it other with”

“At least y/n is aware of feelings. Zoro doesn't even know he's in love with her,” adds Robin.

“She’s too good for him; I don’t even know why you’re trying to play cupid with them” growls Sanji.

“They’re so obvious about it that Brook thought they were dating,” says Usopp.

“Yes, she said I was hearing things, but I'm sure I heard her moaning his name”, says Brook before Usopp can even attempt to stop him. Silence falls among the group, and Nami and Robin share a knowing glance. They leave the boys to continue gossiping and go to the girls’ quarter. You don’t open your eyes when the door opens, having heard Nami and Robin’s voices approaching. However, when you feel your mattress dip, you open your eyes to see both women sitting on your bed, smiling at you. While Robin is usually the more mature of the women aboard the ship, she still needs a good laugh now and then, and you can tell that whatever they’re about to say will annoy you. Nami’s Cheshire cat-esque grin proves they’re about to either embarrass or pull you into a scheme.

“so”, Robin starts, clearing her throat.

“We just want to warn you that next time you have a wild sex dream about Zoro, you should moan his name a little quieter,” says Nami, giggling at the look of exasperation on your face. It takes you all of two seconds before you realise that Brook and Usopp snitched on you, and you jump out of bed to confront them.

Brook hears you scream his name and knows you’re about to beat his ass and has the sense to run. Usopp, however, drops to his knees and apologises, hoping to appease you. The scene is entertaining to the rest of the crew, who all chime in about whether or not you should have mercy on Usopp.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When morning comes around, you wake up and stretch. You spend a little extra time getting ready in the morning. When you leave the ship, Zoro is already waiting for you, leaning against a tree. He lets you take the lead as you walk into the town centre. The market stalls are busy, and you grab onto his shirt so you don't lose him. Zoro usually wouldn’t even bat an eye at the action. You’ve always had a mutual agreement to protect each other, but with the recent stirring feelings he's been forced to acknowledge, he’s hyper-aware of any physical contact between you. He’s taken some money from the ship to buy you food. At first, you don’t talk much, and he just watches you walk from stall to stall. You approach a stall selling jewellery, and Zoro stops behind you. The vendor looks over your shoulder at the man and pushes some chains towards you.

“What about something for your boyfriend?” she asks, and, to Zoro’s surprise, you don't correct the lady. You just nod and pick up a chain, turning to Zoro and signalling him to put it on. You don’t do it with ulterior motives; you just like buying your crewmates gifts. Maybe you didn’t correct the vendor when she called him your boyfriend to feed your secret crush, but he didn't correct her either, so no harm is done. When Zoro puts on the chain, he raises his eyebrow and asks what you think, and then he keeps it on as you pay the vendor. He still doesn't believe you have feelings for him or vice versa, so he thinks of the gift as a friendly gesture. You, however, keep getting distracted by thoughts of the chain you bought for him dangling over your face as he fucks you. He says something to you, and you have to ask him to repeat himself so you can focus on what he’s saying this time.

“We should go to that bar over there”, he suggests, pointing across the market to the bar you had been to a few nights before. You agree and follow him. You both decide to sit at the bar and get a drink each. Usually, small talk flows between you and Zoro naturally, but things seem awkward. You don’t know what's wrong with Zoro, but you’ve never seen him flounder like this. He excuses himself to the bathroom, and after he leaves, another man slides onto the seat next to you. You’re not interested, so you try to ignore his presence, and then he attempts to talk to you.

“You’re not from around here, are you? You stick out like a sore thumb,” he says, and before you can respond, he just keeps going. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, of course. You’re beautiful. What’d you say, I'll show you around?” You’d already been shown around when you first arrived on the island.

“I'm here with my boyfriend; he just went to the bathroom,” you say, hoping the guy will take the hint and leave. He doesn't and just continues to talk about himself and pitch himself as a potential partner to you. When Zoro exits the bathroom and sees the man speaking to you, he feels bile rise in his throat. You make eye contact as he approaches the bar, and your expression immediately shifts into a smile.

“Hi, babe.” The words shock him, and it takes him a second to process, but when he puts two and two together, he immediately helps you out by taking a step closer to you, so now he's stood directly behind you as you sit on the stool facing the strange man who’s approached you. He puffs out his chest and rolls his shoulders back to show off a little.

“Who’s this guy? Is he bothering you?” he asks. The role of a protective boyfriend comes naturally to him. You look up at him and nod, placing your drink on its coaster and backing up against him. His hand settles on your hip, and he internally panics about possibly going too far.

“I think we should go,” you say, grabbing his hand and turning to leave the bar. He feels that letting that loser stay in the bar and potentially harass other women while you have to leave the bar early isn't much of a punishment, so he grabs the guy by his shirt. You weren't expecting a bar fight immediately, but this is Zoro, so you take a step back and get ready to back him up if he needs it.

“You should go too; if I catch you anywhere near her, I will kill you. If I come here again and you're here, I will kill you,” he says, his other hand secured around one of his swords, and then he lets the man go. He hurries past you and out the door. When Zoro looks back at you, you’re smiling at him, and it shocks his system that you aren't even a little bit scared of him. He’s incapable of looking anywhere but you, but he knows the other patrons in the bar are watching him warily in fear. Not you, though. Your eyes are filled with something he’d never imagined to be directed at him: awe and respect. In that moment, he finally makes peace with the fact that maybe he likes you as more than just a crewmate.

“Thank you,” you say as you leave the bar. It seems like you’re always thanking him for something.

“Don’t mention it”, he says, brushing it off and focusing back on the market stalls. You pick up a few more gifts on the way home. Zoro accepts his feelings for you quickly, but now he has to figure out many other issues. Do you like him back? Is it possible for someone like him to pursue a relationship? Is he even worthy of your love? You linger on his mind when he returns to the men's quarters that night.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You had spent the afternoon with the rest of the crew planning your next destination. When night finally fell, you had decided to stay out a little longer, chatting to the remaining crewmates who hadn’t gone to bed yet. When you get tired, you get up to go to bed, and Jinbe and Sanji thank you for their gifts and bid you goodnight. When you return to your room, Nami and Robin are waiting for you. You know they’re about to grill you for details about your day with Zoro.

“So, how did it go with Zoro?” asks Nami as you sit on the edge of your bed.

“It was fun. A guy hit on me in a bar, and he pretended to be my boyfriend and then threatened to kill him. Poor guy almost pissed his pants,” you say, laughing at the memory of the terrified look on the man's face.

“And you still don’t believe he’s in love with you?” she says.

“He would’ve done the same thing for either of you,” you say in defence of yourself.

“Maybe he would’ve threatened the guy, but he would never have pretended to be my boyfriend,” says Robin. You sigh and throw yourself against the mattress.

“Why are you so resistant to the idea that he might like you back?” Robin asks. “Maybe some romance would do you good.”

“Robin’s right. You two are perfect for each other. He’s an emotionally constipated loser with no social skills, and you’re an emotionally constipated loser with slightly more social skills.” Nami has gotten up from her bed and is kneeling beside you, leaning over your face.

“That was mean”, you pout, looking up at her. “I’m not a loser.”

“But you do suck at emotions.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t see why he would be interested in me,” you say, finally admitting what has been bothering you since you first developed feelings for him. The mattress on the other side of you dips, signalling Robin has joined the two of you.

“Y/n sweetheart, you’re smart, funny, and beautiful. There’s no reason Zoro wouldn’t like you,” she says, reaching out a hand to pet your head.”We’re telling you he likes you, but he's probably having thoughts similar to yours.” Robin is always a source of comfort for you, so you appreciate her words.

“Yeah, and your boyfriend is dumb as rocks, so you have to tell him,” Says Nami. You groan at Nami’s word choice.

“Whatever, I think we should go to bed”, you huff, closing your eyes in protest. Name and Robin give each other an amused look and get off of your bed. You drift off to sleep, trying to push the topic of Zoro to the back of your mind.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You’re in the shower the next morning; it's your final day on the island, and you’ll celebrate at a restaurant later in the evening. You think over your conversation with Nami and Robin, and you figure there’s a possibility they're right. Before confessing to him, you decide to test the waters first and see if Zoro has feelings for you. You’re not the best at flirting, but you decide you’re going to try to hint it to him. After your shower, when you’re all changed into your outfit for the day, you go to the dining area for breakfast. When you enter the room, Sanji is bustling about in the kitchen, and Nami, Zoro, and Luffy are sitting around the table, waiting for food.

“Morning, Sanji” you call. The cook immediately turns around at the sound of your voice. “Think you can add an extra portion?”

“Of course, Pumpkin! Please take a seat,” he calls back, and you follow his instructions, taking the empty seat next to Zoro.

“Morning Pumpkin”, greet Nami and Zoro as Luffy greets you with your real name instead of the nickname. You cheerfully bid them a good morning and shuffle your chair closer to Zoro’s, who doesn't seem to notice until your knees touch under the table and he looks at you. You know you have feelings for him, but you're still thrown off by the way simply making contact with him causes you to feel butterflies. Sanji brings out the food, grinning at the instant praise he gets. He then retreats to the kitchen, knowing the rest of the crew will be awake soon.

“Food looks good,” you say to Zoro before shovelling it into your mouth. By the time you’ve finished only one bite, Luffy has cleared his whole plate and is whining at Sanji for another portion. “I can never understand how he puts away food like that.”

“It's pretty easy; I can’t do it as fast as he can, but I'm still pretty good at eating”, he says, noting his ability to demolish a plate of food in seconds.

“You can do a lot with your mouth”, you respond as his cheeks flush red and he freezes. You had initially meant his third sword, and it hadn’t crossed your mind that your response could be flirting. You fear you’ve made him uncomfortable as he’s never responded like this to flirtation before, and you quickly start to reassure him of what you actually meant.

“I didn’t mean it inappropriately; I just meant about your sword skills. Y’know, like your third sword thing. I wasn't talking about anything sex-related. I'm also not saying you’d be bad at it, and I'm sure you're great at oral-” You stop yourself before your rambling gets you in even more trouble. You and Zoro stare at each other for a second before silently turning back to your plates and continuing to eat your breakfast. You know Nami heard your entire conversation, even over Luffy's yelling, but she doesn't say anything to you for the rest of the day, which you’re grateful for. You spend most of your day talking to your crewmates on the ship. You accidentally fluster Zoro multiple times throughout the day. Not even attempts at flirting are causing his reactions, it's other interactions that could have way more suggestive meanings. He knows you don't mean them inappropriately; however, with the way your relationship has been changing lately, Zoro can't help but interpret them differently. At first, when he’s arguing with Sanji over their appearances, you compliment his physique, and he seems to shut down at your words completely. The second and final chance you get is when Chopper accidentally calls Zoro dad, and the whole team bursts out laughing, swordsman included. Through his tears, Usopp asks who the mum is, and without hesitation, Sanji and Nami both point at you. Everyone except you and Zoro laughs even harder. Poor Chopper is extremely embarrassed but only further proves everyone's point by crying about it to you.

“Y/N!. Everyone’s laughing at me. They're all so mean.” he cries, hugging at your legs. You lean down to his height and wipe some of his tears. You love Chopper, but you can't help teasing him a little.

“Oh Chopper, it's ok. Why don't you go and ask Daddy if he'll beat them up for you?” Chopper huffs and storms over to Zoro. Zoro barely responds to the reindeer, too focused on the fact that you'd just called him daddy. He breaks eye contact with you to pat the reindeer on the shoulder and threaten the rest of the crew into quieting their laughter. It only half works as multiple crewmates are still snickering under their breaths. Satisfied with the results of Zoro’s threat, Chopper sits next to Zoro. You think that all three of your unsuccessful attempts at flirting - even if they were unintentional - made him uncomfortable and decide that you'll apologise to him later when he's not surrounded by people. You excuse yourself to your room, saying that you'll start getting ready early. It's a perfect way to avoid Zoro without people getting suspicious.

You're in the middle of getting ready when the other girls enter the room. Nami and Robin both start comparing their wardrobe to the dress you have lying on the bed. When they decide on the dresses they want to wear, you get ready with casual chatter. Neither of them mention your green-haired problem. You try not to show your dejected mood.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Zoro isn't as lucky as you. You're all the other men want to talk about as they get ready.

“I can't believe Pumpkin has been flirting with you all day. What do you have that I don't?” growls Sanji. Zoro would usually start listing off a bunch of traits, but his response this time baffles Sanji.

“She's been flirting with me?” he says. Sanji almost falls to his knees in pure annoyance.

“You're usually pretty observant, especially with her. Have you really not noticed?” asks Usopp. It finally all clicks in Zoro’s head, and he suddenly feels like he's going to throw up. You actually might reciprocate his feelings.

“I just thought she was teasing me”, Zoro says. You're no stranger to winding him up. His temper makes him an easy target for jokes.

“She called you my dad and then acted like my mum. She already thinks you're together,” says Chopper, heart secretly pounding at the thought of the two of you actually getting together.

“and I don't think she was just playing along with the joke”, adds Jinbe. “she looked very sincere.”

Zoro listens in silence, not having the energy to argue with six men as they recount your behaviour. Sanji points out how you had interrupted their fight to compliment Zoro specifically, and Luffy recalls your comment to him at the breakfast table, which makes everyone who wasn't there gasp. You've always been a jokester, but never have you gone out of your way to fluster someone like this.

“You need to tell her how you feel, " says Franky, the only one Zoro is even thinking of listening to on romance, considering he pulled Robin of all people. “Women like vulnerability and manly emotions. You've just got to be upfront and tell her you like her. Pumpkin is special; don't lose her,” he says, offering Zoro a thumbs up. Zoro just sighs and leaves the room.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You finish getting ready and turn around to show off to Nami and Robin, who are more than happy to hype you up. Getting ready and chatting with your best friends always makes you feel better. They look equally hot, which you're not shy about telling them. When the three of you finally head out to the deck, all the guys are already there. You hear a few wolf whistles, Jinbe politely compliments, and Sanji stares at the three of you with tears in his eyes. Zoro, however, avoids looking at you until you're directly in front of him. His eyes flicker down your body, and you instinctively follow suit, checking for imperfections in your outfit.

“You look nice,” He says; it sounds like he's forcing out the words, but you thank him for the compliment regardless. The tension is thick, and you don't think you'll even make it through dinner without talking it through first. Once everyone is ready to go, you say something before it's too late.

“Can we talk first? I just want to sort this out,” you say, and he nods despite looking puzzled. “You guys go on! Zoro and I need to talk,” you call as everyone starts to leave the ship. They all immediately agree and walk away with smug, knowing smiles.

Now that it's just you and Zoro, you're still trying to figure out what to say. You look down at your hands, desperate to avoid eye contact, and search your mind for how to begin your apology speech.

“So, Y/n, what did you want to talk about?” he asks, prompting you to start. Zorosing your real name instead of your crew-appointed nickname startles you, and you finally look up at him. Zoro’s always been a scary figure to the public, but this is the first time you're feeling shaken by his presence.

“I just want to apologise for making you uncomfortable.” you stutter your way through your first sentence, and even more confusion washes over Zoro’s face. “It was completely unintentional, but I still accidentally flirted with you. I really like you, and sometimes, I say mildly inappropriate things on instinct. And I'm sorry if anything I did today made you feel bad. I'm also sorry for admitting I like you when you definitely don't like me back. Why would a man like you want me? Anyway, that's beside the point. I just wanted to say sorry so that we don't have to sit through dinner with this awkward tension I've created.” you say, taking a deep breath as you prepare yourself for his response. He takes a minute to take in everything you said to him, and you hope you didn't make it worse.

“Okay, first question. What made you think I was uncomfortable? I froze up because you flustered me, which you wouldn't have been able to do if I didn't like you." Your mind doesn't even register the initial question; you can only focus on the last half of his sentence. You don't know how to respond, being completely shocked. He continues, unbothered. “Second question, who says I don't like back? Why wouldn't I like you?”

“That's two questions.”

“don't deflect, baby” He takes another step towards you, hesitantly resting his hands on your hips. “look, I hate sugarcoating shit. I like you. The rest of this insane crew has been bugging me for days about coming clean. I like everything about you. How could you think a woman like you isn't enough for a demon?” You both probably look like idiots, holding each other with bright smiles. He's in your arms, and he does like you back. “Now, do you wanna go to dinner and pretend we didn't confess our love for each other or do you wanna kiss me?”

You don't even verbally respond to his question and lean up to pull him into a deep kiss. He kisses you back with a passion and strength that could only belong to Zoro. He's so sure in his feelings for you that it makes you weak in the knees. His tongue pushes its way into your mouth as his hands move over your body. Big palms smooth and squeeze every part of you they can reach, and you groan against his mouth as he grabs your ass.

“my bed”, you pant as he pulls away from the kiss. “If the others come back, then the girls are way less likely to barge in”, you explain, grabbing his hand and pulling him to your room.

As soon as you walk through the door you turn around to face him and pull him right back down to your mouth. It's easy to get lost in his kisses; they're reassuring you that he likes you and only you. His kisses are intense, and they make you dizzy. Your nails dig into his biceps as he moves his kisses across your jaw and down your neck. You let out a moan that makes him groan against your skin.

“Been waiting for this for so long, baby.” his voice has you in a chokehold. You couldn't focus on anything else if you tried.

“me too,” you whimper, moving your hand to his hair and keeping him in place.

“Can I mark you? let everyone see you're mine?” You frantically nod, and Zoro nips at your neck to let you know your response isn't enough. You don't need to be told. You know Zoro well enough to guess he'd want you to be vocal.

“yes, please.”

With your confirmation, he attaches his mouth back to your neck as he slowly backs you up towards your bed. His teeth anchor him as he sucks on the skin, marking it so everyone knows you’re taken. When he's finished, he trails his mouth back up to your lips and presses a soft kiss to your lips. He pulls back to take another look at you, and he feels whatever coils control his emotions tighten. You look beyond fucked out, and he's barely even touched you. You're staring up at him in awe and desperation, and he can't believe what he's seeing. He thanks every deity he doesn't even believe in that you're in front of him, looking the way you do. The way your eyes shine with love and respect makes him feel funny inside, and he needs to voice it so he doesn't explode.

“You're so beautiful”, he whispers, kissing you again. “You're too good for me” He adds. You protest but are once again cut off by his lips. His fingers find the bottom of your dress, and he looks you over again. “You look so good in this. Do a twirl for me?” when you oblige and give him a full three-sixty view of the dress, he whistles lowly. He gives you one last request to take the dress off for him while he sits down on your bed.

