#him he loves him—he offers to take him out for martinis and celebration right after he finds evidence that makes him sure Walter didn’t kill | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Note

🎰🔪🧨 with Charlie himself. 🤞🏻

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! 💗

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Slut Machine

Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, Vegas shenanigans Word Count: ~1.5k Emoji Prompt: 🎰🔪🧨 (key words are in bold)

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

… Whose voice is that? Your senses are too hazy yet to process who it was or what he said. You blink your bleary eyes and wake up in an… unfamiliar bed. The sheets are a ridiculous resplendent red—must be a love motel or some shit—there’s a story as to how you ended up here but you find you can’t remember any of it. Sleep was so deep that you feel as if you’re waking from the dead.

When your eyes finally flutter open everything comes flooding back. You’re here in bed with Charlie Motherfucking Hunnam and the sight of his blue gaze and bright white grin gives you a goddamn heart attack.

You cover your face with your hands and groan out loud at just how mortified you are. Recalling how you’d made a clown out of yourself last night when you bumped into this million-dollar movie star. Literally bumped into him—till yesterday you never even knew him—you had just been crushing hard on him for years but he was always a completely unattainable celebrity. A girls’ trip brought you to Sin City; you and your besties were hopping casually from bar to bar, when you had stumbled clumsily straight into Charlie as he stepped out of his car.

You’d simply scurried off in that instant ‘cause he was too damn beautiful in person and your ass was terrified. But then bumped into him again soon after you both got inside. This time you had a full martini glass in hand and spilled its contents all across his shirt and thought you ought to help the man get dried. Decided then you really shouldn’t try to run away and hide.

You’d grabbed a bunch of napkins, dabbing at his chest and abs through the damp fabric as you nervously apologized for what happened. Your spastic wiping motions all across his chiseled muscles weren’t exactly very helpful with the spilled drink situation, as your brain cells were all absent in the face of heaven’s most stunning creation. Charlie said some shit about how bumping into you a second time wasn’t an accident. You were too hypnotized with lust to understand just what he meant.

He joked that you could make it up to him by winning him a jackpot at the slot machines. You told him shyly that the whole gambling thing isn’t quite your scene. Although he didn’t want to pressure you he asked you to indulge him in a night of fun—all kinds of shit you’d never done—let him take you out around Vegas to the wildest places you had never been.

It didn’t make sense that you felt so safe with him but hell you did. You were still sober by the time Charlie was coming onto you and all your girlfriends chanted do it do it do it! And the craziest night of your life began before you even knew it. Took you to his favorite high-stakes casino—then to seats in the front row at a big AEW Dynamite show—and then to some intense axe-throwing place that also offered knives and ninja stars and other shit to throw.

The best part of the night though… was of course when Charlie claimed you as his dirty little ho. The memory of it is vivid as you look up at him now and find that both of you are still stuck in the most mind-blowing afterglow.

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

“No way that was your first fucking time throwing knives?!” Charlie shakes his blonde head in defeat as he walks you back out to the sweet car he drives. “Bitch I swear you’ve been doing this shit your whole life.”

You slide into the passenger seat while erupting in laughter. He’s so fucking butthurt that your aim was better than his because he’s a competitive smug little bastard. “Well I am an assassin specifically hired to take out insanely attractive actors… but I can assure you that wasn’t a factor.”

He closes the driver’s side door, turns the keys and the engine ignites in a smooth thrumming roar. “And by ‘take out’ you mean…?”

“It’s cute of you to ask but dinner and a movie isn’t really the assassin scene.”

He chuckles playfully as he speeds down the street, the night alive with white hot heat, the lights of Vegas bright as ever as the night deepens. “You gonna kill me in my sleep, then?”

“That’d be making it too easy.”

“Babe, don’t tease me. We both know you make it hard.”

Okay so he just pulled that card.

Fight off the burning urge to stare down at his crotch—no doubt the car would crash then if you saw what you’re imagining and know you’d be unable to resist the urge to touch…

You’ve never wanted anyone or anything in all your life so fucking much.

The sudden tension in the air leads him to smooth back his slicked hair, facing the road with a restrained stare. He’s been picking up on signals all night long but doesn’t dare to just assume you want to go there. Tries to come off calm and cool although there’s nothing he wants more. “So, uh—should I just drive you back to your hotel or…?”

The voice that comes out of your mouth is one you barely even recognize. It takes both you and Charlie by surprise, the way your inner slut replies: “That’d be a fucking bore. You know I’d much rather you take me back to yours… so you can fuck me like a filthy little whore.”

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

The swanky penthouse suite in the five-star hotel where Charlie came to stay… it’s a ten-minute drive away.

That’s way too far needless to say.

He needs you right this second, after what you’d gone and said—although the backseat of his car is a fine spot for a good wrecking, there are fifty shades of shit he’d rather do with you spread in the comfort of a big sumptuous bed.

Thankfully there is an extremely tacky-looking love motel just down the road. And it’s the perfect place for you two to check in and let your passions for each other just explode.

It turns out this particular motel has a requirement for guests to stay the night that just might pose a bit of trouble: lovebirds have to pass through the adjoining chapel first and be a lawfully wedded couple.

So you stand uncomfortably at the reception desk and bite your tongue. Happen to know that Charlie tied the knot in Vegas once when he was young; you’ve heard about it in some interviews. You’re sure that he’d have no desire to repeat that same mistake tonight with you.

But this has been a night of wild crazy shit and he’s on fire to continue.

Mostly it’s just that he really needs his dick in you… but there’s a spark that he can feel might someday blossom into something more and he just hopes that you can feel it too.

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

Of course you do. The ceremony is a joke but you’re both giddy as if it’s real by the time you’ve seen it through. There’s just no hope of sanity and self-control between you two.

You’re in a fluffy white confection of a wedding gown that this establishment provided for the night. You look like a big puff of cotton fucking candy and he wants to take a bite. So much about this night seems wrong, but when the heat between the racing of your heartbeats is so strong, it can’t feel anything but right.

Once you’re at last inside your room he throws you down onto the bed and dives headfirst into your gown, and goes to town, taking you high until you die as he goes down.

The dress is so damn big, that you can’t see his flawless face, let alone his glorious dick, and that’s a royal fucking waste. You need to see and touch and taste.

He knows exactly what you need and ravenously rips the poufy fabric off of you. His pearly smile and the bristles of his beard are gleaming with your pussy juices as he climbs on top of you. You long to tell him just how bad you want to blow him—want to tell him that you love him even though you barely know him—it would be fucking insane to say I love you, but of course you can still show him.

Yet he wants to consummate this marriage first, before he lets you satisfy your thirst. You’ll have a lifetime’s worth of days and nights to suck on his big dick if you decide to stay with him and make him yours.

That’s everything you want of course.

This whirlwind of a night that started with a stupid joke about hitting the jackpot at the slot machines… turned into you being his motherfucking wife, after the wildest and best night of your motherfucking life. And now he’s here on top of you about to fuck you and it’s totally outrageously obscene.

You wouldn’t have it any other way ‘cause you know you were put on earth to serve as Charlie Hunnam’s dirty little slut machine.

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parkers-gal · 3 years

Note

Can u do Tom Holland x actress reader where there at the oscars after party and z introduces them readers a new actress ( only been in 4 films ) but has become very popular maybe smut or fluff

requests are open

—

“Why’re you so nervous, babe?” Zendaya was walking by your side, her dress elegant with a sleek slit for her right leg. She was stunning, per usual, and you wish you didn’t feel so anxious about the entire ordeal. “The tough part is over!”

“I know!” You defend yourself from practically nothing. She’s right; the public part is over. All that’s left is the after party, the fun part where celebrities get to let loose out of the eye of the public.

“Look,” She turns to you just as you approach the entrance. “You look amazing. We did good tonight; if anything, they should be nervous for us.” You giggled at her words before nodding. Shaking your shoulders out and exhaling before making your way up the steps. The security guard checks your identification and ticks your name off the list on his clipboard before opening the door for the two of you.

You’re met with a gush of warm air, the outside atmosphere having been cold and bitter, a stark contrast to the party. Zendaya smiles as somebody waves to her from afar. You glance around at the people, all of whom are in groups or sitting in tables clinking glasses and chatting away, mingling like the social butterflies they were taught to be.

Zendaya immediately leads the two of you in one direction. You walk carefully in your expensive shoes, taking her hand as you maneuver around a particularly crowded table. The two of you pass the bar on the way, asking for martinis and bringing them to wherever you were headed.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Your eyes go wide, but her back is already turned before she gets the chance to see. You take a sip from your beverage as you continue following her. You had a feeling she wanted to introduce you to a lot of people tonight, having just won an Oscar despite being in independent films up until this point.

When you finally arrive at a table, you realize she’s brought you to the Spider-man table. You wonder if you’ll meet the Euphoria cast later, and your palms grow sweatier.

“Hey, guys!” She smiles, setting her drink down to hug the many cast members who showed up. “This is Y/N.”

“Of course we know who you are!” Jacob cheers. “You just won a fucking Oscar! Congrats girl!” He smiles and you grow hot, flustered and fluxed. He gives you a hug and you feel a little more at ease.

When you turn your head, a brunette is looking at you, tux fitted snugly on his buff body. Zendaya follows your line of sight before smirking. “Y/N this is Tom Holland. Tom this is Y/n L/N.”

He stands up, offering a handshake. You accept, and he pulls out a chair beside him for you. You smile, thanking him quietly as you sip your martini, sitting in between Tom and Zendaya. That’s a fucking picture.

The conversation goes on; you add as much as you can, having the least experience out of all of them. When somebody eventually directs all the attention on you, you grow hot but still feel a comforting inclusiveness from the bunch.

“I reckon you’ve been growing quite popular.”

“Yeah,” You moved your hair as you nod in agreement at Jacob’s statement. You can see Zendaya grinning from the corner of your eye.

“Do you have any upcoming projects?”

“I bet she’s got a whole lot of them lined up, Jacob,” Tom shoots out with a smirk. You chuckle at them.

“Something like that.”

“Yeah?” You hum. “Better invite me on one ‘f these.” He sits back in his chair, legs spread slightly as he sips cooly from a glass of scotch.

“Guess I should,” You play back, smirking.

“You’re gonna need some way to call me, y’know,” He takes another sip. You hum.

“Got any ideas?”

He mirrors your smirk and you nearly melt.

“I dunno…” You trail off expectancy. Zendaya holds in her laughter.

“You could fuck in the bathroom and then exchange numbers,” She suggests. You nearly choke on your martini. Tom laughs at her bluntness before raising an eyebrow at you.

“You’re taking me up on that suggestion?” You can still feel his gaze on you, his smirk never faltering.

“Only if you’re up for it, love.”

“Puh-lease,” You pull at your bottom lip. “You’re not the only movie star around here anymore.”

You stand up, pulling your dress up to show off some leg. He grabs your hand, and Zendaya can only smirk from her spot.

You made it big.

do u get my pun? bye

#tom holland #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x celebrity!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland smutty #tom holland fluffy #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #tom holland blurb #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut

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fw00shy · 3 years

Text

Prophesy

For @drarrymicrofic prompt, better than fighting. This is a 1.4k "microfic" lmao. You can read on AO3 as well as here.

You know when you look at someone and just know they're no good? Pansy says it's a sure sign that they pissed you off in a past life. I tell her that's about the funniest shite I've ever heard. I don't need divinity to explain myself; I've always been good at reading people. That's just how I am.

Say, Pansy. I knew we'd hit it off the moment I saw her head-to-toe in Prada, her hair as glossy as volcanic glass. That's not fate: that's good taste. And Crabbe, well — that one is a bit odd, I'll give you that. Lord knows why I have a soft spot for him when he's far too much trouble for his worth. Nearly got me killed once or twice, even. Not literally, of course — just at the bars, when he drinks me under the table. Pansy says he's "mine" the same way Theo is "hers"; I've never cared for Theo. He seems the type of guy who holds back while you make a rash of bad decisions. Mind you, Pansy isn't much better either, but at least she's always right there, too, making the same damn mistakes.

Pansy asked me what Theo did to piss me off so much. I made up some lie about how he didn't warn me about a rotted foundation on a house I was trying to sell, but really, I don't know why I think that about Theo. I'm a genius people-reader, alright? And I don't question intuition.

So I'm not worried when Blaise calls me in to meet a high-profile client. Rich geezers, they're all the same. And I've seen this one plenty in the newsstands before, so I've already sussed him out. He always looks like he doesn't want to be there. A bit sullen — dead inside — but harmless enough.

"Seems a trifle odd, doesn't it?" I tell Pansy that morning. "He could've called me direct. My number's on half the park benches around his neighbourhood."

"Maybe he thinks you'll say no," Pansy says. She has that faraway look in her eyes she gets every morning before the caffeine kicks in.

"Why would I say no?" I laugh. "I'd be an idiot to give up a million-pound commission."

She's not paying attention to me. Her eyes bug out and her lips part. It's like she's in a bloody trance. I swear she does it just to piss me off.

I'm still thinking about her ugly mug when I'm going up to Blaise's office. He's got the entire penthouse of the building for him to sign papers, and the elevator ride up the twenty-three floors leaves plenty of time for spacing out. So I'm caught off guard when, coming out of the elevator, Harry Potter smacks straight into me and all I want to do is kill him.

Oh lord, how I want to kill him. My rage builds so strong that I'm taken out of my body. Where I go, I don't know. But when I come to, Potter is gone and I'm sitting across from Blaise.

Blaise has his pitying face on, the one he practices in the mirror. His hands are clasped over the expansive walnut desk (live edge, of course), his suit as green as Potter's eyes.

Potter's eyes. Merlin, I barely remember meeting the man, but it's all I can think of now. That luxurious, deep emerald. Green as everything I ever wanted.

"No," I say. "I won't take him on."

"Dee," Blaise says, gentle. His brows raise.

I'm on the spin bike at the gym trying to blow off some steam when Pansy calls and says, "Blaise is right, you know," her voice tinny above the whirl of bikes around me. "You'll be stupid to walk away from a million pounds over a premonition."

"He's a lying tramp, I swear. I'll put in all this work, set up the listing, stage the place, and then he'll change his mind and walk right out. I know. He's a ticking time bomb."

"So...." she giggles, "what'd you think he did?"

I'm confused for a second, but then I realise she's probably talking about her reincarnation theory again.

"Don't you dare start on this past life shite," I warn. "I'm not in the damn mood."

"Maybe he razed your lands. Ohhh, can you imagine, Harry Potter — a viking? All that fur… mm, and those horned helmets. Sure makes me horny —"

"Jesus, woman. I'm at the gym."

"Okay, okay," she says. "Since you're at the gym, what about this: Harry Potter as naughty, lying George Wickham. And you: the poor Lydia Bennet, tricked into a life of poverty and ridicule for the rest of your days. Embittered, you —"

"That's Jane Austen, that's not even real life," I say before hanging up.

I meet Potter at his Islington townhouse the following Tuesday. He's a capital C celebrity so he's got no regular day job, which makes him horrifying easy to slot into my schedule.

"You're late," I say as soon as he opens the front door. He runs a hand through his tangled hair — soft, I know — and bleats out an apology as I brush past him into the grim, old place. The hallway is long and dark. There's a kitchen in the far west corner overlooking the garden. And upstairs there are three bedrooms, of which the medium-sized one is his because it faces east, and he enjoys waking sun-rumpled and satisfied.

The floorplan, I pulled from public records. The rest, I — well, I don't know. I just know. I know it with such vivaciousness that I can see us there, on his — no, our — bed, his arm thrown across my chest, and I —

"Draco?" he asks, tentative. Like he's found something he's lost but isn't sure what to do with it, yet.

My hands clam up, my heart racing back to the present. He's only a foot from me, his doe eyes searching. I know what it feels like to pull him in by the waist, to watch those lids flutter shut as we kiss. And I know he knows this too, so I lean in and punch his face.

"He called me Draco," I say to Pansy later. "Draco. Only my mother calls me Draco, and she's been dead a full decade."

"You're crazy, Dee," Pansy says, patting my hand with hers on the bar counter. "What did you do after? Get on your knees to kiss his arse so he'd keep you on?"

"Bloody hell, no. I bolted the fuck out of there thinking I lost the biggest deal of my life. But then the next day, Blaise calls and says Potter stopped by the office. Says could I get him a list of stagers, all cool and shite like nothing had happened!"

"Hm… maybe you two are more Troilus and Cressida than Brutus and Caesar. Ohh, or Achilles and Patroclus. God, yes. That fits so well —"

"Good God, woman! Unless Patroclus was trying to sell Achilles' ionic column abode, I don't want to hear another peep of past lives from you."

Pansy pushes her martini to me and waits for me to drain it before signalling for another round. "I'm only saying," she says, tapping her square-tip nails on the stem of the glass, "Kissing. Fucking, even. Wouldn't that be better than fighting?"

Naturally, I choke on my drink.

I meet with Potter the next day and manage to get through the walkthrough without any further hallucinations or fisticuffs. I call Greg up to stage the place and we go through the house again the following week. Potter's in the kitchen when Greg leaves and offers me a cup of tea while I wait for my car. I'm out of excuses and exhausted from the day, so I accept.

"Draco," he says when he hands the cup to me. Two sugars, a splash of milk. I try not to think about how he knows.

"Why do you call me that?" I ask instead, blustering.

"Why do you call me Potter?" he retorts. He's smiling, but I can tell he's not really happy. It's the same smile the paparazzi catches him with.

"I don't know," I say because I don't. My tongue knows his name better than I do.

I can't keep my eyes off of his as he comes up to me. "Draco," he says my name like he had a claim to it, long ago. I let him loosen the cup from my hand and push me up onto the counter. The angle's better here; perfect if I want to slide my hand up to his cheek and through his hair. He smells like broomstick and phoenix ash. I love him, I know. But it's not supposed to be this easy.

#blame tsoa for most of this #drarrymicrofic #drarry microfic #drarry #drarry fic #drarry squad #fwoosh writes

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

Text

shut up and drive

fucking in grayson’s porsche. that’s it.

2.9k

warnings: quickly, badly stress-induced written smut

“I think I might get a Tesla.”

Grayson’s deep voice breaks the comfortable silence in the Porsche other than the noises of the highway you’re speeding on and the quiet tunes of Post Malone floating through the speakers. You jerk your head to look at him rather than out the window, confusion written all over your features. This is the last thing you expect (or want) to hear from him as the two of you drive to your friends’ engagement dinner.

“What? Why?”

He shrugs, giving your hand a squeeze where your fingers are interlaced on your lap as his eyes stay glued to the road responsibly. “E’s been in my ear about it ever since he got his. It’s better for the environment and everything.”

You hear what he says, but distantly; the way he looks right now is so distracting, and you can’t take your eyes off of him. His short-sleeve button down is a tailored fit to his torso but is too tight on his biceps, and exposes the veins in the forearm that controls the steering wheel loosely. His hair is starting to flop again, with the little waves barely brushing the top of his dark sunglasses. His Louis pants stretch taut across his lap enticingly, leaving nothing to the imagination and allowing your mind a clear picture of what lies beneath them. He’s beautiful all the time, but nothing beats looking over and seeing all that against the soft brown interior of the Porsche.

You don’t want to tell him what to do with his money, though, and if he wants to get a Tesla then that’s his prerogative. You tear your gaze away from him and look out the windshield instead, hoping you don’t sound passive aggressive with your answer. “Hm. Yeah, I guess, if that’s what you want.”

He glances over at you next to him. “What, you don’t like the idea?”

Well, since he’s asking. “I mean, Tesla’s are great, but… I don’t know. The Porsche is you.” A small smile breaks across your lips as you look down at your clasped hands, and start to tickle your manicured nails over the brisk hairs and sensitive skin covering his forearm; he loves when you do that. “And I like watching you drive. The self-driving car thing becomes a little bit of a one-trick pony after a while.”

Grayson smirks at that, his teeth pearly white and tooth jewel gleaming in the evening sun. He glances over his shoulder to change lanes, and your point is proven when your thighs clench involuntarily. He feels it against the back of his palm, and his grin widens. “Am I a multiple-trick pony, then?”

“I don’t think that’s a thing, but sure,” you giggle, wiggling your fingers in the crook of his elbow before allowing yourself to squeeze his bicep gently. Your hand doesn’t even make it halfway around the muscle, especially when he flexes it for you. That, combined with how he simultaneously revs the engine so the car speeds forward in the fast lane, makes your head spin momentarily in a weird rush of arousal. You never thought you had that much of a thing for cars, but maybe it’s just this car with this man. Actually, that’s definitely what it is.

You watch him intently as you remove your hand from his arm and take his hand again instead, surprising him by slipping it under the skirt of your dress so his calloused fingers brush the petal-soft skin of the inside of your thigh. He mumbles your name warningly, even as his hand starts stroking up and down when you part your legs for him, and you grin mischievously. You’re not too far from the restaurant in Beverly Hills now, so he knows you’re only teasing the both of you at this point.

That doesn’t stop him from letting his middle finger slip under the lavender lace crotch of your panties, eliciting a surprised moan from Grayson and a needy one from you when he lights upon the considerable wetness at your slit.

“Fuck, baby, already?” he asks incredulously, gathering the slick on his fingertip and swiping it up to your clit. You moan again in response, eyes closing as your head thumps back on the headrest when he circles the nub a couple of times. “You like seeing me in my car that much?”

“Yeah,” you whisper with a nod and a grin, eyes fluttering open to watch him wantonly as he takes his finger out of your panties and sucks it clean. You miss his touch immediately, but he just smooths your skirt back down from where it has pooled around your hips as he takes the exit. The beginning bulge in his pants has your mouth watering, and you start to reach out to brush over it, but he snatches your hand midair before it can find purchase.

He holds your fingers and kisses your knuckles as you approach a stoplight. “No time,” he says, making a right turn with his free hand. “Why am I just now finding out that my car turns you on so much, though?”

You drag a hand through your hair as the Porsche approaches the line at the valet of the restaurant. Grayson releases your hand and puts the car smoothly in park, shifting in his seat so he can undo his seatbelt and look at you over the top of his sunglasses. You can see the lingering lust in his eyes, and he just looks so good in that driver’s seat that you can’t resist making him sit back so you can snap a few pictures of him. The candid nature of them makes you squirm as a fresh rush of arousal wets your ruined panties.

“Guess I didn’t know what I have until it might be gone.”

***

Dinner is one of the most delicious and miserable meals you’ve ever had. Your friend Sadie and her new fiancee Michael chose a beautiful restaurant in the heart of Beverly Hills to celebrate their engagement. The menu was simple and refined and offered plenty of vegan dishes for you and Gray to choose from. Grayson even joined you in a rare glass of white wine, spurred on by the warm summer night and the joyful atmosphere at the large table you’re all sat at on the outside patio.

The whole time, though, you think of the moments in the car. How soon you could find an excuse to leave and get back to the car. What you would do once you are back in the car. It’s all too much, and you down an extra glass of wine with ease, especially when Grayson sits back in his chair with is arm slung around your shoulders and a hand on your knee once you’re both done with your food. His lips press gently to the buttery skin of your bare shoulder chastely a couple of times, then linger affectionately at your temple when he drags you closer to him. You're buzzing, and you can’t resist tipping your head back to meet his lips quickly. The brief touch sparks that flame in you again, and it’s a good thing he’s completely sober, because your filter for the occasion and your surroundings is impaired to say the least.

He pulls back with a knowing smile. The nearly-set sun makes the restaurant glow under the twinkle lights that have switched on all around the patio, and it illuminates the green and gold in his eyes. You feel warm and happy and in love and turned the fuck on. The only thing you can do to until it’s time to go is lean into him as you distract yourself in conversation with the person next to you. Sadie is getting louder and louder at the middle of the big table as her martinis come and go, so you know you’ll be able to leave soon. It’s your biggest driving thought so you don’t break down and drag Grayson to the bathroom, Porsche be damned.

Finally, you send up a prayer of thanks when Michael stands and drags up a thoroughly drunk Sadie with him. You hug your friends goodbye quickly, then take Gray’s hand as the two of you make haste to the entrance of the restaurant, ensuring you're the first ones at the valet stand.

While you’re waiting, the lobby is loud and boisterous, giving you the perfect cover to lean against Grayson’s side with your arms wrapped around his waist. His own muscular arm secures you to him with it tucked around your shoulders, and your heels make you the perfect height to tilt your head and whisper straight into his ear.

“Let’s go to that lookout we like close by. I’m not ready to go home.”

Half an hour later, after a car ride full of teasing him over his pants and only just slipping your hand into his underwear when you turned the corner to find the lookout empty, the two of you are making out heavily in the backseat. Grayson sits in the middle of the bench seat and you’re straddling him, your dress pushed up around your waist and Grayson’s shirt untucked from his pants. His big hands grip your ass firmly, dragging you along the hard ridge of him through his gaping fly as you work to push his open shirt off his broad shoulders.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” you breathe out once he’s shirtless and you're sitting back in his lap to admire his sculpted torso. He just stares up at you, chest heaving as he fights to catch his breath, taking in your wild hair and flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. You smile, trailing your hand down the center of his pecs. “You look just as good back here as you do up front, baby.”

Grayson grins back, and reaches up to tug at the thick tie holding together the neck of your halter dress, sighing when it drops open and exposes your tits for him. He cups them at once, pushing them together and squeezing as he nuzzles happily in the supple flesh. You giggle, which turns into a light moan when his full lips wrap around a perky nipple, and you clutch him to your chest by the back of his hair.

Your hips start rocking again, and he suckles harder before releasing you with a wet little pop. “Love your tits,” he growls, fingers playing with your wet nipple as his mouth encapsulates the other.

His mouth and fingers feel amazing, but he’s rock hard beneath you and your pussy is positively soaking. You need him to fuck you in this car before you combust from want rather than action.

You tug hard on his hair. “Gray, please. I need you now.”

He sits back, and you instantly take advantage of the space between you to fish his dick out of his boxer briefs, whimpering when your fist closes around his hot, hard flesh. You spit into your palm and start stroking him, then when that’s not enough you dip your hand into your panties and coat it in the seeping wetness coming from your center.

“Ok…fuck!” he gasps, groaning with his head thrown back when he sees you lubricating him in your small hand with your own juices. He lets himself indulge in the sensations you're bringing about before he reluctantly closes his fist around yours to stop you. He hooks his other hand around the back of your neck and drags you down for a wet, sloppy kiss. You both pull away after a few moments, gasping desperately for breath.

“Turn around, lean over the console.”

You don’t need telling twice, and your pussy throbs when you realize this is it. You shift off his lap to the seat next to him as he lifts his hips enough to push his pants and briefs down to his ankles before climbing back to the middle. Your feet touch the floor, and you plant one hand on the bottom of either seat in the front.

Grayson pushes your skirt all the way up and tugs your thong aside, holding it against the fleshy skin of your ass so he can dive in to lick a firm, thick stripe up the slit of your pussy all the way to your asshole. You cry out sharply, the softness of his tongue a far cry from the blunt head of his dick that you were expecting, but it’s welcomed for the moment nonetheless. He dips it into your hole, eating you up and swallowing you down as your pussy leaks into his mouth. You can hear the strings of your arousal clinging to his lips when he moves further down to suckle on your clit for a few seconds, before he’s pulling back and slapping your ass sharply.

“God, that tastes fucking good,” he grunts. You moan in reply, and he unzips the back of your dress before pushing and wiggling the fabric down your body until you can kick it off to the side once it’s pooled at your feet. He shifts a little awkwardly behind you until your eyes catch his in the rear view mirror, and you can see him position one knee onto the back seat while his other foot plants firmly beside one of yours. His hand swipes up the wet mess of your pussy and gives himself a couple of slow strokes. “Ready, baby?”

You nod frantically, eyes glued to his in the reflection of the mirror as he sinks the tip into you. You can already tell this will take no time at all on your end, your walls already fluttering madly as he pushes incrementally into you. The view of the brown leather and the gear shift and the fancy little dashboard and Grayson makes you heady, ready to have him give you the best dicking down of your life, in this Porsche.

Grayson groans loudly once he’s fully seated inside, and he pulls back at once to start thrusting. He builds it up, starting slow but quickly getting harder, faster, his balls slapping against your clit repeatedly. His hand slides up your back and hooks over your shoulder for leverage, the other holding your underwear out of the way so tight you can vaguely hear the threads ripping rapidly.

