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justcourttee · 4 years

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Okay that "Love,Right?" oneshot was wonderful but now you've got me obsessed with wondering how all the boys would fight for Mari's attention and all trying to date her omg

On an off note, I hope this came out alright. I really wanted to answer your ask but I’m running on low fumes rn. Loved thinking about this too though! I would love to read a more thought out fic, but I have to imagine it would go something like this

I could totally imagine like them all being relatively close in age. Like let’s say,

Dick 23

Jason 21

Tim 20

Mari 18

Damian 17

And Mari is almost done with her last year of lycee so she is in uber done mode until the batboys show up in Paris conveniently at the same time that the Wayne boys show up to scout out a potential new business partner.

She first meets Dick at the gymnasium that Chloe’s father had built for her when she went through a gymnastics phase but soon opened it to the public after she had moved on to whatever interested her next. Marinette is there to practice swinging mid-air to move faster in battle and what better way to do that than over a safety net 40 feet in the air?

Anywho, Dick is just arriving to blow off some steam after a particularly long day of negotiating. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the Hawkmoth mission and the need for a cover, he would’ve abandoned Tim ages ago. He finished locking up his stuff and when he moves into the acrobat section that is always empty, he isn’t sure whether to be impressed or disappointed that someone is there first. She looked nervous as she finished tying her hair into a high ponytail, her eyes calculating as if she was debating if she could make the first jump.

He wants to tell her that there is an easier way to mount, but his curiosity gets the better of him. With one last look, she closes her eyes, inhaling deeply. Without warning, she takes off down the short walkway launching her whole body into the air. Dick is sure she’s going to fall, but at the last minute she reaches out, her hand grasping the bar as she uses her momentum to flip upward, landing gracefully on top of the swinging trapeze.

Dick couldn’t help his cheers. Her eyes widened as she realized someone else was watching her and in what felt like slow motion, she lost her balance and fell onto the net below. Dick rushes over to make sure she’s okay, apologizing a million times a minute. They introduce each other and it’s like an instant connection. They spend the rest of the afternoon trying new techniques and helping each other improve their own techniques.

When Dick returns to the hotel that night, he can’t help the fact that her first swing was stuck on replay in his mind. The next day, he rushes over to the gym only to find her there again. This time, he’s determined to get her number, and surprisingly (to him) he succeeds. They spend the night trading funny memes and tiktoks. After a couple of weeks, Dick decides to try and ask her on a date. They were already close friends, I mean she trusted him enough not to drop her from forty feet in the air, that meant she trusted him right?

He shows up with a giant bouquet of roses only to receive a text message that she couldn’t make it that day. While it was a setback, it didn’t mean he was going to give up. He would show up with a bouquet of roses every day until she was there to receive them. And only then would he ask her on a date, because I can totally believe that he wouldn’t want to do it over text. It’s in-person or not at all.

The second Wayne she meets is Jason.

Muggings in Paris weren’t common with Ladybug and Chat Noir around, but it seemed to be Marinette’s lucky day as some guy just decided that a high school girl had enough money in her little purse to steal. As he backed her down an alleyway, a small hand knife pointed at her, Marinette was considering her options.

She could always try to run. After all, the guy was big and bulky, it would be hard for him to keep up with her and she doubted he wanted her bag enough to actually put up a fight. Just as she was eyeing an opening, a small sound echoed through the alleyway, one she was quite familiar with. The guy’s face looked mortified as he turned slowly to face his attacker.

The man said something in a hushed tone to the guy that Marinette couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was though, it was enough for her would-be assailant to book it out of the alleyway without a glance back. Assessing her newest threat, Marinette decided that this guy was more punk than thug. She was safe for now.

He asked her if she was okay and if she needed anything as he adjusted his gun back into his waistband. Marinette was fine, but she was curious as to how he smuggled a gun into France.

“Ah. My American accent give me away Princess?”

His french was flawless, but it was clear that he wasn’t from the area. He joked that his adopted father was rich enough for the national security to look past it. At least, she was pretty sure he was joking.

He asks if they can grab something to eat, just because a pretty girl like her shouldn’t go hungry. Marinette is tempted to decline, but her curiosity gets the better of her. They end up going to a small diner near her parent’s bakery where they spend the night flirting shamelessly, both tinging their compliments with enough sarcasm and insults that the people around them couldn’t tell if they were together or if they were related.

Exchanging numbers, the two continued to meet up for weekly dinners at that same diner as they bond over hating people and insulting/admiring each other. When Jason finally realizes his flirting may have shifted from mocking to an actual crush, he's conflicted. It’s just a couple months, at most a year in Paris, but would that really be a reason not to try? He starts bringing her small gifts to the dinners, starting out small like her favorite dessert or small rocks that reminded him of her, but he soon gets more elaborate like bringing her his favorite books to borrow and throwing in a new set of threads for her sewing machine.

He hopes that when she looks at the small gifts that she’ll start associating him with the things that make her happy and just maybe, she’ll fall for him too.

I think you guys already know where Tim is going but I have to do this

Marinette frequents a small coffee shop near the hotel that the Wayne Boys are staying in. She would just drink the coffee that her parents serve in the bakery, but they refused to let her load up her drinks with enough caffeine to get through her day.

She always shows up at 7:00a, after all, she’s gotten better at this punctuality thing over the years. The owners already expect her at this point and already have her drink ready before she even steps foot through the door.

One morning, one of the owners ask her to deliver a coffee to the young man that fell asleep at one of their tables.

“He’s the first person I’ve met whose order rivals yours Ms. Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette is impressed as she inhales the strong black coffee wafting from the mug. He definitely amped it up with two expresso shots and maybe a pump of hazelnut? If he could taste it over the bitterness of the expresso, she would be impressed.

As she sat the cup down on the table, she slid into the booth in front of him, patiently waiting for him to stir. Watching his soft exhales, Marinette felt at peace. She had never seen someone sleep so softly without moving a muscle. As quietly as she could, she brought out her sketchbook. She got about halfway through his frame when his soft breathing stopped.

Her eyes snapped up to find his blue ones studying her cautiously. Of course, she mutters out apologizes at a million miles a minute, trying to explain that she needed practice for her living art class and that she was just dropping off his coffee and she was so sorry for drawing him without his permission. As she finally trails off, Marinette is more confused than ever. She thought he was awake, his eyes studying her, but now she wasn’t so confident. She was pretty sure he was still half asleep, assuming she was some sort of hallucination.

He reached out, draining his cup of coffee without coming up for a single breath.

“I didn’t think I was this sleep-deprived. Please beautiful sleep-induced entity, draw me if you must.”

Marinette bites her lip trying not to laugh as he tiredly pulls out a laptop, typing away at seemingly nothing.

The next day, Marinette finds him in his same spot, already two empty mugs occupying the table. As she orders, she’s sure to grab an extra one for him before joining him once more. This time, Tim is the one to apologize as he realizes finally that she is a real girl and not a hallucination.

Marinette laughs it off and the briefly chat about their lives. As Marinette gets up to leave for her morning classes, she promises to meet him for coffee the next morning. Surely enough, as she walks through the door, he’s already at their booth. He waves her over, motioning to the coffee mug holding her go-to order. They come to an agreement, he allows her to draw him for practice, she offers him the occasional advice. There is sometimes small talk, but it’s mostly just full of comfort that they found in each other’s presence.

After weeks, Tim finally decides that he wants to get to know this beautiful coffee angel. He starts by asking her to meet at a bakery that he had been dying to try. As he arrives at the bakery, Marinette sheepishly admits that it was her parent’s bakery. Tim feigns ignorance, but that smirk he gives her makes her reconsider the innocent sleep-deprived man she had met weeks earlier. From now on, he has breakfast with the Dupain-Cheng family every morning. After all, your in-laws have to like you first before you can try anything else, right?

Finally, we have Damian.

They meet in the living art class. He had already taken something similar at Gotham Academy, but he was curious to see the French side of something he cherished so dearly.

At first, he hates her. She reminds him of a mixture between Dick and Tim and in all honesty, he only volunteered to pretend to be a foreign exchange student to spend the majority of the day away from his brothers.

He slowly begins to change his mind though as he is partnered with her for a partner draw project. The teacher forces them to spend all of class drawing each other how they feel the world should see their partner. It involved a lot of sharing and as she became more confident in him, he slowly felt himself opening up to this strange girl as well.

It was going fine until one day, two of her old classmates entered the classroom, trying to pick a fight with Damian. He remembered one of them, yes the sausage haired girl, her name was Lily perhaps? She tried to ask him out and he turned her down, hard. Now here she was, crying the fakest tears he had ever seen as some ombre haired woman was chewing him out.

He was fine going on ignoring them, but then the ombre haired woman reached out for his notebook, tearing it from his grasps. She glanced over it for a second before raising it above her head and slamming it into the ground. She lifted her foot to stomp on it, but she never had a chance to finish. Before Damian had even moved a muscle, Marinette was standing above her, a murderous look in her eyes. The sausage haired woman helped the girl to her feet as they retreated quickly, both of their faces pale as they sent empty threats in Marinette’s direction.

With a sigh, Marinette picked up his notebook, dusting it off gently before handing it back to him, apologizing for her ex-classmates. He wanted to let her know that he didn’t need her to look out for him, that he could handle it, but his mind flashed to the look in her eyes. If anything, his interest was now piqued by the girl.

As the project came to an end, the moment of truth had finally come. Damian showed Marinette her portrait. He had drawn her as mother nature, warm and protective of her children and cold to anyone that threatened them. He would be lying if the small blush on her face didn’t boost his pride. When she showed Damian his portrait, he couldn’t help but let his jaw drop, even slightly.

He looked like a medieval knight, posing on the defense, a slight trickle of what looked like blood dripping out the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, please don’t think it’s weird. It’s just the more you talked, and so passionately too about how you wanted to protect everything dear to you from your family to your pets, I couldn’t help but get swept away in this idea that you were some gallant knight-”

He cut her off with a single look as his face broke into a grin. He loved it. Everyone always described him as a demon or a baby bird, but a gallant knight, it was certainly a first.

That night at the hotel, he would search google for the best ways to ask out a girl. After all, he sure as hell wasn’t asking his brothers.

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#dickinette #jasonette #timinette #daminette #maribat

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stars-trash-18 · 3 years

Text

Home lll

Ngl this was kind of a filler chapter. but it’s what I got, if anything this will give you more background on reader and the planet’s history.

Again please message me about corrections about anything, especially if I use anything gendered or with racial descriptions.

You did as promised, you delivered some crops and spare farming supplies. After that you turned your focus back home. You went about as normal, getting Attila to school, smoking meats, tanning hides, and prepping everything else for the monthly market. The town several miles from your ranch had a weekly market for smaller sales, but once a month they had a large fair to sell bulk items for better prices. It helped keep some income during the weeks coming in and when the fair happened it brought in tourists or larger buyers to bring in the bulk income for many of the families, including yours.

Over the years you had gained the reputation of being one of the better ranchers to buy livestock off of. You cared for them like they were your own children and made sure that everyone walked away with a decent price, whether or not you gained a profit or broke even.

Because of this the fair became one of the only markets you showed up to, you'd bring your products and had the city wives falling over themselves for the leather and furs, the galactic ranchers trying to outbid each other for whatever prized bull you brought with you, and the smaller families happy when you turned the wealthier business to them. Because, although you had a wider range of product than most other farmers, you made sure to make a sly comment about others like, "The Ferdorick's leather products are some of the finest, if you decide to buy from me i'm sure they'd make this hide into a wonderful jacket,".

Something you valued so much more than the core worlds was the community that surrounded the outer rim planet, in planets like Coruscant people walked by the needy everyday. But here if someone needed shelter or something to eat the locals would give it to them, whether they were one meal away from the same fate or not, they still extended a hand and gave what they could. They did it for you when you ran, when you first landed with Attila balanced on your shoulders wondering what to do it was the Ganoris' who set you up in their spare bedroom, the Ferdoricks who taught you how to tan hides and gave you your first 5 head of cattle, and the Actorias who gathered the materials and taught you how to build and thatch. You were a stranger who was more dangerous than they knew, but they extended their hands to you and you work so that you can prosper and help them too. So when the Armorer landed on your doorstep you wondered if it would be wrong to turn her away, because you were tired of seeing people.

You enjoyed chatting with those you knew, but seeing so many strangers more than once a month made your social batteries drain. But you reluctantly invited her in and sat across from her at your table as you went about preparing the morning coffee. Already preparing yourself for the long day ahead. She sat regaly for someone who was so weary weeks prior, she reminded you of the tall bamboo stalks from your ex’s estate with how she could go from being bent with stress to tall and strong. She only watched you carefully as you moved around your small kitchen and rested a hand onto the table, only moving it to say no when you offered her a mug.