“Can you start me off? I can't reach my zipper,” You ask, turning around. Without a word, Zoro tugs the zip down your back, and you hear him hiss slightly at the sight of your bare skin. You face him again and slowly push your dress down your body, trying to be as seductive as possible. The satisfied smile on Zoro's face tells you you're doing a good job. You unclip your bra, and his eyes greedily take in the newly exposed skin. He's practically salivating in anticipation but remains in his seat and lets you finish. He audibly moans as you turn around and bend over, slowly pulling your underwear down your legs. You kick off your shoes and approach Zoro as he takes off his shirt so you don't have to be alone in your nakedness.

He lies back against your mattress, beckoning you to join him. You climb on top of him, pressing a kiss to his lips before trailing your lips across his chest and down his abs, stopping at his waistband. Your hands are shaky and desperate in their attempt to unbutton his trousers, but you do and follow it by yanking them down and exposing his cock.

He's big. That much was evident to anyone who looked at him, but you never expected it to be as big as it is. It clearly shows on your face as Zoro runs his hand through your hair.

“Don't take more than you can” he says as you swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock. As soon as you wrap your lips around him, he feels like he's about to burst, and he immediately uses his grip on your hair to stop you. “on second thought, if you suck me off right now, I won't last very long. C'mere,” he says, pulling you up his body. “Let me get you ready for me. Sit on my face, pretty girl,” he says, trying to help you get situated above his face.

“Are you sure?” You ask, hesitant to lower yourself at all. Insecurity creeps in on you as you think about the possibility that he might not like the way you taste or you might crush him. He growls at the question, almost considering it an insult, before he realises that you need reassurance.

“Do I sound unsure to you? You better sit that pretty fucking pussy on my face right now,” he says, pulling you down flush against his mouth. His nose nudges at your clit as his tongue explores your dripping hole. You're so disgustingly wet, and Zoro loves it. He's messy with his eating, making obscene noises, so you know just how much he likes your taste. The vulgar slurping of his tongue as he all but makes out with your pussy makes you slightly embarrassed, but it's so sexy how much he enjoys pleasing you. You lose focus quickly, unable to pay attention to anything that isn't your man's glorious tongue. His enthusiasm would've had you toppling over if it wasn't for the grip he has on your thighs. “Grind on my face”, he instructs, with a slap to your ass, and this time you don't waste any time before doing as he says. You're fast approaching your orgasm as you rock against his face, and all you can do is moan his name and reach down to grip his hair. When your first orgasm washes over you, Zoro’s grip on you holds you in place as he licks you through your orgasm. You haven’t had someone else make you cum in so long, and having Zoro there makes you feel more satisfied than you have in a long time. When your hips stop moving and your breath slows down, Zoro slowly moves you off his face and helps you lay against the pillows.

“You feeling ok?” he asks, although the giddy smile on your face and the dazed look in your eyes answer his question before you even open your mouth. The Zoro from a few years ago would’ve laughed at Zoro now, A man with the monicker king of hell giving his entire heart and soul to someone else. You nod at him, giggling as he rolls on top of you. He uses his arms on either side of your face to hold himself up. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you again. You never want to stop kissing him, and he realises this when you don’t let him pull away to speak. The way you cling to him fuels his pride. He gives up on trying to talk and kisses you back. One of his hands squeezes your boob before trailing down the rest of your body and cupping your pussy. He plays with your clit as you make out, working your up again. You try to adjust your hips so that he can slip his fingers inside you, but when he doesn't do that, you groan in frustration. “If you want something, you gotta tell me,” he says, voice dark with lust.

“Stop teasing me and fuck me”, you whine, reaching between your bodies to grasp at his cock. He lets you guide him to your entrance before swatting your hand away. He slides his cock between your folds, gathering your wetness and gives his cock a few pumps to coat it in your juices.

“Are you sure you can take it?” he asks, unable to resist teasing you for a little longer. You let out a bratty whine and writhe beneath him.

“Of course, I can take it” " you insist, despite your worries that you can’t. You’ve never slept with anyone as big as him.

“Atta girl”, he mumbles against your lips before pushing his cock into your hole. “Relax for me, baby”

You try to focus on his lips, kissing and sucking wherever he can reach and relax your body so he can bottom out inside you. He gets three-quarters of the way in before he starts to get impatient. He takes a few shallow thrusts to ease himself the rest of the way in, and the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him tears a feral growl from deep in his chest. You are equally affected, head thrown against the pillows as you moan his name. He rubs at your hips, attempting to soothe you so he can start moving. When you give him the go-ahead, he pulls out most of the way and thrusts back in, slowly picking up the pace as you claw at his back, looking for something to hold onto.

“That's it, hold on tight, baby,” he says, encouraging you to scratch up his skin. You're the perfect fit for him; Your pussy grips him so good that you almost have him believing in fate for a second. He can smell your sweat in the air, and though it should be gross, he buries his face in your neck to inhale your scent even closer. Neither of you speak from this point, and you don’t need to. You’ve both already said you wanted, and now all that's left is the sound of your moans and the way your bodies intertwine. When you pull him against you, tilting his head so that you can attach your lips to his neck and replicate the pretty marks he left on your skin, he almost cums on the spot. He belongs to you as much as you do him. Your legs shake around his waist, and your moans devolve into high-pitched whimpering, signalling your impending orgasm. He's not far behind, so he reaches a hand between you to rub your clit, and you're instantly sent over the edge. Your orgasm crashes down on you as you arch into Zoro's chest as much as you can. Your legs lock around his waist, giving him nowhere to go but over the edge with you. You gush around him with a cry of his name as he groans expletives in your ear. He fills you up with his cum, cock twitching inside you. He doesn’t pull out when he's finished, choosing instead to get comfy on your chest until you calm down. His hands tenderly rub at your tired limbs. When your breathing evens out, he gently pulls his cock out of you, hissing at the loss of warmth. He leans down to press an appreciative kiss to your tummy.

“You’re all mine, yeah?” he asks, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“Always”, you respond, pulling him in to kiss your lips. His hands merely brush against your chest, and he feels himself getting hard again.

“What do you say we go for a round two in the shower?” he asks, playfully nipping at your lower lip.

“I’d like that”, you hum as he scoops you up and heads off towards the bathroom

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The other nine strawhats sit around the table at their booth, eating their meals, when Luffy realises the two of you are still not there.

“Y/N and Zoro aren't back yet”

“If they're not back yet that probably means they're banging” says nami, through a mouthful of food.

“Don't even speak about Pumpkin with that idiot” grumbles Sanji, stabbing at his plate.

“Stop complaining Sanji, it was always gonna be them” says Franky.

“Well, guess we better wait a bit before heading back to the ship” says Luffy, still stuffing his face.

Everyone's been rooting for you two from the beginning.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed :)

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

#one piece smut #one piece x reader #zoro x reader smut #zoro x reader #zoro smut #one piece #one piece imagine #one piece x reader smut #zoro imagine #anime smut #anime x reader #☁️.smut #☁️.onepiece #☁️.zoro

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jeonbunnie · 4 months

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hate you

pairing: reader x jeon jeongguk

summary: This time, the break up breaks Jeongguk

genre: angst

content/warnings: ex-boyfriend!jeongguk; established relationship;break up!au; drinking; suggestive thoughts

Soundtrack: hate you— by Jeongguk

a/n:hi hi! long time no see. thought i’d break into the new year with a lol drabble based on beloved lol drabble i wrote last year. you don’t have to read the last posts to understand but you read them for context here and here.

word count: 1.2K

It's not the truth. It's not the cure. But hatin' you's the only way it doesn't hurt.

Jeongguk tipped his head back, letting the liquid gold slide down his throat. Chugging his beer was nothing, especially when he’d had so much practice lately. But when he slammed down his empty glass on the bar, there was no satisfaction or warmth blooming in his chest to erase that hollow feeling lingering inside him since last year.

Since you.

“Hey, slow down,” chided Namjoon beside him. “Haven’t you had enough?”

No. Jeongguk’s sure there’s not enough alcohol at this party to drown out the taste of your lips on his or the memory of what it felt like to hold you in his arms and feel your smile against his cheek. Not when he has a front-row seat to watch you do all those things with someone else.

But damn it all to hell. He’d rather die trying than sit here sober with the cold, hard reality of watching you move on with someone new.

Jeongguk doesn’t mean to be an ass, ignoring his best friend’s concerns (he’s sure they’re valid). It’s self-preservation, not noncompliance, that has him reaching back into the cooler to pull out another cold one.

“Jeongguk, I’m worried about you.”

Jeongguk laughed. “I’m fine,” he said. . . But his voice is low and bitter and sharp like poison.

Namjoon shook his head, “You’re not fine, Jeongguk. You’ve been self-destructing since you broke up with (Y/n).”

“Yeah, well, maybe this is my karma.”

Jeongguk used to think luck or fate brought the two of you together, having always run in the same friend groups and circles. But now, it seemed his luck had run out, or fate thought it’d be a cruel joke to keep him in your orbit even after you broke up.

No, this had to be some kind of punishment for running away from your love. In return, he was forced to watch your love story play out with someone else.

Literally. Jeongguk’s so fucking jealous; it’s all he can do not to stride across the room and rip you away from the stranger you’re currently entangled with. The sight is enough to make his blood boil, and he can’t help the tick in his jaw or keep the glare out of his eyes.

Jeongguk can’t stop staring at the fucker who has his tongue down your throat.

It should be his tongue down your throat. His hands on your ass, pulling you close and your grinder, your bodies impossibly close, and only hoping to get closer. Because you’re his.

Or at least you used to be.

The thought alone is enough to have Jeongguk flag down another drink. But before he could reach for another cold one, Namjoon blocked him off. “No. You’ve already had one too many.”

“So what? Who cares if I get a little fucked up?”

“I care. This isn’t you.”

Jeongguk couldn’t help the rueful smile that split across his lips. “Maybe it is me. I fucked it all up.”

That’s the worst part. That ugly feeling in his chest, the jealousy burning him up inside as he watched you love another. It was all his fault.

It made Jeongguk sick to see you laugh, eyes sparking at something this asshole said because he remembers when that look was reserved only for him. And now here you were, giving it to another. Jeongguk knew he had no right to feel this jealousy. Not when he’s the one who set you free. But still—It should be him taking you home tonight, stripping off your clothes, pounding into your tight little—

Fuck.

Just the thought of having you again had him hard. He couldn’t turn it off, the need for you. He couldn’t keep his hands off you even when he ended things. He replayed that last night in his head like a broken record, but he couldn’t rewind time like he did his memories.

“Jeongguk. . .are you crying?”

“No,” he said. And then, “Maybe.”

“We don’t have to be here. You wanna get fucked up? We can do that in any bar. It doesn’t have to be here.

“Why are you torturing yourself?”

“You’re a good friend, Joon. But I can’t. I can’t walk away.” Yeah, he knew it was ruining him, making him bitter, but if this was the only way he could be close to you, then so be it.

He can’t help it. That’s what he tells himself. He can’t help but watch you—crave you—even if you don’t so much as glance in his direction.

Or maybe he’s torturing himself because it’s what he deserves.

“I’m not gonna watch you destroy yourself over some girl.”

“She’s not just some girl.”

You were everything. You were golden. Or at least that’s what it felt like, loving you.

You were the heat of summer. The only warmth on a cold winter day. You were the golden light of the first sunrise and the radiant glow of the sun setting low. You were the only bright spot in this cold, dark world.

You were the fucking sun.

And without you, Jeongguk might as well be dead inside.

Jeongguk wasn’t blind (but god, did he wish he was right now). He knew it was over. It was clear as day you’d moved on—and worse—that you’re happy with someone new, someone that’s not him. He starts towards you, ready to tell you as much, get on his knees, beg your forgiveness again, and plead for your safe return into his arms when the world tilts and his vision blurs.

It’s Joon who helped him stay upright. Joon, who took the beer can from his hands and slung an arm around his shoulder, guided him through the crowd.

“You’re so wasted up right now. I’m taking you home.”

Joon, who drove him back to his apartment and led him to the bed.

It felt like seconds, or maybe it’s been hours; Jeongguk couldn’t tell. He’s too fucked up to be sure of the footsteps he takes passing between doors. He only knew where he was when his face planted into the comforter, and the laundry scent told him he was home.

Because it’s your scent. Or rather, the smell of your laundry detergent. It was the only thing you left behind when you moved out, and now Jeongguk bought it for himself, clinging to the only piece of you he could have. He could almost pretend you were right there with him if he got under the sheets and closed his eyes.

Jeongguk’s the one who broke it off, but he can’t even remember the reason why now. It was stupid, thinking your relationship was too comfortable, too boring. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was good, wasn’t it? Why did he ever want to explore something else? But in the short months you were apart, all he discovered was that for him, there was no one else.

Jeongguk wished he could blame it on something, someone, anything else. It’d be easy to blame it on you, but you were blameless. He almost wished that you lied, that the betrayal he felt blooming had started when you were still together so that this anger inside him could be directed elsewhere.

It’d be so much easier to paint you as the villain, but that’s not who you are in his story. You’re the one who got away.

It’d be so much easier for Jeongguk to hate you—not love you.

But he can’t. So, instead, he just hates himself.

For being weak and losing you.

For falling in love too late.

#bts fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bangtanbathhouse #jeongguk x reader #bts angst #jeongguk angst #jungkook drabble #jeongguk drabble #poc reader #songfic #my fics.🍪

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mickmundy · 1 month

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scout's ma headcanon thread! she was requested by a couple of people and i'm having a burst of inspiration for her so without further ado, let's get to it! i hope you like!

absolutely not your average "housewife"! there's lots of professions i entertain her having (hair/nail salon worker, waitress/bartender, something Generally Unassuming for a woman in the 70s to have as a job)… all intentionally mundane, but serving useful purpose in her life! good for keeping tabs on things around the city, sussing people out and potentially letting spy know any hot goss! these are just day jobs; she gets her thrills elsewhere!

knows everything happening everywhere, anytime. spy learned lots of his intuition-based skills from her! any time spy thinks he knows everything, she always has something in her back pocket that he doesn't! >:)

has a VERY contagious laugh that you can hear miles away. she loves being loud! will clap you really hard on your back or slam her hand on the table when she laughs.

can hold her liquor better than anyone around! doesn't like to get sloppy, but that doesn't mean she doesn't from time to time! loves drinking beer, but will always enjoy a nice glass of wine with her beloved spy! :-) wouldn't/doesn't care if scout is lgbt+ lol. it's absolutely not a big deal to him to come out to her, either. he knows his ma means it when she says she loves him no matter what! she will occasionally hit him with "well ya better bring somebody home to meet me sometime!" (loud laughter)

i think she'd be more financially well-off than her home leads one to believe; she's good at stashing and moving around spy's cash! her apartment is humble but she always looks immaculate. doesn't let scout know how much money she really has. very financially savvy and an incredible negotiator… even if it means getting a little ugly! used car salesman tremble in her presence!

fights like a scorned gambler who's owed a debt. won't let you know she can fight, though! likes it when people think she's just some dainty dame.

is a material girl, but knows what really matters. fell in love with spy before he was The Spy he is today and values loyalty and trust/honesty above all else. some might think that's ironic considering her partner of choice, but she'll be quick to quip back with a snide/cheeky "of course that's what you think! you only know the mask!"

breaking balls is her love language. she'll tease you, but never maliciously. this is also scout's, and one of spy's, languages of love too.

always trying to feed you. "put some more meat on your bones! it's good for ya!" (pops gum and winks at you) while i think she no doubt is well-versed in the lifestyle that spy leads, she's not Directly "in-it" like spy is. not an agent of any kind herself, but gives spy a hand when she can. knows how to shoot a gun and wield a kitchen knife!

grew up dirt poor and has "a champagne taste on a beer budget". high standards, takes no guff, won't hesitate to put you in your place. this (and many other reasons) is why spy loves her :-)

very charismatic, knows how to lie, but also how to be sincere. is genuinely a good mother to her boys, who love her in return. they're all protective of her even though they know they don't have to be; she has no problem sticking up for herself!

spy was not her first husband, but he's her favorite! she loves him very much, and he loves her. they aren't exes, they're happily together, and have an open relationship.

she knows all of the mercs (some better than others ofc!) and won't hesitate to talk their ears off when she visits the base, armed with embarrassing photos and stories about spy and scout that make them both groan and the mercs holler with laughter!

she picks out spy's suits for/with him. she's the only one spy would ever trust to dress him other than himself! they always look great together and accessorize around each other.

she does not tell scout about who his father is. not because she doesn't want to, but she knows the nature of spy's job and knows "the business" from being around him for all this time; it's the best thing to keep scout and herself (also spy!) safe. i think scout would be angry at first, but once it's explained to him, he'd understand. ma knows best!

spy taught her how to walk in heels and does things like painting her nails for her all the time. he always makes sure she has enough money for a well-deserved spa day, but if she knows he's coming to town, she'll let her nails get a little busted up so spy can paint them for her!

she loves to look at spy and sigh a fond "ugh, i could just kill you!" while smirking/bating her eyes at him after/as he showers her with gifts and other wonderful things… to which spy chuckles and hums lovingly and replies with "mhmhmm, ma petite chou fleur, if anyone could, it would be you. <3" and they give each other the most Loving Look.. :')

she's younger than spy but not by much. they met while she was a waitress in a diner in boston while spy was on a mission to assassinate a target in the city early in his career (when his suits were still cheap.. <3). he hides in the diner after a particularly fiery shootout and his pursuers come into the place. she recognizes him as the Quiet Gentleman who has been coming in for coffee in the mornings to enjoy with a cigarette. covers for him and spy never forgets her kindness and quick wit. he comes back after the mission ends and, with his payout from the job, treats her to a romantic night and promises to see her again. no matter how far away spy goes, he always returns to her! she has more faith in him than he deserves (so he says), to which she smirks and straightens his (now expensive <3) suit tie and places a kiss on his balaclava's cheek and says "we both know i only deserve the best." and winks at him and he smiles at her and hums in agreement.. kisses her hand… siigh.. this is a massively condensed "origin story" for them lol but! AH I LOVE THEM

AHH I HAVE SO MANY MORE THOUGHTS BUT FOR NOW.... i will leave with all of this... HEHE TYSM for reading! ^__^ i hope you enjoy ehe!!

#mercthreads #<- not a merc but this is where my long tf2 hc posts go slkjdf #dutchfoolery #dutchiehcs #tf2 #scout's ma #scoutma

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angelsanarchy · 1 month

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Fever Dreams: Mike x Y/N One Shot Series PRT 07

Tagging: @icarus-star @chainsawgvtsfvck @romanroyapoligist @liquidsmoothdomme @madamemaximoff06 @drazenka @blacksoul-27 @444rockstargf @kappasbbgirl @luzclarita57 @tempt-ress @vixenhatesyou

Sicky and Mike walked into a bar and the first thing he noticed was Y/n behind the bar. It was pretty packed up for a Wednesday night but Y/n was in her element. She had a very personable attitude when it came to random people. She treated everyone like she has known them forever. Even when people would get annoying, she kept her wits about her when kicking them out of the bar or cutting them off.