Despite the state of arousal you're in, how good his dick feels pushing the copious amount of wetness out of you with every thrust, you need more. You need the sharpness of his hand spanking you, the dull ache of his finger deep in your ass, the light but suspenseful pressure of his hand around your throat…anything to get you over the edge.

“Fuck me harder, baby, harder please!” is all you manage to say. Your whines are high-pitched and desperate and loud, filling the car with the sounds of his grunts and whispered curses.

You couldn’t articulate what you want, but Grayson knows you like the back of his hand by now, and he knows what you really mean. He moans and you squeal at the sharp pain of the lace at your hip digging into your skin until it finally gives way to his strength. He tosses the ruined scrap of fabric to the side blindly and brings his palm to smack against your ass, enthralled at the bright pink handprint left on your skin, before grasping a handful of your hair in his fist. The pleasurable pain as he tugs hard enough to pull at your scalp and arch your back so the angle becomes that much better is exactly what you need, and he continues to pound you as he speaks.

“Dirty girl,” he murmurs into your ear, and the ease with which he speaks makes your eyes roll back almost as much as the sensation of his breath tickling your ear, or his dick pumping at that perfectly steady pace. How does he have you reduced to a fucking puddle of pleasure in the middle of his sexy car, while he talks like he’s barely breaking a sweat? “Wanting me to fuck you in my nice car. You like it, baby? Like how I fuck you in my fucking Porsche?”

You can’t answer him because your jaw just gapes open as your orgasm builds so suddenly, so intensely, that you can’t even make a sound when you finally cum hard on his dick. You're silent with the first couple of clenches around him, your legs shaking and collapsing and trapping his throbbing length inside of you, until you’re literally brought to your knees with shrill cries and moans of bliss.

“Oh my god, baby, fuck,” you groan out gutturally, your chest collapsing over the console as you gasp for air. Grayson moans and releases your hair, moving to grip your hips with both hands as he starts pumping into you again, using you for his own orgasm.

“Gray, cum for me, please!” you whimper, moaning as you listen to his gasps and grunts get louder and more desperate until finally he’s pulling out with a sharp groan and shooting up along your sweaty back.

You sigh happily and encourage him with heated whispers, and when you hear him let out that final, tired ‘fuck’, you smile and reach back to swipe your fingers through the mess on your spine. You suck the white liquid from your fingers lasciviously, and feel his own hand collect what you missed before offering it to you as well.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, plopping back in the middle seat and pulling you with him by the waist for a cuddle. “That was…awesome. Best car sex we’ve ever had.”

You grin tiredly and snuggle up to his side, planting a kiss to his sweaty chest. “Yeah. Don’t get a Tesla.”

#wrote this bc im still unemployed and have nothing better to do #idk its been a weird couple of days #dolan twins #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan fic #dolan twins fanfic

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slytherinbarnes · 3 years

Text

Seasons Change [1]

i. winter will crave what is gone

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: discussions of death, smut.

summary: a holiday party at the Avengers Compound takes an exciting turn for you when you run into a familiar supersoldier.

a/n: this idea was taken from my old marvel blog, so if the first part seems familiar, that’s why! however, it has undergone changes, and the other three parts have never been seen before, so I’m excited to finally share this series! the taglist for this series is open!

series masterlist // full masterlist

December 21, Avengers Compound Holiday Party, New York.

You catch his eyes across the room.

Bright blue eyes track you as you saunter to the bar and order another martini. The bartender prepares it quickly and slides it to you, and you wrap your manicured hands around the glass and pull it towards you. You lift the speared olives from the glass and raise them to your lips, eyes still locked on his. Red painted lips wrap around the olive and pull it off slowly, and he shifts in place, ignoring the conversation around him. Feeling satisfied with yourself, you smirk, before returning the olives to the glass and taking a sip. Your eyes are pulled away from each other as everyone’s favorite billionaire steps on the stage.

“Happy Holidays, everyone! As you all know…”

As Tony begins his speech, your eyes flash to the super soldier again. His eyes are on stage, watching Tony, and you take a second to admire how he perfectly fills out the dark blue suit that hugs his body. As your eyes rake back up his body, they land on his, and this time he smirks at you. Caught in the act, you blush and turn away, just as Tony finishes his speech up front.

“I can see Pepper glaring at me from the back, and I’m letting you know that I hear you loud and clear, honey!” The crowd laughs, and he gestures to the DJ, “Bring back the music!”

Santa Baby floats through the speakers that are stationed throughout the room, and without another glance towards the blond haired pillar of strength, you place your glass on the bar along with a tip, and turn to leave the room. As the lights cut across the dance floor and land on your dress, the red sequins stitched along the fabric catch in the light and leave red reflections on the floor in your wake.

You slip out of the large room unnoticed, and your heels click across the tiled floor as you make a beeline for the elevators. You press the button and wait for the doors to open, before stepping inside and pressing the number for your floor. The doors are nearly closed when an arm slips between them, forcing them back open, and you watch as the doors slide open and give way to the velvet suited man from before.

You quirk a brow as he steps inside, and you shift closer to the buttons, hand raised to press the number for him. You turn to him, your voice confident as you smile at him sweetly. “What floor?”

His eyes watch as the doors slide closed, and he steps closer to you. “Whichever one you’re going to.”

Before you can let out a sassy remark, he closes the space between you. The built up tension from the night pulls you to him like a magnet, and your lips collide in a heated frenzy. Your hands go into his neatly done hair and you tug him impossibly close, messing up his grown out hair in the process. His hands roam over your dress, one sliding over your backside, another up your spine. A chill passes through you before the elevator dings, and you both pull away long enough to confirm that it’s your floor, before stumbling out of the elevator and down the hall to your room. When you reach the door, you struggle with the key, lust leaving your movements clumsy and unfocused. He’s pressed close behind you, lips attached to your neck as he leaves small marks all over the sensitive skin there.

You finally get the door open and you pull him inside, and he kicks the door closed before spinning you around and pressing you against it. Your lips immediately find each other again, and you reach up and tangle your fingers into his golden hair, enjoying the sounds he makes when you tug on the locks. His hands slide behind you again and move straight for your zipper, and he begins to guide it down your back. The movement brings you back to reality and you push him away. “What about the party?”

He quirks his head to the side, watching you closely “What about the party?”

“Won’t people miss the great Captain America?”

He shakes his head and leans in again, “Bucky and Sam will cover for me.”

His lips connect with yours again, ending the conversation. This time, you let him pull the zipper all the way down, and he reaches up and pushes the fabric off your shoulders, the dress sliding off your body and pooling at your feet. You pull your hands out of his hair and reach for the jacket of his suit, tugging it off quickly. You reach for the buttons of his shirt next, pulling them apart with ease, before pushing that off his strong frame and onto the floor. His shoes and pants are next to join the pile of clothes, quickly leaving you in equal states of undress. You guide him backwards towards the bed, before pulling away and pushing him back onto it.

He lands with a small bounce, and he watches you closely as you lift your leg onto the bed beside him. He reaches for your leg and pulls it closer to him, letting it rest on his thigh. He unstraps your shoe and slips it from your foot, before guiding your foot back to the ground and motioning for the other. You lift your left leg up and he repeats the same process, discarding the shoe on the ground beside the other. He lets his fingers trail up your leg, over the bump of your knee, and to the soft skin of your thigh, before he leans down and lets his lips follow the same path. He pulls you closer as his lips move higher, and you lean back and smile at the sensation. When he reaches your thigh he stops, and you look down in confusion. Steve is looking up at you with hungry eyes, and your smile grows as he pulls you to straddle him, one leg on either side of him.

In one swift motion he unhooks your bra, and his mouth falls to your chest, tongue and lips working together to pull a moan from your lips. He stands and you wrap your legs around his waist as he turns and lowers you to the bed, now situated beneath him. You unhook your legs and his kisses start to move lower, down your torso, over your belly button, until they stop at the top of your underwear. He looks up at you, a question in his eyes, and you nod. His breath hits your skin as he pulls your underwear off, and as his mouth makes contact with your body, you throw your head back and moan. Expert fingers and a skilled tongue quickly bring you to the edge and throw you over it, and he’s moving up your body and pressing his lips to yours as you're still trying to catch your breath.

He pulls back and smiles at your expression, before pushing off his boxers and moving over you. He presses into you and you both moan in unison, head thrown back in bliss. He sets a relaxed pace, the drag and pull tortuously slow, leaving you hungry for more. You wrap your legs around him and pull him closer, trying to quicken his pace, and he lets out a laugh. “In a hurry?”

You glare at him, “Don’t make me beg.”

He smiles and winks. “I won’t this time. But next time…”

He trails off before speeding up, and you reach up and give him a deep kiss by way of thank you. You feel your second orgasm start to build, and you try to match Steve’s pace, eager to get there. He moans into your mouth and it goes straight to your core, pushing you towards the edge faster. Seconds later, it hits you, and you moan his name as stars dance in your vision. Steve is right behind you, groaning as he hits his high and rides it out.

When you both come down, he rolls off you and moves to the other side of the bed. You both get under the covers and lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, before you roll towards him. He turns to look at you, and you take a deep breath. “I love our holiday party tradition, but I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you outside the month of December.”

He lets out a laugh, but his expression quickly grows serious. “We both work a lot, and I couldn’t commit to-”

You pull a face and cut him off. “No one said anything about commitment. It’d be the same thing we’re doing now, except it wouldn’t be during the holiday party. Just sex. No strings attached.”

“No strings attached?”

You nod. “None.”

“Okay, deal.” You both lay looking at each other for a minute before Steve smiles and asks, “Got any holiday plans?”

Something about the normalcy of it makes you laugh, which makes his smile widen as he watches you. “I’m hoping to be free for the first time in a while, but I’m thinking that with the way that Fury works, that’s not happening. That man does not know how to take a break.”

Steve snorts, “No kidding. Well, if you were free, what would you do?”

You roll onto your back, shifting your gaze to the ceiling as you consider your plans. “Probably just go home, see my parents. Holidays were always...lackluster when I was growing up, but my mom always makes cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. It’s the only tradition we ever really had.”

You close your eyes, thinking about why that is, the reasons your holidays and celebrations were always so muted growing up, and even now, after all this time, the emotions still threaten to rise. You take a deep breath and calm yourself before glancing at Steve again, who is watching you closely. “Anyways, I haven’t been home in years. Always working.”

His smile is soft when he jokes, “I think you work as much as I do.”

“More than the Captain himself?” This time, it’s your turn to snort out a laugh. “Not likely.”

He smiles before he looks away, shrugging as he offers, “Well, I could always pull some strings, get you some vacation time.”

You immediately shake your head, refusing the offer. “I could never never ask you to do that. Besides, I like to work. Gives me less time to think.”

“About your brother?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut, and you give him a sharp look. “How do you know about that?”

He looks sheepish, but he says nothing, and you start to wonder if he’s read your employee file. He never says either way, but you suppose it’s not a secret at this point, and maybe you should stop pretending that it is. “Yeah, about my brother. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time when he was 16. But I guess that’s Hell’s Kitchen for you, right?”

You sigh, shaking your head to clear away the sorrow. “Anyways, that’s the reason we never celebrated much growing up. Every birthday after 16 was another year that I got and he didn’t. Every holiday felt like we were celebrating with a ghost, his presence so heavy in the room it used to make me feel sick. But cinnamon rolls were his favorite, so mom used to make them every Christmas morning. It’s the only way my parents ever really acknowledged him, so I guess I kind of clung to that.”

Steve shakes his head, “What do you mean?”

You think of the small notebook that still goes everywhere with you, though you’d never admit it to anyone. “For a few years after his death, I was on the hunt for the best cinnamon rolls in our town. And then when I joined Shield and started traveling for work, I expanded my search to the world.”

“Have you found them yet? The best ones, I mean.”

You shake your head, smiling a little. “Not yet, mom’s always come out on top. But I always feel like my brother’s with me when I’m eating them. Maybe that’s weird, but…”

You trail off, not wanting to say more and make Steve think you’re a weirdo, and you silently curse his inviting spirit, because it always makes you want to spill your guts to him. He’s just so damn good at listening. But just when you think he’s gonna hop out of bed and leave you in the dust, Steve shakes his head, his brows furrowed, looking like he understands you more than anyone else in the world. “No, definitely not weird. It’s nice to find things that remind us of the good times, and not the loss we’ve experienced.”

You watch him closely, sure that he must have a million losses at this point. It seems to cling to him, his body tense as he tries to carry the weight of the past, and you wonder if anyone asks him about it. Does he have anyone to spill his guts to? Maybe Bucky. But maybe Bucky doesn’t want to relive the past, what then? Who helps Steve Rogers carry his loss?

Surprising yourself, you reach across the space between you and run a finger between his brows, smoothing them down before you trail your hand over his face, letting it rest on his cheek. He leans into your touch and you whisper, “What’s your thing?”

Despite the vague question, you know that he understands what you’re asking. He seems surprised, before he quickly pulls away from you, rolling away to turn off the light and stare at the ceiling. “Nothing.”

You try not to feel hurt at the rejection to divulge more about himself, because you know Steve is private. Always has been. Still, after a few years of holiday party meet ups, you hoped he would trust you more. Though you suppose that everyone handles loss differently, and maybe Steve’s thing is that he keeps it to himself. You’re more than okay with that, so you try to ease his tension by whispering into the darkness, “As long as it’s not cinnamon rolls. That’s my thing.”

You hear him let out a soft laugh and you smile to yourself, both of you sitting in silence for a while. Eventually you hear his breathing start to slow and deepen, and soon after, yours does the same.

Steve rolls over before the light crests over the horizon, an action so routine to him that he no longer requires an alarm clock to do so. He stretches out slowly, muscles pulling and catching, and the soreness in his limbs reminds him of the night before. He turns toward you, wondering what he’ll say if you’re awake, but finding that no such thought is necessary. Your side of the bed is empty, save for the note on your pillow. He fights back the feeling of disappointment, and as he lifts the note, he hopes he didn’t hurt your feelings last night and cause you to leave. He takes a breath and reads the note quickly, trying to read your tone between the lines.

Crisis in Moscow, duty calls.

See you soon.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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badb1tchbokuto · 3 years

Text

Alone, Together

Miya Atsumu x F! Reader

“Lame.” Typical.

“Self-righteous prick,” Okay that one hurt a little, but fine.

“Your game is weak.” Atsumu would like to think it wasn’t. It was just that he’d never really had to try. Whereas he focused all his efforts and love on the game of volleyball, he never really put in much effort on the dating game. Casual flings, short term relationships, one night stands - he was no stranger to all of this. He was attractive, successful, and had a steady career that allowed him to afford VIP tables in pretentious places like this. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be into that?

You apparently.

...In which Atsumu experiences his first existential crisis after you reject him at a club.

wc: 6k

tw: alcohol consumption, swearing, mild smut, slight angst, lots of fluff

(crossposted on Ao3)

Thursday, 10:00pm JST

Tokyo is alight and alive. The autumn sun is steadily dimming against a sea of ultramodern buildings and bright billboards that are beginning to light the city in incandescent neons. Crowds are meandering through the busy capital, with tourists slowly walking and stopping at every turn to take photos and gaze at their seemingly surreal surroundings, friends chatting vividly as they make their way to dinner, and employees ambling towards the crowded subway stations to line up and finally make their way home or just find some respite.

You, somehow, are a combination of all three.

Twenty four hours ago, you landed in Haneda from Charles de Gaulle. Jet lagged and bleary eyed, you stuttered your way through customs in your broken but passable Japanese, lost a suitcase that had most of your professional attire needed for the next day’s back to back meetings with investors, then had to be comforted by your driver as you explained the situation in distress all the way to your hotel in the business district of Minato.

You couldn’t help but feel unsettled and overwhelmed as it was after all, your first trip to Japan for professional matters. All your other times in the country had been spent with family, past lovers or on study abroad trips with best friends, but this time it was just you.

Adult you, in your first big girl work trip, in your dream field of fashion, in your dream city of Tokyo.

It has almost been twenty fours since you landed in the capital, and you’ve miraculously survived your first day. Barely. Admittedly you slept in a little too late after downing the entire complimentary bottle of Daiginjo from the hotel by yourself the night before, and this morning you spent over thirty minutes trying to transform your jet lagged mug with a “no make up make up” look only to end up still being asked by the sweet door people if you were heading to a special party. The upside is that the sake made you sleep like a baby, and smartly you paired your unexpectedly dramatic make-up with a killer outfit, resulting in you being recharged and sharp throughout the day, impressing your boss and potential investors alike.

Friday, 8:30pm JST

You had just emerged from your hotel to freshen up after a long day of work, now heading to dinner in Shibuya to meet with friends you’ve studied abroad with who were now living in Tokyo. Clad in a slinky Jacquemus silk dress and your favorite stilettos, you stand outside the grand entrance of the Tokyu Plaza, sending your girls a quick text to note that you got there a little earlier than expected, informing them that you’d be waiting at the restaurant’s rooftop bar instead.

The restaurant your friends chose was on the 17th floor of the building, a French fusion restaurant that turns into a nightclub after midnight and promises to have the best rooftop views of the Tokyo skyline. It seemed especially busy tonight, as there was already a line of young men and women eager to wait just to get into the club despite the area not opening hours from now.

Overhearing hushed snippets of conversations around you, it sounded like some celebrities were going to be there tonight. You brush it off, looking forward to having a moment to yourself to sip on an espresso martini, maybe even a few truffle sliders while waiting on your friends to arrive.

Busy thinking about whether you have time to eat one or three of the sliders before dinner, you absentmindedly made your way to the host at the front of the already buzzing line.

Halfway there, you feel a gentle but firm tap on your shoulder.

You turn, only to face a very toned and very broad chest dripping in two thin yellow gold snake chains layered over a printed silk button down, a piece from Gucci’s latest season. “Impressive.. ” you think to yourself as you lift your gaze as slowly and as nonchalantly as you can to see the man’s face, even though your eyes are probably already dilating in anticipation, because if the chest was already impressive and you were already having sinful thoughts about dragging your tongue on his chiseled pecs then moving down, well then...

“Yes?” You reply softly as your eyes roam upwards, starting with his strong jawline, to his warm, sugary brown gaze, up to his soft tousled blonde hair, and back down to his full lips, his canines and pink tongue slightly peeking out, adorned in a confident smirk that both turned you on and pissed you off.

“Fuck. I’d definitely let you ruin my life..or my pussy.” You couldn’t help but immediately think to yourself.

Without introducing himself, he slowly licks his lips, then cooly offers. “You headin’ up to Ce La Vi? My friends and I have a VIP table up there so you won’t have to wait until midnight to be let in. You can skip the line with me.”

“No thanks.” You curtly decline, irritated and offended that he assumed you needed his help to skip the line, let alone afford to enter the establishment for dinner.

You swerve past him, thinking that he’s another sleazy club promoter. Very attractive yes, but you’d like to think you were past making those types of mistakes at this age. Sexy guy leveraging his social status so that he can two pump chump you then ghost you until he needs pretty girls to fill up his club table? Hard pass.

Atsumu on the other hand, is confused.

That simple line never fails; it’s not aggressive but is still quite direct, and it wasn’t creepy. At least he didn’t think so. If anything, he thought he sounded nonchalant and cool.. Almost like Suna...right? Although he’d never let Suna know that he tries to emulate him when trying to pick up girls. Or that he thinks Suna is “nonchalant and cool.” God forbid he gets roasted on the group chat for yet another reason. Also, isn’t it always a great opportunity to skip the line at some overhyped dining club and get wined and dined by a handsome athlete like him? He’s never really had a problem using that line before, in fact his body count was proof of its success rate, so why did it not work on you?

You definitely seemed like you would be impressed by status and flash, considering you literally made his head turn because of your confident strides, wafting a luxuriously sexy scent. A melange of rose, vanilla, maybe the homemade marshmallows Samu makes in the winter... And definitely a tinge of the special perfume he was gifted by the Tom Ford team that he only reserves for special occasions. Something with tobacco and oud. Plus, he also definitely remembers shelling out 300,000¥ to buy the same Dior purse you had on for his ex-girlfriend last Christmas.

You saunter ahead of him, completely ignoring the screams and flash that followed. “Ah..So the celebrity has arrived.” You think to yourself. “They’ll probably be escorted to some special entrance anyway.”

The doorman checks your name on the tablet and leads you to wait in front of an elevator. As you scroll through your phone, waiting for the elevators to take you up to the restaurant, you see him awkwardly standing behind you, rapidly typing away on his phone, very obviously trying to avoid your gaze.

Unlucky for both of you, you two were the only ones cleared by the front desk to go on the elevator.

The ride up to the 17th floor felt like an eternity, a palpable awkward silence marred by elevator music eerily like the Wii theme song dragged the seconds on.

Atsumu couldn’t wait to get out of the cramped space. He wanted so desperately to rush out and find Bokuto, Hinata, or honestly, he’d even practice his abysmal English with Adriah at this point just to get the hell away from you.

It wasn’t that Atsumu found you repulsive, quite the contrary actually. He found you so goddamned sexy, poised with a distinct self-assured stance that he only knew his former high school volleyball captain to have. You were magnetic, like an invisible force just happened to transfix Atsumu’s attention to you when he saw you standing at the plaza, leading him to follow you to the restaurant, thanking his lucky stars that he was also heading the same way since he most definitely kind of looked creepy staring at a lone woman in the middle of the street like that.

The fact that you were immediately repelled by his kind suggestion to skip the line with him boggled him. Feeling claustrophobic in a roomy elevator decorated in mirrors that showed your reflection from all angles, he tries even more desperately to avoid looking at you, so he resorts to giving a play by play to his brother over text, only to get obliterated by Osamu.

“Lame.” Typical.

“Self-righteous prick,” Okay that one hurt a little, but fine.

“Your game is weak.” He’d like to think it wasn’t. It was just that he’d never really had to try. Whereas Atsumu focused all his efforts and love on the game of volleyball, he never really put in much effort on the dating game. Casual flings, short term relationships, one night stands - he was no stranger to all of this. He was attractive, successful, and had a steady career that allowed him to afford VIP tables in pretentious places like this. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be into that?

You apparently.

“Oh well, your loss.” He tries to reason with himself.

As soon as the doors open, Atsumu lets you pass like the gentleman he was raised to be. Okay, maybe he checks you out one last time, because damn that ass... and maybe he also tries to catch a whiff of your intoxicating perfume… but no one had to know that.

He walks away to find his teammates inside the VIP dining area, wanting to just forget about you and move on with his night. You on the other hand, leisurely make your way to the open rooftop bar.

Shortly after, your friends Yuki and Kaori arrive, apologizing for their tardiness and promising a good time as they insist on going out clubbing with some of their friends from high school.

You hadn’t seen the sexy arrogant promoter or his “VIP” group throughout dinner. You forget about him or at least try to, happy to finally munch away on the anticipated dinner, reminisce about your wild college days and catch up with old friends.

Friday, 11:30pm JST

A couple of hours later, inhibitions loose from the free flow of alcohol offered at the restaurant mixed in with a bottle of champagne to celebrate your reunion, the three of you egg each other on to take shots at the bar before checking out the now bustling dance floor, surrounded by the VIP booths inside. Not a minute more after walking indoors do you hear a loud energetic voice holler, “YUKIPPE?!”

“Bokuto-san!!!” Yuki excitedly calls out, dragging you and Kaori over to greet a boisterous, incredibly buff man with two toned spiky hair. Behind him sitting on the plush rounded couches is a small group of young men who are all just as attractive and well-dressed, with an orange haired male capturing most of their attention, spinning an animated tale that had the table howling in raucous laughter.

The only one whose attention was away from the tanned male you heard is called Hinata is the promoter from downstairs, looking directly at you in shock.

“Oh fuck.”

Three buttons on his shirt were now unbuttoned, giving you a more intimate view of his chest. The same, broad, muscled chest you fantasized over earlier. His gaze is unrelenting, and you realize you had also been staring back at him when Kaori waves her hands in front of your face, trying to get your attention.

“Giiiiiirl? Hello?”

You revert your attention back to your group, acting as if you definitely weren’t just thinking about jumping on the blonde’s lap then and there, pulling him into a kiss, grinding on him as you unbutton his shirt and pants in a desperate, heated haze and then...

Kaori interrupts your thoughts with, “This is our friend from high school, Bokuto-san! His boyfriend Akaashi-kun will be joining us later.” Bokuto is beaming down at you with a megawatt smile and pulls you in a bear hug as you move to shake his hand.

Yuki introduces you as their friend from university that just moved to help launch a Japanese edition of a niche French fashion magazine. She adds, “Bokuto is the star ace of his volleyball team, and these are some of his teammates from the MSBY Black Jackals.”

At this, Bokuto bellows a “ HEY HEY HEY!” that garners the attention of his teammates and onlookers alike.

His teammates warmly welcome you and the girls to their table, as if you’re all old friends simply catching up. Comfortable, you engage Hinata and Meian in a lively conversation about your common experiences while traveling in Brazil. From your shared love of pao de queijo, debating where the best feijoada can be found in Rio, all the way to sharing the wild scenes you’ve all seen in Ipanema's legendary posto 8, banter flowing easily.

You were having a great time, happy to make new friends.

Atsumu had been stealthily watching you throughout the introductions. You acted as if it was the first time you’ve met him, then gracefully jumped into a discussion with his captain and newest teammate as if you were all best friends, when in fact for the last two weeks since Shoyo had joined the team, he’d nervously run to the bathroom every time Meian tried to talk to him for longer than five minutes. Now here he is, laughing with you and the captain about your shared culture shock in realizing how comfortable Brazilians were with skinship.

Atsumu met you less than three hours ago, but every little detail he picks up about you fascinates him more and more. There wasn’t a single thing about you that he didn’t like so far, leaving him intrigued, pining to get to know more. Except for one little big thing.. you flat out rejected him, so now he’s actively avoiding you out of respect for the boundaries you set initially.

Still, he was riveted. He wanted to get to know you one way or another, even if it was trying to casually listen in on your conversations with his teammates.

“What a creep.” Sakusa interrupts his thoughts, rolling his eyes at Atsumu.

Bokuto leans in and attempts to whisper in a hushed tone, in an octave that was definitely too loud to be a whisper, “She’s super cute Tsumtsum! Go for it!”

“Just talk to her, you’ve been staring at her the entire time. It’s starting to get weird.” Sakusa adds.

For arguably the first time in his adult life, Atsumu is insecure.

How does he approach you for the second time? He doesn’t even know what to talk to you about. Here you were, casually conversing about your world travels when he’d never even left Japan except for international matches. You, decked out in designer items he’d gifted different ex-girlfriends as apologies or appeasements for every time he prioritized volleyball over them. You, who were already chummy with his teammates even though it took him months to warm up to them. For fuck’s sake, sometimes his jokes still fall flat, but here you are cracking jokes and making even Omi chuckle. Who the hell are you? And how can Atsumu get to know you? Does he want to be like you or be inside you? How does he even get your attention without seeming like a desperate jerk? Why the fuck does he care what some random girl thinks of him?

He never really cared about what others thought of him outside of volleyball, but when he can’t rely on his one true love to speak for him, who is he and what does he have to offer?

Having an existential crisis at an ostentatious club at midnight was definitely not something Atsumu wanted to do. Yet here he is, feeling as dejected as the day he wore the Jackasuke costume and slipped in public for the whole world to see.

Swirling the melting ball of ice on his crystal glass filled with Yamazaki 18, he didn't notice that you had moved closer to him.

“They say whiskey is a depressant. Is that why you look so sad?” You joke, then gesture to his drink with a small smile.

Atsumu lifts his head to look at you, then freezes upon realizing your close proximity. He counters, “Really? What should I have for a good time then?”

“Me.” You cheekily reply and wink at him.

He grins at you, confidence steadily regaining at realizing that he might have a chance with you after all.

Saturday, 12:00am JST

Pouring a newly opened bottle of Ace of Spades on two champagne flutes laid out on the table, you make amends.

“Sorry for being so rude earlier. I get really defensive when I’m randomly approached by men, especially because I thought you were a promoter looking to get girls to join your table… I didn’t know I had mutual friends with some hotshot athlete.” You smile awkwardly.

He laughs and jokes back, but there is definitely some weight to his sentiment.

“Ah, but since Imma hotshot athlete, s’all good now right?”

You replace the whiskey glass in his hands with a champagne flute and shoot back. “Nah, I really thought you were trying to pimp me out to your flashy friends who bought tables from you, or worse, that you were just trying to get a quick fuck.”