“How can I help you today, is everything alright?” you inquired carefully, blowing the steam away to cool the sweet nectar of the gods.

“Everything is alright in our new home, it’s been a long time since we’ve been able to call anything that,” she receded, her voice filled with warmth at her family’s good fortune before she continued.

“I’m here to ask if you would be willing to help us again, we’d like to gain some income but don’t know how we’d be received by the community and we’d prefer to stay as hidden as possible,” she breathed a heavy sigh when she finished. You blinked at her owlishly for a moment before giving her a calming smile and leaned back in your chair.

“I’d be glad to help, from what little I know of Mandalorian culture your people are famous for their care of those they consider family and it’s the same here,” You paused to sip your coffee before further explaining, “ There’s a story that the natives tell, the natives that have been here long before space exploration, that this planet was steeped in war but over time as the war dragged on the blood spilled by the fallen started to poison it, causing more to die from starvation than battle itself,”

“They came to the agreement that to preserve themselves they had to merge, it took many years but finally there was peace and balance, they shared their knowledge with each other and valued cooperation and helping others and that has remained the same since, they are wary of outsiders but would still help them at any cost, because with all the bad in this galaxy they hope to heal it one person at a time,” you finished before pausing again in thought, “But don’t mistake the peace for weakness mandalorian, the people of this planet will still fight if it’s the last thing to do, because though they prefer peace if you threaten their homes and family they fight like you wouldn’t believe, now onto the business at hand,” you chimed as you pulled your datapad in front of you.

“That was insightful, all the same. We'd like it if one of our own accompanies you to the market so you can show them how this planet works,” She replied thoughtfully, tapping her fingertips onto the table briefly in thought. “We understand that there are a few threats to you at the monthly fair but Paz has volunteered to accompany you to help carry your goods and some of ours with the added benefit of protection, from what i’m told you’re more than capable but at this moment it is the only labor we can provide,” she clarified. “ We'll give you a percentage of our sales since by extension we’re using your reputation to do so and to compensate for you teaching Paz the ropes, because what he learns with you he’ll bring to us,” she further revealed.

You huffed a laugh before waving your hand at her, “nonsense, here knowledge is free and openly shared, I’ll send you the coordinates for the public libraries and can have Attila look out for your children if you ever decide to put them into the school, besides you have more mouths to feed than I do and I could frankly use an extra set of hands at the market so this will go towards you’re payment for the land,” you receded. The armorer jolted for a moment at your news, her breathing seeming to stutter for a moment before she straightened further.

“Very well I accept the terms, I must ask however why you show us such hospitality,” she prodded, you understood what she really meant. She was trying to find any ulterior motive, and you could see why with how the mandalorians have been treated throughout their history. So you only thought for a moment before answering her, setting your mug down and looking to the floor to try and keep the memories at bay.

“I was running from someone who wanted me dead and to take my son, I was an intelligence officer for the resistance during the war so I knew that this planet would be the safest and furthest away, when I got here all I had was a small bag with necessities and little Attila slung over my shoulders,” You breathed in heavily to try and build a wall around the memories that flashed into your mind, trying not to get thrown into an episode, “I had nothing, but the people here took care of us, they helped me and as the saying goes taught me to fish,” you smiled softly at the memory of the elderly patriarch of the Actorias lecturing you.

“So to repay them for their kindness is to pass it forward and no one is more deserving than the Mandalorians, you guys were really screwed over by history,” you finished with a slight chuckle and turning back to the mandalorian matriarch, who sat rigidly. She rose from her seat at the table and placed her arm over her chest and bowed slightly.