"Don't think you're getting anything for free." Sicky commented sitting on a barstool. Mike sat next to him as she approached.

"Decided to ugly up the place tonight?" She popped a cap off a beer and put it in front of Sicky.

"I figured I would show Mighty Mouse around your real 9 to 5." Sicky smirked as she stopped in front of Mike.

"How sweet. How's my favorite cowboy tonight?" She smiled leaning against the bar.

"Better now. This place is nice." He looked around and she nodded.

"Thanks, it's my baby. What can I get you to drink? First one is on the house, everything after is double." She winked.

"Just a beer is fine. I'm not particular." Mike trusted her taste. She grabbed him a beer that was noticeably not the same as what Sicky ordered and opened it for him.

"The only rules of my bar is to keep it clean. No drugs in here, no fighting and if you play pool, play straight or not at all." Y/n explained. Sicky grunted as he sipped his beer.

"She's a real stickler about the no fighting rule." Sicky elbowed Mike and he almost spit his beer out.

"You boys play nice. I've got a job to do." Y/n walked back to the end of the bar and greeted new customers. Mike sat back on his barstool and looked around the bar.

"You see those guys over there, with the face tattoos and gold chain? That's some of Keller's guys. They control the pill train on the lower East side. You don't talk business with them ever or Leff will take your eye out." Sicky explained.

"Pills...like what my mom was into or-" Sicky cut him off.

"No more so party pills, uppers, E, Molly. Young kiddy shit." Sicky clarified.

"The Spaniards by the door are Alverez Kings. Most of our parts and smuggled goods run through them. They're not bad to have a beer with but don't drink hard liquor with them. They get up in arms when you call them Mexican." Sicky chuckled sending a head nod towards them. They responded calling him a gringo and nodding back.

"They pussy that runs and out of here is night club pussy so be careful who you go home with or you'll wake up without a wallet and pricey belongings." Sicky blew a kiss at a leggy blonde near the jukebox.

"I'm sure they all aren't so bad." Mike smiled at one who was eyeing him.

"Yeah okay, you keep thinking that lad. I'm going to find me some tail. Stay out of trouble." Sicky slapped Mike on the back before joining the blonde who had been flirting with him. Mike finished off his beer and before he could even lift his head, Y/n had appeared in front of him with another and a smile.

"You aren't looking to mingle with the many gorgeous women?" Y/n took a sip of his beer before handing it to him.

"I am mingling with a gorgeous woman." Mike flirted making her laugh.

"One that might actually lay you tonight." She teased.

"Hey I ordered furniture. Who's to say it can't be your lucky night." He reached out for her hand and she laughed letting him hold her hand.

"Yeah? What did you order?" She leaned on the bartop as he opened his phone to show her the pictures of the couch and few different things he got.

"I like this one. I thought for sure you would get a leather couch." She teased.

"Gets too cold in the winter to have a leather couch. Wouldn't want you getting cold." He smirked watching her scroll through the rest of the pictures until a photo of his cock popped up.

"Oh-" He went to grab the phone and she leaned back with it.

"No no, we're here now. It's best we look at it together." She taunted holding the phone away from him.

"Did you suddenly develop shame in the last 5 seconds or can I look?" She asked knowing the game they played with one another was fun but consent was important to her.

"I mean...it's not recent so-" He blushed slightly but she smiled leaning against the bar again.

"Who are you taking dick pics for then?" She asked curiously.

"I got bored my first day in New York. It's a few months old." He watched her face as she gazed at the picture of his cock. It wasn't a bad photo but he wished it was a better one.

"It's not a bad cock. I could work with that." She bit her lip.

"Yeah?" Mike licked his lips as she leaned closer towards him.

"Better hurry up and get that couch." She handed him his phone back and he felt a shiver run up his arm when she ran her nails over his wrist.

He couldn't think of anything to say but before he could, a loud male voice boomed over the music and stalked right up to the bar, leaning across and grabbing Y/n by the chin to plant a sloppy kiss on her lips. Mike's blood started to boil and he felt a crimson flush run up his neck.

"Hey baby, what are you still doing here?" The tall guy said letting go of her chin.

"I'm working clearly. I told you I wouldn't be over until late." She reminded him, glancing over to see Mike stewing. The guy followed her gaze and chuckled.

"You letting kids drink now? You trying to catch a charge?" He asked making Mike glare.

"Malik-"

"I'm kidding. What's your name kid?" Malik hit his shoulder playfully and Mike stood up from his barstool.

"This is Mike, Leff's nephew. I told you about him." Mike looked over at Y/n intrigued that she's spoken to this goon about him.

"Oh yeah, Billy the kid. How's it going man?" He shook Mike's hand and Mike gave him a nod.

"It's going...Marcus was it?" Mike knew his name but he didn't care to repeat it.

"Malik. Do you mind if I steal her away from you? We've got plans." He said helping her climb over the bar. She landed on her feet and put her hand on his chest.

"Let me say goodbye and I'll meet you outside." Y/n said making Malik throw his hand up in a wave to Mike before walking away.

"Don't get too drunk and don't let any of those girls take your wallet." Y/n smiled at him. He didn't bother responding to her, he just turned back to the bar and watched her run out of the bar with the Goliath sized guy named Malik. She had told him she didn't have a boyfriend but apparently she had someone, a very large someone that could probably crush every bone in his body.

Tonight was a drink your sorrows kinda night and NOT think about someone else getting to fuck Y/N tonight.

#Mike #Mike x Y/N #5lbs of Pressure #One Shot Series #Fever Dreams #Fever Dreams Series #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult

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tf2heritageposts · 1 year

Note

There is: (i got too excited and it's a bit long sorry)

What kind of brazillian foods/drinks the mercs would like the most

Scout:

He would love any kinds of street foods, his favorite ones would be coxinha, a fried snack stuffed with chicken; Hot dogs in the São Paulo way, they usually have mashed potatoes, corn, peas and shoestring potatoes above (with ketchup and mustard, of course) and pastel, a fried dough (the texture is similar to a puff pastry) that can have many kinds of fillings, the most usual one is mozzarella cheese. He also would love eat this while drink sugarcane juice (it's a classical combo).

Soldier:

This one is funny, bc in my head all the other mercs had to lie to him that they were getting 100% american food so he could at least try some, and he keep eating it without knowing the thruth. His favorite ones would also be ones of the most iconical ones, by irony of the destiny, such as feijoada and pão de queijo. He would also love farofa (is made either with corn or cassava, braised with oil and can have diverses other igredients too) but since Soldier is build diferently, insted of eating it as a side dish he just cook a huge ass pan of farofa and eat all of it with a spoon.

Pyro:

He would love brigadeiro, because is sweet as him (awwn). He would love churrasco (brazilian barbecue), so much that he, engineer and sniper would be the ultimate churrasqueiros of the team (however only engineer and sniper are alowed to touch on the grill since the incident). From the many things that can be made in a churrasco, Pyro likes garlic bread the most (because it gets burned at outisde really quickly but still ok to eat). The last thing from his list would be cuscuz paulista, recipe that blend corn flour and many other igredients, and that people from other brazilian states keep saying its ugly but THATS UNTRUE YALL JUST DONT KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT - me, a sad paulistana.

Engineer:

As said before, he would love churrasco, and any kind of red meat should be his favorite (picanha, striploin…). He would also like the local beer options and condensed milk pudding (pudim). No special rasion on the last one (besides giving all the mercs at least 3 itens).

Demoman:

He would LOVE drinking cachaça (alchoolic drink made with sugarcane) and caipirinha as well (drink made with cachaça, lime, sugar and ice). For eat, his favorite food should be torresmo (pork skin with fat cut into small pieces and fried until crispy), that is also a good side dish in brazilian bar's.

Heavy:

His first favorite option would be estrogonofe, wich is actually a brazilian version of a russian recipe (stroganoff), with some alterations. He would also enjoy virado à paulista (plate composed of a beans and cassava flour mix, together with pork chop, tuscan sausage, fried egg, braised cabbage and a piece of breaded banana), it's a really big meal to a really big guy. Finally, he would go for "caipiroska" for drinking, with is a caipirinha variation but with vodka in the place of cachaça (wich i didn't know existed until i started writing this kkkkkk)

Medic:

Cuca de banana (a cake with bananas and a sugar & cinnamon on top) would be one of his favorite desserts (it also has a germanic origin i also didn't knew kkkkkk). He also would like specific foods from Bahia, such as Acarajé (dumpling made from black-eyed pea dough, onion and salt, and fried in palm oil, can be stuffed with shrimp or other options of filling) and cocada (candy made with coconut), but I can't specify why yet bc it envolves a headcanon/AU i'm still making and i want it to be a silly surprise, i'll edit here once it's done.

Sniper:

The last one of the ultimate churrasqueiros, his favorite item would be chiken's hearts. Aparently pumpkings are very used in australian culinary, so i like to imagine he would also like doce de abobora (dessert made with pumpking). Finally, i guess tapioca (cassava gum, can be fried like a pancake and stuffed to taste, among other uses) just suits him idk.

Spy:

He would love Carolina (looks like a éclair, but is smaller, rounder, and filled with dulce de leche) and sonho (fried dough, usualy filled with vanilla cream and with sprinkled sugar above. The name of this recipe translate to "dream" in a literal form btw kkkkk). Ending this list, Spy would enjoy queijo com goiabada (a slice of minas cheese thogeter with a slice of guava paste).

Thank you for reading until here, and sorry if i made you fell hungry hihihi

holy shit this is so good

also i want carolina that looks so good

i also want the sugarcane drinks, please god i’ll do anything

#not a heritage post

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seasonsbloom · 2 years

Note

congrats on 500! very much deserved ☺️ i want to get my ask in early for…..fake dating with bradley. i feel like he’d oddly get really into it, man is a showman thru and thru

♡ pairing ; rooster x female!reader

♡ wc ; 1.2k

♡ warnings ; a creepy dude tries to hit on you?, mentions of alcohol consumption

♡ note ; thank you so so so much for requesting jordan :(( you're so right!!! if this was longer, i definitely would have gotten into rooster pulling out all the stops. that man would buy couple looks for him and his fake girlfriend, change my mind.

The guy is there again.

You spot him across the bar the moment he comes in, so attuned to it by now that it’s all you do. Like there’s some kind of radar newly installed inside of you. You look for him around corners and in supermarkets and especially at night when you do the five-minute trek from your job to your apartment in the dark of the night, only intercepted by flickering streetlights.

It was fun in the beginning when you met him at the bar: A bit of harmless flirting, a few winks, a number scribbled on a napkin. But then you didn’t call him, too busy and too shy and honestly not interested enough, and suddenly it wasn’t all that fun anymore.

Suddenly, it got scary. Every time you arrive for drinks with your friends, he lingers somewhere at your periphery. By the toilets, by the jukebox, by the pinball machine. Always keeping an eye on you. Always glowering, always nursing a drink, only disappearing outside for periodic breaks and then coming back reeking of cigarettes.

It’s not like he ever does anything, and so you’re too embarrassed to tell your friends about it, to ask them to change locations for your Friday post-work drinks, when the Hard Deck has been a firmly cemented part of the routine for years. What if they laugh at you? What if they think you’re overreacting? What if they tell you not to act like the whole world revolves around you, not to be so full of yourself that you think any guy that looks at you in crowded bars might be a stalker?

So nothing really bad has happened - but the fear is there. Lodged firmly in your chest, sinking its ugly, icy claws into you at every turn. The fear that something could happen, something really, awfully, truly bad. You don’t want to end up on Dateline.

And tonight, you’re alone. One of your friends just canceled, citing a cold, and the other two are stuck in San Diego’s rush-hour traffic. So you’re alone at your usual table in the corner, in a new dress that suddenly seems too short, fidgeting with the glass of gin and tonic in front of you, drawing shapes into the condensation that do nothing to calm the racing of your heart.

You glance at the guy again, just to gauge how far he is from you. But when you spot him leaning against the wall, he’s already looking at you. Your eyes meet, and ice-cold, instantaneous panic trickles into you.

Oh god, you think as he pushes off the wall, as he grins at you, oh god, no. That wasn’t intentional. Oh god.

He pushes his way through the crowd, and you look around, frantic, both hands gripping the table’s edge, heart in your throat, eyes burning, and then… You spot a flicker of something colorful.

“Rooster!”

You rise half out of your chair, waving frantically.

Rooster turns around, genuine confusion on his face. You remember him vaguely from a drunk night a month or two ago when your friend’s friend Phoenix introduced her fellow Naval aviators to you. He’d been nice enough, a little absent-minded, drinking beer and bobbing his head along to Springsteen tunes. Wearing the same fading Hawaiian shirt.

Mostly, you remember his face from a rather embarrassing, rather steamy dream you had about a day or two later. What can you say? The mustache might look like it’s jumped right out of a 70s porno, but it sorta works for you.

Which makes you seriously worry about your taste in men, but that’s beside the point.

He raises an eyebrow but comes over anyway. Smiles at you. Says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you answer. “You remember me?”

Rooster nods. “Phoenix’s friend, right?”

And then he even repeats your name, and it shouldn’t matter, but it sort of makes your heart stutter. You wish you could indulge in the giddy feeling, in the oh my god, he remembers me of it all, but over his shoulder, the man is still approaching, something unreadable, something dark, something frightening on his face.

You don’t know what you look like, but Rooster’s brows furrow as he looks at you.

“You alright?”

“I…” You pause, wonder if maybe you’ve read too many romance books, wonder if you’ve watched too many Hallmark movies, but then you think fuck it, who cares, whatever. “The guy behind you… he’s been bothering me for some time now.”

Something like anger crosses Rooster’s face. His mustache trembles a little bit.

“Did he hurt you? I can…”

“No, nothing like that, just….” You shrug, suddenly helpless. “Can you… I know this sounds insane, but will you just pretend to be my boyfriend? Please? Only for like five minutes….”

Your voice starts trailing off towards the end of the sentence. Nerves set in, tingle up your spine, turn your insides liquid. God, this must be the worst idea of all time. You don’t even know Rooster, can’t explain why you’re asking him this.

Just… There's something about him that makes you feel strangely, inexplicably safe. You want him to stay with you a little longer.

Rooster’s throat moves as he swallows, looking down at you with something searching in those brown eyes. That gaze almost makes you squirm on the spot.

And then suddenly, Rooster’s arm is sliding around your waist, his nose is buried in your hair, and he’s whispering, “Sorry for not asking first, I’ll stop touching you in a second.”

In your chest, your heart flutters like a robin. You don’t even want him to stop touching you.

He withdraws, turning both of you to face the guy. He’s stopped just a step or two from your table, brows furrowed over dark, glinting eyes, an expression on his face as if he’s just bitten into a lemon. Your first instinct is to shrink back, to hide behind Rooster, but he gives your waist a reassuring squeeze.

Suddenly, it’s not so difficult. Suddenly, you don’t feel so afraid. Not with Rooster there.

“You got a problem, pal?” Rooster asks, and you can feel the echoes of his voice rumbling in his chest.

The man’s eyes flicker towards you just for a second, then he looks back at Rooster. Seems to gauge his chances. Deem them relatively low.

He shrugs, jerks his head, disappears into the crowd.

You let out a shuddering breath, letting go of all that fear that’s been building for weeks, that’s been weighing you down more than you’d like to admit.

“Thank you,” you whisper, stepping away from him, leaving the circle of his arms reluctantly. “That… I’m sorry. But thank you. You helped me so much.”

Rooster throws another glance in the direction the man disappeared in, something vigilant in his eyes. Then he looks down at you, and the steel in his gaze dissolves. Eyes, once again, like molten chocolate.

“No worries,” he says, smiling softly. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You nod dumbly, watch his retreating back as you slowly sink down into your chair again.

And then Rooster stops, halfway to the counter, turns around, says your name.

Once he’s sure he has your attention, he smiles, almost bashfully.

He delivers the killing blow, the thing you’re sure you’ll think about for years to come, that will crawl beneath your skin, into your bloodstream, and settle there, live there, grow there.

“I’ll be your boyfriend anytime. Real or fake.”

#rooster #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #mine #drabble #roosterdrabble

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hauntedjpegcollection · 4 months

Text

poor broke ugly

wc: 2946 au: band au ch: lark, matilda, benji

Lark doesn’t usually drink.

He’s not opposed to one or two beers, especially when they’re free (Lark Tanaka has never, in his life passed up something free), but he also doesn’t drink really. Not with the intention to get drunk and never because it tastes good—because it doesn’t, and people are lying when they say it does. Alcohol makes his throat burn, sours his stomach, turns his face unpleasantly warm. It darkens his cheeks pink, which he’s always found unflattering a look and neither bar or club lighting does much for his complexion to begin with.

That’s why they’re outside.

That’s the excuse anyway. Outside, for the cool night air and not outside, because then it’s just them. Lark had suggested it (“Do you want to come outside with me?”), when they’d both gotten that free second or third or maybe fourth drink from the bartender. She was a fan, liked their underground grass roots style, had a tattoo of a lyric that Benji had written when he was only eighteen years old—and Lark for what’s it’s worth, had tried so hard to pay attention. He was good with fans, he cared about fans, not the way some lead singers did because it bolstered their ego or put them on a pedestal.

The band didn’t exist without the fans. But…even when she was talking, when she was mixing Matilda’s cocktail and she was asking Lark about something (what was the bartenders name? She had said it to him when he’d leaned over to shake her hand), all he could do was stare at Matilda. She didn’t look bad under the wavering neon lights. He didn’t think she could look bad.

They’d dipped out the exit door behind the bar seconds later into cool night air that instantly made Lark feel just a smidge more sober. It was a sweet hole in the wall sort of place, the kind of venue that Benji really loved. There’s a twinge of guilt that Lark isn’t inside with Benji—they don’t have to stick hip to hip and usually don’t. That was always the best part of Benji and Lark; that they could be Benji and Lark, not something squished together. They could have their own moments of peace completely unconnected to the other, no matter how much starting a band together had solidified they were together forever now.

Maybe he just feels guilty, because it was so obvious how badly he wanted to be alone with Matilda. Maybe he feels guilty because he’s still unsure of their new guitar player or he feels guilty because he’d not done his best this show, because he was tired and hungry and his phone had twelve missed phone calls.

Matilda and Lark fall into an easy, if not safe, conversation. Did you like the opener, your mic was too loud, I almost tripped, Benji broke another stick tonight, someone asked me to sign their hand—it isn’t the sort of stuff he wants to be talking about. It’s just the sort of conversation that happens between…coworkers, he supposes. The thought makes the entire night feel duller.