Atsumu chokes on his own spit at your frank reply, and you giggle before lowering your voice so only he could hear.

You counter, “For the record, I would have been down for the latter, except you didn’t even introduce yourself. You should also know that I don’t ever need your help to get places.”

You smile innocently at him as if you didn’t just confirm that you were down to fuck if only he had played his cards right. His mind fogs, instantly imagining dragging you to the nearest bathroom to fuck you silly. He thinks about what it would feel like to sloppily kiss your full lips, moving his hands from your hair down to your neck and shoulders, feeling the curves of your body graciously skimming the silk fabric of your dress, only to unwrap you like a prized gift and worship you with his tongue.

You clear your throat, well aware that Atsumu’s most likely imagining fucking you given his glazed over eyes and parted lips.

With a blush, he tries to cover his reddening cheeks and neck by downing his drink. He bounces back with a, “Well then. The name’s Atsumu, 23 years old, professional volleyball player - the best damned setter the MSBY Black Jackals and the Japanese National Team has ever seen.”

Atsumu realizes then that he never really had to introduce himself. Not seriously anyway. Most people around him already knew who he was; his teammates, coaches, players within the league, aspiring volleyball players, fans of the game, fans of his.. even people around him who didn’t have interest in volleyball just generally knew of his reputation as one of Japan’s most talented athletes and eligible bachelors.

How does he tell you about himself without pulling out his phone to show you his current stats or videos of his top sets as proof that he really is as good as he says? Without looking like an ass? Even worse, what does he tell you about himself without volleyball being the main subject?

You smile, intrigued at how he suddenly seemed so sure of himself while talking about volleyball, emitting pride and passion as he describes his profession.

So you continue to ask him about the sport. Atsumu visibly relaxes, his love for the game evident as he discusses their most recent friendly match, the reason why their Osaka based team is in the capital just before some of them start training for the Olympics. The other boys jump in and out of the conversation, with Yuki and Kaori clarifying certain terms to you when they see you furrow your brows in confusion.

As the alcohol keeps flowing and the conversation moves to the upcoming Olympics, you and Atsumu have veered off the multiple group conversations and are transfixed on each other.

He asks you what you’re doing in Tokyo and how you ended up there, so you tell him you graduated from university recently, originally intending to become a Doctor but decided to pause and move to Paris upon graduation, wherein between random side hustles you somehow landed a job in editorial fashion. Thus landing you in Tokyo on an extended work trip.

Atsumu is bewildered at how you could switch careers so easily and still succeed, that you have multiple passions and follow them according to your whims.

He couldn’t imagine living a life like yours, volleyball being the only thing he’s actively pursued since realizing he had to make a living somehow. He wonders whether he chose volleyball as a career because it was the only thing he was good at and the only thing he could think of when his high school teacher asked him about his options for the future.

Deep down he knows that he loves the sport more than anything else, the driving force and principle behind his very essence. Still he can’t help but wonder, what if he chose do something else? What if he found a different passion to pursue? Would he have made a good doctor? Lawyer? Entrepreneur and chef like Samu? He shudders, lost for answers. He settles his raging thoughts by simply asking, “How could you switch careers so easily?”

You pause to think for a while, then casually respond.

“People are multi-faceted. I think there’s different versions to us as we navigate life. We fall in and out of love with different people, hobbies, places, food, aesthetics... There are just so many variables, so many moving parts as we get older.. Who’s to decide that we have to be tied to the same job or pursue the same passion for the rest of our lives?”

This confuses him even more, and he decides that despite you having the same self-assured aura that Kita-san has, you’re the complete opposite of him, different from everyone around him actually. Him, his brother, his friends, his exes, all of whom either have a clear direction or some semblance of goals and dreams for the future.

You on the other hand, are all risk. You boldly trek into the unknown, unafraid and ready to face the variables and twist them so that they fall to your favor. Atsumu supposes that in this way, he relates to you.

He replies, “Huh. Weird but I guess I kinda get it. It’s like when I’m on court observing opponents. I have to sniff out and adapt to whatever bullshit they’re on, tweak our plays and my settin’ style to make sure we crush them. Sorta like a gamble.”

“Exactly.” You confirm.

“Eh..but nothing feels better than winnin’. How do you even know if you’re winning when you don’t have set objectives?” Atsumu counters.

You playfully roll your eyes at him.

“I do! My objectives are just adjusted to my current surroundings. I’d say pondering over the inherent philosophical value of career choices in a rooftop bar in Tokyo with a sexy volleyball setter is winning.”

“Touché.”

He grins, aiming to pour more champagne to your flutes before realizing that you two polished off the bottle of Ace on the table and that your friends were all in various states of inebriation.

Yuki dancing with her boyfriend, Kaori grinding on Adriah, Bokuto and Hinata on the dance floor twerking on the older MSBY members to Reggaeton, Sakusa and Akaashi watching all of this in amused horror.

“Wanna dance?” Atsumu asks.

After topping your glasses with overpriced bottle service liquor, you move towards the dance floor at the center of the club, joining your friends.

You’re shocked at how well Atsumu can dance, easily gripping your hips and moving with you as you gyrate against him to 90s hip hop jams. Hinata finds you both and proceeds to dance on you, laughing as you twirl him and sandwich him between you and Atsumu.

After a couple more songs, you, Bokuto, and the girls end up dancing on top of a random table screaming the lyrics to the newest Megan Thee Stallion song.

Yuki somehow proceeds to wrangle you all back to your table to take shot after shot, fueling the night to go on.

Saturday, 3:00am JST

Your group stumbles out of the rooftop bar, with the married MSBY members calling it a night. Bokuto on the other hand, is already ordering an Uber Lux to take you all from Shibuya to an even more upscale club in Minato, on the other end of Tokyo for a good nightcap.

Atsumu holds your hand as you enter the club, the most he’s gotten to touch you since dancing with you earlier.

Your group downs more bottles of champagne and vodka, all dancing on each other at your table.

Emboldened by the alcohol in your system, you pop your ass a little more against Atsumu’s crotch, swaying more seductively to a random top forty hit. Feeling him hardening against his fitted trousers, you turn to face him, skimming your fingers on his chains and chest as you continue to dance. In turn he runs his hands up and down your sides, moving more liberally to each drop of the beat, grazing up the underside of your breasts and back down to cup the curve of your ass. His hands feel warm on your body, steadily stoking a growing fire in you.

You gaze up at Atsumu, tilting your head to lightly graze your lips against his neck, trailing upwards towards his ear, effectively sending shivers down his spine. You whisper, “Would you consider this winning, hotshot?” licking the shell of his ear, resulting in Atsumu groaning lowly as you move your head to look back at him.

With hazy eyes, Atsumu looks at you, then whispers, “Winning would be when I’ve made you come with my mouth so many times you’re beggin’ me to fuck you.. but until then pretty girl, this is pretty close.”

You pussy throbs as his lips brush against your skin with every whisper, but before you can even respond, Atsumu kisses you.

His soft lips press on yours, capturing your lower lip in a soft bite that elicits pleasure that starts in your belly then moves down south. His hands continue to move up and down your sides, now more possessive in grabbing your ass to bring you closer to him.

You teasingly lick his parted lips, prompting Atsumu to dance his tongue against yours.

Lost in open mouthed kisses that have you both desperately groping each other’s clothed bodies on the dance floor, you feel Atsumu brush his knuckle over your breasts, motions languid and repeating as your nipples arouse and become visible through your silk dress.

Your entire body is overheating. You moan against his mouth.

He whispers, “Wanna take this somewhere more private?” You nod immediately, then rush to tell your friends you’d catch up with them over brunch tomorrow.

Atsumu is waiting by the exit, but as soon as he sees you, he is so turned on he can’t help but sear you into another heated kiss, leaving you both weak and wanting.

Saturday, 4:30am JST

Miraculously, the nearest Uber is 25 minutes away and the cabs are far and few. Atsumu starts to dial a private car service, but then notices you wandering down the street.

“Oi!! Where you goin’?” He calls out.

You pout. “I’m hungry.”

Atsumu offers to order you room service at his hotel but you decline, taking his calloused but surprisingly moisturized hand as you skip down a tiny alley way towards a conbini.

Inside, you fill your basket to the brim with an assortment of junk food. Chips, instant ramen, sandwiches, daifuku mochi, fried chicken poppers, and every other snack you find with cute packaging before finally leading you to the end of an aisle, choosing between which types of onigiri to purchase.

Atsumu goes along with you, advising you which brands to get, which to avoid, even putting his favorites in the basket. Although he knows his trainer will punish him with brutal training sessions if he sees the shit he’s about to put on his body, he thinks it’s all worth it. He knows he’ll feel guilty come morning, spending hours at the gym to burn it all off, but right now he couldn’t care less. Not after seeing you starry eyed at how many options of onigiri there are, and how absolutely adorable you look when asking him about which snacks he thinks could fit in your purse to save for later.

Trying to impress you, Atsumu comments. “Y’know, I make a mean tuna onigiri.”

No he doesn’t. His brother does, but you don’t know that. Not yet at least.

“Oh yeah? Want to make me some one of these days?” You respond.

Securing a date with you before the night even ends? Hell yeah.

Atsumu thanks his lucky stars, confidently confirming. “Sure, how does tomorrow evening sound?”

“Baby, our night hasn’t even ended and you’re booking me for tomorrow already. Are you trying to cuff me?”

“Yes. Then wife you.” But Atsumu holds his tongue for once.

Instead he winks at you, responding with a casual “Only if you want me to” with a wide, cheeky, canine bearing smile.

Laughing, you roll your eyes at him as he swoops in to carry your basket and insists on paying for your drunken munchies haul.

Saturday, 5:15am JST

Somehow you and Atsumu end up sitting on a park bench, sharing the food he bought from the conbini. Like two excitable school children on a field trip, you trade half bitten snacks with each other while talking about everything and nothing in between.

He tells you about his twin brother Osamu, who he insists is definitely uglier and the bummy version of him; how they did everything together up until Samu decided to open up his own restaurant and stay in their hometown of Hyogo instead of playing professional volleyball like him.

Atsumu tells you all about their childhood, from catching bugs to keep as pets and sneaking them to their room only to hear their ma screaming about it in the middle of the night, to how he always took from Samu’s secret snack stash, always denied doing so when confronted, but always paid him back with interest by secretly dropping a chunk of his monthly allowance on Samu’s piggy bank. The same one that Samu would later break open to help fund the opening of his restaurant. All the petty fights that turned into brawls, only to act like nothing happened despite being covered in scratches as soon as their tired mom walked through the door after a long day of work. He talks about his twin in such an easygoing manner, love overflowing in his voice and reminiscent of when he was speaking about volleyball, but this time there’s a twinge of wistfulness and melancholy to his tone.

“You miss him.” You softly conclude.

“That idiot? Nah.”

“It’s okay. I won’t hold it against you for blackmail.” You tease.

Atsumu concedes. “Okay maybe a little.”

Loose lipped from the alcohol still flowing in his veins, he continues.

“Samu and I have always been together. Startin’ at the womb for fuck’s sake, fightin’ each other over stupid shit, getting our asses kicked by our ma, sharin’ a room, spewing random thoughts to each other only the two of us would understand, goin’ to the same school, on the same volleyball teams, with the same friends, or rather him havin’ friends that ended up adoptin’ me to their group.”

He chuckles. “I think I took it all for granted, havin’ someone there always with me.. Even if he always got on my ass for the littlest things and it used to always piss me off. Deep down I knew he was always just lookin’ out for me, just didn’t know how ta’ show it. I mean, I didn’t either.”

He laughs because he knows he still doesn’t know how. “It’s almost been four years since I moved away from home and...”

He doesn’t finish the sentiment, but he doesn’t have to.

Atsumu is alone, and although he loves to brag to Osamu and their friends about the freedom having his own space brings, he knows he’s also so fucking lonely.

You finish his thought for him by empathizing. “I get it. I mean, kind of. I don’t have a twin so I can only imagine, but I’ve been living on my own for quite some time now, in between countries with parents who don’t support my career change and friends always in different places than where I am. It’s isolating. But hey, that’s why we put ourselves out there right? Why you acted like a sleazy promoter in front of the club and why I acted like a stone cold bitch earlier only to come at you? Our lame attempts at easing loneliness in hopes that one day, someone might finally understand... or just be there to try.”

You chuckle half-heartedly, nudging his shoulders to try and ease the somber tension.

He turns to look at you, smiling up at him, listening and just trying to understand. He can’t help himself. He pulls you into a sweet kiss that tastes of strawberry daifuku and expensive champagne.

Atsumu knows that you’ll never understand what it’s like to have a twin, to live a life away from them, to suddenly pursue a passion you thought was shared only to have to do it all on your own.. He thinks it’s amazing that you’re even listening to him rant about his nostalgia, even when he knows his thoughts seem incoherent, even when he currently doesn’t even know how to define himself.

In a dimly lit park in Azabu, you and Atsumu find solace in each other’s solitude.

He doesn’t know how he managed to basically word vomit to a stranger issues he finds too embarrassing to even mention to his brother, yet here he is. He doesn’t even know why barely two hours ago you were feeling each other up at a club, about to go back to his hotel room and drunkenly fuck, but now here you were at a park in the middle of a ritzy neighborhood in Tokyo, sharing snacks, stories and innocent kisses.

Talking to you, kissing you, hell even drunkenly shopping for food with you felt like second nature to him, as if you had been with him all along and this was just part of you two’s routine. Atsumu doesn’t know why though, since you couldn’t be more different from him.

You, who finds sparks of interest then bravely torches it aflame, letting it change your life as you go along. Then there’s him, lucky to have found his passion early on, pursuing it steadfastly since then, letting it consume and define him.

Perhaps it was the fact that you found each other incredibly attractive and you both were just looking for some sort of release, sexual or not.

Or honestly, maybe it’s the shared loneliness of being newly minted adults, trying to navigate life on your own without the familiar crutches only youth affords.

Whatever it is, Atsumu finds himself even more drawn to you.

“Being alone, if it’s together with you, isn’t so bad after all,” he thinks.

He watches you as you look up to observe the night sky rapidly fading to make room for the soft pastels of dawn, a soft smile painting your pretty lips. He doesn’t realize he mirrors your smile as soon as he sees it.

At 23, Atsumu doesn’t know the answers to a lot of things. He knows now that you don’t either, but he definitely knows then that he wants you to be there with him as you both figure it all out.

Saturday, 3:45pm JST

“I need a favor Samu. I need to make dinner to pair with onigiri. Oh wait, actually I also need to make onigiri. Tuna scallion.”

“You? Cookin? What?”

“It’s for this girl...”

“A girl agreed to let you cook for her? Is she sane? Conscious? Did you force her?”

“Fuck off!”

“Bet.”

Osamu hangs up.

Atsumu panics and calls him back immediately.

“Fuck I’m sorry!! I’m sorry! I… mighthavetoldherIcookwelltoimpressher.”

“Ah so you’re posin’ as me. I knew I was the superior twin.”

“You wish!! But please... I really like her. It’s the girl from yesterday.”

In all 23 years of being Atsumu’s brother, Osamu had never heard of Atsumu wanting to impress a girl by actually doing something for her. Buying them all the shit they could want, taking them out to eat wherever they want, sure. But actively taking time out of his day, time that could’ve been spent training, to do something for someone else, not even sure if the end result might pay off?

This was new.

Knowing Tsumu’s lack of patience and short attention span, the food will be barely edible. He knows Tsumu expects this to happen already; so he’s intrigued that his brother really insists on trying.

He’s always known Atsumu to be a gambler on court. Off court, he takes the safe routes. So for him to suddenly take a gamble like this, you must have been pretty damn special.

“Alright, scrub. I’ll send you the ingredients list. Facetime me when you’re back in the kitchen.”

- - -

Notes: The places noted in the story are based on real locations in Tokyo. See below if you’d like to imagine more vividly where you and Atsumu’s adventures took place. :)

Locations used:

1. Rooftop bar/restaurant - Ce la Vi, Shibuya

2. 3am club - 1Oak, Minato

3. Conbini - Lawson's (any one of them in Azabu)

4. Park - Mamiana Park, Azabu

#atsumu x you #atsumu x female reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu fic #haikyuu!!#miya atsumu #atsumu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #hq x you #haikyuu timestamps #atsumu x reader #e.writes

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katherinemallory · 3 years

Text

#10 The roulette of feelings

Hell is empty and all the previous chapters are here: #1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #6 #7 #8 #9

After a few days in London we caught our flight to Monte Carlo. I’m not sure how long we stayed there. This mission felt like a long holiday since the very beginning.

Still on board we agreed that Bond would be the one to play poker and I would pose as his wife, or, as he has put it, “a crown jewel”. Usually I don't like being treated as such, since my experience in behaving like a damsel is close to a bare minimum, but this time I really enjoyed it. Bond was clearly pleased with his leading role in this show, and - while sitting at the poker table - he started to take chances more eagerly. He boasted about his poker skills all the time and I kept working from the shadows, observing him and our rivals, and making sure that we don’t expose ourselves too much. A win-win situation.

We were quite busy spending time at the casino, discussing the tactics, or using all the possible attractions offered by the city of Monte Carlo. The only contact I had with the outside world during the first week were my reports to MI6 which went directly to M, delivered to him by Eve Moneypenny.

One day, while Bond was on the meeting with our liaison (it's amazing the SIS has got its people... everywhere), my phone rang. I picked it up and sat on my bed, crossing my legs.

"Hi Eve. It’s nice to hear you. Did you... find out anything?"

"Not yet, Kath, but I'm working on it," she reassured me. "I just wanted to know how you're doing. You haven't been in touch for *days*. I’ve only noticed your daily reports."

"I'm more than fine, thank you. And I’m sorry for not being in touch... I have to admit I've been kinda busy, but... I won’t complain. Finally I do all those things I needed to recharge my batteries."

“I can’t believe what I hear! Does it mean I should become a double-0 if I want to feel more relaxed?” she teased me.

“You definitely should try it,” I replied, smiling. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s absolutely true. I enjoy the high-life more than I expected... All those fancy parties, drinks, wealthy men, late-night strolls around the streets of Monte Carlo... You get used to it pretty quickly," I replied in delight. "Sometimes I forget that I am here for the purpose of work.”

“It’s great to hear that, Kath. You deserve it, especially after what happened in Geneva,” said Eve and hesitated. “And... And w-w-what about Bond...? I guess it’s him who takes you on these late-night strolls?”

I laid on the bed, putting one pillow under my head. I looked straight at the white ceiling.

“Well... We spend each night at the casino, pretending to be a husband and a wife who just want to enjoy themselves... In the mornings Bond tries to teach me how to play poker. I fail miserably every time!” I chuckled. “We share a suite. I had some concerns before, but so far he behaves."

Eve's voice went up really high.

"You mean he did give up on you?”

I tilted my head to the right, placing my cheek on one of the pillows and pressing the phone to my ear.

"He didn’t. We flirt regularly," I replied, as I scratched my forehead with my left hand. “But he’s more patient now, I reckon. And more self-confident. He knows I can’t pay much attention to the other men at the casino, cause it would blow our cover immediately. He knows I wouldn’t do that... This is what makes him... erm... powerful. And he probably thinks I will fall for him eventually,” I added, rolling my eyes. “And I’m afraid he’s right.”

“Uh, you don’t really *mean* it, do you?” she asked, concerned. “There’s no pressure... This mission won’t last forever.”

“Honestly, Eve? Sometimes I feel like it will last forever... And Bond’s presence gets more addictive every day,” I said, lying on my back again. “I used to make fun of it, but I’m afraid I can’t resist Bond much longer. I mean... Not because he’s irresistible, but because... I really start to feel something for him.”

I took a deep breath and then continued:

“It all depends on what you find. If Mallo... erm, if the man I asked you to spy on... is married, then I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t have an affair with Bond...”

“Fair enough,” commented Eve. “At least you know what Bond wants from you. Suppose that’s something. But didn’t you admit the other day that you loved Ma...”

“It’s more complicated than you think," I interrupted. "When you spend all days in Bond’s company, it changes your perspective entirely... You’d better hurry then. I am so confused recently...” Damn, I thought. There is no need to burden Eve with all of this... I should probably change the subject. “... but you didn’t tell me anything about yourself, how was your day at the SIS? Any news?”

“Business as usual. I can’t share much detail, but it seems like Amanda’s got reassigned as she had requested.”

“Good for her. Send my love.”

“I will. And I promise to get in touch as soon as I find out anything about... *him*.”

...

The upcoming days passed so fast that I didn’t think about anything apart from what was going on in Monte Carlo. Intuitively both myself and Bond concentrated on the everyday tasks of the mission, but it turned out most of the time we just had fun, which meant our Walther and Beretta were absolutely useless.

Since the only moments I had only to myself were those just before going to bed in the evenings, I often spent them on analyzing my own feelings and, as a result, I developed a certain kind of insomnia. Or, I should rather call it “a difficulty with falling asleep”.

My thoughts were centred on Mallory. I miss him. I miss him dearly, but only when I have time to think about what he's doing in his old-fashioned office in London. When Bond is around, it’s only him who matters to me. Why is that? What the hell has happened to me? I don't know, but it's disturbing. And I get tired every time I try to sort things out in my mind... Can I really sleep with Bond if Mallory’s married? It’s not about giving up on a married man (which is an obvious decision from my point of view, as I would never break up *anyone’s* marriage), but about being honest to myself. Do I really love Mallory if I can fantasize about Bond? Or do I really feel something for Bond if my next move depends on Mallory’s marital status?

After a few evenings of such intense thinking I realized that no matter the arguments, such analysis is pointless. I could be thinking about this for a year and still didn’t come up with a right solution. I decided to wait and see how the case would resolve itself.

On the last day - it was one of those splendid days in June when you feel the most alive - we went to the casino for one more time, looking more dashing than ever. Little did we know, when we walked hand in hand into the casino - Bond wearing a black dinner jacket and me in an evening scarlet dress - that Bond would win the night’s poker game, gaining an enormous amount of money.

Late at night, around 3 A.M. I went straight to the poker table and brought Bond a dry martini (I've already had a few of them myself to relieve the boredom).

"Congratulations," I said, handing him a martini.

"Thank you," replied Bond and drank half of his glass.

I looked at him with aroused interest while he was drinking. I was never good at poker and, as much as I didn't want to, I had to admit the way he played that night impressed me.

"What do we do now?"

For a while, he observed the olives that seemed as if they were swimming inside the glass, and then gave me a quick glance.

"We pack and come back to London."

"Is that so? What about the winnings?" I asked in disbelief, expecting some kind of joke rather than a matter-of-fact response.

"I will have to transfer them to MI6. I have already contacted M, he should send me the instructions in the next few hours."

"You've already contacted M? Someone's in a hurry. Was your time here *that* bad?” I taunted him.

Bond smirked, but didn't say anything. I glanced around the room. The people started to leave the place.

"So, it means we came here broken and we leave broken, despite the win?" I asked, laughing.

"One could say that," Bond agreed. "But I can still afford a dinner and a drink. Would you join me tonight for a humble celebration?"

"With pleasure. Let's enjoy our last hours in this marvellous place,” I said, taking him by the arm.

After the dinner in one of the restaurants at the casino, we went for our last walk around the streets of Monte Carlo. Both me and Bond became unexpectedly talkative, probably because of too many drinks we had to celebrate the happy ending of the mission.

It could have been around 5 A.M when the walk started to feel too exhausting, and we went back to our shared suite.

"Would you like another?" asked Bond, pointing to the bottle of bourbon at the table, just after we locked the door to the suite.

"Yes," I replied. "The last one for tonight."

I have no idea why I agreed to this, cause I've never been drinking much or mixing alcohols in the past. After Bond handed me my glass, I let my hair down and rushed to the balcony. I need to see this amazing city just one more time before I go to sleep, I thought. I observed the skyline, waiting for Bond to join me.

"To the king and queen of Monaco," said Bond and we clinked glasses, standing next to each other.

I smiled at him and drank the whole glass with my eyes closed, but I still could tell he was staring at me.

"You know, Katherine, it's been one of my favourite missions so far."

"Really?”

"Yes... It’s the simplicity of it,” he took off his dinner jacket, thrown it on the nearest chair, and then continued. “The task I'm really good at... the fairy-tale location, no rush... and the right woman. You," he said in his deep, smooth voice and put his glass on the floor.

Then he put one of his hands on the railing and turned to me, but didn’t say a word, as if he intended to find out how close to me I would allow him to move.

“It’s an honour to hear something like that from such an experienced double-0,” I said timidly, still holding the empty glass in my hands.

Bond gazed at me for a few seconds.

"It's true, I've been a double-0 for quite a while," he said and turned his head to look at the skyline of Monte Carlo, "but rarely did I feel this close with another agent. It's strange. I’ve always tried to avoid being emotionally attached to anyone. Cause of the job's nature and all that stuff."

This time it was me who stayed quiet. I just kept listening to him, realizing how much I *love* his voice and how could I listen to him talking *forever*. It occurred to me how beautiful his magnetic blue eyes were, especially in the middle of the night. One could say the same about Bond's face which now seemed to me like the face of the most handsome man on the planet. It should be illegal to be *that* handsome, I thought.

Bond turned his head to me.

"Then I've met you... and it seems I forget about all of those rules in the blink of an eye... it seems I don't control myself anymore."

I don't know how it happened, but in the next moment I found myself in Bond's arms. I felt his embrace, so tight, as if he wanted to protect me from all of the threats of this world. The glass dropped out of my hands and probably broke up, but we didn’t hear anything apart from the sound of our pumping hearts. I placed my hands on Bond’s chest, and we began to kiss, not being able to control the lust that started to fulfil our bodies. I quickly moved my hands to his neck and then the back of his head. I caressed his hair, which felt like the most pleasant material I have ever touched.

"You're the woman of my dreams," whispered Bond, when he started to kiss my neck. In response, I tilted my head back, but continued to touch his hair.

Out of the blue Bond picked me up and headed towards the bedroom. He was in a hurry, wanting to put me on his bed as soon as possible. He took off his shirt and laid down on me, holding my waist and passionately kissing my neck.

"Oh, James," I moaned, as the touch of his lips and hands started to turn me on. “Keep going... umm... And use that nice, deep voice of yours.”

“Like this?” he asked, lowering his voice and biting my ear. “Do you like it?”

“Yes...”

Oh my, I am in heaven. If he doesn't stop, I'll melt, I thought. I let Bond kiss me a few more times, but then moved to the other side of the bed to undress. Bond watched me hungrily as I took off my dress and stockings. And there I was, lying on his bed and wearing only my sexy black lingerie. I thought that he would eat me if he could.

I encouraged Bond with a sensual gesture, touching myself where I wanted to be touched the most. He couldn’t stand watching me for long, and came closer to kiss me again. He slowly moved from my belly and breasts to my neck.

“I've been waiting for this moment since the day we've met," he murmured, while kissing my collarbone.

I closed my eyes to double the thrill and make the experience more intense. My hands moved to his back and held him tighter.

"You drive me crazy," Bond whispered into my ear.

A fast thought crossed my mind. It's true what they say in the Service... nobody does it better... he's definitely a great lay... to hell with “the revenge plot”, go for it, Kath. I was just about to take off my bra, when I heard something was vibrating. I got a text. Great timing. I opened my eyes and reluctantly sat on the bed, bending down to the bedside cabinet.

"Oh, Katherine, just ignore it," said Bond who still caressed my waist with his right hand.

"Look who’s talking," I replied. "The most professional man in the Service... There’s no need to describe this to you..."

I looked at the screen and in that exact moment my adventurous mood was gone. I felt as if my heart stopped for a short while.

Hi, just wanted to let you know that I have some evidence. He's not married anymore. Love, Eve

I quickly locked the screen to prevent Bond from seeing the message, as I felt his touch on my back. He hugged me from behind, kissing my left shoulder.

"Shall we continue?" he asked in his naughty manner.

I froze in my tracks. What about M? How can I fight for him if I sleep with another man right now? I promised myself to fight for Mallory and I have to be consistent. This was fun, but... I love Mallory, right? It's high time to stop playing games... and to finally forget about Bond. Perhaps it's a good sign I got this message before we did antyhing reckless.

I stood up with my back to Bond, still holding the phone in my hands.

"I'm sorry James... but I can't do this,” I declared as seriously as I could.

"But why?" he asked calmly, but his voice was full of disappointment and sadness. "Was it something I did?"

Oh, dear James, I thought. If you only knew how perfectly you did everything...