“That was all I needed so I’ll take my leave, but know that you have a clan of mandalorians in your debt, those who threaten you threaten us,” she said like a vow before she swiftly turned and walked out of your home. Using the jetpack you didn’t even notice light up as she took off back towards the bunker.

~~~~POV switch to earlier that week~~~~~~

“Paz you don’t have to be the one to accompany the rancher, we can send one of our more experienced merchants to better learn the trade,” The Armourer explained with a hand to the front of her helmet in exasperation.

“I know, but if you send me it’ll be better to gauge how the people would react to us, I can also provide security,” He stressed, adamant about being the one sent to learn.

“From what you told me they are their own security, you just find them attractive,” Din teased his brother playfully, earning an elbow to the side gap in his armor from Paz and a groan from the Armourer.

“Enough you two, Paz if you’re so enthralled with the rancher I’ll grant your request now both of you out,” she reprimanded before waving her tongs at them in dismissal so she wouldn’t have to deal with their childishness.

As they left Din passed his brother with one last jab, “try to learn a little Verde”.

#paz x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla imagine #paz vizla x reader #paz series #home series #home lll #paz vizsla

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superbadassnatural · 4 years

Text

A Lot to Make up For

Summary: Dean threw a fit when he saw something he didn’t like. To say you were angry with him was an understatement. The least thing he could do was make-up for his behavior. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 4,647 Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v, little bit of spanking, jealous!Dean, mentions of fwb relationship, a bit of crack? A/N: this was written for “SPN Bi-Weekly Challenge” hosted by the amazing @supernatural-jackles. There are three prompts in this one and they are all bolded. I’m trying to understand why tumblr flagged this post when I uploaded the gif I made, which is similar to this one, but not flagged it when I used someone else’s. Either way, at least one of them worked. Please, enjoy it!

(x)

When you decided to come to the bar, you didn’t expect it to be this crowded. Loud conversations competed with the sound of the electronic music. Somehow you managed to find an empty barstool and ran for it. You ordered a beer, sipping at it, unsure of what you were really doing here.

You needed a night out. It had been a while since you last went out by yourself. You usually hung out with the boys, but this time you didn’t want to. It’s not like you didn’t want to be around them, you just wanted to enjoy some quality time alone.

A man sat beside you. He seemed to be around your age and he was definitely a sight for sore eyes. The man turned to you, introduced himself, and started a small talk that turned into an interesting — and mostly funny — conversation.

Andrew was good to be around. He was a stranger, but he somehow knew how to make you laugh. He even bought you a couple of beers and fries.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get out of the bar and have your way with him between the sheets. Or maybe it was the way he was flirting with you that was making those thoughts run through your mind. You didn’t even notice he was that close to you. Your knees brushed each other under the wooden counter. His knuckles ran down your forearm. Every now and then his brown eyes would descend to your lips as you spoke. He wanted it as much as you did.

“You know, I was thinking...” he scooted closer, eyes leaving yours to dart to your painted lips. “Maybe we should-“

“Oh, there you are,” a familiar voice interrupted him.

Dean. He stepped towards you, a smile playing on his lips. Both you and Andrew frowned.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, sweetheart,” his hand made its way to your waist as he planted a kiss to the side of your head.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” You asked, trying to pull away from his hold.

“I was worried sick, baby,” he said. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrew stepped in just as confused as you. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dean, her boyfriend,” he beamed, holding out his hand, but Andrew didn’t take it. “Listen, thanks, man, for taking care of her. I’m glad you were keeping her company. Who knows what would happen if you weren’t here. Maybe some bastard would’ve tried to take advantage of her.”

“Her boyfriend?” The man was trying to wrap his mind around what Dean was saying.

“No!” You jumped it.

“Yeah,” he said at the same time as you did. “I don’t know why she’s saying I’m not.”

“Sorry, man,” he looked at you as if you were some lying bitch. “She told me she was single.”

“I am single! He’s my friend.”

“Well, I don’t know if she’s told you, but she suffers from short-term memory loss,” Dean pursed his lips.

What the hell is he talking about, you thought to yourself.

“You know, like Dory from Finding Nemo,” he added. “She probably forgot we were dating. She’s probably going to forget about you too so I suggest you go away. If she forgets you and sees you, she won’t understand a thing. It’ll only make her poor mind even more confused.”

“It must be hard to deal with that,” Andrew sighed, buying Dean’s crap. “Well, I’ll leave you guys be. Sorry about that, man.”

Andrew headed out of the bar. You were too dumbfounded by the whole situation to go after him and explain that your best friend was delusional. He probably wouldn’t believe it anyway. Dean burst into laughter.

“Are you out of your mind?” You nearly roared at him, slapping his hands off of you.

“Oh, you gotta admit that was funny,” he gushed between laughter.

“No, Dean, it wasn’t,” you glared at him. “It was ridiculous and extremely disrespectful. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home.”

You stormed out of the bar with Dean hot on your tail. Your blood was boiling. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just let you get some tonight? You stopped in front of your car and turned to him.

“Get lost, Winchester. I don’t want you near me tonight.”

“C’mon, sweetheart. I’m your best friend. I’m your favorite person in this whole world,” he bargained.

“Best friend?” You chuckled humorlessly. “Since when best friends do stuff like that? Seriously, Dean, that was low even for you. I don’t wanna see you tonight or tomorrow or for the rest of the week! Not even if you’re covered in gold.”

“Not even if I’m naked and covered in gold with your favorite chocolate?”

“No. Actually, the thought of you naked just made me throw up in my mouth a little.”

“Well, that wasn’t what you said a few days ago,” he had the cockiest grin playing on his lips. Maybe he thought he could charm his way and you would forgive him.

“Fuck you,” you sneered. “If you do so much as follow me, I’m gonna murder you!”

Hopping in your car, you turned the engine and headed home. Your hands gripped tight the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. You couldn’t for the life of you understand what had gotten into him. He’d never acted like that. He didn’t have the right to.

In about ten minutes you arrived at the condominium you live in. Parking in your spot, you let out a frustrated sigh before climbing off the car. You were glad he didn’t follow you. At least he had a little respect for you.

As you stepped foot into your apartment you rushed to the bathroom. A shower would do wonders for your tense muscles. Maybe it would even wash your anger away. You turned on the water and checked the temperature before hopping in. You relaxed immediately as the warm water hit your skin.

Although you felt more relaxed after showering, your mind was still on a thousand miles per hour. Dean had never behaved the way he did tonight. Throughout your eleven years of friendship, he had never disrespected you or crossed any boundaries. But tonight he did. Maybe he was angry because you decided to hit a bar and didn’t invite him. It doesn’t justify his behavior.

You’d be lying if you said you were just friends. Over a year ago, after many drinks you and Dean had sex. It was nice, but you barely remembered anything the following morning. So you did it sober. It might have been a dumb idea, but boy it felt good. Dean suggested you should keep doing that and you agreed. No strings attached. No exclusivity. Just two friends blowing off some steam every now and then.

What you have with Dean doesn’t give him the right to act the way he did. He’s not your boyfriend. Both of you agreed that it was okay to see other people and even have sex with them — always with protection. Aside from Dean, you only had sex with one person since you started to fool around. Now, when you finally got the chance to hang out with some guy, he decided to show up and throw a fit? Who does he think he is?

“Ah, screw him,” you mumbled.

Shifting into your ideal sleeping position, your body relaxed on the mattress. Thank God for memory foam. It didn’t take long for tiredness to take over and for you to drift off to sleep.

The unceasing sound of the doorbell ringing startled you. You stood to your feet abruptly, but soon regretted when you felt dizzy. Putting on your robe, you headed to the front door not even bothering to look through the peephole. It seemed to be some kind of emergency. No one would be ringing the doorbell this late if it wasn’t urgent. Unlocking the door, you opened it.

“Hey. How can I-“ you stopped once you met his green eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Y/N, I’m sorry-“

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” you hissed, trying to push the door close but his feet stopped you.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t care. It’s fucking three in the morning. I have to get up early to go to work,” your hand gripped tight to the knob, ready to close the door in his face if he tried to come in. “I’m sorry, but not everyone works for their dad and can show up late everyday.”

“We both know tomorrow is your day off,” he said. “Please let me in. I need to talk to you. Then you can kick me out and go back to your beauty sleep.”

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes, stepping aside for him to come in. “But only because I’m mad at you and I’m in the mood for a fight.”

“Can we fight so we can have angry make-up sex later?” A smirk appeared on his plump lips.

“Sex with you?” You snickered. “Never again.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he pleaded. “It’s been two weeks since we had some fun.”

“Did you come here so you could get laid? Did ou wake me up just so you could have sex with me? Really, Dean?”

“No, of course not. If I wanted to have sex with you, I would have texted you first,” he said. “I came here to apologize.”

“Oh, so you know you screwed up. Good.”

“Would you let me finish?” You rolled your eyes crossing your arms over your chest. “I came here to surprise you. I thought we could have a sleepover since you don’t have to go to work tomorrow. I even brought my Die Hard collection so we could watch it tonight. I bought two slices of pie on the way. Cherry for me and apple for you. Imagine my surprise when I open the door and there’s not a single light on.”

“So what? Are you telling me that it’s my fault now? I should have stayed home waiting for you?” You pointed your finger at him. “Is that the reason why you did what you did at the bar?”

“I looked for you everywhere. Then Jess told me you went out for a drink at Hardy’s. So I went after you. When I saw that guy with his hands all over you, I flipped. I knew I couldn’t punch him and start a fight so I did that.”

“You know you’re not my boyfriend, right? Or my father for that matter?” You stepped closer to him. “So why did you have to ruin things for me tonight? I’ve never done anything like that to you. Never! Why did you have to be such an idiot?”

“I was jealous, okay?” He growled.

“It still doesn’t give you the right to do that, Dean,” you yelled at him. “You know, Dean, every time you, Sam, and I go to a bar, you leave us on the table to hit on the bartender. I wouldn’t have a problem with that if your brother was single. Don’t get me wrong, I love Jess, but if Sam was single then he’d hit on someone and I’d be free to do that too. Or even better, I could make out with him!” You exclaimed, knowing it would piss him off. “Oh, Jess told me some things that you probably don’t wanna know, but they were really interesting. In case you don’t know, girls talk about sex too. From what she’s told me, I bet he’s better than you. I mean, he’s definitely bigger so-“

“Shut up!” He yelled. You could see his jaw tightening as the veins in his neck throbbed.

“You know what’s even worse? When Jess comes with us, I’m third-wheeling most of the time. For some reason, they won’t let me get two feet away from them.”

“I hit on the bartenders to make you jealous. It’s all fake,” he nearly barked. “I thought that maybe if I did that I’d get a reaction from you because I’m too much of a coward to do the right thing.”

“You do remember our agreement, right? Just sex. No feelings. We are non-exclusive. We can see other people and even have sex. We made a bunch of rules back in that day. One of them was no cockblocking,” your blood was boiling in your veins. You could feel your anger grow with every word you said.

“I’m sorry, okay? But I couldn’t just stand there and watch that son of a bitch getting all handsy.”

“While you were having fun with bartenders and girls you met every time we went out, I was alone. Since we started this, I’ve only had sex with one person and it was-“

“Terrible. I know you said the guy was awful.”

“It’s not that I think I should be having sex with half of the men in town, but if you can have sex with everyone you want then why can’t I? Every time I try to hang out with someone, I get sabotaged.”

“Ever since we started this, I’ve only had sex with you. I tried to be with someone else but it didn’t work because she wasn’t you.”

“Oh my God, it was you!” Reality downed to you as you ignored him. The sound of your raged heart much louder than his voice. “You sabotaged me every time! The broken lock, flat tires, and all that crap that happened every time I got close to a guy. They were all you.”

“Yeah, it was me,” Dean barked. “You deserve better than those guys.”

“Who gave you the right to do that, you idiot? Why did you have to do that?”

“Because I love you dammit!” His voice was much louder, causing you to flinch.

“Well, maybe that’s the problem!” You yelled back at him.

You spun around completely done with him, your head was pounding in your skull. The last thing you saw before storming out of the apartment was his jaw wiring shut as his eyes filled with rage.

The door slammed with a loud thud, startling Dean. He was pulled out of his angry trance when he noticed he was standing alone in the middle of your apartment. He knew he had screwed up big time. He’d not planned on confessing his feelings to you tonight. Especially not like this.

You stood dumbstruck in the hall just outside your door. Everything happened so fast. One minute you were peacefully asleep, the other you and Dean were almost jumping at each other’s throats. He shouldn’t have said he loves you. And you shouldn’t have stormed out the way you did.

“God, what have I done?” you sighed.

The sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the corridor. You didn’t want to turn around. You couldn’t face him.

“You realize you just stormed out of your apartment, right?” He let out a small chuckle to try to light up the mood.

“You see what you do to me?” You turned around to face him. His green eyes held anything but anger. “You make me so mad that I do stupid things like storming out of my own home when I should’ve kicked you out.”

“Hey, you don’t need me to do stupid things. You can do that on your own,” he held his hands up, a cheeky grin playing on his lips. “Now let’s get inside, shall we?”

You only nodded, following him back inside.

“So what do we do now, huh?” He asked, shutting the door.

“You don’t love me. I mean- you do, but as your best friend.”

“No, Y/N, I love you as more than my best friend.”

“Stop,” you argued. “You can’t, okay? Or you’re gonna ruin everything.”

“Ruin what? We both know this is not a friends with benefits shit. It never was.”

“Dean-“

“This is not one-sided and you know it, Y/N,” he said, voice deeper than usual. “What we did… what we do is not just sex. Or do I have to tell you how many times we actually made love?”

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice wavered.

“Because I love you, Y/N.”

“Then don’t. You’re screwing things up.”

“Why can’t you just admit it? Why is it so hard for you to finally say it?”

“I can’t risk losing you,” you said low enough that he almost didn’t hear you. Almost. “The moment we take that step there’s no going back and I can’t risk losing you. I can’t.”

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he placed his hands on both sides of your hips, his body incredibly close to yours.

“You can’t promise me that.”

“You’re right. I can’t, but I’ll do anything to be with you.”

Fingers curling in the collar of his flannel, you pulled him to you, capturing his lips with yours. Your heart skipped a beat as he returned the kiss. It was slow at first, almost uncertain. The soft press of his lips made you melt into his touch. Your tongue caressed his plump lips in a plea for him to allow you to delve into his mouth. A muffled moan escaped his lips as his hands came up to cup your face, thumb circling your cheek.

You pulled away in need of air. Your eyes were still closed as you rested your forehead against his.

“I don’t know about you but I’m still down for some angry make-up sex,” he said between panted breaths.

“Dean-“

“Stop denying what you want, Y/N.”