She’s sipping her cocktail, the straw between her fingers, when they pause in front of a dark antique store on the strip. It’s well past midnight. The sign is flipped to close.

“That says poor broke ugly,” Lark says, pointing to a shoddy made zen garden with a wooden stick sign, something obviously not vintage at all. Matilda laughs so suddenly and so hard that she spits a bit of the cocktail (Goddess of the Underground had been the name, and its an ugly sort of purple color that smells too much like vodka). She’s wiping at the little spill on her chin with her thumb when she leans closer to look at it. Lark has to struggle not to pay attention to the spill of her hair over her shoulder. He keeps one hand in his pocket, the other holding the glass of beer he shouldn’t have been allowed to leave with.

“My sister was always better with Japanese,” he comments.

“How come?”

“No idea,” Lark laughs. “I dunno—maybe she just gets languages better. Japanese is hard enough even people living in Japan can fucking suck at it.”

“American’s aren’t that great at English, either, if you haven’t noticed.” She takes another sip of her drink. Something hangs in the air between them. A moment that is either going to pass, or going to be taken. Matilda fiddles with the straw in her drink, casts him a sideways glance as they stand in front of the fake antique shop.

Then,

“My brother too. Like the language thing, but not by being bilingual. He was just always better in every dinner conversation—or networking thing we had to go to. Always knew what to say, or when to laugh.”

“Not at a funeral.”

“What?” Matilda laughs then, steps closer, lets her shoulder hit the glass window. He knows he’s drunk because the outline of her is fuzzy and soft, ethereal and distant. If he lifted a hand and touched her shoulder, they’d just disappear right into each other. Lark tilts his head back, smiling up at the night sky. There’s too much light pollution in this shitty city to see the stars, but that’s okay. He closes his eyes briefly, sighing.

“I laughed during my grandfathers funeral and almost got kicked out.”

Matilda lifts a hand. Her fingers take the zipper of his jacket. She toys with it.

“What was so funny?” She asks, head tilted. The sound of the zipper is agonizingly loud. The wind touches the hollow of his throat as it’s exposed. The hint of her tongue behind her teeth every time she speaks is purple, just like the drink.

“Nothing,” Lark replies truthfully.

—

“Oh my God, fourteen?” Her laugh has gotten louder the longer they walk. She’d drained the rest of her cocktail and placed the glass on a low brick wall to forget about—and then they’d shared his beer together. Taking sips, passing it back and forth. Now, they’re drunk. No longer in the middle of sobriety and tipsy. They are both drunk, walking back toward the bar, as the night ends somewhere between pleasant and surreal. Lark is smiling at her, hands deep in his pockets so he isn’t too tempted to take one of hers.

“I don’t have a good excuse.” Lark shakes a palm through his messy hair, trying not to continue smiling. He shouldn’t be grinning ear to ear, talking about his juvenile record like this. Only, that was the game they were playing. Trading little vulnerable secrets, because the night felt immortal like that. Deeply intimate and only for them. “It wasn’t even a nice car. It was a Honda.”

“You have shit taste.”

“It was unlocked.”

“That’s like—that is so much less impressive, then? I’m not impressed anymore.”

“You were impressed to begin with?”

He watches her roll her eyes. Some of her eyeshadow has started to rub away. Mascara sticks in little dots underneath her eyes as well. He wishes the bar was further away.

“It’s your turn,” he reminds her. He dares to nudge Matilda with his elbow, glancing up at her once more. Every time he does, he’s distracted once more by a strand of hair that continues getting caught in her lip gloss by the occasional gust of wind. She’d once applied it, standing beside him in a shitty bar bathroom. He was trying to not poke his eye out with an eyeliner pen and she was laughing—and then taking it from him and making him lean against the sink counter and doing it for him. She’d imitated the popped mouth look that girls always wore when applying make up to their eyes.

Fuck, he’s drunk. He wants to kiss her.

Then remembers the notorious disaster of his ex boyfriend being their guitarist for their first EP.

Matilda swings around to stand in front of him, pausing them on the sidewalk. She drapes her wrists over his shoulders—not really touching him but, not not touching him either.

“I was a cheerleader in high school,” she confesses. It makes Lark laugh immediately, head tilting back. One of his hands leaves his pocket, without thinking. It closes in around her hip. She’s wearing a satin textured top that drapes all over her upper body. Her skirt is tight though, the material stretching around her more square shape. He likes the look of her, the silhouette she creates when the lights are on her in the dark, on the stage.

“That’s adorable.”

“Wow, adorable?” She sneers, her lip curling. “That’s not how most men react to cheerleaders.”

“Ew.” Lark says it without meaning to. Then he blinks, feeling stupid and caught off guard. “Sorry—I just mean, if any guy hears that and is immediately thinking anything other than ‘wow that’s so cute’, he’s probably a fucking weirdo.” Matilda is silent in her observation of him. Her wrists are still sitting on his shoulders, their chests closer than they’ve ever been. Lark hasn’t moved his hand from her hip.

“How come Benji never calls you Elias?”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” She presses a bit closer. One of her hands has suddenly moved to the back of his head. Her long keyboardist fingers capture a few strands of his hair. The idle movement, the soft playful tug makes something dark and hungry unfurl in his lower stomach. He blinks more than a few times again, looking down at her exposed collarbone.

“I hadn’t started my transition when I met Benji. I mean, I had, but—I hadn’t figured out a name yet. I went by Lark on the website we posted our samples to. It was a nickname Xavier had given me.” Not for the first time, he wishes Xavier was more than just a part of stories he’d occasionally tell to everyone. He wishes Xavier was there—had even a shred of musical talent so he could be part of a band, instead of part of the U.S. military industrial complex he’d accidentally sold his soul to at seventeen. Matilda would like Xavier. He feels sure of that.

“Anyway—Daisuke is hard to pronounce. No one gets it right on their first try.”

“Daisuke,” Matilda says confidently.

“I just said it.”

“Doesn’t seem that hard to pronounce.”

“Okay, but I just said it—I meant every teacher I’ve ever had has pronounced it wrong reading it off an attendance sheet.” She’s grinning, a little mischievous, a little mean. Her eyes are two bright sparks in the dark. He realizes she’s teasing him. And he realizes how much he likes it. It only makes that hungry arousal in his stomach worse. Lark snorts and squeezes her hip, a bit harder than maybe he would have if he was entirely sober. She shifts a bit closer.

“When I finally picked another name, I had just been going by Lark for so long. I dunno, it doesn’t bother me. Half the time Benji is calling me dickhead and I’m telling him to shut up.” They both laugh then, which makes the heat in Lark feel less like a devouring need to press her against a wall and more like—more comforting. Fireplace warmth. He can feel himself sobering up. Something about Matilda liking Benji so much made Lark like her even more than his obvious attraction.

“Can I call you Elias?” she finally asks, chin tilted down so their eye contact is direct and severe. Maybe he isn’t that sober. Her words feel like a wax drip over his sensitive skin. He licks his lips—something in her expression suddenly looks a lot less practiced. She’s staring at his mouth now. He almost wishes it was cold enough to see their breaths mingle in the air. He wants to know how close he is to her, in a measurable distance like that.

“Yeah,” he finally concludes and then promises to hate himself for it later. Because then Matilda is grinning again, pushing their chests together in one quick shove. And then she’s gone. Dancing forward on the sidewalk toward the parking lot of the bar. The crowd has mostly thinned to nothing.

“I was lying, by the way!” She calls, head tilted over her shoulder. The streetlights make her look like something painted in watercolor. “Like, I’d ever be a cheerleader.”

“You lied?” Lark huffs. “Now I have to guess what else you lied about! I told you I stole a car!” Her laughing begins to mix with the sounds of cars starting in the bar parking lot, people still lingering and talking, not the kind that would want their attention, and he’s thankful for it.

He rushes after her, but still doesn’t take her hand.

—

Lark opens the back of the beat up white van that carries most of their shit and crawls inside. It smells like cigarette smoke, sweat and burnt plastic. Somehow it’s one of the most comforting things in the world, considering Lark doesn’t smoke and hates being close enough to people he can smell them and the burnt plastic means something probably got unplugged wrong when they broke down their set. Someone will get yelled at for it later, but in that moment he doesn’t care about anything.

Instead, he finds a curled up body on a blanket covering amps. Benji sleeps with his knees tucked up, one hand pressed underneath a cheek and the other arm somehow holding his legs closer. He looks angelic like that, in the dark, shoulders rising and falling calmly. Lark shouldn’t wake him up—Benji doesn’t ever sleep enough.

But Lark is already crawling over top of him without thinking. He thought he was sober before, but the second Matilda parted (at the entrance to the bar, still smiling that slightly mean-sweet grin, telling him she’s not sleeping in a car, thanks for the offer) he felt drunk all over again. The alcohol he doesn’t usually drink swims in his blood stream and clouds all thoughts—her lips had been stained dark by whatever had been in her drink.

“Ge’off me,” Benji snaps, suddenly awake. His rough hands curl around Lark’s shoulders, fingers dug in. Suddenly not angelic looking, but snarling mad and ready to fight for his personal space back. It only takes a second for Lark to blink, both bleary and innocently, for Benji to melt back. “Fuckin’ hell, don’t just do that. Alright?”

Instead of answering right away, Lark continues his path up Benji. He slides his way between the wall of the van and the drummers solid back. Benji has the lingering faint scent of a cigarette after all—means he’s not as good about quitting as he keeps claiming he is. It’s such a wildly familiar scent that Lark doesn’t mind it at all. He wraps arms around Benji’s stomach, pulls them in close.

They used to have to sleep like this a lot on the road. After a gig, they’d take the night in the van because hotels were expensive. And sometimes when they weren’t expensive, they’d just walk out to their van having been broken into anyway. A guitar stolen, or something vandalized. It was almost safer to keep themselves tucked into the back like this, but Lark also thought a part of it was indulgent. It felt realer this way. Like they were a real pair of musicians, trying their best.

Benji is still grumbling under his breath, but he adjusts to get himself comfortable again.

“Are you tired?” Lark asks.

“I was just fuckin’ sleepin’, yeah?”

“No, I mean—are you tired of trying to do this? Make this a thing?”

It was better, now. They were going places, now. Matilda had connections that were taking them farther—they were getting in touch with agents, with potential record deals, with bigger venues, better vans, maybe a tour bus. Maybe hotels that could be comped here and there. Lark resists the urge to squeeze Benji, just to remember he’s real and has been there since it was—

Since it was skipping food afterward because they needed to afford gas. Or eating ramen five nights in a row until they were both sick, but at least it was food. Since his ex boyfriend almost ruined it, since Reno almost ruined it, since Lark almost ruined it once before because his parents wouldn’t stop trying to get him to come home (and that was all he’d wanted since he was sixteen, but he knew that come home meant, help us with Akari).

I just want t’play drums, mate.

I just want to sing, man. Lie, because when he looks at Matilda, he wants more and…

“You’re ticklin’ my hair every time you talk,” Benji replies instead.

Lark leans around a shoulder and blows air against Benji’s ear, which makes him bark out a sound. He rolls onto his side, taking Lark and shaking him until they fall onto the floor of the van, in a terrible wrestling match that has them both laughing like rabid hyenas.

The shaking van and their loudly rough and playful sounds do not dispel the rumor that Lark and Benji are sleeping together, which is a rumor that has thrived since the conception of the band. And yet, the next day comes and Lark takes the first leg of the drive and Benji tells him;

“Just ask her on a date, already. Like, after this stint. Just go to a fuckin’ movie or somethin’.”

“She likes horror movies,” Lark replies, because she’d told him, just the night before.

#writing #lt #mmr #bp #lt x mmr #lt x bp #band au

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sadhours · 11 months

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I wrote that regulars bar modern!au 🙃

read on ao3

Thee Alibi is where Billy goes every day after work. Five thirty— Monday through Friday. Each day when he walks in, the bartender, Jack has a Budweiser bottle in hand, ready for him. It’s the same group of people each day. Billy feels like he’s in his own little Cheers. They feel like his second family, except closer than his first but hey, the say the best family is the one you can choose.

It’s a Thursday, the day his direct deposit is posted so of course, he’s at the bar in his regular stool with a cold beer in his hand and a cigarette in the other. It’s Basketball season. Billy hasn’t cared about sports since he was in high school but it’s fun to pretend with these assholes. One asshole in particular. And on cue, Steve walks into the bar, his shaggy brown hair a mess and he’s clearly trying to grow a mustache. It’s a pathetic attempt, wispy little hairs but Billy remembers the days when he couldn’t grow much and how he desperately held on to the hair he could grow.

“Hey, Jack,” the brunette smiles as he sits two stools down from Billy, “Anything new on tap?”

“Since yesterday?” Jack replies with a snort, “Nah.”

Steve purses his lips, “Let me get that chocolate stout again, then.”

Billy stifles his laugh, the two of them argue about Steve’s affinity for craft beers several times a week. Billy just doesn’t understand the appeal, it’s harder to drink and cost more than double what he pays for his domestic.

“I can see that look on your face, Hargrove,” Steve says, not tearing eyes away from his phone, “It’s not my fault you have shit taste.”

“I’m a simple man,” Billy raises his bottle to Steve.

The brunette glances to him, a twinge of disgust crossing his lips, “A simple man who likes to drink piss.”

Billy chuckles, stubbing his cigarette out in his ashtray. Jack hands Steve his pint glass, filled with the dark brown beer and an inch of lighter colored foam.

“Thank you, sir,” Steve grins from ear to ear as he giddily raises the glass to his lips.

Billy leans back in his chair as he looks up to the flatscreen TV, “Who you gunning for today, Steven?”

Steve sighs, so used to Billy calling him anything other than Steve that he doesn’t even correct him anymore, “Miami.”

“Hmm,” Billy hums, still looking at the TV, “I’ve got my money the Bucks.”

Steve turns to him offended, “But last fucking week you told me they were trash.”

Billy grins, tossing back the rest of his Budweiser as Jack brings him a new one, “Last week, they were.”

“You have no loyalty,” the brunette shook his head.

It’s funny. Billy doesn’t really care who wins, he just likes cheering when Steve’s booing. Steve gets really wrapped up in sports. Even joins the fantasy leagues.

“Aw, that’s not true. I’m loyal to this place. I know you’re sneaking off to other bars on the weekend,” Billy chides.

Steve grins over to the bartender, “That’s ‘cause Jack isn’t here Saturday or Sunday.”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” Jack says, placing his hands over his heart. Billy rolls his eyes and sits up in his seat, smacking the bartop with his palms.

“Jack, round of Jameson for everyone,” he calls out, “Gotta be nice to Stevie before his team starts losing and things get ugly in here.”

“Can’t say no that,” Jack says with an amused purse of his lips before lining up four shot glasses. He pours the amber liquid in them before sliding one to Dawn at the end of the bar, she lifts it up and winks at Billy. She’s a sweetheart. Billy’s spilled his guts to her many times after he’s had too many. She’s about twenty five years older than him, works as a high school teacher and has been coming to this bar before he was even born, as she reminds him at least twice a week.

After they each have their shots, they raise them and Billy can’t help it if his eyes follow Steve’s hand to his lips. So maybe Billy thinks he’s really cute. It’s not a big deal. Steve had a serious girlfriend up until about three weeks ago. He’s pretty sure Steve is straight. And Billy’s not exactly out to him. Or any of the regulars, really. He just doesn’t feel the need to tell them. If it ever comes up he won’t deny it, but he’s sure as hell not gonna be the one to bring it up.

“Thanks, man,” Steve smiles, “Big check?”

“I did alright,” Billy grins back.

A few moments pass, Steve’s glued to his phone until Queens of the Stone Age starts playing on the TouchTunes and he sets his phone on the bar with a pleased smile on his face. Billy knows he’s just clogged up the queue and it could be an opportunity to press his buttons some. He can’t put his finger on the reason, but he really, really likes getting Steve all riled up. Maybe it’s the way his face gets all screwed up, he gets this little crease between his eyebrows. It’s cute. Steve’s cute.

Billy watches as the Bucks score a three pointer and he whoops, turning to Steve with a devious grin. The brunette shakes his head, “It’s still early. Don’t get all fucking gloaty yet.”

“Aw, ya mad, Stevie?” Billy bites back with a condescending tone and a saccharine smile.

Steve crumbles up a bar napkin and launches it at Billy’s face, it tickles his nose a little bit when it lands. Jack points between them, “Play nice or you two can mop up the bar tonight.”

It continues like that through the game, it seems like whichever team Billy picks wins and maybe one day he’ll be nice and pick the one Steve likes. Maybe.

They’ve each had a few, Billy’s feeling that happy buzz throughout his body and he nudges against Steve before adjusting his hat. He’s got a proposition he knows Steve will try to fight but eventually give in to.

“C’mon Stevie, let’s play a game of pool,” he smiles smugly.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Steve protests after he swallows a heavy sip of whatever disgusting, hoppy beer he’s drinking.

Billy frowns, “What? Are you scared I’m gonna kick your ass?”

“With your fucking rules, yeah!” Steve retorts, his voice higher with the fight swelling on his tongue.

“Bank Eight is so fucking standard,” Billy argues, “But fine, we can play your way.”

Steve shakes his head, picking his phone up to check it and Billy sees his Lock Screen is still him and Nancy, smiling on some trip they took to the Bay Area. It makes Billy angry but he can’t exactly place why.

“Jack? Another shot for Harrington and I. He needs some liquid courage,” Billy calls out.

“I’m not playing, dude,” Steve exhales, “But I’ll take a shot.”

Jack pours the shots and slides them over, down the hatch they go and Billy tries to think of how else he can get Steve to agree. He lights up a cigarette, taking his hat off and tossing it on the bar.

Finally he settles on, “I’ll pay your tab. What you’ve charged it so far and whatever your little heart desires for the rest of the night.”

That seems to pique the brunettes interest. He makes adorable face, tilting his head with his lips turned down and his eyebrows raised high. He stews on it for a bit, takes a big gulp from his pint glass and says, “Fuck it. I’m in.”

“You’re so easy, Stevie.”

Billy orders them another round before they make their way to the table, jamming quarters into the slot and racks the balls. His OCD kicks in as he organizes them and rolls them in the wooden triangle until he knows they’re tight enough. He carefully lifts the rack and places it on the booth behind him.

“Alright,” he purrs, “You break first.”

Steve grumbles as he grabs the pool stick and chalk, rolling the tiny square along the tip. Billy knows he sucks. They’ve played countless times and he can count on one hand how many times Steve’s won and Billy was going easy on him then. The brunette grabs the cue ball and places it on the green felt, glancing up to Billy’s face and using his expressions as a indication of where to leave it. Which isn’t exactly the best idea because Billy grins wide when Steve’s put it in the worst possible spot. As Steve points the cue, Billy stifles his laugh at the way he holds it. The fact that Steve spends so much time at this bar and still has no fucking clue how to play pool blows Billy’s mind. Maybe one day he can teach him, get all macho with it and stand behind him, hands on Steve’s to show him how to hold the fucking stick. Not today though.