"No," I replied and turned to him. My voice was shaking a bit. "It was... it was a wonderful night, but I've never slept with a co-worker before... and... I've just realized it would be wrong. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for this," I blurted out and felt a tear doing down my cheek.

Bond seemed not to believe me.

"You've *just* realized it? *Just* after you've got that message," he said, pointing to my phone. "I don't know what this is about, but... we've had such a great time here, why not celebrate it tonight? It doesn’t matter at all that we work together."

I turned my head in embarrassment, trying not to look at him. He stood up and came closer to me.

"I know that you like me," Bond said and placed his hands on my arms. "You can't simply deny our chemistry. You've seen what kind of magic it can cause... you don't have to ruin it."

I took his hands off me and went to the other side of the bed to grab my clothes.

"I'm really sorry, James. It's over."

"It's over before it even started... Strange, isn’t it?"

I ignored him, as I headed toward to the door leading to my part of the suite. I must have looked miserable in my sexy black lingerie, holding my evening dress, and being on the verge of a mental breakdown.

"I don't want to hurt you *again*," I said quietly with my hand on the doorknob.

Bond shook his head.

"You will hurt me if you leave,” he said calmly, but I knew he was full of anger. His eyes told me he was suspicious of everything I’ve said.

As I knew he had the very right to be suspicious, I turned my back on him, trying to get inside my part of the suite. My hands started to shake, making it impossible to quickly open the door.

“You still think about *him*, don’t you Kath...?” Bond asked in a raised voice, with his hands on his hips. “Why do you keep deceiving yourself? He’s not cut out for it! He doesn’t see you this way... and even if something happened between us he wouldn’t care!”

But I would, James. I would, I thought, going inside my part of the suite through the door. I couldn’t bear to look at those cold blue eyes again.

I went up straight to the bathroom and locked the door. I could not think of anything else than just bursting into tears.

You're so stupid, Kath. Mallory thinks you're responsible, but you're just stupid, I thought, looking at myself in the mirror. What was that for? Bond might be a womanizer, but no one deserves to be treated like that. No one. Does he use other women? He does. But it’s none of your business, Kath. You don't offer someone the pleasure and then deny it. You just don’t...

I spend a few minutes sitting on a bathroom’s floor and crying.

But looking on the bright side... at least I got my backup story. Everyone will see something’s happened between us, but no one will ask questions. And if there is a slightest chance M cares about me, he’ll get the message.

I can’t wait for this mission to be really over. By this time tomorrow I shall be in my apartment in London. Alone.

***

To be continued.

#fanfiction #james bond fanfiction #002 #007 #james bond #bond james bond #m #gareth mallory #katherine mallory #eve moneypenny #casino royale quote #the spy who loved me song quote #nobody does it better

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misssophiachase · 3 years

Note

prompt- AH Klaroline. we usually see klaus developing feelings for caroline while she's in a relationship with someone else. i would like to see something where klaus has been in an established relationship with another girl and caroline realizes that she's developed feelings for him. (if you don't have time to do this one, don't worry about it).

Thanks nonnie, I love it so much! Inspired really. Got a bit carried away too, see notes at the end.

Synopsis: One wedding and a completely confused best man and maid of honour.

“And all you never say is that you love me so.”

All You Never Say

Caroline Forbes, Maid of Honour, Invites you to celebrate:

The Bachelorette Party for

Katherine Pierce

On Saturday fifteenth of June, twenty-twenty one at Connaught Bar, Mayfair, London at 2000h

Dress: Party Attire

One week before the nuptials - Connaught Bar, London England, 10:21pm

“What happened to the Kitty Kat I knew who’d usually be dancing on the bar right now and showing the stripper just how it’s done?”

Although her tone was light and teasing, Caroline was a little disappointed given this was her best friend’s bachelorette party and there wasn’t a tacky veil or penis straw in sight.

Also, they’d been forced to hire out a venue to avoid unwanted media attention before the big day so the atmosphere wasn’t quite what she was expecting either.

The word lacklustre seemed a good word to describe it all.

Maid of Honour Caroline had been banned from most fun things when organising Kat’s last night of ‘freedom’.

“She’s marrying one of the United Kingdom’s most eligible bachelors, not to mention the youngest Minister in the Government’s Cabinet. That doesn’t really go with the wholesome reputation she’s trying to portray, Care,” Bonnie offered, eating the olive from her martini. “Although, I think it’s a shame you can’t put those pole dancing moves we learned in Cabo to good use.”

“This is one pathetic stripper, just saying,” Rebekah offered, joining them at the bar and stealing Bonnie’s drink from her outstretched hands.

“I was on the other side of the world, I could only go by his rating on the internet,” Caroline argued. “Plus, I also had to find one who kept some clothes on and we all know what that means.”

“What’s underneath doesn’t match the whole package,” Bonnie finished. “We don’t need to tip him, do we?”

When Katherine called Caroline thirteen months earlier to say she was engaged to Elijah, Caroline couldn’t have been happier. They’d all met each other at private boarding school and had stayed in touch ever since and even though they seemed like opposites, Kat and Elijah complemented one another.

Also, Katherine’s job as head neurosurgeon at one of London’s most prestigious private hospitals and her impressive family inheritance greatly helped matters when it came to swaying his parents on the engagement.

The Mikaelsons.

Mikael and Esther were extremely wealthy and well-connected in English society. They came from family money and owned a large and impressive property portfolio spanning the entire globe and had sent their children to the best boarding school the US had to offer.

Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire.

Caroline wasn’t wealthy like the rest of her friends. She’d be lying if that fact didn’t make her feel somewhat inferior. Her father owned the local general store and, if it weren’t for her scholarship, Caroline would have ended up in public school. Not that she would have minded but her father insisted it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Attending the exclusive boarding school had been an adjustment to say the least and not just because of the ugly and uncomfortable uniforms they had to wear. Caroline was assigned to a room with three fellow students.

Katherine Pierce, although the daughter of a talented cardiothoracic surgeon and a world class architect, was wild and impulsive and constantly in trouble with the dean for her indiscretions like sneaking out to meet boys and smoking on occasion.

Bonnie Bennett was the gorgeous but serious high achiever whose parents owned one of the biggest publishing houses in the world. She was taught never to take anything for granted and work hard for what she wanted in life.

Rebekah Mikaelson, while strong-willed and passionate, was the odd one out from the beginning. She made it her aim in life to drive the other girls crazy with her brittle personality and unwanted opinions. Although it took a while, and a few choice fights that needed to be broken up between her and Katherine, the girls became best friends.

Rebekah’s brothers all attended the school at the same time but in different years with Elijah the eldest followed by Klaus then Kol and youngest sibling Rebekah.

The Mikaelson boys and their best friend from home, Enzo St John, were definitely the most popular and sought after by the female student body. Caroline, not being one to conform, refused to play that game. She had no intention of stroking their egos any further, especially head womaniser Klaus.

There was no doubting he was gorgeous, it ran in their family after all, but he knew it.

Caroline found that she could have a fun time with Enzo, a deep and meaningful discussion with Elijah and a joke with Kol but when it came to Klaus all he did was tease her and rile her up.

Of course she told herself it was because he was an immature idiot but wasn’t overly convinced it was the only reason given the looks she’d send his way when she knew no one was looking. Caroline hoped whatever weird thing was happening would dissipate when they graduated.

Kol and Bonnie had dated for a year at school, but apart from them they all stayed friends. So much so, that after they’d all graduated and gone their separate ways in life they still caught up for most significant occasions.

This wedding being one of many.

Katherine and Elijah had reconnected in Boston and, even though she always said he was too serious, they fell in love and were now on the verge of marriage.

Caroline was so excited, if not about the bachelorette party.

“Who are we kidding? I got the wild stuff out when you three were all too busy being good girls in boarding school,” she scoffed. Caroline wouldn’t admit it aloud but she had a point. “And there’s nothing stopping you three from getting up there with the stripper.”

“Pass,” all three replied, looking up at him ominously.

“How about we get out of here and see what the boys are up to?” Katherine suggested a twinkle in her brown eyes.

“Because I think that defeats the purpose of a bachelorette party, Pierce,” Caroline drawled. “And this is Elijah, no offence but poker doesn’t sound all that exciting if you ask me.”

“Says the girl with the special poker skills,” Kat smiled deviously. “Klaus likes to think he’s the best player but we all know you could give him a run for his money. I’d say watching you fleece him is a fun way to spend an evening.”

Caroline had to admit angering the best man and her wedding partner certainly had its benefits. They’d seen each other in passing the previous day on arrival but otherwise hadn’t connected much recently because she was based on the West coast in Los Angeles and him on the East in New York City.

He was the CEO of a prominent stockbroking firm and, by all reports, had been dating a Texan oil billionaire’s daughter and model, Hayley someone, for the past year.

Okay, her surname was Marshall.

She may have read a few editions of Page Six and seen them attending premieres and openings. She was sort of attractive.

Okay, she was gorgeous with big, brown doe eyes and a glossy chestnut mane and legs for days.

Caroline told herself that she didn’t care more times than she could count but there was also something lingering beneath the surface with Klaus. She would have endeavoured to forget him after school had it not been for something that happened two years earlier and changed her opinion of him completely.

Bastard.

And with that came the insecurity she hated. Even though she’d carved out a successful career as a human rights lawyer, she’d never fit into his life because she didn’t have a rich family or a huge inheritance like Hayley. Not that she cared but she knew his family did.

She noticed her friends giving her weird looks, clearly she didn’t realise how much of a Klaus trance she’d descended into.

“Sure. Why not?”

American Bar, Savoy Hotel, London 11:07pm

“This is lame,” Kol scoffed, throwing his cards on the makeshift poker table.

“He’s only saying that because he’s losing,” Enzo laughed, pulling the chips towards him greedily.

“No, I’m saying that because this is no bachelor party,” he huffed, standing up and going to the bar to make himself another drink. “You couldn’t even organise one, measly stripper?”

As with the girls, the guys had hired out the venue for privacy reasons, not that they were actually doing anything untoward.

Klaus had won the most money so far but he’d left the table to take a call from Hayley letting Enzo win a few rounds in his absence. She was arriving the next day for the wedding and was calling to check on the arrangements.

Klaus was certain he’d told her multiple times but she was someone who liked things just right. But she also liked to call.

A lot.

At first he thought it was endearing but after a year he was starting to realise it was largely overkill. So too, her obsession with all things materialistic and celebrity and having to be at the opening of everything and anything. Klaus liked to keep more of a low profile if he could and that trait only reminded him of his parents and their chosen life together.

When he’d met her during a wild weekend in Miami, Klaus was immediately taken with her. He even thought it was love but decided that was just the tequila talking and it was most definitely lust. Klaus didn’t do relationships and he assumed she would be a momentary distraction until his parents had taken a strong liking to her. Or more accurately to her wealth and family connections and future prospects for them.

With Mikael and Esther it wasn’t much about love but what you did for a living and how much money your family had. Their marriage was case in point.

Klaus wasn’t one to do what his parents told him but he’d long felt the black sheep given his secret paternity and decided it would be good to earn their favour for a change.

There was also another reason to entertain the relationship, one that had made him realise that, no matter what, he was always going to have to settle for second best.

“Are we interrupting anything?” Klaus looked up into the eyes of his future sister-in-law. He and Katherine had acted like siblings from the moment they met so to him her marriage to Elijah was inevitable.

“Great!” Kol growled from his vantage point behind the bar. “Not only do I have to sit through this poor excuse for a party but now the girls have arrived.”

“Nice to see you too, Kol,” Bonnie said, raising her eyebrows. Although they’d dated over ten years ago everyone seemed to think something was still very much happening between them.

“As much as I’m glad to see my beautiful fiance,” Elijah smiled, standing so he could pull her into his arms affectionately. “I’m not sure this is the done thing.”

“Oh, you mean like strippers, brother?”

“You’re more than welcome to our stripper, Kol, we only left him in Mayfair about ten minutes ago so you might be able to catch him if you’re lucky,” Rebekah teased, swiping a few of Enzo’s prized chips from the table.

“Oi, woman!” He muttered, attempting to take it back while she squealed in response.

Rebekah and Enzo had been play fighting since he was eleven and she was nine. The rest of the group all knew it was unresolved tension that would finally sort itself out some day so were just waiting for it to click into place.

“So, what you’re telling me is that the girls were allowed to have a stripper?” Clearly, Kol wasn’t letting this one go easily.

“Oh would you please shut up, little brother, does it shock you that Elijah didn’t actually want one?” Klaus barked, his brother wearing on his last nerve.

For the most part his gaze had been surreptitiously trained on the maid of honour. Attired in a little, black dress that hugged her in all the right places it was incredibly distracting. She was also wearing her hair just how he liked it, loose and a little wild. How many times had he imagined running his fingers through those waves? Too many to count.

Yes, Caroline Forbes was his dirty little secret. One that he had every intention of keeping because it would do him no good to reveal it.

“I promise that when you get married I’ll book out an entire strip club,” Enzo offered, stealing the chip from Rebekah’s grasp while she wasn’t watching and sending her a triumphant smirk. “Happy?”

“Are we playing poker or what?” Caroline asked. This got his attention. Klaus looked over at her, his eyebrows cocked curiously.

“You play poker, love?”

“I dabble,” she replied, taking a seat at the table. “I mean, I used to play with my grandpa when I was about ten. Pretty sure the rules haven’t changed much since then.” It would have been adorable if Klaus wasn’t so competitive by nature.

“We are playing for real money here,” he warned, giving her one last chance to back out. “I mean I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

“I’m a big girl and can take care of myself,” she shot back. “So, just deal the cards, Mikaelson.”

The others took their place and the game was restarted, even Kol seemed to have gotten out of his funk to play. The first hand went like this:

“All red,” Rebekah smiled triumphantly, laying her cards on the table. After betting her entire bank it was sufficed to say she was out from the get-go.

“All red? Seriously, little sister? Can you please take her away Enzo and never let her play ever again,” Klaus muttered through gritted teeth. How were they even related?

Second hand ended in Katherine and Elijah being expelled for too much PDA at the poker table. Neither of the love birds minded a little time out in the corner.

Third hand came down to a poor display of bluffing from Kol while Bonnie complained because all she wanted to do was play Go Fish because it was more entertaining.

Then there were two.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just give in, Forbes?” Klaus asked, leaning back lazily in his chair. She was studying her cards carefully. Most hands she’d folded before betting anything and he was starting to realise she was too careful, much like the girl he knew in real life.

“Give me a minute,” she hissed, fastening a loose wave behind her ear. Klaus could tell it was a sign of a bad hand but at the same time he wished he was the one to place it there.

“Okay, I want three cards,” she asked, placing the discarded ones face down.

“Maybe you should just fold, love?” He asked, partly because he was concerned but also because Klaus knew he was that accomplished. His straight flush was looking extremely good right now.

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell me what to do, ass,” she offered, noting his shocked look in response. “I was just trying to counter your love with something equally fitting.”

“Fine,” he murmured trying to pretend not to feel dejected. “Three cards.”

She took them and again studied them closely. Meanwhile the rest of the group had gathered around, no doubt sensing this was their last hand and everyone could finally go home.

“Okay, how about we stop beating around the bush and I just bet everything I have,” she said pushing it all into the middle.

“You’re bluffing,” he blurted out, knowing it was impossible she had a hand to beat his flush.

“I guess you’ll have to bet to find out,” she smiled. All he wanted to do was kiss it off her face and that was just for starters. He shook his head reminding himself that he needed to relax.

“Call,” she said, her expression serious. They held each other’s gaze for a prolonged period, Klaus telling himself it was to try and read the poker signs but that wasn’t it at all. He suddenly realised that he could stare at her for hours and never tire.

Not just hours, forever maybe.

He cleared his throat knowing that everyone was now watching in anticipation.

“Straight flush,” he grinned proudly, laying it out on the table. She gave it a brief look before placing hers next to his.

“All red.” Given it was a ten, Jack, Queen, King and Ace of diamonds, also known as a royal flush, she was clearly being facetious.

“You played me, Forbes.” He finally uttered amongst the cheers and Rebekah’s insistence that she must have had a winning hand all along.

She pulled the chips towards her happily choosing not to respond immediately. His eyes were still trained on her though, desperate for some kind of response.

“And you underestimated me, Mikaelson,” she murmured.

Yes. Maybe he had underestimated her and everything else.

TBC - Next part will be up tomorrow PM..there’s a chance encounter in the middle of the night, a rehearsal dinner and a slight wedding mishap before the big day. But let me know what you think so far : )

Follow on AO3 HERE

#all you never say #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fanfic #klaroline #misssophiachase #what do you think #let me know #thanks anon #great prompt

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cruecifymesixx · 3 years

Text

Love and Leather /Part Eighty Sixx/

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Enjoy! sorry the updates aren’t as often like they were before. I’ll try to do better

Warnings: angst, drugs, language, drug induced paranoia

Taglist: @miserablecunt , @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @a-simple-salmon, @hi-my-name-is-riley, @extremesadnerding, @thatbandchick39, @awkwrdcait, @countrygirlswonderland, @awesomealmostdopestudent, , @tashy-bear, @krazykatkay456, @terror-triplet, @shouttatthedevill @beachystars, @rodriguez025, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @s-outhie, @anxious-diabetic, @awkwardblackgirls, @vintagebox @shamelessobsessions, @jerseytaint, , @criminalyetminimal, @motley-queen, @trapt-in-a-dream, @broke-n-bitchy, @lovesick-heart0, @keepcalm-and-beyou, @miriampraez, @teenwolflover28, @lilyhw1, @herbertweeest, @random-internet-user-4471, @falcon-arrows, @talranocchia2001, @waywardprincess666, @iluvmesomemarvelndc, @zoenicoles, @vamprlestat, @supersoldierballerina, @electradestiny, @marshbev, @n0-sh0rtage-0f-faults, @cruebaby, @ggorehorror, @valentines-in-london, @nassauartist @cmft-jr-winchester, @bokkie92, @notworthyofyou1120 @xrosegoldwolfx, @mgkobsessed, @chaoticvybe, @kellysimagines @thoughtsoftheantagonist , @sleepyjunhong @meetthesixxter @sparxx27 @gingerspicetalks @kaitieskidmore1 @unknownoblivion @nevergoodenuffbutokaaayyy @sublimeprincesswasteland @kylieinwonderland @haileynicoleseavey17 @lavendersoundbarrier @xxisxxisxxis, @dogmom2014, @cruesixxlover1991, @xpoisonousrosesx, @m0rnlngstar, @love-struck-aries, @youretheonlyonewhomakesme, @i-want-to-shoot-myself, @arianareirg, @fentitrbl, @patheticgay69 @rocknroll--baby @redlipscrystalskies14, @samanthadegaro @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @thechangingme, @idkmanhereisshitilike, @makaelahdelvalle

Nikki held my hand tightly as we walked through a crowd of photographers. Quickly, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer to him, my hand darting up to his chest, fingers intertwining with the layered rosaries and the same padlock necklace I had gotten for him years prior.

I heard Nikki mutter a curse word when photographers screamed for pictures and a quick word. Nikki declined but allowed them to take pictures of us. We were at the album release party and there was already a buzz about the music. Mainly because they wanted to see if Mötley could do it without Vince.

We walked inside hand in hand before he quickly let go and put distance between us. I frowned a bit but quickly perked up when Alan Kovac came up to him, "Nikki! Congratulations man." He gives him a quick hug "All the hard work has paid off. C'mon let's celebrate." He's quickly pulled in another direction, I see him glance back at me before he starts talking to Alan and the other suits. The record label, the marketers...those people.

I sigh deeply as I walk over to the open bar. At least I had an excuse to go shopping and get a new dress. I order a vodka soda with lime as I sip and people watch. I didn't know half of these people and I'm sure Nikki felt the same way. I should have just stayed home with Arianna however I wanted to make an effort in supporting him like a good girlfriend should do, or whatever I am to him.

Ever since my date a few weeks ago, Nikki has been extremely distant. I know he wants to talk about it, and I do too but we both don't know how to bring it up. So the best thing we know how to do is ignore it and act like it didn't happen. Therapy was a bust the other day too, we sat in silence for forty five minutes. How much longer can we keep doing this?

I get tired of sipping through the plastic straw and toss it to the side, chugging the rest of it before putting the glass down and ordering another one. The bartender tries to make small talk, I brush him off and leave before walking over to the VIP area where the band is. Cigarette smoke from John and Mick hit my face, I would usually say Tommy too, but he's trying to quit before the baby gets here.

I sit down in the red velvet chair besides Clementine, "That's a pretty dress. Where'd you get it?" I smile at her.

She leans closer to my ear, "I got it at Target."

God bless Clementine for not being like the other wives and girlfriends.

"It's probably the last cute dress I can fit in for the next six months. I've already been gaining weight."

"I think it's just you stress eating and not pregnancy weight." I smirk as she flips me off and playfully hits my shoulder, "What are you drinking?" I point at the red liquid in a martini glass.

"A virgin cosmopolitan." She points at mine, "Vodka soda?"

I nod, "Double the vodka." I glance seeing Nikki come over, he eyes the spot next to me before changing his mind and opts for sitting by Corabi instead. I look at him a moment before looking back at Clementine. Her eyebrows raise in question as I take another long sip.

"Let me just take a guess, he's bitter over your date with Jon?" Clementine questions as I roll my eyes, "He needs to get over it. This was the deal, you both date someone else and decide if it's what you want. It's not that hard to comprehend."

I chuckle at her words, "You would think right? The only time we talk is at the dining table with Arianna and who's doing pick up duty. Other than that, there's no interaction. I even walked around the house in my underwear and one of his shirts and he still wouldn't talk to me."

"Have you tried being the bigger person?"

Well, obviously that would be too easy.

"I don't know why I have to be the bigger person. He's the one that's all cranky about it. I stopped giving him shit for Donna after their second date. He just doesn't like when I play his game better than him, he never has." I express to her as she chuckles.

"God, you two are a match made in hell." Clementine laughs, "Forget about all of that tonight and just have some fun. You're kid free and it's an open bar. What more could you want?" I glance at Nikki as she follows my gaze, "That's beside the point!"

I smile a bit, "I'm fine Clementine. I'm here and I'm having fun."

"You're always just fine, Van."

I glance, "Because I'm fine. I'm good." I look over when Nikki gets up, holding his cell phone to his ear before he disappears into the crowd, "I'm gonna go use the restroom. Maybe get another drink and some food. You hungry?"

Clementine chuckles "Do I even have to answer that?"

I nod, using her knee as a crutch to get up. I squeeze past people before I get to the restrooms, seeing the line and groaning. I eye the men's bathroom for a second, not seeing a single line or a dude walk through the doors. I clear my throat walking past dirty glares and eye rolls as I walk into the bathroom.

"Oh fuck.." I turn around seeing Corabi taking a piss, "I'm sorry John."

He laughs a bit, I hear the noise of his zipper before the flush of the urinal, "It's okay. There's nobody in the stalls." I nod quickly, walking into it. God, men are fucking disgusting. I squat over the toilet doing my business as I hear him wash his hands before repeated sniffing. I hear him mutter a "shit" before more sniffing. I flush the toilet and step out seeing him using his car key to take a bump.

"You want some?"

My mouth runs dry and the angel and devil are arguing on my shoulder, "I didn't know you used." I step over paper towels on the floor and go to wash my hands hearing him sniff again before pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Just socially. Helps with my anxiety." He responds monotone as he looks at me through the mirror. I see his eyes wander down the backside of me as I reach to dry my hands.

"Does Nikki know?"

"Why? You gonna tell him?" I shake my head and he smiles, "Good girl." He offers the bump to me as I stare at it.

C'mon. Just go ahead. Look out how little that bump is. It won't do anything to you.

I shake my head, "I'm okay John. Thank you though." I step to the door but he steps back and leans against it, "I should get back to-"

"Nikki?" He laughs, "Arent you two fighting right now? He's bitched about you for weeks now."

"John, you don't know what you're talking about. We're just having a disagreement." I stare at him, watching him sniff the white powder again.

Go ahead. Just say yes. You know you want too. C'mon, what's the big worry?

John laughs at me as he shoves his curly strands out of his face, "I guess dating other people is a pretty big disagreement."

"It's what he wanted." I raised my voice, becoming stern as he smiled at me.

"Hey sweetheart. It ain't any of my business." John snorts one last key bump before closing the vial and puts it back in his pocket. He grabs the door and holds it open, "Ladies first..."

My feet stay planted as I stare at him, he raises an eyebrow before closing the bathroom door, "One bump and that's it." Johns lips tug upwards as he pulls out the vial, "And you don't say shit. It stays here in the bathroom or I swear to god I will ruin your fucking life."

He doesn't say anything in return just a simple chortle as he dips the silver key into the vial. I hold a nostril close as I snort it up quickly. The whiz going straight to my head. I feel my heart beat throughout my body and the goosebumps rising on my skin cause me to shiver. I try to rub away the irritation, sneezing repeatedly right after, "Thanks.." I see that he holds out another one I sigh and snort it in the other nostril.

John chuckles as I wipe my face. He opens the door and follows behind me.

I feel Corabi's hand rest on my lower back as he gets us back over to the bands section. I stop walking seeing Donna sitting next to Nikki, her tan legs draped over his knee as she clutches a fruity drink with an umbrella. She's whispering in his ear and he laughs at whatever she said. His hand is placed over her knee, rubbing up and down her bare thigh, fingers pulling on the bottom hem of her skirt.

I glare at them, feeling my wrist being pulled on as my name is being shouted over the music, "What did you say?" I look at Clementine, eyes low and hazy as she stares at me.

"I said...what took you so long!?" She shouts a bit, dragging me over to the booth as I can't take my eyes off of them. Donna leans over and kisses his cheek and jaw as he as the biggest smile plastered on his lips. I feel my chest heaving up and down as I try to find a solid breath of air to suck in. Clementine touched my cheek to bring me back to her and away from the looming panic that was slowly rising.

"Sorry, the bathroom...the-the uh line was really long." I stare confused again as I now hear Donnas high pitched laugh over all the other noise. Why? Why was she here when I'm here? When he held my hand and held me close when we got here?

"And no food?" Clementine laughs. How could she be laughing? Does nobody see what's going on? My eyes widen when Nikki gently grips her throat, his thumb running over her skin back and forth as he kisses her. His eyes stay opened and locked on mine.

"Why's he doing that?!" I shout, startling her as she turns to look at what I'm yelling at.

"Who? Whose doing what?" She asks confused, staring at me concerned, "Vanity? Hey! Look at me!"

I can't rip my eyes away, Nikki smiles at me when she kisses his neck and touches his exposed chest, "Don't you fucking see her kissing him?!?"

"Whose kissing who Vanity?! Jesus Christ are you drunk already?!" She pulls me to the side but I try to fight her, "Vanity! Stop!"

"Nikki!! He-he's just!!-" I try to get it out, but my words are a jumbled, slurred mess.

"....is getting his picture taken with the band?" Clementine says in my ear as she points over to them. Huge smiles on their faces as they hang off of one another laughing and yelling as flashes from cameras go off.

I blink a few times, staring. Nikki sees me and waves at me. I look over to the couch, no one was there, "What?" I say quietly as Clementine grips my arm and drags me out the back doors. I feel relief wash over me as the cold air hits my skin.

"What did you do?" She shoves my shoulders, "What did you do Vanity?!" She shoves me again until I'm leaning against the concrete wall. I feel the world spinning around me, Clem is a distorted mess as she yells "What did you fucking take?!"

"I-I didnt..." I can barely focus on the three of them that were standing in front of me "Oh god..." I mutter as I run my hands through my hair.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" She shouts, "You look sicker than a fucking dog and your eyes won't stay still!"

I rest my hand at the base of my throat, I felt like I was choking on nothing as I try my hardest to focus, "B-blow! I had some blow in the bathroom! A-and I-I think I'm h-having a bad reaction!" I stutter over my words, trying to keep my tears in.

"Yeah?! You fucking think?! God Damnit." Clementine groans as she paces around before grabbing my hand "C'mon-" she tries to pull me back inside.

"No! I can't go inside! Not while he's with her!!"

"What?!" Clementine stares at me, eyes narrowing, "What are you talking about? He's not with anyone-"

"Yes he is!! I saw them!" I flinched, breathing rapidly when Clementine cupped my cheeks, "I-I saw them. And they were kissing and he was looking at me to make sure I was watching!! Why would he do that?!"