Swallowing thick, you opened your eyes only to meet his green orbs hooded with lust. With arms around his neck, you wrapped your legs around his waist, lips colliding with his. Warm hands held you by the back of your thighs as he walked towards your bedroom. He pushed you against the wall, placing you back on the floor. His lips graced the skin of your neck with sweet yet hungry kisses. Your body was pressed flush to him. You could feel his heart beating fast against your chest and his growing bulge against your pelvis. A moan left your lips as one of his hands hiked up your leg and squeezed your thigh over the silky robe. Dean pressed himself to you and you bucked your hips, the feeling of his erection against your soaked pussy setting your body on fire.

Hurried hands fumbled with the knot tying your robe. He pushed it off your shoulders, revealing your naked before him, the soft material pooling around your feet.

“Fuck,” he said in a low grunt as his eyes wandered over your bare chest.

A smile spread on your lips. Always the same reaction from him. You unbuttoned his flannel, dropping it to the floor. As Dean yanked his white shirt over his head, your hands reached for his naked torso, traveling down to his abdomen and stopping over his belt, quickly unbuckling it. He pulled down his pants, standing in front of you only in his boxers. You pushed him towards the bed, straddling his hips as he sat. Hungry lips captured his plump, pink ones, his hands snaked to your back. The soft touch of his fingertips sending shivers down your spine.

“Need you,” a breathy moan escaped your lips.

Dean’s back met the softness of the mattress, green eyes sparkling at the sight of you on top of him. You leaned and his hands reached for your breasts. Fingers nipped at your hardened bud as his mouth enveloped the other. His name escaped your lips in a tiny whimper as you rolled your hips against him. He released your nipple with a pop and planted kisses everywhere he could touch.

You pushed down his boxers, revealing his hard cock in all its glory. Your small hand wrapped around his length, stroking it before circling the head with your thumb.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he hissed. “Want you. I need to taste you. Come up here.”

You crawled up, knees around his broad shoulders. As your hands met the headboard, he lowered your body to his face. Dean wanted to take his time. He peppered open-mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs. He ran his nose over your folds and you let out a frustrated moan.

“Stop teasing.”

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart,” although you didn’t see it, you felt his lips curl into a smirk.

“I need to cum.”

Three teasing licks from your slit to clit caused your breath to hitch on your throat. He wanted to drive you insane and he definitely knew how to do it. Dean licked and sucked your most sensitive parts. Parts he knew by heart. His tongue entered your channel and you saw stars. Fingers finding their course to his hair, gripping it to the point of pain. A guttural grunt from him made your whole body shudder. You tried to buck your hips against his sinful mouth, but his strong grip on your hips restrained your movements. He kept pushing his tongue as far as he could, tasting your sweetness as he feasted. Muffled moans and husky hums escaped his lips, reverberating through your soaked folds. He enjoyed this as much as you did.

“Hmm, yes,” you moaned.

When you felt his grasp on you loosen, you rolled your hips. All your self-consciousness fading as the need to come grew stronger. Your hands dropped to the mattress, ass angling up. His tongue started to circulate your clit, sending small shivers through your body. You glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on his hand stroking his cock slowly. Your cunt clenched around nothing. His teeth grazed over your bundle of nerves, nipping slightly. The burning coil in your abdomen tightened. Dean sealed his lips around your clit and you went off as a rocket. Your legs trembled around his head as he kept sucking. Waves of pleasure washed over you.

“Fuck, Dean,” you yelled out his name along with a bunch of obscenities.

Dean moaned as he lapped at your juices. He licked you clean until you rode out your orgasm. He kissed your sensitive clit before helping you scooting down so you could meet his face.

“Hi,” you smiled as you laid on top of him.

“Hey,” his plump lips were shining with your release, his cheeks a bright pink.

You leaned to capture his lips. A moan was muffled by his mouth as you tasted yourself in his tongue. The kiss didn’t last though. Both of you were in some serious need of air to make it last.

“I bet the neighbors know my name,” he beamed with the cockiest smirk.

“Oh, shut up,” with a roll of eyes, you started to plant open-mouthed kisses down his throat.

“You know they do. Especially after tonight. The way you-“ he stopped as you sucked at a sensitive spot on the side of his neck. “Shit, Y/N. Need to be inside you.”

He flipped you onto your back, laying on top of you. His lips attacked yours in a hungry, bruising kiss. Your hand reached for his cock, positioning it at your entrance.

“No, not like this. I have other things in mind,” he said with a crooked grin. “On all fours, sweetheart.”

Dean pulled away and you did as told. Your ass perked up and his warm hands gripped your hips. He squeezed your skin and you groaned in anticipation. The tip of his cock circled your entrance.

“Please,” a sweet little cry escaped your lips.

You whimpered as he pushed inside you ever so slow. His massive size stretching your walls to fit him. Dean groaned. He slid out almost completely before thrusting into you with such force that you gasped.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he grunted. “You feel so good. So tight.”

His blunt fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips as he pounded into you relentlessly. Sweat broke through your body as your breath started to come in short spurts. His hand collided with your right cheek, causing your body to jerk. Then he did the same to the other one and you hissed. Dean leaned against you, kissing your shoulder blade.

“You like this, don’t you?” His voice barely upon a whisper, hot breath fanning at your clammy skin. “You like it when I take you just… like… this?” His thrusts matched his words, sending you over the edge once again.

“Yes!”

His hand smacked harder at your right cheek as he pulled away. That definitely was going to leave a mark. Your skin tingling at the stingy sensation. He slammed in and out of you like a madman. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room along with shameless cries and husky grunts. The heat in your core started to grow even more. You fell forward into the mattress, fingers curling the sheets. Your walls pulsated around him as your orgasm hit you abruptly. Dean sent another five deep-seated thrusts and had you screaming into the pillow in pure ecstasy.

You were so lost in the feeling that you didn’t notice Dean flipping you into your back. He leaned down nuzzling into your neck, before sliding back into you. He kept driving in and out of you, his breath erratic. Your hands slapped against his back, nails digging into his skin, heels digging into his ass. You needed as much of him as you could get.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” he nearly pleaded as he pulled away from your neck.

His hips pistoned against yours, sloppy thrusts aiming for the final push. The thumps of the headboard banging against the wall mixed with the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. Dean delivered three deep thrusts before his body stiffened. He held himself there as he painted your walls white with his seed. Your orgasm rippled through you. You clenched around him so tight, milking his cock for all its worth. His green orbs locked in your lust blown eyes as his lips parted in a perfect “o” shape, mirroring your expression, though no sound came from any of you. Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as pleasure washed through you.

Dean collapsed on top of you, his head nuzzling in the curve of your neck. He placed a kiss to your skin before rolling to his side. Both of you waited for your breaths to even. Only then, when the room had grown quiet, you noticed the orange glow in the room caused by the strays of sunshine that managed to get past the blinds.

“Hot damn,” he let out a content sigh.

“What we did tonight… it should be illegal,” you half-chuckled.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he had a stupid grin on his face the whole time.

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you pouted. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Really? C’mon! I thought I had made myself up to you by making you come three times. Wasn’t that enough?”

“Of course not! You cockblocked me. Who knows how many times I would’ve cum if I was with that guy,” you shrugged.

“None. Plus, he doesn’t love you so it wouldn’t be nearly as exciting as this was.”

“You still need to make yourself up to me. ’Sides, you didn’t even tie the record, Dean. I’ve made myself come more times using just my fingers and a couple of toys.”

“Is that a challenge, sweetheart?”

“Only if you wanted it to be,” you smirked.

Dean rolled over you, his hand making its way to cup your mound. “I bet you still have my cum dripping from this tight pussy.”

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

I’d love to know what you think of this one! Please, consider sharing your thoughts with me via reply, reblog or ask!

Dean Sweethearts:

@maya-craziness @akshi8278 @spookytaylors @thisismysecrethappyplace @witch-of-letters

#spn bi-weekly writing challenge #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #Supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #dean x reader #deanreader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #supernatural x reader

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writing-fool · 4 years

Text

mlqc | special kind of sadness

I’ve been having strange dreams lately. Maybe it’s because of the quarantine, or maybe because of my messed up sleep schedule. I don’t actually have severe nightmares, but somehow an idea for Victor + nightmares came up. It was going to be very short, so I included other types of comforting scenarios. Ahh...besides that, you might have noticed my url is writing-fool, right? It’s actually based off of a Korean song called Swimming Fool. But I think it fits with MLQC too, what with Lucien calling us ‘his little fool’ sometimes~ What a happy coincidence...

Love,

Warning(s): TW! Lucien’s scenario includes a panic attack.

Victor

You’re all about showing the world that you’re a grown woman with big girl pants on. You’re especially keen on proving to Victor that you can handle yourself, thank you very much. Even though he’s supposed to be your soft, loving boyfriend, he seems to grow stricter the longer you’re together.

“Really? You’re not capable of being a producer if you can’t even get these reports done.” Ouch. Your life doesn’t seem to be getting easier anytime soon.

So...you chalk it up as a grave, grave moment of weakness when you instinctively call his number at three in the morning, after waking up in a cold sweat. By the second ring, you regret your rash decision. What if he’s asleep? What if he thinks I’m some kind of weak child?

By the third, he answers.

“What. Why are you still awake?” His voice sounds as strict as ever. ‘Why are you still awake?’ is a question you would’ve asked if you were in a clearer mindset. Alas, this situation allows little clarity.

You decide against hanging up. I’m bothering him already, might as well apologise. “I-I must’ve misdialled. Sorry to bother you,” you mumble. You hate how your hoarse voice and ragged breaths betray the sobs that have barely subsided.

“...I’m coming over,” is all Victor says before abruptly hanging up.

It’s a twenty minute drive from his luxurious penthouse to your apartment, but you know he’ll make it in fifteen. Running to the bathroom, you try to fix your appearance to make you look more like a successful producer, and less like a woman gone mad. But while your hair can be combed down and your tears can be wiped away, nothing works against your bloodshot eyes, shaking hands and pale complexion.

The doorbell rings, and you’re in full panic mode. You really don’t want him to see you like this. But without him, you’re probably not sleeping tonight. Also, he’s here already. Wiping your sweaty palms on your pyjama pants one last time, you open the front door.

Even when he has his sleeves rolled up, shirt partly unbuttoned and hair mussed from running his hands through it, Victor is handsome. But today, you can’t bare to look at him. Your apartment floor suddenly seems incredibly interesting.

A small gesture encourages his entrance. The door is barely closed again, and he’s already got his arms wrapped around you, your face pressed against his chest. The warmth of his hug and his rapidly beating heart open the floodgates again, and while your boyfriend strokes your hair, you sob your fears out on his black dress shirt.

Later, when you’re both huddled in your queen-sized bed, he asks you why you didn’t tell him about the nightmare right away. “I thought you’d think I’m pathetic or something. You’re always so strict.” You look up at him, mouth formed into a small pout.

For a moment, he’s dumbfounded. Maybe he never considered the idea? Victor hesitates, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I’ll be more considerate from now on.”

And as Victor rubs your shoulder, legs intertwined with yours, you doze off under the cloudy night sky. But not before hearing his sweet whispers. “Lean on me more, next time. I’ll always be by your side.”

Lucien (TW: panic attack, minor mentions of death)

Disclaimer: I know this could be taken wrongly. I have no intention to romanticise mental illness. It isn’t something that makes you broken, nor is it a ‘fun’ or ‘special’ thing. The story is partially taken from my experience, so I know how this feels. I wrote this as a way to bring awareness in a light manner, and to show that sometimes, panic attacks can be alleviated with someone around. I hope it brings comfort to those who wish they had someone in moments like these.

Listening to Lucien’s lectures tends to transport you back to the time when you were still a university student. Ah, it is a nostalgic feeling. A part of you misses being in school; going out with friends, listening to the teachers drone on about various subjects, eating in the school’s cafeteria.

But if there’s one thing you don’t miss, it’s the immeasurable amounts of stress. So why is that the thing I’m reliving right now?

As a young adult, you struggled with anxiety and spontaneous panic attacks, rendering you vulnerable to a work overload. You’d think it’d gotten better, especially since you have to deal with a lot of projects as a head producer nowadays. However, it seems as though old habits do die hard...This week has been particularly taxing—emotionally, what with your father’s death anniversary, and mentally; an important and popular show just got compromised by one of the actors’ companies. All that, and the prospect of an even tighter schedule during Christmas season has sent you into a full-blown panic attack.

Your initial plan was to just...ride this one out. That’s what you always did as a child. In an hour or two, your hands will stop cramping, your tears will stop falling, your breathing will return to normal, right? But it seems fate, and Lucien, disagree. I forgot I gave him the key to my apartment.

Lucien senses something is wrong when you don’t come out to greet him by the door.

“My love? Are you alright?” he yells out. Hearing little besides your irregular breathing, he kicks his shoes off, speeding towards the living area. You’re sat on the white sofa, knees to your chest, shoulders heaving and thick tears streaming down your face.

Lucien’s brows furrow in deep concern as he kneels down by your form. Even though he’s right in front of you, your eyes do not meet his. You’ve gone too deep in your own shell to even be able to acknowledge his presence. A tentative hand removes one of yours from its tight grasp on your other arm, and Lucien lets out a sigh of relief as he feels your hand clutch his. He takes it as a sign to lift you fully into his arms, and takes a seat on the sofa.

“Breathe. In,” he mimicks a deep inhale, “and out.” Lucien blows out, repeating the motion a couple more times. He rubs your back and your hands, constantly alternating between helping you breathe and gently uttering soothing phrases.

“Easy, I’m here with you. Do you feel my heartbeat?” When your hands have finally relaxed out of their cramped up form, he presses one of them against his chest. The slow, rhythmic thumping grounds you. Lucien. A stiff nod from you makes a soft, wry smile appear on his face. “Good girl. You’re getting there, my dear. Just stay with me, here. You’re doing great.”

You don’t know how much longer you stay like that. All you know is that he stays with you through the entire attack. Hours later, you two are having a steaming cup of tea at the dinner table.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you to worry,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Don’t be ashamed of yourself,” Lucien’s violet eyes bore deep into yours, “Besides, how could I not worry when someone so dear is having a hard time?”

You shrug, a defeated look on your face. Your fingers fidget with the wood of the dinner table, until Lucien swiftly takes your hand in his again.

He sighs. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll take care of you.” Even though his tone is soft, Lucien leaves no space for argument. You know you should agree. There’s no way you could function properly if you were to go to work tomorrow.

“...Thank you.”

Lucien brings your hand to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses on your knuckles. “No thanks needed. You can be greedier with me.”

Gavin