Steve hits the cue ball and it rolls into the yellow solid ball, which rattles the lot of them but only six of them actually roll away. Steve audibly groans, rubbing his face with his hand and mumbles something about how this game is stupid. Billy smirks, grabbing his own cue and strolls around the table to where the cue ball has landed. This shots easy, he’s just finishing the break. He lays the stick between his thumb and forefinger, pulls back and lunges it forward. The white ball smacks into the clutter Steve left behind with a loud smack, all of them bounce and roll. Two solids sink in opposite pockets and Billy doesn’t miss the way Steve rolls his eyes over his pint glass.

“Looks like your stripes, pretty boy,” he smirks, extending the pool cue to smack Steve on the ass before he moves to the other side of the table, lining up his next shot.

As expected, he decimates Steve. He almost never misses a shot and Steve almost always does. The brunettes clearly annoyed, downing his fancy beer and trudging up the stairs to order himself a new one after Billy calls out to him, “Best two out of three!”

He half expects Steve to sit his pretty ass down at the bar, accept defeat and drink him into debt. But Billy is almost giddy when he returns, trying to juggle a pint glass, a Budweiser bottle and two more shots in his arm. He rushes to help him out, but Steve shoots a glare at him like he’s promised himself he could make it back to the booth without spilling a drop and intends to do just that. They take the shots and Steve extends his palm out, waiting for Billy to supply the quarters. The blonde digs around in his back pocket and hands over a dollar fifty. He wonders what that shitty little mustache would feel like against his lips and has to quickly shake the thought away. He really doesn’t need to think about Steve like that when he’s so close with this much alcohol running through him; he’s libel to do something stupid about it.

“Let’s make it fair, I’ll do bank eight but you don’t have to,” Billy offers as Steve starts racking.

“I don’t need your pity,” Steve huffs, placing the balls in order and rolls the rack once before he’s going to pull away.

“You’re sabotaging yourself, keep rolling,” Billy says, moving over to place the wooden rack back down, “You have to make it tight.”

He’s real close to Steve, can feel his breath on his cheek and it drives him a little insane. He smells like beer and strawberry shampoo.

“That’s what she said,” Steve rushes out under a laugh, his lips curling up deviously as their eyes meet.

“I… that barely makes sense,” Billy shakes his head and continues rolling the rack until he’s satisfied.

Steve’s still giggling as he retrieves his beer.

“‘Kay, take notes,” Billy says as he lines up the cue ball a little left of center, “This— is how you break.”

He sticks his tongue out just a bit as he winds back the pool cue and then slams the white ball into the racked collection. They scatter and Billy sinks a solid in, keeping up his tradition. He feels like he doesn’t do so well when he’s stripes.

“How do you always get one in right away?” the brunette asks, his lips parted in disbelief.

Billy shrugs as he lines up the next shot, “I just hit it hard enough. Ones bound to hit a pocket.”

He lets Steve win that game, purposely makes shots he knows are impossible so that the brunette has a fighting chance. As much as he likes to see Steve fuming, annoyed beyond belief, Billy actually might prefer a happy, excited Steve. His smile is thrilling, the prettiest he’s ever seen. It reaches his eyes and crease the skin around them. And damnit, it’s a contagious smile.

But deep down, Billy’s got a competitive spirit so he doesn’t let him win the third game. He orders them each a beer at last call, knows he’s going to regret the decision tomorrow morning but Steve’s company is too good to pass up. It’s this night he realizes he’s absolutely smitten with Steve. The feelings a bit overwhelming when they’re walking to their cars, neither of them should drive but Billy’s justifies it because he lives two blocks away. He asks Steve he lives close and Steve points up at the apartments behind the bar.

“Why do you even drive here?” he asks with a laugh.

Steve shrugs, “I come straight from work.”

“Fair enough,” Billy slurs as he and Steve stand next to the brunettes sedan.

“Mhm,” Steve leans against the drivers door and looks at him. “Fun night. Thanks for letting me win that game.”

Billy cackles, pushing Steve’s shoulder, “I didn’t let you win. I was just being experimental with my shots.”

“I’m not that much of an idiot,” he purrs back, smiling wide again.

“Oh, you’re not?”

“No, I can read you better than you think,” Steve admits and Billy’s breath catches in his throat. Did that mean what he thought it meant?

The next three seconds are kind of a blur, Billy didn’t realize he was inching closer. But here he is, hand on Steve’s jaw while he kisses him. The brunette doesn’t kiss back right away, his body goes rigid and he presses his palm against Billy’s chest like he’s gonna push him away. He doesn’t. He kisses back, swoops his hands down to Billy’s waist and parts his lips. It’s pretty messy, no true rhythm due to the alcohol and Billy’s desperation.

It’s over quicker than he wants but Steve’s pulling back, an unreadable expression straining his face.

“I’ll uh,” Billy steps back and exhales, “I’ll see ya around, Harrington.”

“Yeah. See ya,” Steve mumbles before unlocking his car and climbing in.

Billy watches as he backs out of the parking spot and drives slowly behind the bar to the apartments.

#harringrove ficlet #harringrove fanfiction #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove x steve harrington

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hannahssimblr · 6 months

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Chapter Seventeen (Part 2)

We get dressed and head off to the festival grounds after that, and Claire, Shane and I agree that we want to go and see Fight Like Apes who are playing at midday. Jen opts to come with us, and I expect Jude to come too, but he decides to go with Joe and Kasper to see some DJ called Tiga, which throws me even more. Maybe I’m just overthinking. I tell myself he’s being normal, and that he’s probably just playing it cool.

The festival is so busy that day that I don’t see him around again after that, but I try my best to ignore the heavy feeling in my stomach, and the increasing thoughts that maybe I did something to annoy him, or maybe I’m a bad kisser and he’s disgusted by me. Maybe I’m too young and immature, or that he’s figured out that I’m actually a big loser with nothing interesting to say. Maybe everyone is right about me.

Claire is having fun though, and she looks so beautiful dressed all in white in the sun. Every time I think it’s impossible for her to look prettier, she somehow does, and I know I’m not the only one who’s thinking it. I catch Shane looking at her more than once with an expression I’ve never seen him wear before: pure unabashed adoration. Like she’s the sun that lights up his sky. I hope he realises how lucky he is. They’re inseparable all day, and stand together through every concert we go to with their arms around each other, him delivering little kisses to the top of her head as he holds her. Watching them like this makes my heart ache. I want more than anything for somebody to look at me like that, or to touch me like that, but instead I feel heavy with the knowledge that the boy I like is off somewhere, lost in the realm of this gigantic festival, probably with a plastic cup of Corona in each hand, listening to some mindless electronica that he doesn’t even enjoy and not thinking much about me at all.

I don’t do a good job of hiding my listlessness when Jen and I sit down for lunch together in the shade of the marquee we were just crammed into for a Crystal Castles gig a few minutes ago.

“What’s up, chicken?” She unwraps a burrito and lays into it.

“Nothing. I’m tired.”

She nods. “Have you had anything to drink?”

“No.”

She slides the cup of beer she bought for herself across the picnic bench to me and gestures to it like Bon Appetit. “Have one on me, it’ll make you feel better.”

“Won’t drinking just make me feel worse?”

“No! There’s truly nothing a drink won’t fix, right?” She nudges Shane, who’s just joined us at the table with Claire still stuck to his side. He looks at me disapprovingly and then starts to say something boring about how I’m too young to drink, even though he was miraculously fine with Claire doing it yesterday, but Jen just rolls her eyes and tells him to shut up. “You have to stop with this protective-older-brother craic, let her live her life.”

“Well I know her mam, and I know what she’d say if she knew she was drinking.”

“Are you going to tell on her?”

He knows it’d be heinous to do that, and I know that he never would. I grab the beer and I gulp it down, just to show him that I can. I’ve been drinking since I was fifteen and I know how to handle it as well as he does.

“Better?” Jen asks me, and I nod, even though I find beer to be generally disgusting. The taste transports me to days spent drinking Tesco lager in a field after school until someone throws up. I bring the empty cup over to a nearby bin where a guy with shorn hair is openly urinating. “That’s so foul.” I tell him, letting my horrible feelings seep out of me. I don’t care, he’s a stranger.

“Piss off.” He suggests, and then directs the stream towards me instead. I jump out of the way too late and it splashes on my wellies. I cry out and try to shake them dry while he cackles with delight. Everything around me seems ugly, I’m so aware of the litter all over the ground, overflowing bins, the horrible man who pissed on my boots, and the smell of distant porta-loos. The sweet, cloying taste of beer in my mouth is making me feel ill.

Claire is so happy that she’s able to buy alcohol now, so throughout the day I keep giving her money to get me cups of white wine. I drink them quickly, and eventually they do make me feel better, in an synchronously awful kind of way. We go from gig to gig, and I have drink after drink until the day blurs together into one long smear of loud drum beats and bitter wine. I don’t ever really get drunk, the time between each break and the queues for the alcohol stands is so long that I just stay in this queasy purgatory state between states of being until I run out of money and nobody wants to buy anything else for me.

The evening settles down with the smell of bonfires, and eventually we meet up with the three others under the entrance to go and see Foo Fighters, which everyone unanimously decided would be the unmissable gig of the weekend. I feel nervous in anticipation of seeing Jude, now so entirely convinced after a whole day of catastrophizing that he hates my guts, actually, and wouldn’t come to my funeral if I died.

He’s not that bad, but he’s not being especially friendly either. The only way I can think to describe him is as neutral. Like he’s not experiencing any emotions right now, and when I’m used to him being so lively and expressive it’s very unsettling to be around him. When we start pushing into the crowd I give in to my anxiety and touch Jen’s elbow. “Is Jude okay?”

She nods while rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I think he’s just in one of his moods.”

I didn’t realise he had moods. I can’t think of what to say to that, my thoughts feel fuzzy, so I just utter a dejected: “Oh.”

“Don’t worry about it, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I had to see him like this all the time at school. Just ignore him, he’ll be grand tomorrow.”

“Nothing happened to him, did it?”

“I doubt it. He’s just in his head about something, probably.” She leans towards me. “He’s a scorpio.” She explains, as though that’s supposed to mean something to me.

I’m still trying to remember what scorpios do when we reach the churning centre of the crowd. It makes me anxious, but everybody else is just diving right in, so I do too. I’m wedged between walls of bodies on all sides of me, but there’s a distinct excitement rising all around. I’m still holding on to Jen, the others seem to have been swallowed up by the crowd like they were never there in the first place.

The first thing I can hear is the soft plucking strings of the opening line of The Pretender rings through the air, and then I can’t see Dave Grohl, but I can hear him. The crowd starts to transform from a solid mass of bodies into something fluid, and I realise that I’m being pushed out of the way, my spot being stolen by big men shoving their way to the front, all limbs flailing everywhere, launching themselves through the crowd to try and get closer as the drums start pounding. One of them actually grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me backwards out of Jen’s grip like I have no right to be where I am, no girls allowed in the Foo Fighters mosh pit. Another one crashes suddenly into the side of my ribs and I am so desperate to escape. When a third bangs his body against me he catapults me into the man behind me and tears spring to my eyes. I let myself go totally limp and let the heaving motion of the animal spit me out to the back shoulders shaking, sobbing and alone.

When I look back at the pulsing crowd I can’t believe I was in there. It’s a rat king of testosterone, men shoving each other around to the music, hands grabbing collars and shoulders, and in the middle of it I see Joe, Kasper and Jude, gleefully participating in the chaos. I can’t help but feel dismayed, remembering how quick he’d been to save me from the crowd yesterday, holding me in front of him and shielding me from pointy elbows and stomping feet, and today when the crowd is bigger and rougher he’s left me to fend for myself. I don’t know what I did. Maybe I’m just too inexperienced, and he wants a woman, not some seventeen year old. I should have let him keep kissing me, I should have let him take me back to his tent and shown him that I’m grown up enough. That’s what a normal girl would have done.

I go and stand at the very back where I can see the band, but barely. They’re just little black smudges on a blazing stage. I know the songs but I don’t sing along, or dance, or even uncross my arms from my chest. I stand there until they finish, crying my makeup off my face. I feel like a husk. Hollowed out, nauseous, tipsy.

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#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #romance #fiction #writing #sims story #sims 4 storytelling #sims storytelling #sims4 storytelling #lucky girl part 1

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tryskomys · 2 years

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˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚˙ Strange Brew ˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚˙

Eddie Munson one-shot

Summary: Remember Tina’s Halloween party? The one where Billy was crowned the new king of Hawkins High and Nancy got drunk on ‘pure fuel’? Eddie and Maia weren’t missing out on the fun.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

Notes: ok, here it goes. a little flashback to the times when the biggest problem on our protagonists’ minds was a disgusting drink on a high school party. 4k words of pure blueballing, i’m really pushing my filth-writing limits here. hope you enjoy! can be read as a reader-insert.

beware: descriptions of teenage drinking (both protagonists are 18+), raw jealousy, lewd behaviour, slutty dialogue

Masterlist

songs:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

Hawkins, October 1984

The entire house was practically shaking to the rhythm of Mötley Crüe as swarms of drunk teenagers clumsily danced through the night.

Come on, it’s one night, you’ll have fun.

That’s what Nancy told Maia that morning at school when she handed her the ugly orange flyer advertising a Halloween party at Tina’s house. And here she was, definitely not having fun. She couldn’t even think of a reason she decided to go in the end. Maybe because Eddie shockingly liked the idea of going to a high school party.

Free food, free booze, I’ll survive one night if it means I can get shitfaced for someone else’s money.

His voice echoed through her head as she leaned against the doorway, looking around the room to see if she’ll spot him somewhere. He left to refill drinks. Fifteen minutes ago. Maia was anxiously picking on the fabric of the long black velvet cape that rested upon her leather jacket. That and her messy thick eyeliner barely resembling bat wings was the maximum effort she was willing to put into her ‘costume’.

Her eyes spotted Billy Hargrove, the new asshole in town, chugging beer upside down.

“Jesus fucking christ, bleugh.” she whispered and her face twisted in disgust. She talked to him once and she already despised him, she was pretty sure she saw him abuse his little ginger sister, too.

“Hope he suffocates.” Eddie’s raspy voice made her turn around with a relieved sigh. A half-smoked cigarette was hanging from his mouth, smudged black eyeliner framing his obsidian eyes. A big metal cross dangled around his neck and fingers clutching two solo cups and were sporting a chipped black nail polish.

“What the hell took you so long? I was beginning to think they ate you alive back there.” she hissed at him and took the cup he was offering her.

“I almost drowned on my way back, it’s like a sea full of volatile pricks here.” he shook his head, took a drag of his cigarette and beckoned to her, clinking the two plastic cups together.

“Chin-chin.” she mumbled and took a sip, immediately sticking her tounge out with a scrunched nose, turning back to the room to watch the freak show.

“Fucking hell…tastes like piss.” she coughed and blinked a few times, taken aback by the aftertaste. Eddie snorted with laughter and took a swig.

“It’s free, halfling. Stop being a brat.”

A cold shiver ran down her spine. She desperately wished that it was the two cold beers they had on the way here causing the warmth in her face, but being called a brat by Eddie the Freak Munson in smudged makeup wasn’t exactly easy to digest.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure you’ll be ok with drinking this shit when you’re salivating over that piece of shit.” he stated while nodding towards Billy, who was surrounded by their cheering classmates, spit and beer dripping down his chin.

Venom was seeping out of his every word, his face clouded with smoke when Maia looked at him again with furrowed brows, frankly insulted by his comment.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean, you daft prick?”

“Don’t know, you tell me why you’re all red in the face for that fuckhead.” he shrugged, taking another long drag and puffing it right into her face.

“Exactly how of much of this abomination did you consume while you were gone?” she shook her cup in front of his face, pinning him to the wall with her gaze. He wasn’t planning on backing down, though.

“What’s it to you, Anderson?” he mumbled with the cigarette between his lips, swirling the liquid in his cup provocatively.

“You’re disgusting.” she hissed at him, mentally trying to coerce herself into believing the statement.

“But he’s not, right? It’s hot when he’s shitfaced, right? Bet you’d let him spit in-“

Maia’s face flashed with fury as she swung her palm to his cheek, but his quick reflexes stopped her just as she was about to hit him.

“Provoke me some more and I’ll spit in your face.” she growled at him through gritted teeth, twisting her wrist in his iron grip.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.” he smirked, his eyes drunkenly out of focus. He let go of her wrist and she stomped away before he could get another glimpse at her.

A bead of sweat ran down her hairline as her cheeks burned so painfully she had to head straight to the kitchen to look into the fridge for something cold. She found an ancient can of Coke at the very back of it, behind a bag of carrots and some champagne bottles. She pressed it to her cheeks and forehead, breathing as if she just ran a cross-country race.

Her wondering eyes stopped on a bowl of the liquid she just drank from her cup. She looked around the kitchen for any signs of some different type of alcohol, but sadly this seemed to be her only option. She lazily dragged herself to the bowl and filled her cup, threw the can back in the fridge and walked out of the kitchen, mumbling a silent cheers to herself. Can’t deal with this man sober.

Eddie was leaning against the wall, mindlessly lighting up another cigarette when he heard a roar of cheers coming from the kitchen. What is he doing now, a fucking handstand on his dick? Eddie hated Billy with a burning passion. They had a total of one interaction and it was more than enough. Even though it was Billy’s first week at Hawkins High, he was confident enough to try to humiliate Eddie in front of the whole cafeteria. Bumping into him on purpose and knocking his food tray on the floor wasn’t enough, he had to target Maia as well.

Even freaks get pussy in this town, sweet. Eddie shivered with disgust when he remembered Billy’s smug expression after she fiercely cussed him out. Let me know when you get bored of him, though. I’ll straighten you out, hotshot.

“All alone in a place like this, Ozzy?” a female voice dragged Eddie out of his thoughts. His hazy mind thought it was Maia at first, but the voice was more high-pitched - less like midnight velvet - and missed the typical melodic intonation. A taller brunette stood before him, considering her figure she was most likely a cheerleader, dressed in a short fluffy white dress and sporting a perm, probably channeling Madonna.

“Not really.” he muttered and clouded his face in cigarette smoke again.

“Who could’ve left this man without supervision?” she batted her eyelashes, swirling around the liquid in her cup.

His mind conjured up a picture of Maia’s naked body shrouded only in her velvet cape in place of this girl, but it dissapeared just as he blinked.

What the fuck was in that bowl?