"Van-Vanity hey! Hey! Listen to me-" I shook my head as she forced me to look at her, "Nikki is not with anyone. You're just seeing things and none of it is real. It's just your mind making you hallucinate. None of it is real-" She repeated, "Let's go inside and try to relax, alright? We'll get some water and some food."

"None of it is real..." Clementine nodded as I shook under her hands, "Okay..."

*Clementine’s POV*

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!!!!

I held onto Vanity's arm, feeling her tremble as we walked back inside. Her jaw muscle was clenching and unclenching repeatedly. I looked down at the crease of her elbow hoping to find a prick mark from a needle but there was none. I guided her back over to our section as she plopped down on the couch, hunched over with her head between her knees.

"Okay. C'mon, you gotta sit up or someone's gonna ask questions." I told her as she leaned back against the cushion, pupils blown with greens and golds lit up around them, "I'll be right back, okay? I'm just gonna get us some water." Van looked panicked but she quickly nodded.

I glanced at her one last time before walking away, seeing the guys at the bar. Tommy smiled, running up to me and giving me a kiss, "There you are!" He cheered, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

"Hi baby." I leaned up to kiss his cheek "I'm just getting some water for me and Van.." I tell him, he yells at the bartender to get one water and one Jack and coke, "Tommy..."

"It's too early for her to be drinking water." He whistles loudly and yells for Vanity as loud as he can, "Go bring her over here! She needs to celebrate too instead of moping around." He laughs a bit, "Vanity!!" He shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth.

I glance seeing her watching, she slowly gets up...well stumbling up as she comes over, "Jesus, maybe she does need a water..."

"Tommy...she fucked up.." I say in his ear as he looks at me.

"Well yeah! I'm sure she is a little fucked up by the way she's walking." He laughs loudly again and I grow frustrated with him.

I grab his arm and pull him closer to my height, "No Tommy. She fucked up. She snorted some blow and now she's having a bad reaction or trip or whatever the hell it is. She's hallucinating." I tell him over the music as he stares at me for a moment before glancing behind me. I turn around seeing Nikki sitting in a chair laughing.

Tommy walks away from me as he goes over to Vanity, wrapping his arm around her waist and helps her walk straight. He brings her over, blocking Nikki's view as he helps her up onto the barstool. He reaches over the bar and grabs a bottle of water and forces it into her hand "Drink it now or I dump it on you." He tells her sternly, I see the gleam of fight in her eyes, but she does what she's asked to do anyways.

Tommy turns back to me, "We need to tell Nikki." I suggest as he stares, before laughing.

"Baby have you gone nuts?! That's gonna be world war three! Just let her relax. She's just having some coke induced paranoia, she'll come down from it in a little bit." I move past him when I see Vanity struggling to keep her head up. I place my hand at the base of her neck and glare at him, "She could be overdosing Tommy."

"She's not foaming out the mouth and she isn't seizing. She's fine. I've seen her snort two eight balls in one night and obviously she lived. She's clean and sober and it's probably a shock to the system." Tommy laughs a bit, taking a sip of his beer as he looks at me, "What?"

"Is that suppose to make me feel better?!"

"Please don't fight over me. I'm sorry..." Vanity slurs as she looks at us, "I just wanted something to make me feel better."

"It's okay, Van. Just try to relax." Tommy sweet talks her as I slap his chest.

"It is not okay! Just sit there and be quiet. And pray to god Nikki doesn't feel like making things up with you."

*Nikki's POV*

My eyes wandered a few seats over seeing Tommy and Clementine laughing with Vanity. An empty pit formed in my gut as i watched them for a moment. I was only avoiding the situation because she was avoiding it too. I rubbed my face before ordering a Jack and coke and a vodka cranberry for Van to break the ice. I pop a piece of gum into my mouth before grabbing the drinks.

I strutted over, seeing Tommy and Clementine bickering about something before they turn to me, staring intently "What?" I glance at them before sitting in the chair next to Van, placing the glass in front of her and resting my forearm against the back of her chair.

"Vans actually done drinking." Clementine announced, "I told her not to eat that shrimp cocktail."

I glanced at her before Van "Are you okay?" I spoke against her ear as she nodded quickly.

"I'm okay. I feel better now. Just got a little woozy is all." I catch a bit of her slurring as I watch her reach for the glass and take a sip, the ice cubes shaking and clinking as she holds the cocktail. I glance down at my watch, we had barely been here for 2 hours.

"Do you wanna go home?" I ask softly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "I've talked to enough people and don't mind being home with you." I touch her shoulder and feel her tense up.

She shakes her head, looking at the counter of the bar and not me, "No, it's okay. I promise I'm fine. I guess I just drank too much to fast. I'm good Sixx."

I nod, leaving it at that but I still look at her worried. I notice her hands shaking still as she grips the edge of the bar, "Van, look at me a moment." She quickly glances at me before looking past me, "Please look at me. Just me." My eyes wander behind her seeing Tommy and Clementine looking at me, Clementine nervously chewing on her thumb nail as Tommy had a look of worrisome.

Golden eyes find mine, pupils blown but I don't react as I can see tears in her eyes. She knows that I know and that's enough for me. I put my hand on the side of her cheek, she was flushed and burning up, "Keep it together." I spoke sternly as she quickly nodded at my words.

"I-I I'm sorry.." she stumbled over her words, "I'm so sorry Nikki." My thumb catches the tear that rolls down.

"Just keep it together, okay? Only for a little while longer."

Vanity takes a deep breath in and exhales through her nose, "Okay...I can do that. Then we can go home?"

My lips curl in a smile, fighting back every derogative word I wanted to scream in her face "Yes doll, then we can go home. You sit tight, get some water and relax." I tell the bartender to give her a another water bottle before I glare looking at Clem and Tommy.

I leave Vans side, motioning for the two to come over to me, "What is she on? Is it coke? If that's the case, it's the calmest I've ever seen her than."

"W-what do you mean? She's on something? I had no clue.." Tommy stammers as I give him a look.

"Cut the shit. Is she using again?" I look at Clementine, begging for answers as she shrugged.

"I don't know Nikki. And I don't know what she's on. She wasn't making any sense and she started crying then she was hallucinating. She needs to go home Nikki."

I laughed "Have you fucking lost it? Arianna will still be up. If she's hallucinating here she'll be hallucinating at home." I look over at Van seeing her reaching out for something that's not even there, "Fuck. Just keep her distracted or something. I don't want her ruining anything tonight." I sighed in frustration running my hand over my face as I let out a muttered fuck, "I gotta step outside for a minute. Just keep an eye on her, please."

~Next Morning~

I jolt awake, gasping for a breath as I push and kick my comforter off of me. I wipe the sweat from my forehead before holding my stomach, god I felt like I was gonna hurl. My bedroom door is thrown open, the handle hitting the wall as Arianna and Anarchy come running in.

"Mommy!! I'm going with auntie and uncle Tommy today!" She announces pulling herself onto my bed and sitting on her knees in front of me, "Daddy said she's on her way to get me."

I rub my eyes and smile looking at the bun Nikki put her hair in "Is your backpack ready? And your shoes picked out?"

She nodded feverishly, "Yes! Daddy did it and told me to come wake you up to say bye." I run my hands through my hair before getting up. I notice my rooms in disarray as I pull up a pair of sweats. I help Arianna jump off the bed and she's clinging to my leg as we walk down the hallway and to the stairs. She lets go of me as she sits, sliding down the stairs and laughs up a storm as Anarchy chases her down.

"You ready for the whole day with your favorite person besides me?" Nikki smiles handing over her sneakers. I say good morning to him as I walk to the kitchen but he ignores me.

"The whole day? Does that mean I can bring my toys over?!" I hear Nikki chuckle, "No sweetie. I think you still have plenty of toys over there."

I pour myself a cup of coffee and let Anarchy out at the back door before going to the living room and sitting down, "Daddys right baby. You still have a lot over there."

She pouts a bit, "But they aren't new toys like the ones I have here.."

"Just ask Uncle Tommy for new toys." I shrug and smile at her as her eyes light up.

"Van." Nikki scoffs and rolls his eyes, "Arianna, you're fine with the toys you have there and the toys you have here. You aren't getting anything new."

Arianna huffs before she stands in front of the tv watching cartoons, "You hungry V? I can cook you something. She already ate."

I nod, looking at him "I'm starving. Can you make French toast? What are we doing today since she's going over to Clems?"

I stare when he narrows his eyes at me, "I'm staying home and so are you." He says sternly as my eyebrows pull together, "Don't need you in public till the news and frenzy dies down about your behavior."

I tilt my head to the side, "My behavior?" I say confused as I hear a car horn.

"Wait till she's out of the house, yeah?" Nikki rolls his eyes at me and I frown at his attitude. He helps Arianna with her jacket and hands over her backpack, "See you later bug." He bends down and kisses her forehead before he leaves to the kitchen.

"Is daddy mad?" Arianna questions curiously as we walk to the front door.

"What? No, no, daddy's not mad. You know he's just grumpy in the mornings." I bend down to fix her laces, "I'll see you later okay? Be good and we can go to blockbuster tonight." She leans forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug. I open the car door for her and help her get up and wait till she buckled. I feel Clementine looking at me and I glance, "Good morning."

"Morning.." she grumbles but cheers up when she says the same thing to Arianna.

"Thanks for taking her. I don't remember us talking about it though?"

"Yeah, you didn't. Nikki asked me."

Why was everyone being so damn short with me?

"Okay...well have fun. Bye Ari." I wave to her as Clem rolls the window up and starts heading down the driveway.

I walk back in the house, leaning against the front door as I smell cinnamon and vanilla coming from the kitchen. I feel jittery as I walk through the house, Nikki has the portable radio on to the rock station in the kitchen. He's moving his head a bit and has his back towards me, I pull myself on the barstool and keep to myself.

"That was Bulls on Parade by Rage Against The Machine and you're listening to KLAZT LA's best rock station. Up next, we're taken it back with a littl Home Sweet Home by Mötley Crüe. Speaking of the Crüe, did anyone else see the article in entertainment today about the antics of Vanity Blackwood last night at their album release party. Chick seems like a real keeper...Not!"

I gasp before Nikki tosses the magazine down on the counter, "You fucking embarssed me last night Vanity."

I stare at the magazine cover. I look fucking plastered as Nikki is trying to keep me standing and the headline reads: The princess takes a tumble as Mötley Crüe heads in the direction of their old antics.

My eyes widen at the shots of me on my knees outside of a limo with both Tommy and Nikki trying to pull me up. I pull up my sweats seeing cuts and bruises on my kneecaps and shins.

"God, Nikki..I-I'm so sorry. I don't even know what to say. I-I don't remember any of this."

Mötley Crüe was suppose to be celebrating their album release with new lead singer John Corabi, however they ended up babysitting. Vanity Blackwood (Nikki Sixx's ex and baby mama) had one too many fruity drinks and ended up having to be escorted out (see above). Our office reached out to the bands rep but they had no comment.

Nikki slammed his hand down on the counter, covering the picture of me in the limo with a bright yellow star reading 'censored' between my spread legs, "You're really going to look me in the eye, lie, and tell me you don't remember any of this shit? You humiliated yourself, me, and the band. So who gave you the fucking blow?"

Everything came rushing back, the blow in the bathroom with Corabi, the hallucinations, the vomit outside in the rose bushes when we got home, "I-I went to the bathroom then I needed some air and clem came with me and I started hyperventilating and that's all I remember."

"Vanity." Nikki took a deep breath, "Just tell me what happened. I won't get mad, I just want to know. I was fucking worried sick about you last night, almost took you to the damn hospital."

I pushed the magazine away from me, "I went to the bathroom, then I went outside. I remember I was seeing crap that wasn't there. And I felt sick to my stomach. But I didn't snort anything I swear. I haven't touched anything since New York."

"Vanity! You weren't acting drugged! Or like someone spiked your drink! You were a incoherent mess, you were pale as a ghost and your pupils were as big as the eye of a needle."

The yelling made my head throb as I rubbed my temples to relieve it, "I don't know, Nikki. The last thing I remember is sitting at the bar."

He rolled his eyes, "So I don't know when you're high on coke? You were a babbling mess. Kept saying shit over and over. You're jaw was clenched so god damn tight I thought I was going to have to take you to a dentist! Fuck! Van! You were saying I was with Donna and wouldn't shut the fuck up about it! She wasn't around! Wasn't even fucking invited!" He stepped away from me to go flip the French toast angrily and toss the spatula down after.

"I don't know Nikki..." I spoke in a soft whisper, "I didn't snort, smoke, or shoot anything. Why can't you believe me?" I was already this far down the rabbit hole, why should I stop now?

"Because Van, I know you. Did John give you something because he was acting fucking weird too."

I shook my head looking at him, his eyes were drilling holes in an attempt to get it out of me, "No....I barely talked to him. I congratulated him and that was it."

"Fine." He glares for a moment before looking away, "We'll have to wait a few days before coming out with a statement to clear things up."

"Can't we just wait for it to blow over like everyone else does?"

He scoffed, "Seriously?! You dragged my bands name through the fucking mud!" Nikki shouts before stomping over to the tv and turning it to MTV, "They've been talking about your god damn interview all morning."

"Any thoughts on the album Vanity?"

I rubbed my face as I saw myself almost fall over nothing before grabbing onto the interviewer for stability, "Well, in my honest opinion, the album could be better." I slurred every word, "It's-its not Mötley and it sucks without Vince. Corabi sucks, and the album sucks. It sounds like every band now a days. It's too...too heavy. And! And you know what else!" I pointed my finger at the camera and grabbed ahold of the microphone, "Vince wasn't even fired like Nikki said. I was there that day. Nikki was just bitching like he always does and-"

I felt sick to my stomach when Nikki turned off the tv and threw the remote down, "That's why we need a god damn statement. We'll go with your lie about the spiked drink and call it a day. Got it?"

"It's not a lie.."

"Just don't. Just fucking don't, okay? I know when you are lying and when you're telling the truth. I'm done fucking talking about it."

I stared down at my nails, seeing dried blood around my knuckles. Just say it. Just tell the truth. Just say Corabi gave you the drugs and risk the chance of Nikki kicking him out of the band. I heard Nikki groan when the house phone started ringing.

"What?!" He answers it before rolling his eyes, "It's for you." Nikki glares and hands it to me.

I get up and go with down on the couch, "Hello?"

"Bad time to call huh? It's Jon..." I smiled a bit and peaked over the back of the couch to see Nikki in the kitchen cooking, "I just uh...I saw MTV and-"

"Please, please don't watch it. I was really drunk last night and was acting like a total idiot. That's not how I am and I didn't mean anything I said." I explain, running my hand through my hair, grimacing when I feel it sticking together.

"I figured...they're making you seem like a bad person and I just wanted to make sure you're okay sweetheart." I hear his smile from the other side.

"I'm okay....just dealing with the repercussions. But thank you for checking in. It's really sweet of you."

"You're welcome. But hey..since I have you on the phone. I was hoping maybe we could get together soon? I had a lot of fun last time and I've been thinking about you quite some bit."

I blushed a bit, "Really? Um...yeah, I'd love to see you again. I'm free next weekend."

"That sounds good. Can I pick you up around four?"

My eyes widened, "You wanna pick me up? I can just drive to wherever."

Jon chuckles a bit, "Sixx gonna shoot me or something? Look, I'll take my chances just for you. You'll love what I have planned."

"Okay...yeah you can pick me up. My address is 7904 Palo Verde Court and the code to the gate is 666.."

I smile when Jon laughs, "How clever of him. I'll see you next Saturday Van. Don't listen to the media, it will eat you alive."

I thank him again and say my goodbyes as I put the phone back on the receiver. I go over to the plate Nikki put down as he's already eating, "Will seeing my tits make you feel better?"

"Shut up. Seeing you naked and bent over isn't going to make anything better. I'm pissed Van."

I sigh, "I know. And I'm sorry, okay? I really am. I didn't mean anything I said about the album. I like the album, it's not my favorite but I like it. You know I support everything you create."

"It didn't feel like it." I hear and see the frown and I gently reach over and touch his hand.

"I mean it Nikki. That wasn't me last night and I'm sorry I had you worried." Nikki gave my hand a squeeze before letting go.

"Let's just move past it okay? It already happened and there is no reason for us to argue about it. You said your piece and I said mine. We have time without the kid so let's just relax today." He leaned over and kissed the side of my head, "Love you..”

“I love you too.”

To whom it may concern,

My behavior and antics a few nights ago at the album release party were completely and utterly unacceptable. In no way, shape or form is that how I truly am. I was heavily under the influence and after a trip to the hospital, my blood work had an ungodly amount of Rohypnol in it. So in other words, my drink was ‘roofied’. We are working with the LAPD and the club owners to narrow down the assailant. To the boys, the band, Mötley Crüe, I have never once had any ill feelings towards anything that has been created. I have loved and cherished each album that has been put out by the band. I am extremely apologetic for anyone's feelings in and out of the band I have affected in a negative manor

Best Regards,

Vanity Blackwood

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nanagoswife · 3 years

Text

Bending The Law - Part 1

Summary: You’re a lawyer in Gotham. You are supposed to uphold the law, but you defend the unlawful to help out the underworld. It felt like your duty as your father was apart of it. After a huge case, it leads you to a new place.

A/N: This is the first time I’m keeping a story to a specific character. If there’s any tips or pointers you have, I’d be more than glad to hear them. Enjoy!

“We find the defendant,” your heart was pounding. So much of your time was taken while trying to keep your client out of jail. The juror continued, “not guilty of first degree murder.”

The breath that you were holding in escaped you. All the tension and stress from these months was released at the words. Overwhelming joy filled you while looking at the happiness in your client’s eyes.

“Thank you so much, Y/N. You’ve done so much for me.”

“It was my pleasure,” you leaned in closer. “Try to be more careful next time.” A smile spread across his face and he gave a small nod before joining the small crowd that supported him through the trial. There were a few new faces in the group, you noticed.

You turned away and packed everything up. The notepads, documents, they all went into the case you carried with you since your first trial. This case, though, had been the toughest one yet. Yes, you represent many people from the underworld of Gotham, but it didn’t really bother you. You grew up with it.

Your father was the head of some criminal group that you never knew the name of. All you had known was, when you were still a teenager, he had allied with another criminal empire so that he could spend more time with you and your family.

“Excuse me,” a voice sounded from behind you. Turning to the voice, you saw a man with short white hair and a few scars on his face. He seemed familiar for some reason. “On behalf of our boss, we thank you. We really needed him.”

A small grin appeared on your face, “I owed him this.”

Confusion slightly showed on his face at your words. You told him about how he once covered for you in the past. He was a childhood friend and gave you a few alibis to keep you out of trouble from your father.

“Ah. Well, thank you again.” The man nodded and joined the rest of the group who waited at the door for him.

Before they walked out, your client gave you a wave. Smiling, you waved back before turning to your case and packing the last few pens and whiteout. There was someone you were meeting and you’d be damned if you were late.

Running up the doorsteps, you rung the doorbell. Looking at your watch, you were relieved to see you were a few minutes early.

The door swung open to reveal your sister. “For once, you’re not late, kiddo.”

“You know my job eats up my time, sis.” A laugh chimed from her as she tugged you into her house. You almost completely fell to the floor from the force.

Your sister, Kristy, strode towards her kitchen with a skip in her step. There was no doubt that she was grabbing a drink for the two of you. One thing you had noticed was that your sister was dressed up.

“Did you have a plan for the night that I didn’t know about?” The question was one you needed an answer to. Usually you’d leave it be and just go with the flow, but you were expecting that you were just going to a regular restaurant.

Kristy turned around and held eye contact with you before speaking, “We are going somewhere to not only get food, but also party, kiddo.”

“I thought all the bars around here had crappy food. We already tested this out long ago,” you said. Not only were you confused, but you dreaded having to eat the terrible food they all had.

“Hell no. There is one place that I’m sure you’ve heard of.”

“What did we miss?”

“The Black Mask Club,” she said with excitement. “A friend of mine told me about it.”

“And by friend, do you mean Zach?” She gave a sly smirk as she started towards you. Reaching you, she took your hands in hers.

For a moment she stayed like that. You saw she was trying to choose the right words, “Yes. He’s also meeting us there.”

Kristy seemed to shrink as if she was waiting for a negative response. Honestly, you didn’t care. It meant that you could get out of having to actually talk all night. Your sister seemed to only ever talk. So, you were more than happy to know you wouldn’t be the only one on the receiving end.

The only answer you gave was a shrug. Slowly, a smile grew on Kristy’s face.

“Is that what you’re going to wear?” she gestured to the blue dress you wore.

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

The smile reappeared on her face, “No. It’s amazingly stunning!”

“Hey, boss!” Roman turned around to the voice. He was greeted by Zsasz who was still closing the distance between them.

Seeing that he was lighter in his steps made him optimistic, “I hope there’s good news.” He was glad that the club hadn’t opened just yet. It assured that they would be able to have this conversation without any prying eyes.

“The greatest actually. Michael was found not guilty!” A large smile spread across Zsaz’s face, “That lawyer fucking pulled it off!”

A great sense of joy filled Roman. Michael was valuable and he couldn’t afford to lose him. He wanted to know who the lawyer was. When he offered, Michael had turned down using one of Roman’s. He said that he already had one.

“That’s spectacular news! Just for that, we’ll let him celebrate. Anyone who he brings that was supposed to be stationed tonight, get it filled.” With that, Victor nodded and started arranging anything and everything Roman told him.

Watching Victor disappear, he decided he’d wait to ask about the lawyer. He wanted to thank them in person. Hearing about it all from the news and Victor, he knew how much work was put in to get this result. It only costed months of non-stop work to find any little thing that would show innocence.

Sitting down to think, a martini was brought over. Not only did the lawyer amaze him, but he admired the dedication. Instead of paying off witnesses or judges or finding a way to tamper with something, this lawyer went deep.

They didn’t play dirty, they did it the hard way and searched for any loophole that would apply. Yes, he wanted to meet them. For now, he’d celebrate.

“Are you sure they’re actually going to have good food?” Honestly, that was the only thing you really cared about. The trial you had only let you have cheap takeout and delivery. After it all, you really just wanted a decent meal.

Kristy was about to reply, but got distracted when she saw Zach walking towards them. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes once they met each other.

Zach waved hello before taking your sister into his arms. Uncomfortable, you looked away to where you saw the line for the club. How had you never heard of this place?

“Come on,” you heard Zach suddenly say. Being the third wheel, you walked behind them. A small chuckle came from you as you thought about the relationship those two had. They weren’t exclusive, but more like friends that got some fun when they wanted. It didn’t really make sense to you.

Walking to the front of the line, the guard at the front let you all in and gave a nod to Zach. Loud music filled your ears as you walked into the club. The sight of everyone dancing, drinking and talking all around made you smile.

Your arm was suddenly pulled, “Follow us, kiddo. Zach got a table reserved for us!” Resisting the urge to roll your eyes again, you obeyed.

Almost instantly, a waitress came over to take your drink order. Thankfully, there was a great assortment of real food. Joy filled you.

After some time, Zach and Kristy left you to go and dance after enjoying their own meal. Not feeling up to it, you just stayed and sat at your table. It gave you time to admire the red setting.

Red, that was a great choice for what you usually saw going on at clubs. Passion, heat, joy, activity and love. What type of love? It didn’t matter. All you knew was that it represented what clubs really were in many ways. Even in the darker aspects.

“Y/N!” you suddenly heard a voice yell your name. Looking over, you saw your client, Michael. A smile spread across your face as you watched him make his way over to you from his group.

Giving a small laugh, you stood up and hugged him. “Let me guess, celebrating today’s victory?” you said while pulling away from your long time friend. His own smile spread across his face.

“You know it. Now let me guess. You’re here with your sister who ditched you for or with a guy.”

“Well, you know Kristy. Always having fun,” you replied sarcastically.

Laughing, he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Why don’t you come with me. I’m sure my friends won’t mind. You are basically my sister after all.” Lightly he pushed your shoulder with a playful tint in his eyes.

Shrugging, you accept. Michael’s smile grew bigger as he gestured for you to follow him to the table he was at.

Roman arrived to a very lively Friday night crowd. Usually he would’ve been pleased, but annoyance was the only thing tugging on him. Not because of visitors, but because of the situation he just had to deal with. How he wished he could just kill the clown.

Going to the bar, his drink was immediately placed on the counter. His eyes searched around to spot any issues at all.

A smile played on his lips when he saw Michael and his group. One person caught his eye. There was a girl laughing along to the conversation they were all having. She looked very comfortable with the group.

For a moment, he studied you. You were amazingly beautiful. His mind started to wander as he continued to study your features.

Roman wanted to know more about who this girl was. He was glad that he had a reason to go over there anyways. Ever since Zsasz told him the news, he had been caught up with phone calls. Michael deserved a personal congratulations for his victory.

“So, Y/N, how the hell did you pull that victory off?” one of the men asked after settling his laughter.

“A shit ton of Chinese food,” you replied, still laughing. The entire group burst out in their own laughter.

It died down as soon as someone said, “Here comes the boss.” Following Michael’s gaze, you saw a man in a white suit with some sort of floral button-up shirt walking towards you. One of his gloved hands raised his martini glass as a greeting.

“My, my. Look who it is,” Michael stood up as the man started talking once he was close enough. They shared a firm handshake.

“Roman Sionis, I would like you to meet Y/N Y/L/N.” You stood up and exchanged your own handshake, nervousness slightly filling you. He was someone you only knew through reputation. “She’s not only like my little sister, but she’s the one who worked tirelessly these few months to keep my ass out of jail,” he exclaimed.

A surprised but pleased expression wiped Roman’s face. Your cheeks went red at the compliment, “I was just doing my job. I also owed you for all you did for me as kids.” Playfully, you pushed at Michael’s shoulder.

“Well, I greatly appreciate your dedication, Y/N. Would you like a drink?” Roman asked. There was something in his tone that made you feel like you couldn’t refuse.

Smiling up at Michael, you gave him another nudge before looking back at Roman. “Sure. See you in a bit Mikey,” you said as you walked towards Roman. He gestured to a path that led to the bar.

@stardancerluv @jaydenwoo

#roman sionis pov #roman sionis #roman x reader #black mask x reader #bop #Ewan McGregor #fanfic #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis x y/n

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stardancerluv · 3 years

Text

When You Take Care of Each Other

Part 7

Summary: Roman is needs to enjoy his time with you.

Note: Roman is dommy in this. But nothing happens, except some light hair pulling.

“I bid you a good night.”

He buttoned his suit jacket. Gave the smile. He barely heard what this low-level leader from the south-end was saying as he began to walk away. He was expanding and needed some eyes there.

As Roman walked back into the club, he looked around at all that was his. People were a buzz with drinks and the like. It was busy for a Friday evening, as it should be. Brushing his sleeve aside, he eyed the time.

A little more than an hour and he could make his exit.

Stopping a few times, he plastered a smile onto his face to greet a few select patrons. Who in reality, he wished never took step into his nightclub. But if one were to form alliances, not all of them were with people you liked. Like the man he just spoke with, these men had no manners. It had been hard to mask his contempt.

“Thank you.”

He took the martini one of the girls offered him as he walked. Going over to his table, he sat down.

Letting his eyes continue to move around he finally spotted you. He watched as you moved with the music. Your hair bounced, your eyes shone with your smile. His stomach clenched delightfully so while watching you.

Looking at his drink, he stirred his olives around. Glancing back at the dance floor he saw that you were gone.

“Allow me.” Your soft voice breathed close to his ear. It brought a smile to his lips. Your fingers brushed his as you took the tiny sword with the pierced olives.

He looked up at you as he sat there. Your eyes met. You were the only one he never minded invading his space.

“You don’t like them.” He stated.

“Yes. But tonight they are part of who you are. So I want them.”

You leaned in the way only you could do, it wasn’t lazy but desirable. It made him want to go and stand behind you. If he did he’d lightly wrap an arm around you, claiming this vision of you all for himself. He remained seated, his mind began wondering what he should do with you. He watched as you slowly ate each olive. You came around and sat down in front of him.

He motioned with his gloved hand. Still looking at you he ordered your usual. “Tell him to add some extra cherries.” Finally glancing at the girl who came over, he considered what else he should order. A delicious idea prickled his mind. “Bring us a bowl of whipped cream and strawberries. Oh and two flutes of champagne.” He watched your eyes light up.

“At once?”

His jaw tightened as he slid the girl a look. “Yes.”