There’s perhaps no person in the world who enjoys rejection. Sure, there may be those who bounce back quickly, those who see rejection as a new opportunity. But rejection, failure in itself, doesn’t evoke positive feelings.

As the producer of Miracle Finder, you’ve gotten used to rejection; it was hard to get the show back on track during the first year or so. Maybe you were arrogant, thinking it’d get better, or less painful, the more often you got rejected.

Things did get better, and last week you were even offered a deal with Loveland TV for a second weekly show. The company had seen the success Miracle Finder had, and had offered you the chance to come up with something wholly original. Something...you. That night, a mere week ago, you took the girls out for dinner and drinks. You were on cloud nine that day. In hindsight, maybe it was karma. Maybe I jinxed it. Cheered too soon, and all that.

This morning, you got a devastating e-mail that stated, in polite (but somehow still rude) terms, that your new show would not be broadcasted. The relaxed mood at the office rapidly turned somber once you mentioned the unfortunate decision. Your employees decided to give you some space afterwards. Not being able to stand the sadness, and feeling somewhat bad for them, you sent everyone, yes, including Anna, home early.

By three p.m., you’re the only one left at the office. You sit at your desk, head in your hands. I know it isn’t the end of the world...but right now, it almost feels like it is. With a deep sigh, you push yourself up, heading to the small kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. Maybe you’ll have a biscuit too. Anything to cheer yourself up.

Your mind automatically goes to Gavin, and without thinking it over too much, you dial his number. After a couple of rings, your call goes to voicemail. Stupid. He’s probably working. I’ll just leave a message.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I-uh, the thing I mentioned last week? The new show deal with Loveland TV? Yeah, that’s not happening,” your voice cracks halfway through the last sentence as you try to push down the disappointment that bleeds through, “I’m staying late today. Need some time to-to process things. I’ll be fine. Love you, hope you’re safe.”

Time passes agonisingly slowly, so slowly you might as well think Victor’s behind it, while you dive into a mountain of work. It distracts you from today’s events. but the lingering sadness is still present in the back of your mind.

Around eight, you start cleaning up your desk, shutting down your computer and gathering the papers. A knock on the window catches your attention as you’re about to head out. You turn around, noticing a tall figure on the balcony outside. Gavin! You hastily run back, opening the sliding door for Gavin to enter.

“Hi,” That’s the most awkward thing you could say. “I didn’t know you would come. Did you hear my message? You really didn’t have to...” you trail off when Gavin wordlessly opens his arms to you. His golden eyes look anywhere but you, and a slight blush is visible in the dark room, only illuminated by the bright lights outside.

You gingerly step into his arms at first, clutching the back of his signature denim jacket tighter as time goes on. A couple of stray tears that you’re not able to hold back create wet splotches on his shirt. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, your voice muffled by the soft fabric.

“No biggie. Are you feeling alright?” he asks you. A non-committal shrug is all you respond with. “I know it was a big project for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know what to do now.”

Gavin bends down a little, kissing the crown of your head. “You move on, and you don’t give up.”

You fall into comfortable silence. Gavin’s thumb rubs up and down your waist, soothing you. “...Have you ever been rejected?” you suddenly ask him.

Gavin chuckles. “Sure I have. I got rejected by my very first love.”

You raise your head to look up at him. Gavin sees his own reflection in your large, teary eyes, and smiles. “And what happened then?” you ask, your voice lightly tinged with jealousy. Who was his first love?

“Well, she’s in my arms now, isn’t she?” Even though he’s embarrassed to say the words, Gavin forces himself to look at you. At those eyes that shine with love for the world, for him.

Bonus:

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” you pull out of the embrace to get your coat by the coat hanger, opening the door to head out again, like a normal person.

“How? You didn’t come here by bike, did you?”

Gavin’s already facing the window again, but he turns back with a smirk, holding his hand out to you. “I never said we were going by bike.”

“Gavin, no, babe, no, no, nonononononono—Aah!!” Your protests are cut short as Gavin swoops you into his arms bridal style and flies off. The wind rushes past your ears, almost making you miss Gavin’s gleeful laugh. “Gavin! I didn’t lock the doors!”

Kiro

On many occasions, you’re envious of Kiro’s Evol. But even without his Evol, Kiro is so bubbly and kind, you can’t help but like him. You sincerely wish you had that ability. And I know I’m supposed to make my own wishes come true, but I can only do so much to make people like me. I’m not going to bend over backwards and become a pushover just to be liked.

Still, it hurts when people are purposely mean to you. Especially during high school reunions. You were by no means a popular kid growing up...but you didn’t think that some people would still be stuck in a high school mentality. You held your own during the reunion, ignoring the backhanded compliments and blatantly condescending insults in favour of catching up with your old friends. Yet, all you can think of on the drive home are the negative comments.

“Oh, you still can’t drink alcohol? Seems like ‘someone’ hasn’t grown up yet!”

“You’re the producer of Miracle Finder? I hate that show, it’s so unrealistic.”

“Isn’t that a kids’ show?”

“My, you look adorable! My daughter also likes to wear those types of clothes, you know, to go play at the park.”

I can’t believe I missed game night with Kiro for this. With a terrible mood, you shuffle into the house. Kiro’s on the sofa playing A Chinese Ghost Story, a bag of chips on the coffee table in front of him. He turns to greet you with a smile, but it quickly falls after seeing your somber expression.

“Welcome home Miss Ch—eh? What’s wrong?” Kiro takes his headphones off to stand up in front of you. His hands instinctively move to your waist to pull you close.

“How was the gathering?” he asks carefully. His eyes are big, just like a puppy’s. Had you felt better, you would’ve commented on his cute appearance.

It’s as if that question flips a switch. “It was horrible!” you sniffle.

“Wha—Miss Chips!” Kiro grows panicked at your sniffles and sobs, and roughly pulls you to his chest. You retaliate by hugging him tightly, crying all your frustrations out on his shoulder.

Somehow, you move into a cuddling position on the living room sofa. You straddle his slender legs and his arms are wrapped around your torso, rubbing comforting circles on your back. Pulling away from his embrace, you start ranting about the terrible evening.

“...and I don’t even know why I’m this upset! It’s so frustrating. I’ve worked so hard to become who I am today, and the moment someone says something to me, I just break down. Maybe I am a child,” you look up at Kiro, eyes wide and brimming with tears, “Kiro, am I a child to you?”

Kiro chuckles. “Well, Miss Chips...sometimes you can be childish,” you jut your lip out in a pout, “b-but I’m childish too! And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some people want to grow up too fast, so they drink alcohol and dress up in dark colours and stiff fabrics to feel properly imprisoned in the ‘harsh adult world’. But most of us could be happier if we just...let our inner child out.”

He cups your cheek. “Never be ashamed of being childish, Miss Chips. It doesn’t make you a child,” a mischievous grin appears on Kiro’s youthful face, “Besides, I wouldn’t do this if I thought of you as a child!”

With the hand on your cheek, Kiro draws your face closer to his. Your lips meet in a swift kiss that takes you by surprise. He swallows the startled gasp that escapes your mouth, retaliating by slowly swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You can feel him smile into the kiss as you lean into it, closing your eyes. Your tears are long forgotten as you tangle your hands in Kiro’s blond locks. Slowly, you part your lips, allowing Kiro’s tongue to slip into your mouth. The teasing flicks of his tongue make you go weak, and he chuckles when your grip on his hair loosens.

Kiro notices you’re growing light-headed, so he gives you time to regain your breath while he peppers little kisses on the corners of your mouth and on your swollen lips. You kissing demon.

His satisfied hum is disrupted by a vicious punch to the chest. “Ah! Miss Chips, why would you hit me?” It’s Kiro’s time to pout now.

“Who told you to do that?! You’re so sly, it’s unfair!” you scold him, cheeks flushed a bright red.

“Yes, yes,” he pets your head, “but it helped, right? You’re not upset anymore, right?”

Your face scrunches up. “I guess not...I’m still mad at you for surprising me like that,” Kiro giggles, “But thanks.” His smile is contagious, and soon you’re both in a giggling fit.

When the giggles have subsided, Kiro pushes you back into his chest. As he snuggles into your shoulder, he whispers in your ear. “Don’t worry. Every time you feel sad, I’ll be there to cheer you up.”

I’m not saying dark clothes are bad! I have a black wardrobe myself...but we all need to remember that we don’t need to be so hard on ourselves sometimes.

For some reason I’ve never properly depicted kissing like that in my writing. Ehhh, forgive me if it’s bad. Little note...do you guys know what Chinese drama ‘A Chinese Ghost Story’ is featured in?

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lnc2 · 4 years

Text

tongue tied (1/?)

Summary: Chat Noir’s podcast is a viral success.

A/N: This is for @labyrinthofchaos who wanted to see my dumbass idea fleshed out into a full story. Thank you for being patient with me <3 I hope it was worth the wait.

AO3

It started with a black envelope on her balcony.

You’ve been cordially invited to paw-ticipate in Le PodChat…

Marinette rolled her eyes, checked the box marked No, thank you and doodled a sad kitten in the corner before resealing the envelope and leaving it tucked under one of her plants.

She knew the invitation was imminent. Ladybug may have refused to be a part of his little side project in a permanent or official capacity but that didn’t mean that Chat Noir didn’t talk her ears off about future episodes all the same.

“Think about it, bug! Akuma victims coming forward to share their stories– what it was like, what Hawkmoth said, how it felt when they ultimately and inevitably fell at the hands of their favorite heroes.” Here he waggled his eyebrows as he leaned forward on his baton. “How awesome would that be?”

Ladybug smiled, pushing back her eager partner with the pad of her finger. “I think you’ll find people are less willing to come forward about being akumatized than you anticipate, minou. Most people would rather forget the whole thing, not broadcast it to strangers.”

“Exactly! But think about the good it could do if we got people talking about it?” He was all hands in his excitement, frantic waving that nearly managed to catch her in the face. “People like Chloe Bourgeois won’t be able to shame people into being reakumatized if we can just normalize the experience right?”

“But it isn’t normal, Chat.” She sighed. “At least it shouldn’t be.”

“And we’re working on that, my lady.” He said, his voice gentle. “I just think this might be another way to help out. Ease the emotional pressure cooker everyone is under.”

After that, there was really no arguing with him. After all, Chat Noir wasn’t wrong and any and all help that they could provide to prevent future akuma attacks would make their jobs easier in the long run. What had started out as a biweekly way to blow off steam quickly transformed into something Bigger. Marinette couldn’t say she was surprised– everything Chat touched seemed to spiral into more.

When he first broached the idea about starting a podcast hosted by the Ladyblogger Ladybug had laughed. They’d brainstormed silly ideas throughout patrol only for her to realize her partner had been entirely serious. In the end she’d capitulated to his kitten eyes on the condition that this was his thing.

“I have enough on my plate as it is, Chat. I can’t promise to be on every episode with you.”

His eyes sparkled when he bowed over her hand. “Any time you can spare is perfect, as always.”

What Ladybug hadn’t anticipated (although really she should have) was just how successful this particular scheme would be. Calling Le PodChat an overnight sensation did a disservice to how quickly the premier episode managed to crash the Ladyblog’s servers.

Alya was over the moon.

“I don’t know whose ass I kissed in a past life to get this lucky but you won’t find any regrets here.” She squealed the following day at school. “How many journalists can say they have literal superheroes dropping by on a semi-weekly basis to shoot the shit? Nadja Chamack wishes she had so much exposure.”

That much at least was true. She’d heard it from the cat himself who had been more than a little frazzled by how much attention his little side project generated. That evening on patrol he’d been a nervous, twitching agitated wreck as not one but two news outlets had reached out offering to be the “legitimate” homes for the podcast.

“I’d never move it of course,” He said, tail waving with his hands as Ladybug watched him in amusement. “I couldn’t do that to Alya. But the fact that they even offered…!”

It was his good-natured nervous Q&A on the fourth episode that ultimately brought her aboard.

“Okay, last one.” Alya said, clearing her throat. “Cattheclysm87 wants to know, are you guys always Ladybug and Chat Noir or do you have lives outside of the mask?”

There was a pause, longer than the previous ones. Chat Noir tapped his claws against a hard surface.

“Chat?” Alya prompted. He laughed and Ladybug could practically see him shaking his head.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about what my lady would say. What she’d want me to say.”

“And?”

Chat Noir sighed. “Probably something about keeping our identities a secret. And something about how our lives outside the mask are something that makes Paris worth protecting.”

“Do you agree?”

“Naturally.” He said. Even if she couldn’t hear it in his voice, Ladybug knew he was shrugging here. “But I think my life inside the mask is just as important to me. Some days even moreso.”

Alya pressed him. “Oh?”

If she hoped to glean more however Chat Noir wasn’t going to cooperate. At least not today.

“Of course! I don’t know of anyone in Paris who wouldn’t give their left foot to spend time with Ladybug.”

Alya laughed. “She can come by and collect mine any time. I’ll be waiting.”

Ladybug’s first appearance on Le PodChat the following week landed them at #1 on French Twitter’s trending topics something that she regretted almost immediately when #ladynoir hit #3.

“Good luck beating cataclysm with a fork.” Chat Noir’s sneered.

Ladybug laughed. “If you don’t think I could fork you up you have another thing coming.”

“I’m just saying, my lady. There’s not much good your lucky charm can do if it’s in ashes.”

“And I’m just saying it will be pretty hard for you to destroy anything when I’ve got you all tied up.”

He leaned forward and grinned. “Is that a promise?”

Alya had been insufferable for weeks after that.

“God can’t they just date already?”

Her frustrated wails were muffled by her pillow but Marinette heard the familiar lament all too well. She rolled her eyes and continued fidgeting with her sewing machine. At this point she knew it was a waste of breath to point out that no matter how often Chat Noir flirted with Ladybug there was nothing at all romantic between Paris’ superheroes. Her best friend had shipping goggles and nothing Ladybug or Marinette could say about it would dissuade her otherwise.

“Like, seriously,” Alya continued, propping her chin up with her elbow and waving frantically with her free hand. “The UST between them is just unbearable.”

“Then why do you bear it?”

Marinette’s dry remark was met with a pillow thrown to the back of her head. She turned and scowled at her best friend who scowled right back.

“The only thing worse than witnessing their obliviousness would be not being able to see it at all.”

She giggled. “Of course.”

Alya ignored her. “Besides, Le PodChat is fucking killing it in ratings. The Ladyblog hasn’t seen this much traffic since I posted that picture of them kissing after Nino and I were akumatized.”

Marinette valiantly squashed her waspish retort at that reminder and said, “Activity has been pretty high lately.”

“Try astronomical.” Alya shot her a sly smile. “And just imagine, you could be a part of it all.”

Marinette groaned.

She knew this was coming. After she’d rejected Chat Noir’s invitation to come on the show and talk about her experience working with “Paris’ Best and Bravest” during Nathaniel’s akumatization, her partner had been a cauldron bubbling with curiosity.

“Why do you think she said no?” He’d asked Ladybug on patrols, after akuma attacks, before one of her occasional drop ins on the podcast recordings.

Ladybug could only shrug. “Maybe she’s shy.”

Alya laughed. “Nah, there’s only one thing in this world that Marinette’s shy about and public speaking isn’t it.”

“Oh?” Chat said, looking ready to dive into what Ladybug knew would be a too revealing conversation. Fortunately Alya didn’t take the bait and merely waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get her to agree.”

Silently, Ladybug laughed.

Because if there was one thing Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not going to do it was agree to be a guest on her crime-fighting partner’s internet radio show. Not when her alter ego was also a frequent guest on said podcast. She didn’t know how much of her identity was protected by the miraculous but she wasn’t willing to test it to appease Chat Noir’s whims.