“You’d be surprised.” he snickered at her remark, downing the rest of the drink. She attempted a sultry giggle, but Eddie was unphased. The Reflex came on and the girl gasped and laid her manicured fingers on his forearm. He looked her up and down, raising an eyebrow.

“I love this song so much, come dance with me!” she exclaimed, lightly tugging his arm. He let out an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Not really a dancer, sorry.”

“I’ll teach you.” she leaned in and whispered just as Maia appeared from around the corner.

When she saw the scene in front of her, for a split second she thought her heart exploded. She considered turning around and walking away, but Eddie pissed her off. He doesn’t deserve to get laid tonight. She squinted at him when their eyes met and walked up to them.

“Well well well, what did I miss, lovebirds?” she looked between the two of them and took a sip of her drink, earning a fake smile from the girl.

“Look, your little friend returned! We were just about to go dancing with Ozzy here.” she explained, puffing her full chest as much as she could to assert her dominance. Maia spat out the drink back to the cup and snorted with laughter.

“Ozzy?”

“I saw him yesterday on MTV and he was so hot, he looks just like him!” she giggled and squeezed Eddie’s forearm.

He was just silently darting between the two of them, holding back a smirk. He realized that shaking this girl off wasn’t in his power, so he decided to leave it up to Lady Macbeth’s sharp wit.

“Hm…don’t see it. Sorry, Ozzy.” she sympathetically nodded at Eddie and he looked to the ground while chewing his cheeks, trying to compose himself. She continued.

“If you’d like though, I could hit you up with the real thing. I once set up a date with Simon Le Bon for a friend. Just one ritual away from your idol, that’s my motto.” she enthusiastically nodded, flashing a professional smile to the girl. She slowly let go of Eddie’s arm, raising her eyebrows and nervously chuckling.

“R-ritual?”

“Aye. Just a little sacrifice, that’s all. I usually prefer pigs, but anything that bleeds red is good, that’s what my mama always said! Interested?”

Eddie masked his chuckle by acting like he choked on the smoke he just inhaled and when the girl turned at him with wide eyes, he just casually shrugged. She forcefully exhaled and backed away from them slightly.

“Well, I’m out of alcohol, so…yeah.” she flickered between Eddie and Maia, suddenly sobering up and noticing their fairly intimidating appearance. She dissapeared into the crowd and he burst out in giggles.

“Why are you laughing? I was serious, you look nothing like him.” she smirked and leaned against the wall next to him.

“I don’t?” he pouted, the innapropriate vision of her flashing before his eyes again. Crimson warmth flodded his face, forcing him to twirl a strand of his hair to hide it. She looked at him, snickering.

“He looks like that annoying plastered uncle everyone hates at family gatherings. Pretty sure that’s what he’s like, too. I mean, he’s a Brummie…”

Eddie’s drunken mind took a few seconds to realize she’s complimenting him.

“I leave you alone for a few minutes and you’re already surrounded by cheerleaders? So charming, Munson, you surprise me every day.” she chuckled sarcastically, jealousy lacing her words.

“Maybe they’d be around all the time and you’re just jinxing me.” he simply stated, lighting up another cigarette because the other burned out when he wasn’t paying attention. It was probably Billy’s booming voice from the kitchen that triggered his annoyance.

“Touché.”

“You never striked me as a jealous type tho, halfling. Kinda hot, if you ask me.” he shrugged with a smirk, fueling the flames in his burning ears. She choked on her saliva, shaking her head maybe a little bit too furiously.

“Jealous of someone who thinks Ozzy fucking Osbourne is sexy? Don’t flatter yourself, tough guy.”

He leaned in closer to her, his breath tickling her flaming ear.

“I see right through you, sweetheart. I can see you shivering.” he whispered and looked down at her, making her exhale shakily.

“Maybe if you stopped calling me these ridiculous things and minded your own fucking personal space, I’d be just fine, Munson.” she whispered back, attempting to sell her helplessly lustful tone as annoyance. He took a drag of his cigarette, his shivering breath carrying the smoke.

“Things like what? Sweetheart?” he chuckled, the alcohol swirling in his system giving him the confidence he always seemed to be lacking when talking to her. She looked away from him, trying to stare a hole through the floor.

“What about baby? Or honey?” he mumbled silently and tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, his cold rings grazing her neck.

“Shut up.”

“Princess?”

“I said shut up.”

“Kitten then?”

She whipped her head around at him, quite painfully bumping her nose into his, but neither of them flinched.

“Shut the fuck up, Munson.” she muttered, her annoyed raspy voice sending a shiver through his whole body.

“Bet Hargrove would call you something like that.” he raised his eyebrows, clearly enjoying testing her patience.

“I told you to stop provoking me.” she weakly whispered, her ears booming with her deafening heartbeat. He slightly nudged her nose with his.

“Or what? You’ll hiss at me, kitten?” he smirked and backed away from her face to take a drag. She gulped down a big sip from her cup, trying to gain every bit of confidence possible to survive his antics.

“I admire your boldness considering I’m your only friend, I’ll give you that.” she forced out an insincere chuckle, shaking the vivid memory of him sitting on his throne out of her head.

Maybe being rude to him will work.

“Frankly, it’s kind of a testament of your great desperation when you hit on me.”

A low hum rumbled in his chest as he started playing with his hair again.

“I beg to differ, halfling. I’d call it progress. In fact…” he turned to her, this time using the fingers that held his cigar to mess with the bow that tied her cape together.

“…I feel like I don’t do it often enough.”

She stared at him, becoming more and more convinced he’s just plainly making fun of her.

“Are you on drugs?”

“Not at the moment, no.” he chuckled and turned his attention from the knot to her eyes, piercing her with his obsidian gaze.

She felt like a tiny moth, spread limbs pinned to a canvas sheet, observed under a big magnifying glass.

“This isn’t funny, Munson. Can we drop this and-“

“I’m not laughing.” he interrupted her with a serious frown and slowly leaned closer to her, ghosting his lips over her skin before he pressed a soft kiss on the shell of her ear. Her breath hitched in her throat when he pulled away, his exhale as shaky as hers.

Both of them jumped when the crowd’s loud cheerful screeching reached their ears again and they both cursed under their breath, immediately backing away from eachother.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” he muttered through gritted teeth, unscrupulously putting his cigarette out on the wall.

“Something about getting fucked up for free?” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Not worth it. Can we leave?”

“Gladly. Lead the way, sir.”

When they pushed their way out of the house and finally stood outside on the road, crisp autumn air filling their lungs, Maia rummaged through her pockets, cursing silently.

“Fucking hell…forgot my keys and dad’s at the plant.”

“School isn’t locked up for the night, if we’re stealthy enough, you can sleep on my throne.” he smirked and she rolled her eyes.

“Always dreamt about that, it looks so comfy.”

He snickered, his low chuckle sending a jolt through her legs.

“Come on, I’ll walk you.” he stood out of her way and waved his arm, motioning her to walk with him. She chuckled.

“I’d let you crash at my place, but you know my uncle, I’d never live that shit down.” he chuckled and swung his arm around her shoulders, still very much intoxicated. She swayed slightly, feeling the alcohol clouding her judgement as well.

・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・

When they finally reached the abandoned school building after about half an hour of silent walking, they both sighed with relief.

“Thank god, my legs are about to fall off.” she huffed and opened the back door as slowly as she could, sticking her head in first to see if they’re in the clear.

They sneaked inside the dark hallway and headed straight to the theatre room, which was thankfully almost next to the main door. Eddie walked into the room, holding the door open for her.

“Be my guest.” he mumbled as she walked past him, chuckling. The room was dark, the usual colorful lights turned off, only one dark red light softly illuminating the playing table and Eddie’s throne. There were still some materials spread around the table from last night, when they were running a one-shot horror campaign. Maia snickered at the memory.

“Still haven’t recovered from how you butchered us yesterday.”

Eddie hummed, throwing his denim jacket on the table and rolled up the sleeves of his black t-shirt.

“What can I say, your desperate groaning was like music to my ears, halfling.” he chuckled and she tried to ignore the pit in her stomach that reminded her of the fact that they’re all alone in an empty building.

“Bet it was, you sadist.” she took off her leather jacket as well, so used to the cape by now that she forgot she had it on. She opened the first button of her black shirt, feeling suffocated by his presence.

“May I?” she tilted her head towards the throne and he nodded, smirking. She walked around the table and sank into the cold metal with a dramatic exhale, shuffling uncomfortably on the hard seat.

“It’s a lot larger than it looks.”

“That’s not the throne, that’s just you.” he chuckled and walked a bit closer to her, sitting on the table.

“Does it feel good?” he mumbled raspily with a sly grin, not realizing the effect it had on Maia’s drunken senses.

“It does Munson, not gonna lie. I just feel a sudden urge to torture you.” she scoffed, her cheeks burning for more reasons than she could name.

“You already are.” he let out before he could stop himself, not able to tear away his eyes from her.

She breathlessly laughed for a second before she realized he wasn’t smiling. She looked away from him, scanning the remnants of yesterday’s meeting on the table. She didn’t know what to say, so she just stared a hole into the table, hoping he’ll say his goodbyes and finally leave her to her own thoughts. Instead, he hopped off the table and walked around her, stopping behind the throne and hesitantly leaning on the back of it.

She didn’t move a muscle when he grabbed the armrests and slightly pulled the throne away from the table just enough to fit in the gap. She felt the air move around her as he moved in front of her, softly forcing her legs open with his knees so he could stand between them comfortably. He leaned his arms back on the table, studying her averted gaze carefully.

“Look at me kitten, I don’t bite.” he whispered and she snapped her head at him with wide eyes, the corners of her dark-painted lips turned down in a scowl.

“I told you to stop toying with me, Munson. I’m not in the mood for your sarcastic bullshit.”

He never left her eyes and moved as slowly as possible, as if she really was a scaredy little animal about to run away at the slightest sign of movement. He extended his arms to her and wrapped his fingers around her waist, then lifted her from the throne, turned her around and sat down on the throne himself, softly tugging her with him and positioning her in his lap. He sat her down so she’d face the table and firmly held her waist from behind. Her shocked eyes started prickling with tears, a bit confused about the reaction they should produce.

“If you’re so disgusted with me, I’ll turn you around so you don’t have to look at me.” he silently muttered into her ear, sending a wave of goosebumps all over her body. He let go of her waist and reached around her neck to the collar of her shirt, unbuttoning the next three buttons, barely exposing her lacy underwear.

“Your face is the least of your problems, Munson.” she breathed out with a soft cough. He hummed, the sickly sweet drink from the party that was pulsing through his veins clouding his otherwise rational thoughts.

“Please, enlighten me.” he brushed his cold rings over the side of her neck, earning a barely audiable gasp.

“You…talk too much…” she mumbled, leaned back against his chest and laid her head on his shoulder. He was the one to shiver this time. He nudged her burning cheek with his cold nose, making her sigh with relief at the sensation. Every movement was like a simmering brand burned into their skin.

“You’ll regret this tommorow, Eddie. You’re out of your mind.” she whispered, a hot tear escaped her eye and ran down her cheek, dropping in his nose. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, inhaling her airy perfume.

“You tell me I talk too much?” he whispered and ghosted his lips over hers, finally cracking her self-control.

She smashed their lips together, smudging her burgundy lipstick over his skin in the process. She whimpered slightly when he snaked his hand around her chest, slipping past the shirt to touch her breast. Their intoxication only amplified the drowning sensation that flodded their senses, both out of breath, the pain of their teeth clashing together and bitten lips overwhelming every other feeling in their bodies until there wasn’t anything else left.

Only them.

When they separated to take a breath, Maia softly giggled and wiped his red lips with her sleeve, doing the same to herself so she’d get rid of the annoying lipstick. When she leaned back in though, he stopped her. She involuntarily pouted, feeling like a little child being scolded by this innocent gesture.

Another picture flashed in front of his eyes. It was her disgusted and betrayed face staring at him as she woke up next to him.

“I’m so sorry, halfling…I’m sorry, we can’t do this.” he whispered, forcefully shutting his eyes closed. She shook her head in confusion.

“Wh…what? Did…did I do something wrong or-“

“Nononono sweetheart, I’m sorry, I can’t…you’re drunk, I…we can’t do this, I can’t take advantage of you like this.” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

“But…” she whimpered.

“No, I’m…fuck, I’m sorry halfling, I shouldn’t have started this in the first place…I promise we’ll continue this when we’re sober, okay? I promise, if you feel the same way tommorow morning, we’ll continue…okay?”

She just wordlessly nodded and let the tears fall down her cheeks, her drunken brain functioning only on basic orders. They just sat on the throne in silence, their breathing calming down in sync as he hugged her around the waist tightly, holding her like a little plushie to help him fall asleep. She stared on the ceiling, her mind slowly shutting off, the alcohol and adrenaline exhausting her.

・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・

A loud banging on the playing table woke them up. Maia curled up in a ball on Eddie’s lap during the night, his arms tightly hugging her whole body, his messy hair tickling her face as he rested on her shoulder. They both jumped, gasping loudly at the awful noise. The janitor was standing by the table with a broom on his hand, furiously huffing when they turned at him.

Maia realized her shirt was open, so she quickly buttoned it up before he could notice, her wide eyes scanning the room for any signs of something that could put them in trouble. Eddie took a bit longer to wake up properly, jumping again when he noticed the angry chubby man staring at them.

“The fuck are you two doing in here?” he exclaimed, clearly feeling the weird tension in the air.

“Sorry Gus, I left my keys at home and didn’t have anywhere else to sleep, so I crashed here.” she barely whispered, hopping off Eddie’s lap and quickly jogged to her leather jacket.

She realized she was still wearing the ridiculous velvet cape so she swiftly took it off and put the jacket on, giving the janitor her best apologizing smile. He squinted at her and moved his judgemental gaze to Eddie, who raised his hands in defense.

“I was drunk, so I passed out.” he simply stated.

The janitor rolled his eyes and scoffed, turning his back at them and walking out of the room.

“You’re getting detention for this, hope you’re aware, assholes.” he spat over his shoulder, closing the door behind him with a loud bang. They both exhaled in sync, both running a hand through their messy hair.

“Shit…do you…remember anything that happened here?” Eddie questioned silently and rubbed his eyes, scowling when he noticed the smudged eyeliner on his fingers. She cleared her throat and stretched so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

Of course she remembered. Every movement of every muscle in his body.

“Well, I forgot my keys, that’s for sure…I remember kind of…shifting around in my sleep, but…that’s it…guess we passed out.”

She wouldn’t bear the feeling of rejection. She wouldn’t survive it.

Eddie shakily exhaled and slowly nodded, cracking his knuckles.

“Same. I wonder what was in that disgusting pink water I was pouring down my throat the whole night, I don’t remember a thing.” he chuckled, his pounding head trying to aid him in his lies.

He could still feel the taste of her lips on his tounge, as if she’d never left his mouth.

Maia quickly looked around the room and clutched the cape in her fist, forcing on a smile.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in detention, my lord.” she insincerely giggled and gave him a small wave, closing the door behind her. Eddie sighed deeply and put his head into his palms.

“See you in detention, princess.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

Tag list: @kik51199 @preciousbabypeter @sebby-staan @sleepysl0th03

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mamashima · 2 years

Text

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 | EPISODE ONE

synopsis | You’re looking to forget the weight of the world for an evening, and luckily, so is Katsuki.

cw | pwp, strangers to lovers, dom!bakugou, brat!y/n, lil tsundere!y/n, alcohol, exhibitionism, manhandling, choking, daddy!calling, condescension, degradation ‘n praise whiplash. MINORS DNI, this is an 18+ blog.

song | Shameless, The Weeknd

wc | 5.8k

“Under the beautiful moonlight, there remains no ugly reality.”

— Mehmet Murat Ildan

THE BAR SMELLS of whiskey and dirt.

Taking a seat at the stool, you stifle a grimace as the counter sticks to your open palms. Gross. Bars, clubs—any public place that doesn’t require a strict RVSP list—have never been your thing, not alone at least. This one is particularly dingy despite the four-star rating on Yelp. It has low lighting that saturates the room in molasses and stools that look like they should swivel but don’t. Heavy metal rattles the walls and the pool tables, with shouts and the rare clink of pool balls to fill the rare silence.

There are too many people out tonight. The chaos from work buried itself in the marrow of your bones and followed you all the way here, weighing you deep into the seat like you’re made of lead. It’s been a long day, and if you have to sacrifice quality for fast and hard liquor, then so be it.

Tonight, the goal is to get shitfaced and forget this poisoned world ever existed in the first place.

“Thanks,” you mutter. Your hands are on the glass in an instant. After requesting the hardest thing they have, the bartender slides this concoction of whatever the fuck into your lap. Lifting it to your nose, you gently shake the cup, watching the brown-ish liquid whirlpool before quickly recoiling at the strong stench. Perfect.

You take it in one swig. It singes your throat like liquid fire, but then it hits your belly, and your body goes warm. The bartender’s got an eye on you, and when you send her a thumbs up, she slides you another round.

Once the second drink settles, your senses expand to the edges of the room. The scent of cigars radiates off the Suits seated in booths. The stifling cologne of a man a few seats down the bar burns more than the alcohol does, but you learn to ignore it. He’s talking—slurring—to a girl interested enough to give him what he wants, but there’s a look implying she wishes she had something, someone, better to do. Your head curls right to snatch your third glass of the night. In the corner of your eye, you see a group of kids who definitely look under twenty-one but just above eighteen, chugging beers and downing shots like it will get them to heaven. You chuckle when the redhead gags at the putrid taste of Titos and look down at your own cup of hell. He’ll get used to it.

As you’re silently recovering from your third drink, something else floats into the frame. It’s the smell of brown sugar and smoke—enough that you wonder if it’ll char your lungs. Eventually, the burning smell takes the form of a person with a full blond head of hair, and he slides into the chair on your immediate left despite the surplus of open seats. You click your tongue. Great, here we go.

“That seat could be taken, you know,” you say gruffly. It’s hard to hear, and part of you thinks there’s no way he can hear you over this music. Or maybe, it’s hope—he hasn’t said a word to you, after all. The man lifts an thin unamused eyebrow as you take in his expensive business suit. It’s all black, no wrinkles. The fool even takes the time to take his jacket off, fold it, and set it on the chair next to him. And to think you were the one out of place.

“Is it?”

You huff, and it’s enough noise to give him his answer. No, it’s not.

“Then this shit’s mine,” he shrugs, redirecting his attention to the bartender. You toss your eyes at his insolence. “I’ll take what she’s got.”

The woman working the bar snorts, and the exchange is casual enough to make you wonder if he’s a regular. She asks if he’s sure. You see a lick of hesitation.

“Here, try the rest of mine. It’s barely a half shot, anyway,” you insist. These are instigating words, but that’s the point, because men love their egos, and you smell that he’s got a big one. Turning to the bartender, you lift a relaxed hand to get her attention, “Get me another, if you could.”