“Are you, are we celebrating?” You asked once the girl walked away.

“In a way.” He took a sip of his martini. “Baby?” He saw you inhale at his words. His voice came out deeper then he expected, but the flush it brought in you was exactly what he wanted. “Come and sit beside me.”

He placed an arm on the cushions he sat against. He patted a place beside him.

A whiff of your perfume tickled his nose as you settled beside him. Gently, he grazed his fingertips on your bare shoulder. “Tell me, how are you doing?”

You gave him a sweet smile. “I’m very good. How are you?”

“Same baby.” He drew close. “I enjoyed what I was able to see of you dancing.”

The girl came back and silently placed everything in front of them.

“Will there be anything else?”

He gave a wave with his hand. “We’re good.” He didn’t even look at the girl.

“I would have loved if you could have joined me.”

“My meeting ran long.” He grabbed and he held out one of the champagne flutes to you, then he took his own. He held his up. “To the night I have in mind for us ahead.”

You turned to look at him, your cheeks became rosy. “Roman?”

Hearing the shake in your voice made a smile appear on his face once again. “Baby, you’re mine remember?”

You nodded. “I do.”

“Tonight. I will remind you of that.”

You drained your champagne. He resisted the urge to chuckle. “Did I do anything wrong?” You reached for your drink. He gently pushed it out of your reach. Your eyes met his.

He shook his head. “It’s just that, I’ve been horribly busy and I need to enjoy what is mine.” He said as he grabbed a stem and pulled out two cherries. He brought them to your lips.

Your tongue darted out and captured any of the liquor that could have dripped to the table.

“Enjoy them.” The first one disappeared and the second one soon after, so he placed the stem onto the cloth coaster. He brought the glass over to you.

You brought your glass to your lips, when he turned to you. “Savor it, I do love it when you are a giggling mess.”

You pulled your glass back and your eyes met.

“However, tonight if you become that way, I may just have to stuff my handkerchief into your mouth till you calm down.”

He watched you swallow. Your hand came to rest on his thigh and gently you squeezed. He lifted an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“What if I want to be giggly? What if?” You took a fair sip of your drink, the ice clinking as you put the glass back down. “What if I want that beautiful handkerchief in my mouth while you make me squirm?”

“I could make you squirm right now with my club being a buzz and filled with people.”

“You could.” You took a strawberry, swirled it in the whipped cream and took a bite. “And I’d love it.”

Once again Roman’s stomach clenched. You finished the strawberry.

“What if I wanted you to do more?” He finished his martini. He grabbed one of the bigger strawberries, he swirled it in the cream and then offered it to you. You grazed the whipped cream and pulled back. Looking satisfied you licked your lips. He rose an eyebrow. You cast your eyes down and enjoyed the rest of the strawberry.

“Are you being bad for me?”

He saw the small smile. “Maybe.”

“Do you remember the last time you were?” He adjusted one of his gloves.

Your hand moved on his thigh as you grabbed your glass. “I do.” You drained the last of your drink, then motioned for the girl to come back.

“You’re playing with fire tonight.”

“I’m ready.”

The girl came back, you leaned towards her, he felt as your hand moved higher. “We need two more, thank you.” You said sweetly.

The girl nodded, turned and left.

In a smooth move that he knew would only smart so that it wasn’t hurting you, he pulled you back by your hair.

“Are you, baby?” A smirk curled his lips.

@spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @nebulastarr @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97-blog1 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @professionalclown @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @blondekel77 @saphic-stories @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @generallj @thebeckyjolene @blondekel77 @mrskenobi19

#femi!reader #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor imagine #ewan mcgregor fanfiction #roman sionis #roman sionis pov #roman sionis imagine #roman sionis x y/n #roman sionis x you #roman sionis x reader #black mask #black mask imagine #black mask fanfiction #black mask x y/n #black mask x you #black mask x reader #when you take care of each other #part 7

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aloysiavirgata · 4 years

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The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Title: The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG (language)

Timeline: Season 1

Summary: Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor.

Author’s Notes: Mulder reads Cicero and finds the method of loci tool useful in honing an eidetic memory. Also, the timeline of this show is absurd. Per canon, the Pilot is in March of 1992. But here it’s March of 1993 because...I just can’t, honestly. Thank you to @perplexistan for reminding me that I wrote this in 2013, and talking me through the timeline.

*** It's been a long December and there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself To hold on to these moments as they pass - Counting Crows *** It’s gritty outside, gritty and gray with a rime of salt on everything. There are pockets of rotten snow for him to kick, slushy and satisfying against his heavy shoes. He pulls his coat tighter, feeling like a hard-boiled detective in a pulp paperback, thinking this would be a good time for a cigarette if he still smoked. His divorce papers were filed this time last year, just like his parents’ had been a couple decades back. The ink had scarcely been dry on the marriage certificate when they realized they didn’t know each other and changed their minds. It was the same time Diana left him and his - their - files for whatever the fuck had summoned her across the sea. Paperwork, as ever in his life, was all that remained of these experiences. If this were really a detective story, he thinks, stepping over a soggy Washington Post, a tall cool blonde would have walked in through the frozen mist and into his arms. Someone lithe, with red lipstick and half-lidded violet eyes. She would look like Veronica Lake and speak in a low, compelling voice, urging him to do brave and outlandish things to thwart the Nazis. He’d wear a fedora, buy a mink stole for the blonde. They’d drink martinis and make love in dark hotels smelling of leather and intrigue. But he’s not living in a dime-store novel, he’s living in Alexandria on Christmas Eve 1993 (“The New Age of Angels,” claimed Time magazine, somewhat cryptically) and is eager to turn the last page in his calendar. Mulder knows it’s symbolic only, that his Eurocentrism is showing, but he still watches the ball drop on TV. Last year he’d kissed a woman in a bar and gone home with her too, but doesn’t think he’d remember her face if he saw it. He hasn’t got the energy to entice a stranger this year, and Scully’s hardly his type. He shouldn’t be sleeping with coworkers anyway, it’s never worth the trouble and the FBI is full of people who are paid to do nothing but sniff out secrets. Besides, he is now 32 years old which is really about time to start getting your shit together even if your baby sister was abducted by aliens at Thanksgiving. Mulder generally holds the holidays in low regard. He pauses to watch a small flock of cats at an upended trash can, feasting upon pungent things like battlefield ravens. One of the cats glances at him sidelong, narrowing round yellow eyes as though Mulder has designs on the gray thing it’s gnawing at. He holds his hands up to show the cats he wishes them no harm, keeps walking. Scully had offered to drive him home but he thanked her and caught the blue line, the clank and rattle of the train making him feel like some variety of normal businessman. Maybe people thought he was a banker or a Congressional staffer, going home to a twinkling Douglas fir and a mantle hung with stockings. Nine months and a broken condom can, in many circumstances, result in a whole new person. But it’s been nine months with Scully and she’s still her own woman, though Christ knows Mulder’s tried to remake her in his own image. She’s trudged alongside him through graveyards, military bases, bad diners, and one memorable night in Pennsylvania where she had captured a frantic bat in the hotel lobby. (“Do you want to wait for it to take human form before I release it?” she’d asked drily.) Through all of it she remained disbelieving and supercilious, leaving him vexed. She’d chirped “Merry Christmas, Mulder” at him, assuming that he celebrated Christmas and was capable of merriment. He was afraid Scully’d bring in a little Charlie Brown tree for the office, ornaments smooth and shining as her earnest face. She is skeptical in all the wrong ways and probably has the Michael Bolton Christmas album on her stereo at this very moment. She probably has eggnog in the fridge and will drink it without rum. She probably likes fruitcake and ham with pineapple rings on it. Mulder, going home to the shadows of his apartment where he might listen to Pink Floyd and nurse his resentment with three fingers of whiskey, feels justified in his scorn. A couple loaded with gifts pushes past him and he nearly loses his balance on a patch of black ice, clutches at a lamp post. He gazes up at the endless sky as snow begins to fall again. (Scully’s probably delighted by the prospect of a white Christmas, probably whistling a few bars of the song as she puts on a green sweater.) But he’s being unfair, isn’t he? For all her tattling back to the higher ups, she’s never tried to present herself as an angel. Her primary fault is in not being Diana, not being a tall dark moon goddess. Being pretty rather than beautiful, being frank rather than alluring. He’s seen her smoking a couple of times, discovered that she says “Jesus!” a lot so that she doesn’t say “fuck” or “shit.” This amuses him; he thought the blasphemy would be worse. He knows Scully watches what she eats but turns to carbohydrates and wine in times of stress. He found out she was sleeping with that asshole Jack Willis, which really threw him for a loop because Scully has a schoolteacherish quality that led him to presume premarital abstinence. He thinks of her in that first motel room, her smooth back beneath his hands, her panic turning on some masculine caveman switch. It’s been a long year, perhaps she could be his type after all despite her sensible underwear. She’s attractive enough if you like that sort of Hibernian look. He can tell she’s a bit awed by him and he could manipulate that to his advantage. Mulder walks the last slushy block thinking impious thoughts about Catholic school uniforms and playing doctor. The honeycomb tile of his building is muddied, layered with fragments of leaves and footprints. A radio blares something about Barbra Streisand doing her first live concert in twenty years. Mulder shakes his head and imagines his mother on the Vineyard, frothing with excitement. “Merry Christmas Agent Mulder,” says Leo, the maintenance guy. Leo’s got some kind of intellectual disability that Mulder hasn’t bothered to diagnose, but he’s always quick to replace a kicked-in lock or a shot-out window, and Mulder therefore regards him as a master craftsman. He gives Leo money every year at Christmas. At present he’s attacking the hallway sludge with an ancient mop. “Merry Christmas, Leo.” He gets his mail, sorting through it as he ambles to the elevator. Bill; bill; Playboy; Christmas cards from his doctor, dentist, and insurance agent; coupons; a thick manila envelope from the divorce attorney. Mulder rolls it all into a bundle and shoves it under his arm. He’s fumbling with his keys when the elevator deposits him on the fourth floor. There are wreaths on most of the doors in his building, a handful of mezuzas. Number 42, as usual, conforms to no given standard. He stops when he sees Scully leaning against his door. “Um,” he says. “Hey.” She waves her fingertips, looking uncomfortable. She’s holding a cardboard FedEx envelope. “I forgot to give you this before you left.” “Okay,” he says, uncertain about the idea of Scully on his turf. “Hang on a sec.” He makes sure the packet from the lawyer is hidden, though she’s probably heard the whole story. He knows what the talk is. They all act like he’s John fucking Douglas, like he can guess what number they’re thinking of based on how they part their hair. He’s a sideshow act, the guy who can think like John Roche and Monty Props. A freak. Scully turns to slouch against the wall while he jiggles the latest lock open, wishing there were a convenient place to stash a can of WD-40. “So, uh, come on in, I guess.” She turns, walks under his arm as he hold the door open, and stands in the entryway. The door clicks shut behind him, a final sound. Mulder puts his mail on the kitchen counter, tossing his coat over it. “You want anything to drink?” he calls to her, unsure if he can make good on the offer. What the hell does Scully drink? Tea? Zima? He’s got a few beers in the fridge, his wife’s wine is long finished. “No, I’m good.” Her coat’s draped over her arm when he comes back out, and he hangs it up for her. He notices that she’s wearing jeans with a navy cable-knit sweater, no tartan in sight. Her boots are dark and practical. Mulder shrugs off his jacket, loosens his tie out of its regulation noose. “Here, sit down. There’s, uh, the couch is right over there.” His couch is the atramentous green of algae, appearing black in the close room. “So what’s up?” She holds out the folder to him. “I realized I had this when I got home and since it’s a three day weekend, I wanted to make sure you had it. I thought it might be important.” Scully sits down close to the edge of the couch, much of her weight on her knees. She presses her hands together between them after Mulder takes the envelope, bouncing a little bit. He looks at the return address and groans. Arlinsky, that idiot from the Smithsonian. Mulder’s got enough credibility issues without this nutcase on his tail. He tosses the envelope on his cluttered desk for later perusal. Scully, as the messenger, looks apologetic. “Bad news?” He sits next to her, why not? “Nah, just…you know. The usual.” “Ah.” He watches her do a quick scan of his apartment. He has nothing to be ashamed of, she can look around. Mulder removes his tie completely now, untucks his shirt and leans into the corner of his couch. “So I’m surprised you’re here, Scully. I got the impression Christmas was a…thing. For your family.” He waves his hand vaguely, as though families are something he read about in a Margaret Mead article but never fully understood. Something closes in Scully’s face, which intrigues him. Discomfort usually comes with a good story, but he’ll tease it out of her later. She scratches her elbow, stalling. “I’m going to go by my parents’ house tomorrow.” “Not tonight? No big Scully celebration with stockings hung by the fire and cookies for Santa?” He has picked these ideas up from Oxford and Christmas music. Santa would probably prefer a cold longneck and some nachos. “My sister’s coming in tomorrow, she’s staying with my parents so they’re getting everything ready tonight. My younger brother and his family too, they’re getting in late.” Scully looks faintly guilty for this wealth of relatives. Which one of them are you avoiding, Dana? “Fun,” he says in a tone that he hopes is not sarcastic. Scully shrugs, picks at the cuff of her sweater. “Yeah, it’ll be good. I’ll get to see my niece and nephew. What about you? What are you doing?” “Oh, just…you know. Laying low.” He’s meeting up with the Gunmen for Chinese food and bootleg video games from some Japanese guy they know, but he’s not ready to tell Scully about them. In part because she might want to meet them and would end up charging Frohike with a sex crime. “Sounds good,” she says in a non-judgmental tone. “I could use some down time myself.” “Job wearing on you?” Going to wimp out and request a transfer? She puffs a breath of air out, pushes the tip of her tongue to her top lip. “No. Well, I mean, it’s hard. We travel so much, I didn’t do that before and it’s taking some adjustment.” Mulder drapes an arm over the back of the couch, wishing he could take his pants off and order a pizza. But he wants to know more about what drives her; Diana left him wary of unknown quantities, and this is his first opportunity to peer into Scully’s head. “Yeah, I guess they mostly shipped the cadavers to you before, huh? When you were doing doctor things?” He sees a slight narrowing of her eyes at this, the implication that she’s not a doctor now. The fact that she took it as an insult means it’s a vulnerability. “Mostly.” He decides to push it, being as he has home field advantage. “How come you decided to stop practicing medicine?” Scully sits up straight, her palms on the tops of her thighs. “I didn’t realize I had.” Prickly. “Oh, sorry, no offense. I just….you left your residency to join the FBI, right?” Faker, he knows her career trajectory down to the day. “My work as a Special Agent has always revolved around my background in forensic pathology. I just felt…called to the FBI as the place to best put those skills to use.” Called, religious imagery. Interesting. Her reply had a rehearsed sound, it’s something she’s repeated numerous times. Who gives her grief about being an FBI agent? A younger brother wouldn’t, would probably look up to that. Mom or Dad, most likely, though it could be one of the older siblings. He’d put his money on Dad or big brother based on the cold formality of her words. Both men are in the military, she’d speak to that. And big brother wasn’t mentioned as being in town, so Dad it is. He throws her a bone for revealing so much. “I’ve heard nothing but commendations.” “Thanks.” The appreciation seems genuine. “So what about you, Mulder? Why….this?” Scully holds her arms out like an orchestra conductor. The gesture encompasses his desk, the groaning bookshelves and fading newspaper clippings. Area 51, Reticulans, ectoplasm, and jackalopes. “Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible,” he quotes. “Feynman.” Scully knows her physicists. “It’s the perfect con, really. I figured out a way to get the federal government to pay for my hobbies.” He hopes that will satisfy her, but knows better. “Why is it your hobby?” Ah, Scully. You little investigator, you. “I’m a lousy knitter.” She smiles. “Because of your sister?” He steeples his fingertips, taps them against his chin. It’s tempting to blow her off, but he considers the implications of her presence. There was no reason to bring that letter by; she could have called and he could have told her to round-file it. She’s trying to build something between them, she’s looking past his annoyance with her assignment and he’s not going to slap her hand away on Christmas Eve. “Hold that thought,” he says. Mulder goes to the kitchen for the beers and the churchkey magnet stuck to the freezer. He checks for food, but a cursory examination reveals that Scully is going to have to make do with some brews. She’s peering into the fish tank when he returns, scrutinizing the inhabitants. “I think one of your mollies is pregnant,” she says. “That spotted one.” “Yeah, they’re prolific little cannibals. Here, Scully. Have a drink.” He holds the bottle out to her when she turns, watches her hesitate for an instant before accepting. “Thanks,” she says. “Though I probably shouldn’t.” She pops the lid off when he’s done with the opener. Takes a long drink. “So,” he says, returning to his seat on the couch. “Why do I spend my time looking for ET and yetis, right?” Scully rolls the bottle between her palms. “It’s hard for me to understand why someone with your abilities chooses to use those gifts this way.” Once she rides out this dogleg, Mulder thinks, she’ll go far in the Bureau with her careful diplomacy. “When my sister was…taken, it was the first time that none of the authority figures in my life had an answer. Not my parents, my teachers, the police…no one could tell me what had happened. Years went by and there was still no solution. People stopped thinking about it, you know? They just acted like she was gone and that’s all there was to it.” “But not you.” Her voice is gentle. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this was a question with an answer, even if no one wanted to delve deeper into what that answer was. I became, well, obsessed with the idea that there were all of these mysteries out there with answers that people were uncomfortable finding. So when I found the X-Files…” He glances sidelong at his partner, her nutmeg freckles and her cinnamon hair. “Isn’t that what you were doing already, though? Solving impossible cases?” He shrugs. “They weren’t impossible. They followed a pattern if you knew what to look for. But what I do now, no one wants the answer, Scully. That’s the real challenge.” “You caught Monty Props. Props, Jesus, that case is legendary! I want to understand, I do. I see what you’re saying about the challenge, it does make a kind of sense. But when I think about the people you stopped…” She shakes her head. She doesn’t get it. But she’s trying instead of dismissing him. That’s something. “That’s just it. Your reaction, it’s…look. Serial killers, they’re sexy. The public loves them. Everyone wants to be Bill Patterson or, or… Jack Crawford, right? People still read about Jack the Ripper, they practically turn these psychopaths into folk heroes. There will never be a shortage of people wanting to do what I did.” Half the beer is gone in his next swallow. Scully looks thoughtful, her thumbnail at the damp corner of the label on her bottle. “So this is like, what? Like a martyr thing? If you walk away from the limelight for this then it makes up for never knowing what happened to your sister?” She turns her head to give him a level gaze, her eyes so blue and clear they seem artificial at times. He’s been called worse than a martyr, but somehow it stings. “Martyr? That’s condescending.” “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. I just, I guess it’s hard for me to understand what you hope to gain. What all this means to you in the end.” Mulder’s had enough of her analysis. “I’m not like you, I don’t crave approval.” It’s her turn to look stung. “I didn’t mean to pry.” He sighs. “Your questions aren’t unfair. It’s been a hard year.” “I heard.” There’s sympathy in her tone and he tries not to resent it. “Listen, Scully, I know you didn’t ask for this assignment and you’re doing your best with a bad hand. It’s just hard to share a career I’m passionate about with someone who pretty clearly thinks it’s a waste of time.” Scully sets her beer on the coffee table, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands cupped around her chin. Mulder props his feet up next to her bottle, patient in the silence. There are deep shadows in the room, illuminated by the ambient streetlight through the curtains, the cool blue aquarium lamp. Puddles of light leak from the kitchen, but they barely stain the rug. Scully looks like a Hitchcock girl, white and pure, untouched by the surrounding gloom. She reminds him of Ingrid Bergman or Greta Garbo, her good bones and heavy-lidded eyes. “You know,” Scully says, muffled, “Pathology’s hardly the hottest specialty in med school. It’s not really seen as a place to make a career.” “The malpractice can’t be bad though, right?” She rolls her eyes. “You spend years of your life learning to care for the living and use it to examine the dead. People have…opinions about that.” This had not occurred to him, and he says as much. Scully sits up and settles back into the couch. “And to then take that to the FBI, well…” Full circle to the truth. “Lots of grief for that?” She shrugs. “From some more than others. My dad, he – look, Mulder. I’m not saying we’re in the same place or have the same ideas or that we’re both noble misunderstood renegades. I am not trying to oversimplify anything. I’m just telling you that I know what it’s like to care deeply about something that other people don’t necessarily understand.” She looks defensive after this, takes a fierce swig of her beer. Mulder eyes her up with a new appreciation. “I guess I just figured all doctors sit on pedestals.” “If so, some of the pedestals are much higher than others. I know you don’t like me, Mulder. Or at least you don’t like our partnership. We may never be friends, I realize that. But it’s been three quarters of a year, you have to let your guard down if we’re going to work together. I want what you want, answers to these questions.” He smiles at her. A real smile, and thinks that it’s been a long time since he’s done it. “But you still think I’m spooky.” Scully smiles back. “Absolutely. And I still don’t believe in aliens. Or yetis. Or missing time or vampires or Nessie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe there are answers.” He scratches his chin, five o’clock shadow rough on his fingertips. Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor. “I did say I wanted a challenge.” “You did at that.” She returns her bottle to the table, then turns to face him. The aquarium provides a ghostly backlight, her hair gleaming like rubbed copper. He holds this image of Scully in his mind until it is indelible, then tucks it away to remember her by. The Rhetorica ad Herennium advises sensory encoding to aid in recall, and so he places her in the sunlit portrait gallery of his memory palace. Scully stands, crosses the room to take her coat from the rack. “I’m sorry the letter wasn’t good news.” Mulder gets up to join her. “It’s okay.” He squints when she opens the door, the hallway so bright it hurts his eyes. “Thanks for bringing it by.” “Okay, well, I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.” She seems hesitant to go. She probably feels sorry for him. “Thanks for the drink. And the company.” “Go,” he says. “You don’t want coal in your stocking for oversleeping tomorrow.” She laughs a little, then takes his hands in her small white ones. She gives them a squeeze. “This is going to be okay, Mulder.” He thinks she might be right, squeezes back. She lets go of him, walks out and turns right. He locks up behind her, her perfume still lingering on his side of the door. Diana’s not coming home. It’s time that he moved on.

#my fic #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #season 1 #new years eve

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primroseprime2019 · 3 years

Text

Speed Metal

On a dirt road, a familiar shiny red Aston Martini DBS V12 sports car with white decals was driving down one of the many back roads towards a local hot spot for street racing. The driver had the radio playing. "As metropolitan PD continues to crack down on illegal street racing, citing the danger to both drivers and pedestrians-" the new reporter was cut off as the driver switched off the radio. He was uninterested in listening to more reports of local cops attempting to put a stop to illegal street racing.

Oddly enough, the radio was switched off automatically, not by a person's hand. This car was known other than the Decepticon Doctor, Knockout. He knew that Ember would probably kick his aft to kingdom come if she found out about Knockout's activities. However, Knockout didn't care as the thrill of illegal street racing was too hard to resist.

Up ahead, three other cars were waiting, with the drivers revving the engines. The ref walked out in front of cars as Knockout pulled up. They were all waiting for the right time to start and for everyone to arrive. All the cars were built for speed and had many modifications that were illegal. The Decepticon car intrigued the large muscular, tattooed driver of the muscle car Knockout had pulled up next to.

"Not from around here." The driver commented, referring to the car model. "European design?" He asked curiously, only to get no response from Knockout. The driver didn't like being ignored like that. "Sure is pretty. Too pretty..." The driver said with a grin as he tightened his right hand into a fist. 'This race is for fully grown men, not prissy little boys with pretty cars.' He thought. Using his ring, he scratched the paintwork on the driver's side door.

Knockout used his side view mirror to inspect the damage. Then he turned to the driver, who just shrugged, satisfied with his work, and rolled up his heavily tinted window.

"Big mistake!" Knockout gritted as he changed gears.

The ref held the flashlight above his head and switched it on, signaling for the race begin. All four cars took off, eager to beat their opponents to the finish line. For Knockout, he was eager not only to be the first to cross the finish line, but also to obtain his revenge against the driver who scratched his paintjob. The race was mean and grueling. The driver had the lead. He looked in his rearview mirror and smirked at the other drivers behind him before going even faster. Flames were escaping from the engine through the exhaust pipe as the RPM meter read dangerously close to seven thousand.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of squealing tires. He looked in his rearview mirror once again and saw that Knockout was quickly gaining the upper hand in this race. He rammed himself into the car. It was time to make this human pay for damaging his paintjob.

"HEY!" The driver cried out in protest.

With one single ram as they turned the corner, the driver went over the edge, destroying the guardrail. The car didn't even tumble down the cliff face or see-saw on a particular ledge. It just headed straight to the bottom, upside down, and the sound of the car crashing as music to Knockout's ears.

"Dude..." The driver moaned.

"You scratch my paint, I scratch yours." Knockout sneered dangerously before driving away, intent on reaching the finish line.

◊◊◊◊

Paige walked down the stairs of the school and she looked around before she saw a boy staring at her. She stared back before she walked over to Jack and Arcee who was in her vehicle mode.

"You okay?" He asked. "I just wanna go to the base," she said quietly as she sat down behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Alright, alright," he said softly, reassuringly. He knew she'd be having some bad days where either she'd be quiet and try to hide in the back of the class or she would just start crying and clutching at her head. And this was one of the days.

"Turn on your music okay?" He said gently as he placed her earpods in her ears. She nodded and closed her eyes as she started to listen to the soundtrack from Collateral Beauty.

"Hey! Cherry moped!" Jack glanced at Vince who stood by his car.

"Um, this 'moped' has dual carbs and can go from 0 to 60 in 3.5 seconds," Jack boasted rather proudly before he drove off.

They soon pulled up to a red light. "Uh, Jack, a lady's vital stats are her own business," Arcee reprimanded him quietly. Jack almost rolled his eyes at that.

"Hey! Nick, right?"

He heard another female voice call out to him. He turned to face the corner and saw Sierra standing there with her best friend.

"Actually, it's Jack," he said. "Jack. Sorry. I'm Sierra," she said with a sheepish smile.

"I know," Jack said with a light blush that was concealed by his helmet.

"You once offered to take me for a ride?" Sierra reminded him. "Of course I did," Jack said instantly, "at anytime."

"I'm your guardian, kiddo," Arcee said quietly, "not your wingman." "So? How about now?" Sierra asked him hopefully.

"Uh...," Jack went to answer, but he stopped short when he saw Vince pull up next to him.

"Hey, hey! Small world!" Vince remarked.

"We're having a conversation," Paige spat.

"Cheer captain here might enjoy watching you take on four wheels of muscle car," Vince smirked as he gestured to Sierra and her friend who were standing there gossiping to one another quietly.

"Are you challenging me to a race?" Jack asked in surprise.

"You catch on quick, ponch. What do you say?" Vince asked impatiently.

Jack saw Sierra encouraging him to accept the challenge. He looked at Paige who was frowning at him. Honestly, she was caught in the middle and she thought it was a terrible idea. Optimus had set rules and for good reasons. Reasons like this one.

As soon as the light turned green, Arcee took off at lightning speed, causing Jack and Paige to yell in surprise at the sudden takeoff.

"You didn't let me answer!" Jack exclained. "Nope," Arcee said.

"But Arcee, we can smoke him!" Jack objected.

"Yep," she said, earning a frustrated sigh from her charge. "You just don't get it," he said.

"I don't make the rules, Jack. Optimus does," Arcee said, "and rule number one, in case you guys missed it: never abuse power for personal gain. And that includes horse power."

"Oh come on! I could finally get him to leave Paige alone!" Jack exclaimed. "As much as I would love to kick his tailpipe for messing with Paige, my answer is no," Arcee said firmly as Vince drove up beside them.

"Vince, maybe racing isn't such a good idea," Jack declined, causing Vince to laugh tormentally.

"Figured. You ride around like you're bike's something special. But it's just a chunky, lunky trike! And ugly!" Vince tormented before racing away as soon as the lights turned green.

"That's it! The yahoo's going down!" Arcee proclaimed before racing after Vince at high speeds.

"Whoa! What happened to rule number one?" Jack asked.

"Gets bent. Just this once," Arcee decided, much to Jack's excitement and much to Paige's dismay.

◊◊◊◊

"Yo, girls! Your pals, Darby and Kendrick, they're-."

"Ready when you are, Vinny!"

To Vince's surprise, when he turned his attention away from Sierra and her friend, he saw Jack, Paige and Arcee next to him all revved up and ready to go.