It would only take one perceptive binge listener (or an overly eager feline partner) to notice that Ladybug and Marinette’s voices sure do sound alike …

Pfft. Yeah, no.

“Not gonna happen, Als.”

“But whyyyyyyy,” Alya whined, sitting up from her prone position on the chaise to shoot her best friend her patented puppy dog eyes. They were nearly as devastating as Chat Noir’s. Marinette was unmoved.

“I’m not embarrassing Nathaniel like that.”

She pouted. “But he’s with Marc now. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Even if he said he didn’t, the answer is no.”

Thankfully Alya knew when to drop the subject.

Unfortunately for Marinette,

Chat Noir did not.

#miraculous ladybug #lnc2 writes #marichat #ladynoir #le podchat #labrinthofchaos

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jewish-space-laser · 4 years

Text

Snowed In, Locked Out

Hello beautiful people! This is a repost of a story I wrote back in 2018. I deleted my original blog (she-guitar-solo) a couple months ago, but I’ve decided to try coming back! I’ll be reposting the rest of my writing today and tomorrow. Feel free to leave feedback, it’s always very much appreciated! 8.5k words

xxx Tile

Even bundled up with layers of thick clothing, a cup of steaming tea, and three blankets, Rosie was sure she had never been colder. It had started with a severe weather alert on the news, and had ended in a power outage and four feet of snow, which meant that her heat wasn’t working, and every flat surface in her disorganized studio apartment was covered in candles. It looked nice, but the plethora of scents from the candles were giving her a headache and she couldn’t remember the last time she felt her toes.

She had tried to watch her weekly soaps on her laptop, but it quickly died, leaving her with a blank screen and an annoyed eye roll. Next, she’d dragged her puppy, Buddy, out into the snow for what was meant to be a quick walk, but ended up taking well over an hour due to his excited prancing and rolling. It was his first snowfall, and he was having a ball playing in the large piles that had already started to form along the sidewalk. It took an extra ten minutes to dry him off completely once Rosie got him back inside.

She hoped that this would be the worst of the bad weather. It was out of character for London to have a snowstorm this large. Ideally, it would all melt by the end of the month, and things would go back to normal. She didn’t know how much more of this she could handle.

Now, Buddy was curled up at the foot of the twin bed as Rosie cocooned herself so only her face was exposed. Having grown up in a warmer climate, she was a self-proclaimed wimp when it came to cold weather.

“This is basically hell, Buddy,” she told her puppy, who gave no indication that he’d heard her apart from a slight ear twitch. She nudged him gently with her foot, and he lifted his head slowly, giving Rosie a bleary glare before lowering his chin back to his paws. “You’re so lucky you have a built in coat.”

And that’s how the evening continued. Rosie would tug the blankets tighter around herself and tell Buddy about her plans to stay warm. Should she invest in a battery-powered space heater? No way, you’re right Bud, those are a huge fire hazard. It was starting to smell awfully strange due to the mix of scented candles, should she stand up and blow some of them out? Maybe if it wasn’t so cold, there’s no way these blankets are moving. When the power turns back on, she’s going to take a scalding hot shower. After we go for another hour-long walk, of course…

After a while of this, Rosie was running out of things to think about. Buddy had clearly fallen asleep. Just as she willed herself to stand up and fetch a novel from the tower of books teetering on her desk, there was a firm knock on the door, which of course, set Buddy into a frenzy. He jumped up from his place and raced towards the sound, hopping around on the welcome mat out of sheer excitement.

As soon as Rosie unlatched the lock, the person on the other side twisted the handle and let themselves in, forcing her to take a quick leap backwards to dodge the door. She watched as Harry pulled the beanie off of his head, shucked his jacket off his shoulders and onto the ground, and toed off his boots. There was a growing puddle of muddy snow next to his pile of winter gear.

“Bloody freezing out!” He exclaimed, “This is meant to be London, not the fucking North Pole.”

Rosie watched with crossed arms as he stooped down to pat Buddy before glancing up at her with a swoon-worthy smile. She almost wanted to scream at him for shoving his way into her space, but she couldn’t do that, not when she hadn’t seen him in nearly four months and he looked good enough to eat in his skinny jeans.

He stood up slowly, giving Buddy one last pet on the rump before opening his arms wide. Rosie beamed at him, not hesitating to walk into his embrace.

“Hey, Ro,” he had dug his face into her hair, so his voice was muffled, but it sounded like heaven to her. “It’s so, so good to see you.”

“Harry,” she gleefully cheered, “I didn’t even know you were back in town!”

“Got in late last night,” he explained, moving his face away but not releasing her from his hold. “Was gonna stop by later on this week to say hey, but then…” he trailed off, sucking his lips into his mouth and hanging his head.

“Let me guess,” she stepped back, placing a hand on her hip. Harry’s arms swung loosely back to his sides. “You’ve locked yourself out again?”

Harry Styles had been her next-door neighbor since she moved into the complex two years prior, and had immediately welcomed her with a handmade card and a bottle of sparkling grape juice (“was gonna buy wine, but wasn’t sure if you drank alcohol or not, didn’t want to assume”). He had made it his mission to make her feel at home, and despite only spending a few months out of the year in London, he made sure to always drop by with sparkling grape juice and frozen TV dinners for lighting round catch-up sessions whenever he happened to be in town. It had become their little tradition.

He also had a tendency to lock himself out of his flat, a nasty habit that forced him to seek refuge at hers while he waited for the landlord to come on site. Harry had to be one of the most scatterbrained, forgetful men Rosie had ever met in her life. If they weren’t friends, she’d be annoyed, but it was impossible not be endeared by Harry.

“Locked my entire set of keys in my car, only realized once I got inside,” he confirmed, at least having the decency to look sheepish. “Called somebody to try and get it unlocked, but they said they couldn’t get here until the roads are plowed.”

“Harry!” Rosie groaned, “The plows won’t be out until tomorrow morning, at the earliest!”

Before the power had cut out, the news channel had mentioned something about the blizzard raging through the night. It was one of the worst snow storms that London had seen in years.

“You really think it’ll take that long?” He asked incredulously, digging a hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Before the power went out, I was watching the news, and it looks like the city is pretty much on lockdown until the snow stops,” Rosie patted Harry’s shoulder sympathetically. “It’s supposed to go all night.”

“Well shit,” he laughed humorlessly, “think it’s too late for a hotel reservation?”

“I’m sure there’s something still available,” she reasoned, digging her cell phone from her pocket to check where the nearest vacancy was. Just as she found something closeby, Harry let out a soft expletive from where he stood. When she looked over at him, he was patting down his pockets helplessly.

“I’ve locked my wallet in my car, too,” he moaned. “I’m officially fucked.”

“Oh, H,” Rosie sighed. She gave her ratty couch a quick side-eye. She had bought it secondhand from a stranger on craigslist when she moved in, and even though a few springs were loose and the fabric was scratchy and threadbare, it was plush and large enough to take up the majority of her living room. Her flat definitely wasn’t big enough to share with another person, but poor Harry was absolutely stranded. “I suppose… you could take my couch, just for the night? I know you’ve been travelling a lot and probably want a nice bed, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“I… don’t want to impose,” he said, though his eyes brightened at her offer.

“You’re not,” she assured him. “I’m not going to kick you out into the cold with nowhere to go.”

“You’re absolutely sure?” He pressed. “I can call for a ride.”

“Nonsense,” Rosie waved him off, turning around to grab some extra blankets from the closet. “I’ll just set up the couch, it’s really no bother. It definitely won’t be comfortable, but I don’t want you, or anybody else for that matter, out on the roads. It’s too slippery to be driving.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I owe you one, Ro. You’re the fucking best.”

“You say that every time,” Rosie reminded him, setting the pile of fuzzy blankets onto the arm of the couch for him.

“Well, that’s because it’s true,” he stated matter-of-factly, walking over to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, H,” she smiled, “It’s been so long.”

Harry sat himself down onto the couch, pulling Rosie with him so that they could talk properly. Buddy, still reeling from having a new person in his space, hopped up onto the couch and set his front paws in Harry’s lap.

“Yeah, it really has,” Harry breathed with a faraway look in his eyes. “When’s the last time I saw you, then? September?”

“I think so,” Rosie nodded her head, feigning indifference. The truth was, she had been counting down the days until he made a visit to London, checking the hallway and mailroom for any sign he’d been home.

“I’ve been so busy,” he informed her, raking his fingers through Buddy’s fur.

“Have you?” He nodded his confirmation. “Tell me about everything you’ve been doing.”

This was one of her favorite parts about hanging out with Harry. Even though it only happened every once in a while, he’d always return home with the most amazing stories to tell her. It was worth the wait to see his eyes light up when he talked about recording his second album in Tokyo. His excitement was contagious when he told her about his last night of tour, when the crowd begged him to sing Kiwi three times. She rubbed his arm comfortingly when he spoke of how he missed his family, and even with his new cat, Evie, in LA, he still felt lonely often.

“But that’s enough about me,” he leaned back further into the couch. He had just finished telling Rosie a very detailed count of the moment he won the tour ping-pong tournament, a victory that had apparently required him to remove all of his clothing backstage. “I want to hear about you.”

“Oh,” Rosie hummed. “Well, I got that promotion at work I’d been trying for!”

“Hey!” Harry beamed, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. “That’s amazing, Ro! Congrats.”

“Thanks,” she preened. “But other than that, not much else has been happening.”

“Waiting for me to come home?” He smirked.

“Stop flirting with me,” she warned, pushing his arm off of her as he cackled. She was grateful that he couldn’t feel how sweaty her hands had gotten from just one silly comment. If only he knew how right he was.

“Sorry,” he shrugged, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

Rosie playfully rolled her eyes, tucking her feet under her bottom for warmth. Even with the woolen socks she’d put on, the cold was a bit numbing.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” Harry asked.

“I don’t really know,” she admitted. “Obviously the power is out, so that narrows down our options.”

The pair sat quietly for a few moments, pondering the different activities they could find in Rosie’s shoebox apartment.

“We could watch a movie,” Harry finally suggested.

“I would love that,” Rosie started, “but my laptop battery is dead, and yours is locked in your flat.”

“Why don’t we just watch on my phone?” He pressed. “I mean, it’ll be a small screen but it’s better than doing nothing. I have a portable charger in my jacket, too.”

Rosie’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. She stood up from the cushion and straightened out the sweater she was wearing. “Let’s do that, then. Here, you stay there, I’ll grab your charger.”

“No!” Harry shouted, launching himself off of the couch. “I’ll… I’ll get it. Why don’t you dig around the kitchen for snacks or something?”

“Um, alright,” she furrowed her eyebrows at him. He ignored her, reaching into his jacket pocket carefully before pulling out a tangled cord. “What kinds of snacks are you in the mood for? I don’t have much….”

“Anything’s fine,” he muttered. He had thrown his coat back onto her floor, and was now focused on getting his phone plugged in. “If you’ve got anything alcoholic, bring that, too.”

Rosie brushed off his odd behavior, shuffling off towards her kitchen. She was able to find some crackers that weren’t stale, and a container of Oreo’s that still had a sleeve and a half left. She skimmed her eyes over the liquor cabinet briefly, but there was nothing that would taste good without a mixer, so she let it be.

“Okay, which do you want first?” She asked, holding the snacks in each of her hands. Harry glanced up, scrunching his mouth in thought before pointing at the Oreo’s. Rosie pouted slightly, handing him the package. That’s the one she was hoping to start with.

“No drinks?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Nothing good,” she told him.

“Hmm… bet I could find something.” He stated confidently, sliding his socked feet over to the kitchen. He pulled open her refrigerator, immediately reaching in to grab something. “You have wine in your fridge! Two bottles!”

“Yes, but it’s cold,” Rosie pointed out. “We’ll feel colder if we drink it.”

“Well, if we drink enough, we’ll feel warm,” Harry smiled, already pulling open her drawers in search of a corkscrew.

“I suppose you’re right,” she nodded, following him into the kitchen to fetch the wine glasses from the cabinets.

Harry found the corkscrew on the second drawer he opened, which wasn’t a surprise. He had been over often enough to know his way around Rosie’s place, even if it was just for a few hours at a time. It wasn’t difficult considering her flat was literally one room, plus a small bathroom. The only indication that the kitchen was separate from the rest of her space was the tile floor, as opposed to the carpet that covered her living room. Her bed was in the living room, pushed all the way into the far corner away from the window. Rosie was sure that Harry’s flat was much larger, but he didn’t seem to mind how small hers was.

Once they had settled onto the couch with their drinks and snacks, Harry unlocked his phone and held the screen between them. “Can you see?” he asked.

Rosie nodded. “We’re watching Grease?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Turns out the internet shuts off when the power’s down, and this is one of the only films I have saved into my phone. Is that okay?”

“More than,” she assured him. “I love this movie, used to have a huge crush on Kenickie.”

“Kenickie?” Harry repeated incredulously. “First of all, he’s such a sleaze. Second, Danny Zuko is clearly the heartthrob here. Him and Rizzo are the hottest.”

“Dunno what to tell you, H,” Rosie laughed, “just always had a think for Kenickie.”

“I think I’ll be Kenickie for Halloween next year,” he grinned teasingly. Rosie pretended that she didn’t see Harry’s gaze drop down over her body and then back up again.

“Harry,” she said sternly.

“I know, I know,” he raised both of his hands into the air, “stop flirting with you.”

Rosie let the conversation drop after that. After all, she wanted to focus on the movie. It had been ages since she’d been able to sit down and watch a classic like this.

Just as Danny Zuko belted out the last lyrics of Greased Lightning, Harry leaned over and cleared his throat. Rosie glanced up at him to see that he was already looking down at her.

“Erm, Rosie?” he said softly.

“Yeah H?”

“My arm is getting, like, really tired holding the phone up like this.”

“Oh,” Rosie frowned. “Do you want me to take a turn holding it?”

“Well, I was thinking,” he mumbled, rolling his bottom lip between his fingers. “It might be more comfortable if we just, moved to your bed, y’know? That way we can just set the phone down and prop it up with pillows and stuff.”

Rosie wasn’t sure if it was the wine she had consumed or the soft, calm focus that Harry was putting on her, but she found herself fidgeting with the ends of her hair. She and Harry had sat close together more times than she could count, but sharing a bed was an entirely different story. Things happened on beds, things that she and Harry definitely didn’t do.

As if he could sense her discomfort, he placed a hand on her knee. “I promise I’ll still sleep on the couch.”

His promise didn’t do much to appease her, but she agreed nonetheless, shrugging one shoulder and nodding towards her bed with her chin. “Go get us set up, then. I’m going to pour more wine for us.”

I’m going to need it, she thought.

“Getting me drunk and letting me lay on your bed?” Harry jabbed at her side playfully as he passed her. “If you want me that badly, all you have to do is-”

“Jeez, Harry,” Rosie groaned, unable to keep the smile from her face, “sometimes you’re too cheeky.”

She filled her glass higher than she normally would.

When she finished, she stalked over to her twin bed and carefully sprawled out, trying to avoid spilling her wine. It was a tight squeeze with both of them – their shoulders and hips were pressed together tightly while they both lay on their stomachs – but Harry’s reassuring glance had her feeling more at ease.

It almost felt too good having him this close.

“Alright,” Harry said, taking a quick gulp of his wine, “shall I press play?