You don’t hear her response as a great big choke cuts through all the screaming, all the rock music, and all the shuffling, and the world comes to a still. There’s a splash of something lukewarm **on your forearm, and when you turn around, you see the stranger's nice white dress shirt covered in caramel colored liquor, his face skewed like he just ate something sour.

“Moonshine. You’re fuckin’ insane.”

You break out in a series of giggles, patting his back as he dabs at his cheeks with a napkin. His shirt is absolutely ruined, doused in splotches of brown, dying some parts more than others. He reeks of alcohol. Just absolutely radiates it.

“So that's what I’m drinking,” you chuckle, looking down at your cup. You swirl what’s left in your cup, containing a small film of what’s probably just his backwash. He swats your comforting hand away, and you recoil like a rejected cat. “No wonder it burns so much.”

When the stranger doesn’t say anything, you look up. You didn’t have time to predict a reaction but figured you’d be at the receiving end of a long string of curses at least. Silence feels so much worse **than expected, **but that’s what you you’re met with, along with a set of carmine eyes that you can’t quite read. He looks down at his newly cow-pattered outfit before popping the ruined cuffs, rolling the sleeves. At first, you think he’s about to throw a bitch fit, or swing, but instead, he simply holds out a hand.

“Katsuki Bakugou.”

You take it, and his palms engulf your own. Something tells you this night is gonna get a whole lot more interesting.

“Y/N.”

“What’s your middle name, Katsuki Bakugou?”

“Will you stop sayin’ my full fuckin’ government,” he growls. Despite the humidity, his hands remain tucked tight into his pockets with the jacket slung over his forearm. The Washington monuments glow when the sun sleeps, bathing you both in a soft gold against the cool silver moon. “’Nd I don’t got one, so.”

“What?” You choke, walking the line of Lincoln’s Reflecting Pool with your arms held out in a T. It’s an unsteady surface and liquor only makes your feet unsteadier, but you manage. You’d rely on his watchful eye, but his pace is just as crooked as yours. “That’s so sad.”

“I’m Japanese. We don’t have middle names, you uncultured swine.”

You bite back, glaring holes in his left temple, “You’re uncultured.”

Katsuki snorts. Rolling his eyes, he jumps a few steps ahead, and you notice he skips all the cracks like a kid. Fucking weirdo.

In your observational bliss, your foot misses the ledge. Dirty water soaks the tip of your shoe, but Katsuki catches your flailing hand before you can do any further damage. He reels you in tight, sending all your weight straight into his chest with a heavy grunt. He stumbles a little but still breaks your fall as your cheek gets smushed into his gut haphazardly. Your first thought: he’s really warm.

Katsuki doesn’t let go. It feels like, in his drunken mind, if he releases, you’ll instantly plummet to your death…but you don’t ask him, either. His hands are hot, borders on clammy. Part of you knows you’d think it’s gross if there wasn’t alcohol in your veins, but instead, you melt. The moon’s glimmer holds you two together like glue, a silver-shaded beam of hypnosis that makes you trip on your thoughts more than you would off the alcohol.

Katsuki’s the first to break out of the spell.

“You good?” He asks, clearing his throat. Once you’re finally standing straight enough to balance on your own two feet, you nod, missing the warmth the second he pulls away.

“Chilling. You good?”

It’s a deflection, but Katsuki grins anyway, sharp canines flashing in the monument light.

“Never been better.”

A hot summer breeze caresses your face and tickles the trees, just enough to hide the burn of the discomfiting heat spreading across your nose. Your eyes float to his feet, where his nice suit jacket lays in a black heap on the dirty ground. “You dropped your jacket.”

He’s been carrying it all night, and yet, he doesn’t notice his favorite thing is lying in a pile of filth until you point it out. Katsuki clicks his tongue, curses under his breath. Bending down, he plucks it up with a delicate finger, skillfully avoiding the parts that touch the ground in the process. With a grimace, he chucks it over his shoulder and onto his already dirtied shirt.

“Guess I’ll let it slide,” he grumbles, like dropping his suit jacket is an offense that warrants death. He takes a few steps towards the Lincoln Memorial. You walk in his shadow, eyes straining as they adjust to the monument's sudden light. Katsuki hangs between pillars before finally stepping inside, neck-craning to look at the entirety of the statue with Lincoln's white marble eyes staring back at him.

“It’s huge,” you gasp. You’ve been in DC for barely a year, and all the flying your job requires doesn’t give you much time to explore your own city. Sure, you’ve seen the memorial on a five-dollar bill, through photos and videos, but seeing it is a different ball game.

“80 feet,” Katsuki says, and your eyes bulge before they sink back into their sockets. Once the shock subsides, you snort.

“Nerd.”

Gravity snatches the blond’s jaw. Narrowing his eyes your way, Katsuki knocks you in the shoulder with his own. “It’s a popular fuckin’ fact, ‘m not a—”

“Nerd? You are, but it’s okay.”

Katsuki’s mouth gapes like a fish while he looks for the right words but can’t quite find them, before finally giving up in a huff. He swats your growing grin away.

“You’re fuckin’ annoying.”

“I’m fucking right,” you edit, tucking your hands behind your back while spinning into his line of sight. “But if ‘annoying’ is a synonym for ‘right,’ then I guess you’re onto something.”

He rolls his eyes, but they’re not quite trained on you, instead focused on the space between your crown and Lincoln’s great big knee. Katsuki’s fighting a smile, the tips of his lips twitching but never failing. He strong-faces it, leaning over to say, “Bad joke.”

“Damn,” you click your tongue and deflate for show. “Tough crowd.”

The room swells with silence. Katsuki clears his throat, sniffs, scratches the back of his neck. You’re determined to burn him with your irises alone, staring him down until he garners the reaction you expect. Fucking nothing.

And finally, he breaks.

It starts as a snort. But a simple exhale of the chest cavity quickly spins into baritone howls. His laugh bounces off the polished walls until you’re bathed in an ethereal melody, the sweet song of him swimming under your arms and curling around your ears. Katsuki keels over and has to place his hands on his knees for support. You find yourself smiling along with him before you can stop, and it’s stupid, really.

The intention you set before the night began quickly becomes a burden—that whatever happens tonight, stays in tonight.

“That’s what makes you laugh? Weirdo.”

“I—” Katsuki pushes himself upright, chest ballooning with an inhale before he can finish. “Fuck you. You’re the weird one, drinkin’ Moonshine alone at a shitty bar in that.”

You look down at your outfit and pout. With outstretched arms, you spin to show it off your pretty dress, saying, “What’s wrong with my fit? I happen to think I look great, thank you very much.”

“Mmm...” Katsuki mutters and takes a step forwards. You let him close the distance. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

“That...I think I look good?” You snort, lifting yourself higher the closer he gets. Your aura feels like it's collapsing in on itself even though he looks just over six feet, but something about his conviction makes you want to shrink in retaliation. Your brain rebels. You won’t.

“That you look good,” he growls, and you can’t tell if the rising goosebumps are from the cool pillar against the small of your back or the drop in his voice, but you suddenly realize you’ve been put in a position you can’t get out of. One you don’t want to get out of. “Y’see a pretty girl chugging whiskey at a bar, and strangers might get curious.”

“Strangers like you?” You quip, tilting your head just enough for it to remain sublte. Katsuki huffs. You press a hand to his chest. “I know when a stranger isn’t worth my time, trust me.”

Katsuki lifts a blond, practically invisible eyebrow, and his heady gaze infused with a hint of vanity. His head gently recoils in light amusement, “And ‘m worth your time.”

You nod, and he presses forward, “How?”

You sit and think. The night replays over the backs of your eyelids like a film on a reel, and with a click of your tongue, you start. “You treat your jacket like it’s a baby, y—”

“Wha—I don’t fucki—”

“Let me finish,” you interject, and his shoulders drop with a meek fine. “One, yes you do. You folded it and put it on a chair.”

“Where was I supposed to put it?” He grunts, eyeing the dirtied thing on his shoulder. You trace the straight line, and your finger impulsively flicks it until it drops to the floor with a depressing splat. Katsuki watches it all the way down, foxy eyes widening till their round in shock. His head whips to you.

“You did not.”

“I did,” you say, watching his movements carefully. His entire body tenses under your fingertips. “And you’re going to leave it there.”

“No ‘m not!”

Katsuki practically squeals. Throws a tantrum. But you bring him back down, catching him by his collar before his nails can skim the seams and pull him close. Not too close, but just until that you can feel his breath against your top lip. Your grip on his nice shirt stays strong enough to wrinkle in the long run, but there’s no way he cares, not with the way he’s looking at you. His hands find your hips with innate ability and soon, he’s fitted against you like a puzzle piece against a pillar on the Lincoln Monument.

“Yes, you are.”

“The dartboard,” Katsuki grunts. His cheeks are dusted pink, and he slams his empty glass on the bar counter. The poor thing has suffered round after round after round of abuse from the both of you, and impressively, the delicate cups haven’t bruised a bit.

“...The dartboard,” you nod, following along, albeit slowly. The liquor makes your tongue move slower than you’d like, but you get your point across, eyes narrowing at the circular thing like Katsuki Bakugou’s your new best friend and the board just pissed him off.

“I want it.” He says, and you hum in confirmation. Somehow, you’re the first to push away from the counter and stumble towards the thing, knocking into plenty of chairs on your trip over.

“Merry Christmas!” You point at it. Katsuki vehemently disagrees.

“It’s April, dammit!”

“Christmas in April!” You decide with a clap, and suddenly you’re handing Katsuki a dart. You’ve...moved spots, but to get the projectile you would’ve had to move, and then move again, and again, an—this is...oh, you need to sit down.

It’s like God kicked Mother Earth in the ass, and suddenly, she’s spinning much faster than you need her to. You swear you’re moving quickly but the world moves so slow, it’s hard to tell. Figuring out how to sit in a normal chair proves much harder than you remember.

“Good god, you’re fucked,” Katsuki snorts, followed by a school-boyish giggle that implies he’s not too far behind. You shoo him away, relaxing as much as you can on a pile of wood and placing your arms on the cool table because yes, it helps.

“Go, go,” you dismiss with a weak wave. The blond just weighs the dart in his hand, and for a split second, you think: sharp object, drunk guy, bad idea. But it’s a fleeting thought, and soon you're cheering him on as much as you can manage (not much). Katsuki licks his flushed lips before his arm reels with the dart in hand. You watch his back flex before it disappears under the bunched material of his shirt. Another fleeting thought. His arm rockets forward and his hand flicks, and the dart sticks in the center of the board with a thwap. His accuracy warrants a round of applause, so you give it such.

“If you ever become a superhero, please go by Dart Boy.”

Katsuki’s upper half turns around, unimpressed. He rolls his eyes, muttering, “’Course that’s what she fuckin’ gets from my talent.”

“Your talent, o-ho-ho my bad,” you snort, lifting both hands in the air. Katsuki stomps over to pick up another dart, huffing all the way back to you. “I didn’t know I was talking to Dart Boy! Can I get an autograph?”

“Y’know, if you weren’t so cute, I’d knock your teeth out,” Katsuki grunts, pulling up a chair. He drops a new dart on the table. “Try it.”

“Threatening to beat a woman? Wow,” you shoot him a look, snatching the dart off the table. You knock over your chair in the process of getting up, but you concur it’s whatever. You leave it.

“I—you know that wasn’t what I fuckin’ meant.” He tries, but you wave him off. He’s background noise now.

“No, no, I know the type of person you are, Katsuki Bakugou,” you shame, pointing his way as you walk with your back towards the dartboard. Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Let's see if I can beat you at your stupid little game.”

“Good fucking luck.”

“Don’t need it,” you circle your arms as a warm-up. Katsuki rests his chin between his thumb and pointer finger, watching with an arrogant expectancy—and you deflect it with a chest puff of your own. Spinning on your heel, you squint your eyes just as he did. Wrapping your fingers around the dart, it’s heavier than expected, and you chuck it towards the board. It sticks. To the wood.

Slow-paced claps fill your ears. As you turn, you see Katsuki with an apathetic look on his face, golden watch jingling with every impact. He suppresses a chuckle, forcing his lips into stability to say, “Ten outta motherfuckin’ ten.”

You curl a lip. Flip him off.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, you will,” Katsuki passes on your left to yank the dart out. You glare at him the entire way, watching as he struggles to drunkenly pull the dart out of the wood. Finally, it gives, and Katsuki takes a few steps back for balance. He turns around with a wink. “Later.”

Katsuki hands you the dart for a second try. You snatch it, praying your second throw will be miles better than your first. “You’re an idiot to think I’d sleep with you. I have standards, you know.”

“Right,” Katsuki hums, resting against the table. He folds his arms across his chest, and his dress shirt folds underneath it, the buttons slowly letting go as the night goes on. “Stop fuckin’ stallin’, dumbass. C’mon.”

You chuck it. Blindly.

The dart digs straight into the ground. It’s much worse than you’re first run, and the depressing thunk of a metallic needle against wood fills the room and makes your chest sink. Fuck. Fuck.

“Holy shit, you’re really fuckin’ bad at this,” Katsuki barks with a shake of his head. He walks over to pick up the dart again, tossing it in the air before it sinks back into his palm, quite gracefully despite his wayward state.

“Shut the fuck up, Katsuki Bakugou.”

“Quit sayin’ my last name, and I just might,” he snorts, holding the cursed thing for you to take. This time, you don’t. “Try again.”

“No, Asshole,” you huff. It’s a juvenile reaction, decorated with a pout and the cross of your arms. Katsuki eyes you like a child, too, rolling his eyes before forcing the dart into your hands.

“Yes,” he insists gruffly, sliding behind to grab your wrist. You let him, guiltily enjoying the heat against your back and his breath down your neck. It curls, tickles on its way up until your olfactory system swells with the distinct smell of whiskey. “Move your fuckin’ finger.”

You don’t have much of a chance though, because by the time his words register, Katsuki’s already prying at them. You’re holding the dart like a pencil, and he adjusts until it’s sat in between your thumb and index fingers. He cranks your arm until it’s essentially at ninety degrees. You feel like a fucking puppet.

“’Kay, now look at the board.”

“I am,” you say through grit teeth. You sound impatient—are impatient. Katsuki’s hand slides to your hip for stability, the other one remaining on your wrist. He sighs.

“Fuckin’ relax, christ,” he growls, adjusting your body until your chest is facing the panel. “Focus on the middle—the red dot.”

You do, trying to ignore the fact that he’s pressing closer. You can feel his chest balloon against your back, every little finger on your hip, and you’re stuck silently cursing the alcohol for making you oh so hyperaware.

“Shoot.”

Katsuki’s fingers hang loose around your wrist while you do all the work, chucking the dart across the room with as much weight as you can. It sticks, not quite on the red dot, but definitely sits somewhere in the green. Yes. Yes.

“Fuck you, Katsuki Bakugou!” You squeal with two hands in the air, twirling on your heels to face his way. You’re immediately met with his chest, and looking upwards requires extra effort, but it’s worth it to see the look on his face. Your thumb and index finger paste a big fat L above your forehead.

“I fuckin’ helped you,” he groans, looking to the sky. You just continue to snicker, poking him in the gut until he swats your hand away.

“I won, I won, I won,” you sing, but Katsuki’s not even listening. He’s waltzing back over to the bar—to get what you assume is another drink.

Katsuki tastes like peaches and moonshine.

His lips are soft, formless against your own. He gives you space to lead the way but cradles your jaw between his index finger and thumb. As his grip tightens, he pulls you to the edge of your toes. You whimper at his lack of enthusiasm, hands sliding towards the nape of his neck to pull him closer. Katsuki stifles a smile behind your lips.

“What?”

As the gravel in his voice skids against your lips, you realize, hideously, that you’re wrapped around his being like it’s his finger. The only distance Katsuki’s broken is the one between your kissers, and it’s frustrating how much you miss him already.

You clear your throat and say, “Nothing.”

“Nah, that was definitely somethin’,” Katsuki purrs, and the grip on your chin tightens. The hand on your face trails down your neck, ghosting over your collarbones until it finds solace on your waist, picking at whatever’s required to get to bare skin. “Somethin’ that makes me wonder what’ll happen if I push you further...”

Suddenly, your hips jerk forward—Katsuki presses his abdomen against yours, arching your back, so your shoulders rest comfortably against a marble pillar. The hand on your face finds its way to your wrists, pinning them above your head, and all you can think is Poor Abe Lincoln.

“Katsuki Bakugou, we are in public,” you hiss, but it’s hard to mute the giddy high running through your veins. Finally, someone who’ll give you what you want.

“You started it,” he grunts, preoccupied with hiking your dress above your hips and pressing a leg between your thighs. You playfully claw at his chest in protest but don’t put up much of a fight, pausing when a glittering silver chain bounces off your fingertips to fall out of his shirt.

“...A dog tag?”

“You want me to stop t’answer that question?” Katsuki snorts. He jerks your hips forwards again, but this time you have friction, and it stalls your thought process a lot more than earlier. “And I told’ya to stop fuckin’ calling me that.”

“Fine then. What do you want me to call you?” You huff, stifling the urge to give in solely due to Katsuki’s blatant hauteur. You’re insistent on breaking this man down to primal instinct. No matter how much you caress his pretty face he doesn’t crack, but you’re still convinced all you need is time.

Katsuki hums to himself at your question, licks his lips. You feel like prey under his red hot eyes, and his gaze only intensifies as it rakes downwards, fixating on your exposed panties. Your fingers twitch to cover yourself up, forgetting that they're stuck to the pillar for a moment, and Katsuki chuckles at your incapacity, his lips ghosting your ear.

“How’s Daddy sound?”

“Sounds like you’d be into that type of thing,” you tease, noting the way he sways, if ever so slightly. Katsuki snuffs out the fire before it can even build, but if you're anything, it's determined.

“What are you, a psychologist?” He snorts. You roll your eyes, and would cup his face if you could.

“I thought we weren’t talking lives?” You quip back, and Katsuki’s face falls with a silent touché. “I’m not a psychologist—it’s not to tell when a man has mom-mommy issues—s-shit—“

Katsuki growls, lighting your hip on fire. The casual pace you kept morphs into a faster, more weighted one, and he’s grunting with every tug forwards.

“And it ain’t hard to tell when a girl got daddy issues, either.” Finally, Katsuki caves and frees your wrists. Your hands rush to his chest for leverage while his chooses to clumsily undo his belt and zipper. It’s a hard feat to accomplish with all the bucking hips and heavy breathing but he manages, ripping the buckle out of the way and tugging down his pants until they bunch under his waistline. Getting desperate, you note. “We doin’ this or are we just gon’ argue half-naked?”