"Dirt road by trucker's ranch. One hour," was Vince's answer.

◊◊◊◊

When the hour had passed, Jack and Vince were on the dirt road at trucker's ranch ready to go. Sierra, Paige and Sierra's friend stood by the edge of the road eager to witness the showdown between muscle car and motorcycle.

"From here to the next mile mark. Ready. GO!" Vince yelled before taking off.

"Well, that was fair," Jack remarked sarcastically as Arcee took off after Vince.

As Vince and Jack rode past, Sierra and her friend had to place their hands on their skirts to stop themselves from flashing what they had underneath.

"That's why I wear pants," Paige said to Sierra and her friend.

"Uh...Arcee," Jack trailed off.

"Winning isn't enough, Jack. You wanna make him CRY," Arcee cut him short. Vince was surprised when he noticed that the motorcycle was no longer visible through his rearview mirror. He heard the sound of an engine next to him. He turned around and was surprised to see Jack and Arcee riding along next to him! Jack waved casually as Arcee pulled a wheelie and swerved past him at impossible speeds.

"Wha?" Vince gasped.

Arcee did a little honk in victory as they drove past the mile marker before Vince. Jack let out a whoop in celebration.

"OUTSTANDING!" Jack cried. "You know, now might be a good time to give Sierra just a quick ride around the block?" He asked hopefully.

"Don't push it," was Arcee's answer and he grumbled.

◊◊◊◊

"Ah, Breakdown, Comet. Has there been any change in Megatron's condition?" Ember asked as she walked into the medbay.

"Only cosmetic," Breakdown answered honestly as he folded the buffer back into his arm.

"Well, I am sure that you and the good doctor have been doing everything in your power. Where is Knockout?" She asked, looking around. As if on cue, the Decepticon medic walked into the medbay.

"Can you believe what some skinjob did to me?" Knockout huffed as he inspected the scratch on his arm.

"Have you been out street racing with humans again?" Ember frowned. "I'm not only an automobile, I'm an automobile enthusiast," Knockout said nonchalantly.

Ember frowned deeply, "we run a tight ship around here Knockout. I strongly suggest that you request permission from me next time you decide to disappear on your little jaunts."

"No worries, Red," Knockout said dismissively. Ember gave a low, warning growl.

"Mistress Ember," Knockout corrected. "The day our master emerges from stasis, I shall gladly relinquish that title," Ember huffed, "but I believe that outcome is unlikely something to do with the quality of medical care around here. So continue buffing as we do want Megatron looking his best for the memorial." With that, she turned and walked out of the medbay.

Knockout groaned, "buff this." Comet gave him a look, "Knockout."

"You hush," the Decepticon medic huffed.

◊◊◊◊

Arcee drove into the base. Jack and Paige dismounted Arcee, allowing the Autobot to transform into her bipedal form.

"Not a word to anyone," she said firmly. "Our little secret," Jack said with a wink. Arcee smiled and she walked away.

"Dude! Vroom vroom vroom! And the winner is...," Miko smirked at the two of them.

"Jack!" Paige finished as she and Miko performed their handshake.

"Miko, who told you?" Jack asked nervously.

"You kidding? It's all over school!" Miko told them.

"You beat the pants off that blowhard bully Vince!" Raf cheered, "And I'm sure he'll leave Paige alone now because of how protective her big brother best friend forever is!"

Raf and Miko let out yells of surprise as Jack and Paige suddenly pulled them into a group huddle.

"You guys have to keep this on the DL. Especially from Optimus," Jack hissed.

"Why?" Miko asked.

"Because that race totally broke rule number one: never abuse power for personal gain," Paige said, "and I'd rather not let the Prime know that I'm the target of bullying."

"What are you four doing?"

Jack, Paige, Miko and Raf jumped and yelled in surprise as they turned around and saw Optimus standing there with a curious expression on his face.

"Uh...nothing," Jack answered with a nervous chuckle.

"Just talking about...stuff at school," Paige shrugged.

"Top secret stuff!" Miko piped in.

"Stuff you don't wanna know," Raf added.

Optimus let out a hum and raised his optic ridge. He knew something was up. Thinking that the four of them would tell him eventually, he left them to their devices. As soon as he was out of earshot, they all let out sighs of relief and slumped against one another.

"That was close," Jack sighed in relief.

"I can't believe we lied to him," Paige moaned.

"I can't believe how robotic we sounded," Miko retorted.

"How did we manage to keep the secret so long?" Raf asked, causing the other three to laugh.

Raf was right. If they had trouble telling a lie to the leader of the Autobots, how did they manage to keep the secret of their existence for as long as they had so far?

◊◊◊◊

At school, Jack walked down the stairs, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hey. I've been looking for you," Sierra said as she came out of the school with a duffle bag, "The race! How great was that?! I was like, 'Yeah! Go Jack!'"

"It was no big deal," Jack shrugged.

"You got that right!" Vince agreed as he shoved his way past Jack, "If you think you can run with the big boys, The Circuit. 11 PM."

Paige walked towards Jack and she stopped when she saw Vince and Sierra. Jack was staring at Vince before he frowned, "...fine. If I win, you leave Paige alone."

Paige widened her eyes and Sierra smiled. Vince huffed, "deal."

◊◊◊◊

"You agreed to WHAT?!" Arcee demanded as she drove down the road with Jack and Paige.

"It was some kind of secret racing club. I don't know. I had no choice. Sierra was right there!" Jack defended himself.

"You always have a choice Jack," Arcee said sternly, "and what part of 'just this once' did you not understand?"

"I know, I'm sorry," Jack sighed, "but we're on right?"

"We are not on," Arcee said firmly as she drove into the base.

◊◊◊◊

Knockout was driving down the road when Breakdown called. "Knockout, Ember's looking for you. Where did you go?" He asked through the commlink.

"Oh, just out for a little drive," Knockout said, "I just roll from town to town sniffing around until...the next opportunity presents itself. He saw a car race past him and he changed gears to catch up with it.

◊◊◊◊

Back at the base, it was pretty quiet. Everyone was off doing their own little thing...except Raf who remained behind to play video games. He was actually doing well...until Jack distracted him and caused him to crash.

"Raf? Uh...is there any way I can borrow Bumblebee for an hour?" Jack requested nervously, causing Bumblebee to widen his optics in surprise. "Don't involve me in this!"

"Jack," Paige said in a warning tone. "Jack, you know racing's against the rules," Raf said, "what if Optimus found out?" "He'd be mad!" Bee exclaimed, his doorwings twitching with nervousness.

"But Raf, he's gotta get the girl!" Miko exclaimed, "and beat the bully!"

"Jack, I appreciate you protecting me but I don't need you getting into trouble because of me," Paige said.

"This isn't because of you, Paigey," Jack said sternly, "I'm doing this to protect you. And to prove a point."

"Well...," Raf trailed off, still unsure about letting Bumblebee race.

"Come on, Raf. Just this once?" Jack pleaded him sincerely. Raf looked both worried and unsure.

◊◊◊◊

The moon cast a luminous shadow over the circuit. Racers and their girlfriends lingered around the starting line of the track. They were conversing. Talking about how they were going to win the race against some of the best. So they were amazed when they saw a black-and-yellow muscle Camero roll up onto the scene.

But no one was more surprised then Vince as he waited patiently at the starting line for the race to start. He couldn't even HIDE how surprised he was when Jack rolled down the window so they could see eye-to-eye.

"Bike's in the shop," Jack shrugged.

Vince didn't say anything in response. He just turned to the track laid out before him. Suddenly, something beautiful blocked their view. Jack leant back into Bumblebee's seat in surprise at the sight. It was Sierra. She just stood there smiling and waving at him innocently.

"Circuit drivers, are you ready? Make it mean but keep it clean! Fire 'em up in 5...4...3...2...1!"

However, behind them, nobody noticed another car pull up. What was more important was the fact that Jack and Bumblebee didn't notice the new racer. And that is because the new racer is Knockout.

When the countdown had finished, Sierra threw her hands to the ground and crouched low. Then she turned and watched the drivers begin to race around the circuit. They didn't notice Knockout riding along a little too close to them.

"The Autobot they call Bumblebee," Knockout remarked. Knockout decided to make himself known. And to do that, he rammed himself into Vince's car and immediately took the lead from him.

"What's Knockout doing here?" Bumblebee buzzed when he spotted Knockout.

"What was that, Bee?" Jack asked worriedly before glancing in the rearview mirror as Bumblebee continued his concerned bleeps, "Wait. I know that car."

Jack yelled out in surprise as Bumblebee suddenly veered right and began driving along the wall. Knockout immediately copied his actions...with a gun popping out from near his cap for the fuel tank! Immediately, the Decepticon began firing shots at the young Autobot. Bumblebee did his best to avoid Knockout's shots. Vince breathed out his surprise as he saw Jack and Bumblebee drive up the wall and jump off the track. Knockout immediately followed suite.

"Can you lose him, Bee?" Jack asked nevously, earning bleeps in response, "What'd you say? ...I hope that means 'yes.' Cause I'd rather not call base for back-up."

◊◊◊◊

"Anyone seen Jack?" Arcee asked casually, causing Miko and Raf to freeze nervously.

"Not since we last saw him," Miko answered nervously.

"...they're racing, aren't they?" Arcee asked knowingly.

"Just this once," Raf piped in nervously.

"Did you know about this?" Arcee asked Nightwalker, WhiteRain, Bulkhead.

"No...maybe...a little," Nightwalker answered nervously. Bumblebee suddenly called in. "Bumblebee to base. We're being chased by Knockout. Require backup."

"You're being chased by Knockout?!" Raf repeated in disbelief. "Take evasive action?" Bumblebee asked.

"That sounds like a Decepticon," Miko remarked as she stood up with her first clenched.

"Bee, do not engage. Your first priority is to keep Jack safe," Arcee said firmly, "until I get my hands on him." "Arcee, let me come," Paige said.

"Paige, no. I'm not putting you in danger," Arcee said firmly. "Jack is my best friend and my brother," Paige said sternly, "and I want to kick Knockout's tailpipe for shoving me into that museum's glass last week."

"Anyone else scared of her right now?" WhiteRain asked, earning nods from Bulkhead and Nightwalker.

Arcee frowned at Paige before she sighed, "alright." She transformed into her vehicle form and Paige climbed on. Bulkhead, WhiteRain and Nightwalker transformed into their vehicle forms and drove after Arcee.

◊◊◊◊

Bumblebee and Jack continued driving along the road. They had a hard time shaking Knockout off their trail who continued to fire at them. So Bumblebee leaked some oil on the road behind him. The laws of friction didn't agree with rotating tires coming into contact with slick oil. So as the story goes, Knockout lost control of the car.

"Slick," Jack remarked.

Bumblebee drove himself back onto the track in the circuit and backed himself under a bridge. Knockout eventually regained his footing and began driving back towards the circuit. He came to a stop at the beginning of the bridge Bumblebee was hiding under. Sensing Knockout's presence, he shut off his lights and engine. Jack froze, trying not to make a sound or move. His internal sensors read no signs of any Autobot or Decepticon in the area. So he put pedal to the medal and drove right out of there.

"I think we lost him, Bee," Jack whispered. Then Jack was faced with another problem. And that problem was Vince. Vince came to a stop in front of the odd duo. His face was beginning to turn red in pure anger.

"Oh you've gotta be kidding me!" Jack groaned.

"Darby," Vince growled as he pounded his fist into his open hand.

Knockout just happened to hear that, having not fully left the facility at this present time. Burnt rubber made its mark on the road as the car suddenly activated its breaks and made a complete stop in the middle of the road. He used his sideview mirrors to look for a sign. ANY sign of his foe. So when he saw the colours of bumper lights, he immediately changed gears and reversed back to the bridge, another advantage of driving on an empty road taken by him.

"Vince! You have to get out of here, OK? You win! Congradulations! Now go!" Jack pleaded.

"No. No. Start and back-up, loser. We're finishing this race! Don't wanna take it to the finishing line? Fine! Then we've got something to settle right here! Right now!" Vince proclaimed.

Vince's rant was suddenly cut off by his own screaming. Jack was surprised and concerned as a giant black hand reached down and scooped up Vince into his palm. And that hand just happened to belong to Knockout. Vince yelled out in surprise as he was thrown into the air while Knock Out transformed into his vehicular mode. Vince landed in Knockout's passenger seat with a grunt. He protested as the sunroof slammed shut above his head and the seatbelt wrapped themselves around his frame tightly, preventing any means of escape for Vince.

"What's going on?" he demanded, afraid of what could happen.

An Energon zapper appeared before Vince's eyes. Energon sparks flew from the prong for his head. As he felt the sparks take their effect on him, Vince moaned and slumped forward into the seat as he passed out. Satisfied with the current state of his captive, Knockout switched on the ignition and drove away, putting pedal to the metal once again. Jack ran up the side hill onto the road in the hopes of stopping Knockout for getting away with the bully. But he was too late. Knockout was gone, disappearing in a cloud of sand and dust as he disappeared into the dark horizon.

◊◊◊◊

"Breakdown, you'll never guess what I'm packing," Knock Out gushed excitedly as he continued down the highway with Vince unconscious and bound in his passenger seat, "Bumblebee's human friend! And when the Autobot attempts to stage a rescue..."

"He has a...breakdown!"

◊◊◊◊

"Bee, he's getting away!" Jack cried as Bumblebee approached him, bleeping his idea to him, "I-I-I can't understand you! Look. I'm not Raf! Can't you just honk once for bad news and honk twice for good news?"

Bumblebee seemed to like that idea. Finally, he found a method of communication Jack would understand. So he honked twice, telling Jack that he had good news indeed. Jack virtually melted in relief at understanding the mute Autobot. Well...he did until he saw Arcee, Nightwalker, WhiteRain and Bulkhead arrive. And Paige was with them and she wasn't happy.

When Paige hopped off of Arcee's vehicle form, she marched over to her best friend/brother and whacked him on the head, making him flinch and rub the back of his head.

"Jack, we need to chat," Arcee said, placing her servo on her hip. "Later, Arcee. Vince got snatched by that slick sports car 'Con!" Jack announced.

"What would Knockout want with that guy?" WhiteRain asked, surprised.

"He probably mistook him for Bumblebee's human friend. I'm not even Bumblebee's human friend," Jack said, "Look. It doesn't matter why they took him! Vince is in trouble!"

"Oh well. Tough break for Vince," Bulkhead shrugged carelessly, making Arcee, WhiteRain, Bumblebee and Nightwalker look at him.

"Bulkhead!" Paige and Jack exclaimed. Bulkhead looked at them, "what? Hear the guy's a jerk. Even more so to Paige."

"Okay, no argument there but the guy's also innocent," Paige huffed, "he doesn't deserve to get hurt- especially by the Cons."

Arcee furrowed her optic ridges before she transformed into her vehicle form, "hop on."

◊◊◊◊

"They should have called by now," Raf said worriedly, "do you think Bumblebee's okay?"

"Don't worry Raf. Bulkhead and WhiteRain won't let anything happen to Jack or Bee," Miko said reassuringly. Then the two heard heavy pedesteps and turned to Optimus walking into the main hangar.

"We should just tell Optimus the truth," Raf whispered. "Absolutely not!" Miko whispered back, "we made a deal! Just act completely normal."

"Raf, Miko, do either of you know where the others have gone?" Optimus asked as he walked up to them.

"Why, no sir," Miko said nonchalantly, "we do not know."

"Miko is correct," Raf said with a nervous smile, "we do not know." "Why would we know?" Miko asked as she and Raf nervously smiled at the Autobot leader.

Optimus only raised an optic ridge at the two.

◊◊◊◊

The chase for Knock Out and Vince continued, despite the fact that it was – by now – the early hours of the morning. But they wouldn't give up. Especially since their secret was at risk. When they heard the sound of a car coming at an intersection, they stopped to allow the car to go through. The red and white car whizzed by. Jack, Paige and Arcee realized that it was Knockout. So they immediately took off after him.

"Bumblebee brought company," Knockout observed.

"On your guard, boys and girls. Could be a trap," Arcee warned.

"And remember. No shooting," Jack reminded the two boys.

"Speaking of safety, Jack, this is where you get off," Arcee said. Paige looked to Jack and flicked her tail.

She and Arcee took off. As they drove around the place, Bumblebee, Nightwalker, WhiteRain and Bulkhead saw a giant hole in the wire fence. Suspecting trouble, they immediately transformed into their bipedal modes and unfolded their blasters. Paige was climbing up the water tower, ready to attack from above in case trouble came.

Knockout turned his front lights on, temporarily blinding Bulkhead and Bumblebee. Then from the wall next to them, Breakdown and Echo broke their way into the fight. Breakdown's hammer hit the road between Bulkhead, Nightwalker, WhiteRain and Bumblebee, causing the two to flip away. Bumblebee stood ready to fight. But Breakdown easily knocked him out of the way. Eventually, he did the same to Bulkhead. Nightwalker and WhiteRain charged at Breakdown and Echo, taking out their weapons.

Vince was still in Knockout's passenger seat unconscious. However, Knockout's didn't care at the moment. His mind was occupied with another quest.

"Where's the two-wheeler and the little half breed?" he asked himself. Arcee and Paige dropped down onto the Decepticon medic's hood.

Arcee started punching at Knockout's hood. "Hey! Watch the paint! It's custom!" He snapped.

"Seriously?" Arcee grinned. Paige, as she was in her lioness form, dug her claws into the hood of Knockout's car.

The tires squealed as Knockout rolled out, with Arcee and Paige riding along on top of him. The fight between Breakdown, Bulkhead and Bumblebee continued, unaware of the situation with Arcee, Paige, Knockout and Vince.

Outside, Jack's attention was captured by the sound of squealing tires. He turned and saw Knockout attempting an escape with Arcee and Paige standing on top of him, trying to maintain balance. Eventually, Arcee and Paige lost their balance and fell off. But Arcee transformed into her vehicular mode and caught Paige before the two chased Knockout into the night.

"That's my girls!" Jack cheered to himself quietly.

◊◊◊◊

"Uh, Breakdown, in case you're looking for me, things got messy. So I hit the road. One scream is enough for today," Knockout said through the commlink.

No sooner then Knockout had said that, Breakdown turned around and found himself smacked in the face with a lamppost, sending him flying through the same wall he broke through before. And that hit was courtesy of Bulkhead.

◊◊◊◊

The chase between Autobot, Galatrian and Decepticon continued. Arcee and Paige were hot on Knockout's tail. So Knockout added more pressure to the accelerator and gained more miles ahead of them, causing Arcee and Paige to groan in frustration at yet another lost chance.

"Eat my dust," Knockout smirked at them. There was a loud truck horn and Optimus drove up beside Knockout. With a gentle nudge from the Prime, Knockout lost control of himself and drove into a ditch.

"Optimus, Knockout has a hostage," Arcee said. Optimus transformed into his bipedal form and he walked over to Knockout.

Optimus picked Knockout up and held him in the air by his rear bumper. Knockout screamed in pain as Optimus riped the driver's side door off of the main frame. Carefully, Optimus reached inside the interior of the car and freed the still-unconscious Vince from his current predicament. With Vince safe in his servo, he simply threw Knockout to the side as he transformed.

"Do you know how hard that is to replace?" Knockout had screeched after observing the damage to his arm. That was when he realized he was outnumbered.

Bulkhead, WhiteRain and Nightwalker aimed their blasters at the Decepticon medic.

'Scrap! If I'm not in trouble with these bots, then I'm in trouble with Ember!' Knockout thought before he transformed into his vehicle form and sped away.

Optimus turned to the others. Bumblebee drove up beside Arcee, Jack inside his vehicle form.

"Optimus... this is my fault," Jack sighed. "We must get this boy to safety. Explanations can come later...from all of you," Optimus said sternly.

Nightwalker lowered his head and WhiteRain's shoulders slumped guiltily.

"We're in trouble," Bumblebee said quietly.

◊◊◊◊

Vince came to hours after he was taken from the circuit by Knockout. Only, he didn't find himself in Knockout's car. He found himself in Bumblebee's passenger seat with Jack driving.

"How did? What happened?" Vince groaned as he sat up.

"Some guys jumped you under the bridge. They tossed you into their trunk. Must have been some kind of initiation," Jack shrugged convincingly.

"Really?" Vince asked, startled. "Yeah. Found you knocked out on the side of the road," Jack said before he stopped next to Vince's car, "Look. I gotta be honest. After what I saw tonight, I think racing isn't really my thing."

"I hear you, Darby. Hard to win a race driving a pedal car!" Vince sneered, causing Bumblebee to put pedal to the metal and drove away.

◊◊◊◊

Knockout walked down the hallway as Echo and Comet walked over to him. "What happened to you?" Echo asked, noticing the damage on his arm.

"Knockout, to the control bridge. Now," Ember announced through the commlink. Knockout lowered his helm and the three walked to the command center.

When the doors opened, Comet walked over to Breakdown and Echo walked over to Soundwave.

Ember turned to Knockout, her optics showing bridled fury. "You were supposed to be tending to Lord Megatron," she said sternly, "instead... you decided to go and defy my orders and pull a careless stunt like this."

Knockout flinched as he lowered his helm, not wanting to meet his leader's optics. Ember was no angle. As the alpha of the Decepticons, she would not hesitate in punishing soldiers. Even if those soldiers were her friends.

Ember looked to Starscream, "Starscream will be the one to give you a lesson you won't seem to forget." She turned back to the screens as Starscream walked towards Knockout.

Comet widened his optics and he stepped forward but Breakdown put his arm in front of the young mech and silently shook his helm.

"Not to worry," Starscream said to Knockout, showing a sharp claw, "your punishment shall be merely... cosmetic."

No! Not the finish! Anything but the finish!" Knockout pleaded before Breakdown, Echo and Comet cringed at the sound of screeching metal and the sounds of Knockout's screams.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

◊◊◊◊

The next day, Jack walked over to Arcee and climbed onto her vehicle form. "Hey, Jack. Do you have time for that ride?" Sierra asked hopefully.

"I'm sorry, Sierra. I can't right now," Jack apologized regretfully.

"No problem. I guess I'll just see you around," Sierra shrugged sadly before walking away.

"Hop on," Arcee invited as she pulled up next to him.

"Whoa. Really?" Jack asked, surprised.

"Just this once," Arcee emphasized.

◊◊◊◊

Jack smiled as he and Sierra drove down the road, enjoying the sights before them.

#fanfiction #self insert #transformers prime #my ocs #the girl among the gods

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cali-holland · 4 years

Text

Golden Bullets, Ch. 3: All The Time in the World

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond!AU

Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007, was once the best MI6 agent around with the astounding reputation as a womanizer. Between illegal gold smuggling and black market trading of weapons, he finds himself deeper in his latest mission than intended, weaving himself into a web of the criminal organization, S.P.E.C.T.R.E.. At the center of it all is the one woman who’s never fallen for his charms- you, Agent 006, the best MI6 agent, the new assistant director of the program, and his new partner.

Word Count: 3000

Gif is not mine

Golden Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: violence (using toiletries as weapons bc why not), death, swearing, involuntary drug usage, drinking, vomiting (self-inflicted)

Featured Song: We Have All the Time in the World by Louis Armstrong from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)