~~~

“YOU’RE THE ONE THAT I WANT!” Rosie yelled, slurring nearly every other word.

“OOH, OHH OHH, HONEY!” Harry shouted back, sounding equally as inebriated.

They had gotten up off her bed ages ago, opting to listen to the movie rather than watch it. The funny thing about having ‘just one more glass of wine, Ro’, was that it had turned into about three more glasses of wine, and they had each drank enough to get the room slightly off kilter. It was Rosie who had suggested that they danced when the song ‘Sandy’ came on, and Harry had agreed, leading her around the room in a poorly performed waltz.

Harry had been the one to insist they stayed standing, acting out each of the parts. He knew the lines much better than she did, but it was still hilarious to watch him flounce around her flat dramatically, dodging furniture as he went overboard with every scene.

“I was in a movie, y’know,” he had sulked when she laughed at him.

“Yes, H, I know,” she’d told him, pressing a firm kiss to the stubble on his cheek.

Now, they were more energetic than ever, the upbeat music adrenalizing them to the point of insanity. Harry was whipping his head all around in circles, feet tapping against the ground in fast, short jerks. Rosie was sure she had seen him pull this move when he had performed in London, but she was too busy dancing to say anything about it. Buddy, not wanting to be left out of the excitement, was tearing around the flat, occasionally stopping to jump up and press his nose to Harry’s stomach before racing away again.

“You better shape up!” She continued singing.

“‘Cause I need a man!” Harry interrupted her.

“Harry! That’s my line,” she whined, gripping the back of the couch to keep her balance. “I’m… I’m supposed to be Sandy.”

“Hmm, you are Sandy. I reckon you’d look nice in that costume, too,” Harry said seriously, stopping his twirling to get a better look at her. He had to hold onto the couch to keep from teetering as well.

“I actually was Sandy for Halloween once,” she told him, smiling at the memory. She and her high school sweetheart had done couples costumes her senior year, and she’d wanted to go all out. “Did you know that for the movie, Olivia Newton-John had to be stewn… stewn… sewn into her costume because it was so tight?” Rosie stumbled over her words.

Harry stepped closer to her. “Were you sewn into yours?”

Rosie was taken aback by Harry’s unfaltering stare. There was an intensity there that she hadn’t seen from him before, and certainly hadn’t been there just moments ago, and even though she knew that it was irresponsible to egg him on, she didn’t want to stop.

“No…” she told him. “It was really tight, though. Completely made of elastic.”

“Wow,” he sighed, raking his eyes up and down her frame with wine-hooded eyes. “Wish I had been there for that….”

He was close enough now to touch her, but his arms hung straight as needles by his sides. The air surrounding them, though freezing, was thick with tension. Everything felt hazy, as if anything outside of the moment was immersed in fog.

“My boyfriend at the time… he was dressed as Danny.”

Harry’s lips curled downwards into snarl. “Don’t have a boyfriend now, right?”

“Nope,” she whispered.

Harry’s arm lifted to her waist. Rosie couldn’t move, and even though she knew her heartbeat had picked up a considerable amount, she felt like it wasn’t beating at all. She swore her lungs stopped working the moment his fingertips buried into her sweater.

“That’s… good, yeah?” He hushed, watching his hand like somebody else was moving it for him.

“What?” She breathed, unable to pay attention to anything but his touch.

“‘S good that you,” he gulped, “s’good you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Why’s that good?”

He wrapped his arm further around her, pulling her closer to him. Rosie placed her palms flat against his chest, and relished in the fact that his heartbeat was just as erratic as hers.

“‘S good because you look, just, so beautiful,” he answered softly. Rosie couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

“Stop, um, stop flirting with me, Harry.”

His name had barely escaped her mouth when his lips pressed to hers. The kiss was gentle; timid, almost. Rosie didn’t dare move her hands, afraid that the slightest movement would shatter the moment. Harry’s head tilted skillfully to the left, his nose just barely brushing against hers. He sucked on her bottom lip like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, only pulling away to breathe in deeply. Rosie felt hypnotized.

When Harry finally took a small step back, they were both panting.

“Can’t believe I just did that,” he touched his fingertips to his lips. Rosie, however, was less than pleased by the distance he had created.

Taking a bold step forward, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. He watched her with eager eyes. “I can’t believe you just stopped,” she quipped.

Their second kiss was more intense, full of open mouths, clashing teeth, and tongues moulding against each other. It was sloppy, and tasted bitter like wine, but Rosie felt like she was flying. She loved the way Harry’s hands explored her body: running up and down her sides, tangling into her hair, and even reaching down to squeeze over her bottom. It was all heavenly.

She didn’t fight him when he walked her backwards towards the bed, and she definitely didn’t stop him when his hands pulled up on the hem of her sweater. She reached for the button on his jeans in retaliation, and the sounds he made were melodic, more beautiful than any song she’d ever heard.

“Ro,” he panted, rubbing over the fleshy part of her stomach with his thumb, “can I please….”

“Yes,” she breathed into his neck, “please, take it off."

She lifted her arms above her head, and Harry slowly tugged the material off of her, leaving her in nothing but her leggings and bralette. As soon as her shirt hit the floor, his hands were all over her; rubbing at her chest, latching onto her hips, even flicking at her nipples with his thumbs through the thin fabric.

Rosie tugged at one of the strings on Harry’s hoodie. “Take this off,” she demanded.

He complied, whipping his sweatshirt and t-shirt off in one go. She gawked at the way his tattoos looked in the candlelight, shadows flickering over the black ink in a dizzying motion. She couldn't decide if she wanted to stare at him or cover him in kisses.

She settled on the latter, sinking to her knees and pulling him forward by the backs of his thighs. Harry clearly hadn’t expected this, as he stumbled forward and nearly kneed Rosie in the chin.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

Rosie couldn’t respond. She was too busy craning her neck to reach the center of Harry’s stomach. She placed one firm kiss to the patch of soft skin directly above his navel, and then she worked her way down with lighter, more delicate brushes of her lips. One of Harry’s hands reached down to tangle into her hair and gently press against the back of her head, guiding her downwards towards the waistband of his jeans.

“This okay?” She asked, fingers hesitantly brushing along his zipper. She could already tell that he was aroused, if the growing bulge under her hand was any indication.

“Yeah!” He panted, nodding vigorously, “please, yeah, ‘s fine.”

Getting his jeans off was difficult. They weren’t as tight as he used to wear them, but they still caught around his ankles and forced him to balance on one leg at a time to pull them off of his feet. Rosie had to scoot backwards slightly to give him more space.

As soon as they were off and flung across the room, she crawled back forward and drank in how appetizing he looked. He was swollen and leaking under his boxer briefs; a small wet patch leaking through where his head strained against the fabric.

Harry was breathing in broken puffs, the anticipation causing his chest to heave. Rosie watched as he reached down and pulled himself out of his underwear, sighing out loud when he gave himself a few short pumps. The bulbous head of his cock was a bright cherry color, while his strong shaft faded into a lighter pink. His foreskin had already been pushed down from the fisted grip he had on himself.

Her hand reached out to cover his. She followed his movements as he jerked himself off, marvelling at the way his thighs shook with each brush over the tip. The precum that hadn’t leaked into his boxers was now spread all around him, and the wet noises that his hand made with each movement were practically sinful.

Harry moved his hands away the moment Rosie leaned forward to suck part of him into her mouth, choosing instead to once again bury them into her hair. The pressure of his hands wasn’t forceful, but comforting. He would press her head forward just as his hips would shift, fucking into her mouth gently and slowly. Rosie closed her eyes, toying with the band of his boxers that were still tight around his thighs as the weight of him slid heavily against her tongue.

“Rosie,” he mumbled halting his movements. She let him drop from her mouth to peer up at his face, nearly moaning at the sight of his flushed chest and the thin sheen of sweat that glinted off of his skin. “Gonna cum soon… I don’t know if… did you, like, want to have sex?”

Rosie wanted to, she really did, but she was also hyper-aware that they were both still rather tipsy. She knew that if she had sex with him tonight, she might regret it in the morning. They hadn’t even had a conversation about what they were doing.

“Is it okay if we don’t?” She asked.

“Of course!” Harry gushed. “Not gonna do anything you don’t wanna do. I mean, obviously.”

“Okay, thank you,” she mumbled. She reached up to grab onto his cock again, squeezing it slightly. Small bubbles of liquid were dribbling from the tip, and she couldn’t peel her eyes away from the way they dripped down the underside and soaked into the small mousey hairs gathered at the base.

“Don’t thank me,” he muttered, closing his eyes at the feel of her fingers on him.

“Gonna help you finish,” she stated, pressing her mouth against his hip. “Then… will you maybe… just touch me a little?”

“Can do that,” he nodded, his jaw noticeably tightening. He bent his torso forward slightly to reach the hooks at the back of her bralette, fumbling with the delicate lace before pulling it open. It fell forward into the crooks of her elbows, and she quickly discarded it onto the floor.

The heat pooling between Rosie’s legs was slowly becoming unbearable, and Harry undressing her while she was still on her knees was making her impatient. She could already tell that she’d soaked through her underwear, so she hurriedly put Harry back into her mouth.

“Whoa,” he gasped, “slow, slower, Rosie. Promise I’ll touch you as soon as I’m done.”

He rubbed a finger soothingly along her jaw, encouraging her to open her lips wider. He went back to moving in and out of her mouth, pushing a little bit deeper down her throat with each thrust, but never to the point where she felt like she was going to gag.

“‘M about to cum, Rosie! ‘M gonna….” He warned not two minutes later. “Fuck!”

He was partially pulled out of her when spurts of salty, warm cum burst from him. Most of it landed on her tongue, but a few drips escaped over her lips, leaking down her chin and onto the floor beneath her.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. The air surrounding them was musty and dense.

“Let’s move to the bed, yeah?” Harry requested tenderly, tucking himself back into his briefs. He gripped her hand in his own and pulled her to her feet. “You’ve got a bit of….”

He swiped his tongue out over her lips, lapping up the remnants of his orgasm from her skin. The open-mouthed kisses soon moved down her chin, over her jaw, and into the dip where her neck met her shoulder. He shuffled them both sideways until they fell unceremoniously onto her bed.

“Oof,” Rosie grunted, grimacing as her breasts bounced a little bit too heavily from the impact. This seemed to catch Harry’s attention, as he immediately moved to press his face into her chest, nipping at the skin above her cleavage.

“These are so nice,” he complimented, taking a breast into each of his hands.

“Thanks, grew them myself,” Rosie sighed.

“God,” Harry choked out a short laugh, “shut up, will you?”

And she did shut up, but only because he was petting her over her leggings and she thought she might scream if she opened her mouth.

It felt amazing, but Rosie knew that she needed something more. She let out a small noise, pushing her leggings and underwear down slightly. Harry smiled, leaning back to pull them fully off of her legs.

“Harry,” she whispered. His calloused fingers brushed over inner thigh.

“Everything okay?” He asked, meeting her stare.

“Yeah, just,” she gulped. “I’m probably gonna be pretty quiet, but it’s not because it doesn’t feel good! I just need to… focus.”

“Okay,” he laughed, “good to know.”

“Wait!” She said just as is hand shifted closer to her center. “I haven’t… shaved in a long time. It’s just, it’s Winter and I wasn’t expecting-”

“Rosie,” he deadpanned, “I’ve literally never cared about anything less.”

And then he was touching her. He played her like a musical instrument, plucking at her clit with his thumb and slowly moving his fingers in and out of her. He was tucked into her side, using one of his legs to hold hers open. His head dipped slightly so he could wrap his lips around the nipple closest to him. Everything about him was soft and slow; purposeful and skilled.