Rolling your eyes, you brazenly reach for his cock through his boxers. As a light blush rises on Katsuki’s face, so does the heat in yours, but he mutes his with a sharp inhale brushing off the casual roll of his eyes.

“I’d prefer to argue fully naked.”

Katsuki takes the bait, and you can feel the pressure of his hot red eyes following your fingers as they curl, flicking each button till his silk dress shirt slides right open. It shimmies down his bulky arms, and with a flick of his wrist, it joins the coat on the dusty marble floor.

“How’s that?” You offer. He pauses to think on it, shrugging.

“I think,” Katsuki starts, picking at the right strap of your dress until it slips down your shoulder. The fabric is light, barely a whisper against your skin, but the goosebumps rise regardless, “That we need to take this off.”

Your left strap falls with a brush of his thumb, and soon, your dress is being hung up by your elbows. Dropping your arms, the silk thing skims your thighs before Katsuki aids your foot through, then the other. Soon you’re greedily shoving at his pants and give up when they go taut around his thighs. His boxers follow suit. Katsuki shivers against the cool summer moonlight.

“So,” you swallow and try your best to stuff down any feeling of intimidation, but it’s hard not to. With each tilt of his head, you see a new angle of him, a new side of him. It’s weird, and maybe it’s just the rest of the alcohol talking, but he reminds you of a light prism. Every time he moves, shudders; there’s a new shade of him. It’s metaphorical. You dunno. You think. “How’re we doing this?”

“Mmm...” Katsuki hums, raking his eyes up and down your being like you’re on the menu for tonight. “How do you want to do this?”

You think. Access...isn’t really a problem, yet it is. You wouldn’t love to have your back mauled by the ribbed pillar, so you twirl on your heel. Pressing your ass against his cock, Katsuki shivers before assuming his place—closer, with a hand on your waist.

“How's this?” He sighs. As Katsuki’s hot breath slides down your spine, his cock slides between your thighs. You nod, and that seems to be enough for him, his free hand reaching for yours to pin them at eye-level. “Place your head against ‘em.”

It’s...weirdly soft, a comforting reminder that he’s somewhat looking out for you. You have the option of either looking at Abe Lincoln’s feet or looking at the Reflecting Pool with the Washington Monument and moon hanging above it, so...Reflecting Pool it is.

“Lemme know ‘f y’need me to stop,” he says, but his words are starting to slur the closer he gets. The tip of his cock press against your heat, and you inhale in preparation, disappointed when he doesn’t move any further—until he saddles his hand around your neck to crank it his way. “’M gonna need your words for this one, Princess.”

You lean into it, melt into his touch, “Yes Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

Katsuki wastes no time in pushing further, pressing himself as deep as he can before he notices the tension in your back. He moves slowly but doesn’t give you a period to relax until he’s filled you up to the brim. You feel so full and yet not overwhelmingly so, and finally, he stills. You exhale for what feels like the first time in forever and Katsuki convulses if only for a moment, both of you forcing your stay in limbo to last a bit longer. But nothing lasts forever, and when you give Katsuki the okay to move, boy, does he fucking move.

“Kat—wait!”

You yelp, the grip on your pillar slipping the further your hands sweat. The dog tag around his neck sings with every thrust and you have half a mind to grab it, but don’t. Not yet, at least.

“What?” He huffs, and there’s that arrogance in his voice you hoped to defeat by now. “Can’t take it?”

You try to hide the whimper but fail miserably. Katsuki catches it but doesn’t acknowledge a damn thing, “F-Funny joke. A little warning would’a been nice ‘s all.”

Katsuki hums to himself. You crane your neck in attempt to read what he’s thinking but it’s impossible to tell, the only legible emotion being lust in his furrowed eyebrows and swollen bottom lip. Dragging his hips back, he begins to build a steady rhythm that you can lean into. You claw at the ribbed pillar, white knuckling the damn thing until sweat gives you no choice but to adjust your grip, and Katsuki accidentally jerks you forewords so hard your cheek smushes into the poor thing.

“Shit, sorry,” Katsuki grunts, and you catch the hint of entertainment mixed along with it. He gropes for your neck, crushing your windpipe not too much but not too little. Muffling a groan behind a bitten lip, you blindly reach back until you feel soft blond hair cutting between your knuckles and pull.

“Fuck!” Katsuki yelps, much too loud for the public environment you’re in. You can’t help but smile to yourself though, proud that your little experiment actually worked. Katsuki’s dick twitches as the painful pleasure falls down his spine in frissons. He tries to claw your hands out of his hair but your grip only gets tighter. He whimpers—and you’re fucking grinning.

“What’s wrong?” You huff, breath embrarassingly labored, “Can’t take it?”

Katsuki breathes a chuckle that reads you wish, before he’s also shoving a fist in your hair to crank your head back.

“Y’know, sex is all psychology,” he grunts in your ear. His breath slides down your neck until it pools in your collarbones, forcing the goosebumps to rise above your skin. “If ya do somethin’ I didn’t ask for, there’s a high fuckin’ chance you’d like it twice as much.”

You chuckle with an utterly fucked out look on your face and Katsuki shoots you a gummy grin in return. The grip on your hair gives in favor of sliding down your neck, your sides, until it curls toward your stomach. His thumb finds your clit and wastes no time in rubbing small circles, starting soft to test the waters, before he starts to add more pressure, frustratingly slow.

Katsuki fucks you at a brutal pace. Wrapping his lips around your shoulder, he anchored and bites down on the base of your neck. You yelp, clawing at his shuddering stomach while your other hand supports you against the pillar. As you dig your heels into the polished floor, your legs start to quiver. You‘re close, but part of you wants to hold on, stay in the heart of this moment for just a little longer.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” Katsuki breathes, but you didn’t need him to tell you to know. Your wetness slicks your inner thighs to follow every quick thrust with a squelch. Katsuki removes the hand on your clit to stuff it in your mouth. The sweet tang of you bursts across your tastebuds, but quickly, the fingers are gone, prodding again until Katsuki’s raising them to his own lips.

He hums at the taste, curling a pink tongue in between knuckles before they return to your clit. Katsuki’s chest sticks to your back from sweat but you couldn’t want him any closer.

“Katsu—Kats—“ you try to warn, but he doesn’t listen. If anything, he goes faster. Katsuki knows, you figure, but’ll skip around the bush like the annoying bitch he is.

“Awe, she’s even givin’ me a nickname,” he coos, tucking his chin into your neck. His lips picker to peck behind your ear between grunts. “Y’gonna cum, Pretty?”

“S-Shut up,” you pant with a bitter mouth. Somehow, this has become a competition you don’t want to lose, but right now, you’re destined for it. But suddenly, a wave of heat runs through your body before it quickly goes numb. It only lasts for a moment, because soon, you’re veins light up and you’re cumming around his cock.

Katsuki let’s put a short, breathless chuckle as he fucks you through your orgasm, eyebrows knit in arousal. He’s most definitely close, you note, and once you start matching his rhythm with your own hips, it doesn’t take Katsuki long to fall of the edge.

And, yeah. Maybe that shitty bar deserves its four star review on Yelp.

#bnha smut #mha smut #bakugo smut #katsuki smut #katsuki bakugou smut

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insomniamamma · 1 year

Text

Maze: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (Changes AU)

A/n: Same AU as Changes. The unnamed town in this story is fictional, an amalgam of the town my folks grew up in and where a good chunk of my family still lives. Western New York state/northern Pennsylvania. It's basically the ass end of Appalachia. You can smell the benzene leaching up through the soil. This AU is sort of a love letter to that weird ass place. Reader character is childhood friends with Benny and Will Miller.

Warnings: shitty family dynamics. Mentions of alcohol use. Mild injury mentions. Casual sexism. Mentions of drug use. Benny is a menace and needs his own warning. Reader has a douchebag ex named Zach. A very soft kiss.

Hey Squirt!" Says Benny, ducking into the close cavern of the store, smells like cigars and beef jerky. Jerry's in the back making Italian sausage that will melt your face off. He's got a heavy hand with the spices. While you were out in the world, away from this place and this grimy store, the taste of those blistering sausages never quite left you. Nothing you picked up at Vons or Whole Foods or any of the specialty shops Zach took you too (when he deigned to do anything so plebeian as actually shopping for his own goddamn groceries) could equal what Jerry made in the back room, blood smirched apron and greasy paper hat. "Hey Benny," "What're you doin for Halloween?" You shake your head. "Nothing. Why?" "Me and the boys are gonna enter the costume contest out at Fox Grove. We're doin a group costume. Will's thinking Wizard of Oz." "Fox Grove?" "You know, the old gravel pit. Some out of state chuckleheads built a luxury campground around it. People get married there and shit."

"God. That's bizarre." The gravel pit had been full of water since before you were born. Some previous owner had stocked it with fish and built a handful of cabins which stood empty, sagging into the weed choked banks. When you were little your Pa and your uncle and the Millers would go there and fish, styrofoam cups of worms bought from the store you work in now. As an adult you understand that it was likely an excuse for the men folk to hang out and drink beer and watch the sun set behind the trees and get out of the house for a second.

You and Benny and Will would cast out into the gently shifting water and watch your bobbers like hawks for the slightest bit of movement. Mostly bluegills and channel cats, the occasional walleye all taken off the hook by the nearest adult and plopped back in the water. It doesn't occur to you until years later that you were likely trespassing the whole time. Once Benny got hooked through the web of his hand and panicked, and your Pa pushed the barb through and clipped it off with a pair of needle nose pliers he kept in his tackle box, quick and neat as a magic trick. You're alright Big Ben. Wash the fish-slime off, and we'll put a Band-Aid on it. "I know, right?" Says Benny, "They've been doing a big Halloween bash about five years running. What do you say? Pope's too ugly to be Dorothy." "If I'm Dorothy, what're you going to be?" "Toto! Duh. C'mon it'll be fun. Fish is gonna be the scarecrow." Benny grins and you narrow your eyes at him. Benny's been not so subtly poking at you since that night around the fire. He likes you. So? Sooooo. Damn it Ben, I'm not looking to jump into anything right now. Liar. Fuck off. "What do you say, Squirt?" Time off won't be an issue. Mac's General Store and Butcher Shop closes at 7pm sharp, Jerry sends you home with bleeding cuts of meat wrapped in white paper more often than not. "Sounds fun," You say, "I'm in."

You've got to drive to Bradford to find your costume, a Spirit Halloween set up in the old Ames. The shoes aren't included so you sacrifice a pair of ballet flats you found lurking in your old room, a handful of shirts still on hangers, speckled with dust, the dress you wore to junior prom still all shimmery in plastic as if you could step right back into it. Pa finds you dumping red glitter on your glue coated shoes. "This for the costume contest?" "Yeah. We're doing Wizard of Oz. It was Will's idea." You pick up a shoe from the newspaper you laid down to keep the glitter from getting everywhere, and give it a little shake to get the excess off. "Will's gonna be the Tin Man, Benny's gonna be Toto," Pa huffs laughter at that, "Frankie's gonna be the scarecrow--" "I don't like you palling around with that Morales fella." You hunch over your Dorothy shoes and crunch your eyes shut. To Ma and Pa you're always going to be the bad daughter, square peg to the round hole, uppity girl who ran for brighter things, fun and sun and California and look what that got her. You're always going to be sixteen. They take the implosion of your marriage as proof that they were right about everything, but you see how old they've become, the gods of your childhood worn down to ordinary people by time and distance. "Frankie's a nice guy," you say. "He's a druggie," says Pa, "Lost his pilot's license over it. Claire said he used to fly for Delta. He was on his way to being a captain--" As if there weren't all manner of drugs at Zach's corporate retreats. As if you hadn't seen him whooping it up with his buddies, glassy eyed and yapping a mile a minute while you tried to shrink yourself small. Coke was not your thing but that never stopped him. You've got to lay off you'd told him once, and he'd given you a look laced with pity and contempt, I know my limits. As if you hadn't seen him taking mystery pills. Crushed up Adderall would do in a pinch. "Claire said. C'mon Pa, that woman shits from both ends and you know it." He tries to look stern, but you're not wrong. He squeezes your shoulder. "You've had a rough go of it," he says, "Your Ma and I...just be careful."

They come to pick you up. Will's ancient van with it's bad muffler and peeling Miller & Sons logo on the side, a bit of construction and rehab to supplement the refinery job over in Bradford. And when that shits out? Who knows. No one likes to think about it. Benny bounds out of the van and drops to all fours. He's wearing union suit that looks like bad shag carpet circa 1968, pointy pink lined ears on a headband. Collar with a name tag around his neck. Benny makes a big show of sniffing at you and barking. "Down, Toto. Heel." you say. "Let's get a picture." Your Ma is decidedly bad at smart phones but she manages to herd the five of your into a frame and get the shot. Benny makes a snuffling sound and licks your hand. "EEEEEWWW Benny!" And it's like being six again, Benny plopping a fat toad he found into your cupped hands, if he pees on you you'll have warts forever. When she turns the phone to show you, you are laughing, eyes scrunched shut, your two best friends laughing with you. Pope is rolling his eyes as if he somehow expects better from Benny. Frankie is smiling, soft but sad.

Fox Grove is about what you expected. Someone took the old gravel pit and dressed her up. It's actually pretty. The event hall is a huge parody of a functioning barn, all exposed rafters and columns chainsaw carved into animals. Foxes. Wolves. Bears. Owls. All glowing and varnished, old-timey looking strings of Edison lights hanging from the beams. Jack-o-lanterns and votive candles and hay bales everywhere. Zach would roll his eyes so hard over this. You can almost hear him. Look at these people. Fetishizing rural poverty. This is not aspirational it's just sad. His judgment feels like a veneer over everything, like the yellowing of the walls in a smoker's house. "You okay?" Asks Frankie. "Yeah. Why?" "You shivered." "Goose walked over my grave I guess."

"Those son-of-a-bitching kids!" Says Benny, "They had a budget! They had a Gofundme! That ain't fair!" "C'mon," says Pope, "That Xenomorph was pretty impressive." "They used KY Jelly for the slime in the movie," you say, "They had to buy it in bulk. Like, 50 gallon drums of it." "How do you just know these things?" Asks Pope. "I read it somewhere," you say.

"Hey! Let's do the haunted trail!" says Pope. He's the cowardly lion, red bow in his short curls, wire-stiffened tail poking up in an s curve from his butt. Will has sweated off most of his make-up at his point, rivulets of silver streaking down into his beard, crumpled foil hat askew, big red heart hanging around his neck. "You go ahead," says Frankie. He's cute as a button, straw poking out of his flannel shirt, big clumsy patches sewn on grease-stained jeans, his ball cap traded for a Walmart witches hat that he cut down. "You don't want to do the haunted trail?" He shakes his head and won't quite look at you. "I don't like jump-scares," he says. "I don't either. We can do the corn maze," you say. "Yeah?" "Yeah. Let's get some cider first." The corn maze is meant to be family friendly, lit every so often by jack-o-lanterns and LED candles. You have your paper cups of spiced cider, topped with maple whipped cream. You can hear the screams and shrieks from the haunted trail and the soft shirr of wind passing through the corn stalks. It's not meant to be scary, but you find yourself reaching for Frankie's free hand all the same, warm fingers enfolding yours. He squeezes your hand and smiles at you. There is a gazebo set up at the heart of the maze, all glowing jack-o-lanterns and candles in glass jars. You had no idea it was there and neither did Frankie. "Oh wow," he says softly, candle light shining gold in his eyes. "C'mon," you say, tugging him forward into the warm, shifting light. Fairy lights glimmer overhead. The distant purr of a generator and a thick extension cord running off into the dark are the only things that betray the illusion, same source powering the strobes and animatronics on the haunted trail. "This is so pretty!" You fumble in the picnic basket that serves as your purse for the evening (It's not like I can fit in there, said Benny. You'd have to have a picnic basket the size of a Buick said Pope. It's not about movie accuracy it's about the vibes, said Will, making finger quotes.) You pull out your phone and snap a picture of Frankie, face frozen in a half-smile, hands raised in protest. "Let's get one together," you say, and Frankie settles himself on the bench beside you. You hold your phone at arm's length. Frankie drapes his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close and you stiffen briefly. Zach was not about public displays of affection. Not towards the end anyway. Towards the end you were less of a person and more of a ticked check-box. Fancy house? Check. Fancy car? Check. Quiet girlfriend who looks presentable in the photos that circulate on social media? Check. You take the picture but your mind is elsewhere. "Hey," says Frankie, "You okay?" "Yeah. Why?" "You went somewhere else," he says, his arm around your shoulder goes slack. "Sorry," you say, and shake your head, "It's just personal bullshit. Nothing to do with you." When you look at him there's no judgement there. Just concern and warm shifting light reflected in his eyes. "Let's get a silly one, Scarecrow." "Okay Dorothy."

The maze branches off, or you take a wrong turn. You and Frankie find yourselves confronted with a huge tree with spreading branches and a hollow place, probably an old lightning scar, with a carved pumpkin tucked into it, winking candle-light eyes and grinning mouth, all around you the wind stirs the corn and makes it whisper, the giggles of everyone else lost in the maze, the squeals from the haunted trail, all this fills your ears and you squeeze Frankie's hand and he squeezes back, smiles at you so open and kind and you feel yourself smile in return. "Are we lost?" You ask, your eyes finding his, warm and dark and bracketed in crow's feet that deepen as he smiles. "Maybe a little," he says, "I don't really mind." "I don't either." He is lovely in the dim, shifting light, candle-glow and crescent moon rising above the hills. His hands skim up your arms to rest on your shoulders and your hands find their way low around his waist. "Can I kiss you?" He asks, "I mean, if you don't want to--" And you press your lips to his, a little indrawn huff of surprise and then he is kissing you back, slow and soft, cradling your face in his hands. He is gentle, unhurried. He tastes like apple cider. "OH GROSS!" You and Frankie break apart,squinting in the flashlights from a half-dozen phones. A gaggle of kids dressed at Lord of the Rings characters come crashing into your little bit of the maze. "It's a dead end, Gandalf, I think Mordor's that way." You call as they retreat on a raft of scandalized giggles. Frankie chuckles. "Did we really just get cock-blocked by the Fellowship of the Ring? Did that just actually happen?" And the both of you crack up, clinging to each other like you're drowning. Frankie is beautiful when he laughs, eyes crinkled shut, lost to the moment, his laughter reverberates into you, warm rumble in his chest that you feel where you are pressed against him. As your laughter subsides into something manageable you find his arms slung lose around you, his forehead resting against yours. "We should get going," he says, "Before those kids from 'Alien’ show up." You smile at him. "Do you know the way?" "I think so."

#frankie morales x f!reader #changes AU #happy belated halloween #frankie catfish morales x f!reader #triple frontier au

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