~ “We have all the time in the world, time enough for life to unfold all the precious things love has in store”

~~~

“That can’t be her real name.”

“Tom, I’m being serious.” Harrison said, but even he couldn’t disguise the amused grin on his face when describing the intoxicatingly beautiful woman that was Pussy Galore to the quartermaster.

“Sounds like a horny teenage boy named her, right?” You joked, sitting beside Harrison on the hotel room couch. The laptop was propped up on the coffee table so that you and Harrison could both video chat with Tom, discussing the previous night.

“Is that your bullet wound?” He asked as he stepped closer to the camera, as if that’d help him see your bandaged arm better. Following last night’s events, it was difficult for you to really move your arm fluidly, so you had opted to wear a tank top on your day “off”. You leaned in, carefully taking off the bandage to show the damaged skin and stitches.

“Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll live.” You told him.

“Nice stitch work, 007. Practicing needlework in your spare time?” The quartermaster teased.

“Shove off.” Harrison rolled his eyes at his friend’s comment while you laughed, fixing the bandage, “Did you finish getting the specs on the flash drive?”

“I’m trying, but there seems to be an issue.” Tom stated, his eyes trailing over another computer screen. You looked down at the golden flash drive currently connected to the laptop. Sciarra was dead and all you had from last night was that one flash drive, you and Harrison both needed it to lead back to Goldfinger.

“You’re the greatest hacker of the century. What could possibly prevent you from getting past this flash drive’s security?” You asked.

“Thank you for the compliment, love, but I can’t hack it from here. It appears the security system on this drive is a replica of one I made, which should mean I can get into it from here, but it seems like I made it too sophisticated.” He paused, with a sigh, “I have a hunch about who could be behind this kind of security system.”

You looked between him and Harrison, both agents seemingly to wordlessly agree on who could be behind the drive. Knowing you’d want an answer, Harrison spoke up, “It’s Raoul Silva.”

“You mean the former agent turned cyberterrorist? I thought you killed him last year.” You said, and he gave you an odd look, “What? I told you I read your file, Osterfield.”

“I’m flattered you remember my cases.” He smirked, before Tom cleared his throat on the screen.

“As I was saying, I need to physically have the drive attached to my computer to get through its security and hopefully track Goldfinger. Silva was connected to numerous weapons dealers, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he helped Goldfinger set up security before he died.”

“So you can’t hack this?”

Tom looked at Harrison with furrowed eyebrows, questioning his friend. “Can’t hack this? Did you not listen to anything I just said? What exactly do you think my expertise is?”

“Sitting behind a computer screen.” He joked.

“Well, I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.” Tom said, and you laughed, nodding, fully aware of his skills, “Either way, I’ll meet you two in Montenegro to finish on the flash drive.”

“Montenegro?” You and Harrison both questioned.

“Right.” He laughed a little, realizing you two didn’t know about your next step of the mission, “M will call you two later tonight. I don’t know all the details, but I know you two are going to Montenegro, so I assume I’ll be meeting you there.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Montenegro.” Harrison smiled fondly.

“I’ll let you two go. M should be calling soon.” Tom said before ending the call. You let out a small sigh, leaning back on the couch comfortably.

“Have you ever been to Montenegro?”

“Once, but not on a mission.” You replied, not really wanting to discuss your past trip. Unfortunately for you, your partner was observant and caught onto that- and he was also a bit of an asshole, so he pressed the topic.

“You know, I tried reading the Montenegro part of your file, but almost everything was redacted because the clearance of that file is only you and M.” He stated, watching you carefully as you shifted uncomfortably, tightening your jaw.

“What about it?”

“Who did you kill in Montenegro that is so private only you and M can know?” He questioned, and you glared over at him.

Before you could reply, the laptop began to ring, signaling an incoming call from M. You sat up on the couch, answering it.

“Agent 006, 007.” She greeted with the normal stern look on her face.

“M.” You and Harrison both nodded in reply to her.

“Q tells me you two found a flash drive, one suspected to be linked to Goldfinger.” She started, “And that Sciarra is dead.”

“The sniper got to him before we could get him in the DB10.” Harrison explained, and you swallowed a lump in your throat as M’s cold eyes trailed over the bandage on your arm.

“I also heard the sniper shot 006.” She said, “Tomorrow, you two will leave for Montenegro. Agent 009 has been tracking a private banker who funds terrorists, Le Chiffre. Le Chiffre seems to be Goldfinger’s competition at the moment. 009 reported multiple murders of Le Chiffre’s men with golden bullets through their skulls, all of which are sniper shots.”

“Forgive me, M, but if Agent 009 is on the case, then why are we going after Le Chiffre as well?” Harrison asked, voicing the question that was also floating around in your head. Why would MI6 need three agents on a private banker case?

“Because last we heard from 009 himself, he was being followed by Le Chiffre, and last night, local police found him tortured to death. His balls were so beaten, they could barely identify him as a man anymore- one of Le Chiffre’s signature torture methods.” At her words, Harrison squirmed uncomfortably beside you, subconsciously resting a hand over his crotch protectively. “Since Sciarra is a dead end until Q cracks that flash drive, Le Chiffre is our next best lead to Goldfinger.”

“When do we leave tomorrow?” You spoke up.

“I am working with the Monaco police right now to acquire a private jet for the two of you. I will let you know in the morning. And, remember, this mission is not a personal one.” With that, she hung up the call and you shut off the laptop, getting up from the couch.

“What happened in Montenegro?” Harrison asked you, standing up from his spot on the couch. You didn’t reply as you pulled on a sweatshirt to hide your bandage. Wordlessly, you grabbed the ice bucket and left the hotel room.

You didn’t really need ice, but it wouldn’t hurt to ice your arm or tense muscles- besides, you needed to be away from your partner for a few minutes. Harrison was definitely getting more bearable, but you didn’t exactly want to tell him about Montenegro, not yet. When you came back from getting the bucket of ice, you saw a hotel room service busboy, standing outside of your door. Just before he knocked, you spoke up, “Is that for room 1964?”

“Yes.” The busboy replied almost nervously, holding up a bucket of champagne out to you.

“Thank you.” You smiled as you took the bucket from him, balancing it with your own ice bucket. He nodded, before disappearing down the hall. You laughed to yourself as you looked at the expensive bottle of champagne; leave it to Harrison to want to drink before leaving Monaco. Unlocking the hotel room door, you pushed it open, and Harrison looked up from his phone as he laid down on his bed.

“Champagne?” You offered, setting down the buckets on the coffee table.

“Why not celebrate Monaco?” He laughed. Both of you sat down on the couch, and he effortlessly popped open the champagne bottle. You held up two empty flute glasses for him to pour the champagne into.

“To Monaco.”

“To Monaco.” You clicked your glass against Harrison’s before both of you took sips of the smooth liquid.

“Does this taste odd to you?” Harrison asked, licking his lips from the very small amount of champagne that had actually made it in his mouth before he spit it back in.

“I’m not the person to ask. It’s been a while since I had nice champagne like this.” You laughed, taking another sip of the golden drink.

“It’s probably just too fancy for my tastebuds.” He chuckled, eyeing the glass.

“With all the martinis you drink, your tastebuds must be dead.” You teased, already starting to feel cloudy from the alcohol. You wondered how high the proof was, but that thought was gone as quickly as it came. “You drown yourself in martinis- shaken, not stirred.”

“Martinis are superior. You’d know that if you’d drown yourself in anything.” He quipped back.

“It’d take a while for me to drown in anything- I can hold my breath for six minutes.” You replied confidently, sipping some more of the champagne.

“I can only hold my breath for two. That’s impressive.” His eyes widened in surprise at the little fun fact.

“Most people can only hold them for two, but I was a swimmer growing up and I practiced holding my breath for long periods of time. I’ve got the best lungs on MI6.”

“And the best shot, too, the way I hear it.” Harrison laughed a little, before leaning in closer to you on the couch. Your face was close enough to his that you could feel his breath, and you felt yourself starting to, ironically, drown in his ocean blue eyes. With his voice low and just above a whisper, he asked, “How does someone get the reputation of a maneater?”

“How does someone get the reputation of a womanizer?” You replied, just as quietly. Pulling away from him, you took another long sip of your champagne, the once full glass now empty. The room fell silent before you solemnly spoke up, “I killed him.”

“Who?”

“My weakness.” You rolled up your tank top just enough to show the bullet wound scar on your hip. “I was in Montenegro on vacation with my last boyfriend. I spotted Le Chiffre at a casino, and I called M for permission to strike. When I returned to the hotel room, my boyfriend was there with Le Chiffre- he’d been working for him the whole time. I took a shot at him, but I missed, and he shot me. Then, I shot him again, but that time, I didn’t miss. The only reason Le Chiffre didn’t kill me was Agent 009. Le Chiffre ran, and 009 saved me.”

“So, Montenegro is-”

“Where I became the maneater.” You said. Harrison reached a hand out to touch the scar, but you slapped his hand away, fixing your shirt.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He replied, his voice filled with pity. You could tell he wasn’t just apologizing for overstepping and trying to touch the scar- no, he was apologizing for ever thinking less of you based on your reputation and he pitied you for your story, for all you had to go through to get that name. It was then that you realized he hadn’t really had much to drink of the champagne.

“Why’d you order this if you weren’t going to drink it?” You asked, and Harrison furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“What are you talking about?”

“The champagne. You ordered it when I got ice?”

“I didn’t order this.” The room fell silent, save for the clattering of your champagne flute against the floor from you dropping it.

“Neither of us ordered this?” You questioned, and he shook his head. Immediately, you got up and stumbled to the bathroom, only making Harrison more confused.

“What are you doing?” Harrison followed after you.

“I’m puking because I was just fucking drugged. No wonder I’m so goddamn talkative right now.” You stated, sitting down in front of the toilet. You looked over at him in the hallway, “Are you going to call Q and have him analyze the champagne or are you going to watch me vomit up whatever drug is in my body? You had less than me, so figure out what happened.”

“How the fuck did someone drug us?” He grumbled, closing the door and rushing back into the room. He pulled up the laptop and called the quartermaster.

“I was just about to call you.” Tom said with a laugh, but his smile dropped as he saw Harrison pouring some champagne into a testing vial.

“Find out what’s in this. We’ve been drugged.” He explained, placing the vile on one of Q’s special testing trays, equipped for analyzing substances through the computer. The computer couldn’t figure out exactly what the substance was, but Q, being the genius he is, could based on the computer’s analysis.

“How did two of Britain’s top agents get drugged with a bottle of champagne?” Q asked, typing away at his computer. Harrison grimaced, hearing the distinct sounds of you in the other room. “Is- Is Agent 006 vomiting?”

“Yes, she’s trying to clear out her system.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing that too?” He looked at his friend skeptically.

“I didn’t even have a full sip of the champagne and it’s been in my system long enough that it’s already effective. She drank an entire glass flute, so however potent this drug is, she had a lot of it.”

“Well, you two got lucky.” Tom breathed out, reviewing the results. “It was a harmless drug, it’s not poisonous or anything. It’s meant to disorient you, weaken your fighting, and make you more conversational. It’s used for interrogations.”

“So that means-“ Before Harrison could finish his thought process, there was a knock at the hotel room door. He quietly shut off the computer, ending the phone call swiftly, and grabbed the golden flash drive, pocketing the valuable object. Grabbing his gun and yours, he softly moved across the room to conceal himself behind the wall.

“Room service.” A voice behind the door called, and Harrison quietly cocked his gun while pocketing yours.

In less than a moment, the door burst, and he kept himself quiet against the wall, hoping the silence in the bathroom meant you knew what was happening out here. Based on the sound of feet, Harrison calculated there were three men in the room now. One stepped past the wall, gun raised as he surveyed the room. Harrison stepped forward, shooting the man dead immediately.

Meanwhile, your ears perked up as you heard multiple footsteps outside the door. Your head was spinning from the drug concoction and the fact that you forced yourself to throw up. It wasn’t until you heard the first gunshot that you knew it was bad.

“Harrison,” You mumbled, pulling yourself up from the floor. Looking around the bathroom, you cursed at the lack of sharp objects. Grabbing your tweezers from the counter, you supposed they’d have to do. You flung open the bathroom door, jabbing the tweezers into the neck of the man nearest you. You kicked the other man down, pressing onto his neck with your foot.

“You’re okay.” Harrison breathed out, coming to stand beside you after he shot the other man, the one with the tweezers in his neck, again.

“Still light headed.” You replied. The man below you moved and Harrison was quick to point his gun at him threateningly. You stepped back, allowing his steadier foot to replace yours.

“Who sent you?” He questioned.

“G-Goldfinger.” The man wheezed out.

“And was it Goldfinger who made you drug us? How did you find us?”

The man just laughed in response, and you heard the sounds of the police sirens flooding down the street.

“They heard the shots. We gotta go.” You said, and Harrison nodded. You quickly loaded the bags as your partner kept a watchful eye on the enemy. Knowing there was no way you and Harrison could escape if the police got involved, you two left the other man there, alive but weak.

“Next time, no champagne.” Harrison stated once the two of you were seated in the DB10. You sent a quick message to Moneypenny, who would send the word onto M that you and Harrison were en route in the DB10, no private jet necessary tomorrow. Considering how long the drive was, you knew it’d be enough time for you two to meet with Q in Montenegro and catch Le Chiffre.

“You’re going to drive us to Montenegro in this car, and I’m going to forget I ever told you anything about that god awful place.” You groaned, leaning your head against the window. “What did they drug us with?”

“Q says it’s a harmless interrogation drug.” He replied, flicking his eyes over to you, a new softness to them, “Get some rest, you’ve had a rough go.”

You turned to face ahead, trying to get yourself comfortable, and the car was silent for a moment, the only sound coming from the DB10 moving against the road and the quiet Duran Duran song playing over the speakers. You looked over at Harrison, who had his eyes trained on the road, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked, genuinely curious about the sudden appreciation.

“For saving me yesterday and patching me up.” You said softly, studying his face for a moment, before shifting to look ahead once more. “I’d do the same for you.”

“Let’s hope you’ll never have to.”

~~~

General Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-holland @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer

Harrison Tag List: @Calhtlland @tomkindholland @where-art-thau-romeo

Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01 @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield series #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield fanfic #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield x y/n

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deepslateemeraldore · 4 years

Text

goin’ crazy from the moment i met you

for the @itfandomprompts gift exchange! this is my gift for @a-portable-snack who requested “ (college Au) Losers go to karaoke and Richie sings Untouched by the Veronicas to Eddie drunkenly and Reddie Chaos ensues “! hope you enjoy this!!!

- 4k words - Mentions of weed and alcohol - Mentions of Bill’s past relationship - Talks of crushes

Sleepy college towns are never really thought of as anything other than that. They’re small, oftentimes quiet communities, with bands of young adults trying to find their places in the grand scheme of things. There’s heartbreak, love, loss, and on occasion, loud drunken nights singing karaoke obnoxiously and proudly in the shitty little dive bars that offered such sad excuses for attention. Who in their right mind would find such an embarrassing pastime enjoyable?

The answer: Eddie Kaspbrak. A rising star in the world of local track and field, and often found running wild with his band of misfits on the weekends (though, to him, the fact that they were misfits is what made their bond so strong). He couldn’t help the image that the town had put together about him, trotting at the heels of the other town losers; Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Stanley Uris, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, and last but not least, Richard Tozier (though, calling him anything besides “Richie” was bound to get you an earful unless you were his mother).

If only the judging eyes could see Eddie, laughing himself sick amongst said friends, singing songs that hadn’t been popular since his elementary school years. They’d take turns picking their most hated songs to sing at each other while the recipient of that round would make sour faces at the offender (but secretly, they wouldn’t be upset. They’d think it was the most hilarious thing, only to be replaced by the following week's act of tomfoolery and embarrassment).

In fact, karaoke had become a sort of group therapy for the clan of friends. It fell into routine after everyone’s first year at college ended with Richie using his newly acquired fake ID to load up the back of Bev’s car with enough beer to last a whole winter. The three drank at Bill’s until their knees went numb, and ended up wandering around downtown for a bit, stumbling into a shitty dive when the need for greasy food set in. By mistake, Bev signed up for karaoke, and the rest is history. Ben came the next time with Mike, who invited Stanley who invited Eddie. The latter of the two had stood solid on their stance of karaoke being dumb and childish until they’d decided to duet to “Total Eclipse of the Heart” in homage to changing majors. Eddie had never felt more alive than in that moment.

Over time, the song selection had grown from moody teenage anthems to half-time show routines, before settling comfortably in a genre appealing to only the chaotically single and nostalgically lonely. That’s not to say they were sad songs, oftentimes they were very fun and upbeat songs, but lyrically they could bring a drunk Bill Denbrough to his knees (though that was a very easy task that only required a small amount of hard liquor).

However, one particular night at the Bleu Jay will forever have a choke hold on Eddie Kaspbrak’s tender heart.

It was an average Saturday in late March, and he and Bev had spent the morning at various craft stores hunting for diploma frames. Bev had graduated the past winter with a BA in Textile and Apparel Studies, immediately accepting an offer to work with the Penobscot Theatre (along with several other theatres in Maine). She became impassioned for the art made by local seamstresses, and it was clear the feeling was mutual as soon as she joined the team.

Eddie would be graduating at the end of that spring with a Bachelors in Statistics (although it was assumed he would enroll in a new program for Anatomy and Biology the coming fall), becoming the fourth of his friend group to get his degree. And he was proud of himself, little “Wheezie” Kaspbrak, coddled by his mother until he could break free, going to college against family wishes and proving that he had more to him than what was publicly thought. And it was exhilarating in the same vein, existing outside of his mother's (womb) house.

And, as almost every Saturday since becoming legal went, they set out to celebrate with drinks. And karaoke.

Mike and Stan arrived first, Bill, Ben, and Richie next, and lastly, Bev and Eddie. The agreed upon meeting time was always seven thirty, and like every Saturday, Bev and Eddie were late.

“Man, you guys are s-s-so late,” Bill slurred, sitting shotgun in Ben’s car with the door propped open. Bev hadn’t even put the car park by the time the smell of shitty weed had made itself known. Bev giggled as she opened her door, shooting Eddie a look as if to say “this should be hilarious.” Eddie followed Bev’s lead, opening the door of the ‘99 Camry, careful not to slam the door too hard, and checking that the mirror had not fallen off (again. It was a junk car, but it ran like a dream, Bev would say).

“I already sm-smoked all Richie’s weed, Bev.” Bill followed up. Eddie took one solid look at his friend and let out his own little laugh. Mike led everyone from the parking lot into the bar, and after having their IDs checked (they came weekly, at this point you’d think the poor old bouncer wouldn’t care) they made way to their table. It was the only horseshoe booth in the place, furthest away from the bar counter, and the best place to be loud without getting any funny looks from other patrons. They were also the largest group to ever set foot in the dive.

Mike would always sit in the middle, Stan and Bill on either side of him, Ben then Bev sitting to Stan’s left, Richie then Eddie to Bill’s right. Just like always. Stan ordered the first round of drinks, making sure to order Bill’s Bloody Mary with more tomato juice and less vodka (the conversation outside the bar between he and Richie about Bill being a “One Hit Wonder” went right over the accused’s head, making for a good laugh all around) and Eddie’s Appletini sans garnish. Bev chimed in to ask for a basket of fries, making Stan’s eyes shine bright.

“I knew there was a reason we’ve kept you around, Marsh.” He teased, clapping a hand on her shoulder. Ben smiled at the interaction, happy to see the most tense member of their group relaxing so soon into the evening. As soon as the waiter stepped away, small talk grew into a medium rumble, and talk about classes and grad school and professors everyone hated began to snowball. It only got worse as drinks made their way around.

“I thought Richie said Short was a good head for the theatre department?” Mike asked Bev softly. Before Bev could respond, Richie had butted in.

“No, Mikey, I said Short gives good head to the theatre department,” Was Richie’s reply as he knocked back a shot of Jameson and winced. “Everyone loves a good gum job from-“

“Beep Beep, Richie.” That was Eddie, exasperated having to hear about the old guy for what felt like the hundredth time. Richie turned to his friend, mock hurt, and scoffed.

“But Ed’s, you love to hear about me getting all the foxy grandpas and-“ Eddie’s cheeks flushed pink.

“I said beep beep, Dick. Shut up.” Richie stared at Eddie meekly as Eddie turned back to the group and picked up his martini. Without missing a beat, he spoke to Bill.

“So, are you and Audra on speaking terms now?” The table sat quiet as Eddie spoke, partially because the tone he’d just used was borderline frightening, but also because Richie had never shut up that quickly before. Bev would have to commend him on it later. Bill cleared his throat.

“We t-t-talked about it on Wednesday. I went to s-see her after her shift and all was f-fine. She said she’d rather see me h-happy with a guy than mi-miserable with her.” He shrugged, taking a sip of the water Stan had slyly moved closer to him. Bev nodded, as did Ben, Richie, Eddie. Everyone took a drink. Richie cleared his throat.

“I’m happy for you, man. Really. Growth and all that shit. Mazel tov or whatever.” Everyone laughed save for Stan, who groaned, sinking into the booth.

“So, are we tipsy enough to start singing or does the Donner Party minus Bill need another round?” Richie asked, looking around the table. He was met with stares of confusion.

“Why are we the Donner Party minus Bill?” Ben inquired trying to connect the dots mentally.

“Because Bill fell off the wagon after I let him hit BabySpice in the parking lot.” Ben nodded, not bothering to inquire further. Bill made a noise of protest, but was too eager to make a fool of himself on the small bar stage to say otherwise.

And so the night began. They moved as a herd to the DJ booth, signing their names after finding a song (although, Eddie had to sign Bill’s name and song, seeing as the lightweight was a bit too fucked up to hold the pen properly. Seriously, one hit and half a Bloody Mary?), then retreating back to the booth, awaiting their names being called to the stage when it was time. They had a few more sips and laughs in between.

Mike was called first. Mike usually went first just to ease the tension, but tonight he seemed almost a bit too excited to go first.

“Is it just me, or is he skipping up there?” Eddie asked Richie, leaning in and whispering while still keeping his eyes on Mike. He felt Richie lean in a little closer to him, too, making his cheeks flush pink again.

“I think he might have a crush on someone,” Richie motioned with his head to Bill very subtly. “But, you didn’t hear that from me.” Eddie’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he turned to face Richie, who smirked and held a finger up to his lips. “Shhh.” Eddie let out a light chuckle, turning his attention back to Mike on stage. The song started up as Mike waved to his friends, who smiled back and began to sway to the music.

Eddie smiled to himself as he zoned out, thinking about what Richie has just said. Mike and Bill. Bill and Mike. It didn’t bother Eddie in the slightest, in fact, he became almost excited at the thought of them two dating. They’d always been close, and they’d always made a really good team. And if Bill thought the same way about Mike, then that’d be just dandy! But Bill did just get out of a relationship, but he also seemed happy to bring up the whole “happier with a guy” thing… who knows? Not Eddie. Not in the slightest. Eddie reached for his drink, bringing it close and sipping it throughout Mike’s song, thinking.

He thought about “crushes” he’s had in the past on a few girls from his childhood, then the crushes he had in middle and high school on boys, and the crush that he’s had on the same boy since high school. He felt his neck grow hot and downed the last few sips of his martini. Mike’s song ended and they all cheered, although Eddie wouldn’t have been able to tell you what song he’d even sang. The waiter came by their table as Mike came back, earning a pat on the back from Ben (who was up next) and a thumbs up from Bill who appeared to be… blushing? God, if Bill was blushing then I must look like a damn lobster, Eddie thought, then turned to the waiter and asked for a Long Island Iced Tea, sub the rum for extra tequila.

The waiter was back within the first minute of Ben’s song, prompting Eddie to waste no time sucking his drink down. His first sip took a bit more than a third of the glass and burned only slightly on its way down. He took another big sip, the glass now just below halfway, which earned a sneering chuckle from Richie, lightly sipping his fourth Jack & Coke.

“You got a hot date or s’mthin?” Richie asked, almost a little too close to Eddie’s ear.

Now I probably look like a ripe fucking beet, just peachy. Eddie blinked, turned his head to look at Stan and jeered back:

“Yes, actually. Stanley and I were talking about bringing a himbo or two back to the condo. Why, you think you qualify?” It was Eddie’s turn to smirk, and the blank look on Richie’s face counted as a victory in his book. Eddie focused his attention back to Ben on stage, clapping for his friend as the song finished, hoping his blush was subtle. Richie sat completely still.

Bev went after Ben, planting a kiss on his cheek as they walked past each other. Bev sang “Baby Got Back”, much to the surprise of everyone other than Eddie (they’d discussed these important matters on the drive). Bill went after Bev, Richie after Bill (although in everyone’s mind, the “Tequila” song did not count, which earned him a do-over for after Stan went), Eddie after Richie (Eddie was also razzed for choosing “Sweet Caroline” due to its extremely popular nature with the drunk crowd), and Stan following last. Eddie had enjoyed Stan’s song, “SexyBack” but only because once Stan was nearing drunk, he would go all out with his dance moves, getting the entire bar (really, the only 5 others in the bar besides the losers) to clap with him. It was fun! It was all fun!

Until Richie got up to perform his do-over song. Eddie had gotten up to let him out of the booth, but the way Richie’s normally swinging gait sagged was cause for concern in Eddie’s inebriated mind. Bill, now far too “drunk” from a grand total of three and a half shots worth of alcohol, was whooping and hollering as Richie talked to the DJ. Eddie was prepared, as was the rest of the table, for Richie to choose something to get off easy, something in the family of “Rolling in the Deep” or “Jolene”, with Stan bidding on “Hand in my Pocket” because “it’s just a karaoke classic!”.

The conversation roaring around the table while Richie and the DJ looked for some song that wasn’t coming up in the catalog turned to making fun of Bill, who had claimed his “high was wearing off” and that he had “never been this brunk defore”, earning a hearty laugh from the six. Stan and Eddie worked to prop Bill up so he was at least not head first on the table. In fact, they would’ve all missed Richie starting if it hadn’t been for the tapping on the microphone, followed by:

“Hello, I am slightly tipsy and extremely sorry for what you are all about to see.” Violins came from the speakers surrounding the stage, and when Eddie looked at the screen behind Richie’s head, the panic set in, surrounding the bar in the sounds of 2000’s pop.

Richie began to dance, albeit very poorly, to “Untouched” by The Veronicas. He was a little drunk. Eddie was a little drunk. A man sitting at a booth near the DJ was clapping and cheering, and also probably a little drunk. The losers were clapping and cheering. Eddie felt like he was inside an ice cube, and also like he was going to pass out.

“I go ooh ooh, you go aah aah,

Lalalala, lalalala,” Richie began to sing, his voice reaching somewhere between a valley girl and a horrible Britney Spears impression.

“I wanna wanna wanna get get get what I want, don’t stop,” Richie sang to the man in the booth, who hadn’t stopped clapping. It occurred to Eddie in that moment that Richie couldn’t be drunk. Drunk Richie was funny, aloof, extra clumsy, and could barely mutter out a proper sentence. No amount of alcohol would make him do this.

Eddie tore his eyes away from his friend on stage, intensely studying the remaining ice in his glass. He tried to bring a hand up to fiddle with the straw, to keep himself distracted, but the way his hand shook was going to give away everything he was trying to keep in. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look UP. If he thought about it hard enough, Eddie supposed he could have made himself throw up from the amount of sudden stress (which was code for Gay Panic) building in his abdomen. He could faintly hear Bev and Bill cheering, and out of the corner of his eye caught Stan standing up in the booth to join in the support of his friend. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close your eyes.

“Cause you’re the only one who’s on my mind, I’ll never ever let you leave, I’ll try to stop time forever, never wanna hear you say goodbye,” jerked Eddie back to reality, but only because he could feel his worst fear currently coming true.

Richie had stepped off the stage, and Eddie had looked over at him just as he had made his way through the small crowd of the bar (and as far as the mic cord would allow). Eddie could feel the eyes shift to him, and was certain that if you hooked him up to an EKG, he would be legally pronounced dead.

“I feel so untouched and I want you so much, that I just can’t resist you,” Eddie could tell by the look in his eyes, Richie was determined about something.

“It’s not enough to say that I miss you,” maybe this was directed at Bill, because Richie had a crush on him once upon a time.

“I feel so untouched right now, need you so much somehow, I can’t forget you,” or maybe this was directed at the guy, sitting alone by the DJ who hasn’t stopped clapping. Maybe Richie was being dramatic, building tension.

“Goin crazy from the moment I met you.” It was the direct eye contact Eddie had accidentally made with Richie that kick started his heart. This was directed at him holy shit.

“And I need you so much,” Eddie could hear Bev yelling for him to get up, he could feel Stan trying to shove him out of the booth, to go up there right fucking now because this is your one fucking chance. And like some miserable, absolute asinine fool, Eddie stood up, betraying every nerve in his body. He couldn’t hear Richie singing anymore, he could hear anyone in the bar clapping or hollering, hell he could barely even make out Richie’s face as he walked towards him. He watched his lips move, god I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more than right now, tip toeing, trying to keep his balance, trying to make it to Richie before someone else takes the opportunity.

There were only a handful of times where Eddie Kaspbrak had felt completely in charge of his situation. The most notable being the day the town bullies broke his arm, and instead of letting them win, he got up and laughed in their faces, sending them running for the hills. However, that was about to be bumped down.

Without breaking the eye contact, without breaking the cadence of his walk, Eddie Kaspbrak reached out to grab Richie Tozier, his crush, his damned high school through today crush, by the collar of his unbuttoned flannel, god it’s so soft, causing Richie to drop the microphone just as Eddie pulled him down to kiss him. Edward Kaspbrak was kissing Richard Tozier right now in the shitty karaoke bar in fucking Bangor, Maine. And it. Felt. So. Right.

It was like all was suddenly right in the world, the planets had aligned, and Santa Claus himself has just had delivered the best fucking gift to the both of them. Eddie felt Richie’s hands grab at his cheeks, then fly around his shoulders, trying to get closer, both of them numb to the fact that they we’re making out in front of their friends and a handful of strangers in a shitty dive bar! Who FUCKING knew?!?

Eddie pulled away first, partly because of shock, partly because he wanted to open his damn eyes and look at this, commit it to memory. Everything around him became more clear. Bev and Stan screeching, the rest of the losers whistling, and a few of the random patrons subjected to this very odd-and-overtly-sexual non-verbal confession of love. Of love. Richie let the microphone fall to the floor, feedback scratching through the speakers.

“This isn’t the way I thought this would happen,” Eddie chuckled, letting Richie pull him into a hug, still in the center of the bar. “But it makes too much sense because it’s you.” He felt Richie press a kiss to his hair, then drop an arm to grab one of his hands.

“Let’s, uh, let’s get out of here, yeah?” Richie struggled to get out, his smile distracting Eddie from the fact that his hair was matted to his forehead via sweat. Eddie only nodded, leading Richie past the table of their friends (who had begun to chant “Get a room! Get a room! Get a room!”, earning a swift flick of the bird from both Richie and Eddie), out the door of the bar, giggles from both parties ringing out all the way to Richie’s car, then into Richie’s car, and finally as Richie drove away in his car.

The losers had gotten up one by one to follow them out, not even upset at the fact that they would have to cram into two cars now. Stan and Bev were out the door first, still wolf whistling as their (lovebird) friends drove off, Bill, Mike, and Ben at their heels.

“Wow, now that’s the m-miracle of lo-blargh,” everyone had turned just in time to see Bill barf up soggy French fries and an obscene amount of water. Calls of:

“Jesus Christ,”

“Eww, Bill,”

“And that’s why we give you water, lightweight,” rang out in their circle, the friends taking a step back, Mike motioning for Bill to take a seat on the curb they stood on.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Bev stated.

“Ben, you wanna run in and pay the tab real quick? Take my card.” Ben nodded as Bev extended her hand with a card to him, disappearing back into the bar a final time.

“So, Marsh, where’s that twenty you bet me our Senior year?” Stan joked, helping Mike get Bill standing again, heading towards the cars. Bev laughed, throwing her head back.

“Where’s my twenty for saying Eddie was going to be the one to kiss him first?!” Bev shot back, reaching into her bag to pull out a crumpled twenty. Stan reached into his pocket, producing a folded crisp bill. They exchanged cash, laughing.

“This made no sense,” Bill offered coherently, stumbling closer to Mike. Stan and Bev turned to face him.

“Why did Mike sing a Blondie song if he’s not blond?” It was Mike’s turn to throw his head back, letting out a hearty guffaw, before turning to Bill and responding.

“It’ll make sense someday,” Mike offered, wrapping his arm around Bill’s shoulder. Bill smiled, and shut up promptly.

They all sat around the parking lot for a while talking, sobering up. Bev had had a few cigarettes, sharing with Bill hoping to bring him back to earth. It was just as Mike and Bev got ready to drive off when Richie and Eddie pulled back into the parking lot, swinging between the two cars. Both were smiling messes, giggling and pink with a few new bruises on each of their necks.

“Just to put this out there, Eddie Kaspbrak fucks!” Richie yelled, peeling out from between his friends' cars, Eddie laughing and yelling “no! No! Shut up!” Between laughing fits, pulling back out onto the main road once more, riding off into the night.

“Let’s make that an extra twenty, Miss Marsh.” Stan smirked, waving at Bev shaking her head. Ben waved back as they pulled out of the lot.

“I should’ve thought this through more.” Bev laughed, reaching for Ben’s hand, and joining the other two cars on the road home.

#itfandomprompts #itfandomexchange #itfanfic #richie #eddie #reddie fic #reddie fanfic #reddieau #college au #reddie #i guess i really wanted to try a different writing style #lemme know if yall like it

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