The pads of fingers were rough and calloused, and Rosie closed her eyes at the feeling. She felt her legs twitch every time he brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, and her stomach clenched every time he bit down on her nipple. It was sure to feel bruised tomorrow, but she didn’t mind.

“Hm?” Harry hummed when Rosie sucked in a particularly sharp breath.

“‘M good,” she assured him, “feels good.”

She could feel his eyes on her face, gauging her reaction to his touch. His movements were calculated; curious fingers exploring her inside and out.

Rosie came quickly, euphoria taking over her body as Harry continued working her through her orgasm. Her back arched off of the bed, and Harry eagerly kissed at her neck as she threw her head back. As soon as it felt too sensitive, she grabbed onto his wrist to halt his movements.

A giggle escaped her lips as Harry wiped his fingers on his bare thigh. He had a silly, satisfied smile plastered across his cheeks, and he shifted them both so that he had an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Now that neither of them were moving, the cold air was freezing against their exposed skin. Rosie quickly pulled her covers over them.

They stayed like that for a while, occasionally nuzzling closer for warmth or pressing small kisses wherever they could reach. Rosie felt dopey; cuddling with Harry post-orgasm was the most addicting drug she’d ever consumed.

She never wanted to move, but Buddy started yelping desperately at the door. She groaned, burying her face into Harry’s shoulder. He pouted when she pulled herself up into a sitting position.

“I need to take him outside,” she frowned.

“I’ll come with,” Harry announced.

After they haphazardly threw on some clothes (Harry had borrowed some of her sweatpants and his sweatshirt was inside out and backwards, and Rosie wasn’t wearing any underwear), they found themselves shivering outside while they waited for Buddy to finish. Despite their impatience, Buddy had decided to take his time, sniffing every single thing that his nose could reach.

“If it weren’t so bloody cold, this might be romantic,” Harry pointed out.

Rosie raised her eyebrows. This was the closest they’d come to actually addressing... everything, but she was still feeling a little bit wine-buzzed, and didn’t want to start a conversation she couldn’t finish. However, it did feel a bit romantic. Snow was falling in large, fluffy clumps, and the combination of streetlight and moonlight was casting a soft glow over Harry’s face.

“I think my brain is numb,” Rosie told him, deflecting from his previous statement.

“‘Cause of the cold, or something else?” Harry snickered, leaning over to bump his shoulder into hers.

“The cold, Harry,” she rolled her eyes. Harry continued laughing at her, so she ignored him while Buddy finished up. As soon as he was done, Rosie was making a beeline towards her door.

Harry was hot on her heels. “I know it’s not much warmer inside, but anything is better than this,” he stated, blinking his eyes against the wind. “Hopefully the power comes back on soon.”

Rosie hummed in agreement, twisting the handle and letting them back inside. It was just a short climb up the stairs, but Harry placed his hand on the small of her back to help her keep her balance. She could practically feel the heat of his skin burn through the thick layers she had on.

As soon as they were back in her flat, Rosie looked at him. His cheeks were flushed red and his nose looked a bit runny, but it was cute when he scrunched up his face, and she loved the way his hair looked when he pulled off his beanie, sticking out in nearly every direction as if he’d been electrocuted.

She stepped up to place a quick peck against his lips, but Harry prolonged it, following her movements as she went to pull away.

“Mmm,” Harry hummed against her mouth. “What was that for, hm?”

“Just trying to be a good hostess,” Rosie breathed. Their closeness was dizzying.

“Ah, I see,” he grinned, “do you give all of your guests this kind of treatment?”

“Oh yes, absolutely,” she teased, pulling away and stepping back to finish unzipping her coat. Harry frowned.

“Heeeey,” his hands latched onto her forearms, pulling her back into his chest. “‘S rude,”

He nudged her fingers out of the way and dragged her zipper the rest of the way down for her. His tongue poked out from between his lip as he concentrated on not getting any fabric caught between the tines.

They moved slowly while they got ready for bed, partly because Harry refused to take his hands off of her, but also because they were exhausted. While Harry finished wiping down Buddy’s feet, Rosie walked around her flat to blow out all of the candles apart from the one right by her bed. Once Harry stripped down to nothing but his sweatpants, and Rosie had changed into an oversized t-shirt, they sluggishly crawled under the blankets.

“Erm, I can sleep here, right?” Harry asked, picking at the corner of the covers. “I can still sleep on the couch if you want me to.”

“Harry,” Rosie smiled, shaking her her head, “you’re obviously sleeping here. Now pull the covers back up, you’re letting the cold air in.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, instantly scooching down in the bed and curling himself around her. She leaned over his frame to blow out the last remaining candle, and then burrowed herself into his arms.

Harry’s hands were icicles against her bare hips, and hers were frigid against his back, but it was the kind of cold where it was comfortable; the kind where they both knew that as long as they stayed pressed together, their hands would warm up against each others’ skin.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Harry whispered, so quietly that Rosie could have dreamed it.

“Always welcome here….” she returned as she began to drift off. She thought she heard him start to say something else, but her eyelids suddenly felt ten times heavier, and Harry’s thumb circling her hipbone was almost too soothing. Rosie drifted off to the soft rumble of his voice, and the rough texture of his fingertips on her skin.

~~~

Rosie woke up the same way she does nearly every morning: a wet, cold tongue lapping at her cheek. She forced herself to peel her eyes open, and found herself nose to nose with Buddy, who was wagging his tail expentently.

As more and more of her senses returned, she became acutely aware of Harry’s hand on her hip. His chest was pressed snugly to her back, and small puffs of air were hitting her scalp where his face was nestled into her hair. A smile crept up her cheeks. She wanted nothing more than to settle into his warmth, but Buddy was growing increasingly impatient, letting out small whines and shifting his feet on Rosie’s leg.

Not wanting to wake Harry, Rosie gently lifted Harry’s arm enough to slide out without disturbing him. He shifted slightly, pulling the covers closer to his chin and letting out a small affronted sound, but thankfully, he stayed asleep.

The power must have turned back on overnight, because her flat was suddenly a comfortable temperature. Rosie let out a sigh at the thought of finally being able to lounge around comfortably.

“Hey boy,” she whispered, unhooking Buddy’s leash from the hook by the door. She held it out towards him and he pranced over to her, exposing his neck so that Rosie could attach the leash to his collar. “Wanna go for a walk?”

The moment she stepped out of the complex, her lips curled into a snarl. Snow certainly looks nice, but she hated the way that the small frozen particles scratched at her skin in the wind, and she definitely didn’t like how it hurt to breath in through her nose. Buddy didn’t seem to mind, already sniffing around to find a suitable place to do his business.

Once he was finished, Rosie decided that she would only take him around the block once. Normally, she’d go longer, but the bitterness in the air and the promise of returning home to Harry made her want to rush. She would take Buddy on an extra long walk later on.

Harry was just as she left him when she got back into her flat, but this time, his hooded eyes were blinking rapidly in the sunlight.

“Mmm, hi,” he groaned, raising his arms above his head in a stretch.

“Morning,” Rosie replied, eyes lingering on his biceps that were peeking out from under her bedsheets. “Sorry if I woke you, Buddy needed to go out. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“‘M up now,” he grunted, “you should come back over here….”

His tone was soft and inviting, and an involuntary flush crept up Rosie’s cheeks. Remembering how warm he’d felt pressed up against her left a chill over her skin that rivaled the biting cold outside. She quickly bent down to untie her snow boots, trying to hide her reddening face from him.

“Please?” Harry whined when she didn’t respond. “‘S cold, and you’re warm.”

“Shouldn’t you get up too, H?” She raised an eyebrow at him, “the plows have already been through, so you should probably call the locksmith to get your car open.”

“Yeah,” he muttered indifferently.

Rosie knew that the moment she looked at him, she’d be a goner, and while she normally doesn’t like to get back in bed after moving around, she was going to have to make an exception. Just as she’d suspected, as soon as she settled her gaze on where he was laying in bed, she was met with puppy-dog eyes and an outreached hand.

“Fine,” she relented. “Let me just get my coat off.”

“You can take off everything else too, if you’d like,” Harry called out. “I wouldn’t mind!”

“Stop flirting with me!” Rosie grinned, giddiness seeping into her bloodstream. She felt jittery, excited, and far too focused, as if she’d just gulped down three cups of coffee.

“Think we’re a bit past that, Ro.”

Rosie huffed playfully, going to set her sopping boots and coat on top of the radiator by the window. There was nothing more pleasant than putting on warm, dry boots before heading out into the winter. As she was walking across the room, she noticed Harry’s jacket thrown across the floor, so she picked it up to place on the heater as well.

Just as she was shaking it out to set down, something heavy fell out of his pocket and hit the floor with a thud. Rosie’s eyes widened as she bent down to pick up the set of keys, dangling it over her pointer finger. Not only were his car keys attached, but a key nearly identical to her own hung from the collection.

“What was….” Harry trailed off after seeing what she held in her hand, “...that… um….”

“So you weren’t locked out after all?” Rosie bit out. She felt heat creep up her back and over her shoulders, the giddiness she had felt just moments ago giving way to disbelief. He had lied to her.

“Um, no, I wasn’t,” Harry admitted with a sigh, scratching at the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact with her. “I… I was just….”

Rosie threw the keys onto the table. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, but she knew she had to do something, so she began to organize the blankets that she’d set out on the couch for Harry. Blankets that had gone unused.

“Just what?” Rosie snapped. “Just coming over to see if you could get me in bed with you? Is that what this is?”

“What? No, Ro. Absolutely not!” He threw the covers from his lap, rushing to his feet. Rosie stormed over to the closet and shoved the blankets inside, closing it more harshly than she normally would. When she turned back around, Harry was already walking towards her, a wild glint in his eyes.

“Well you did a mighty fine job, Harry,” Rosie seethed, ignoring his attempt to brush his hand along her arm. “Managed to get my clothes off, on my knees for you. You must be so proud of yourself.”

“Rosie, no,” he pleaded, gently wrapping his fingers around her bicep to keep her still. “I swear, I would never do something like that. I wasn’t trying to trick you, or anything of the sort!”

“Then why lie about being locked out?” She demanded. “This… last night was a mist-”

“No!” Harry begged, cutting her off. “Please don’t say it was a mistake… it… it wasn’t-”

“And what about all of the other times?” Rosie interrupted. “Were you ever actually locked out of your flat, or were you just trying to… I dunno… wear me down?”

“How could you even think that?” Harry growled, his desperation morphing into something else entirely. He tugged at the ends of his hair with the hand that wasn’t gripping her arm, his eyes closing in exasperation. “I care about you so much.”

“So this is the only time you’ve lied?” She challenged, watching as his jaw flexed.

“Erm… not exactly,” Rosie went to tug her arm out of his hold, but Harry stepped closer, not allowing her to storm off like she’d planned. “But it’s not what you think! The first time, I really was locked out. It’s just… you were so sweet to me, I- I wanted to spend more time with you, that’s all.”

“You could have just knocked on my door,” she narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t need to lie to me to spend time with me.”

“I know,” he rubbed a hand over his face. The tips of his ears were tinged bright red.

“I… I really don’t appreciate dishonesty-”

“I was nervous!” Harry exploded. Buddy yelped on the bed, stressed out due to the tension in the room, and Rosie took a short step back, not expecting him to be so loud. “You… you make me so nervous. Like, when Mr. Goldman moved out of this place, I had never even thought about anyone new moving in, let alone a cute girl…. Like, Ro, I’m not even kidding, I’ve had a crush on you since I first met you.”

“You… you could’ve-”

“And I know I’m shit for being dishonest, but fuck, you took me by surprise. I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted, looking down at their feet. “I never meant to upset you, I really just wanted to get to know you better. And then, once I started… I couldn’t stop.”

“Harry,” Rosie breathed brokenly, the air getting caught in her throat. “I don’t really… know what to say.”

“Just… say you forgive me?” he asked, his gaze lifting to flit around her face for any indication that she understood. “I’m so sorry.”

And then Rosie was laughing. It was definitely not an appropriate time, but she couldn’t contain her giggles. So many conflicting emotions were rushing through her; excitement, anxiety, relief, frustration. It was overwhelming.

“Um,” Harry watched owlishly as Rosie bent over to grip her knees, overcome by fits of laughter. “I’m... uh….”

“God,” she choked out finally, “you are such an idiot, Harry!”

“I’m… sorry?”

“No! I don’t mean, like, literally.” Rosie forced herself to stop laughing, but was unable to wash the smile off of her face. Harry looked both impatient and perplexed. “It’s just… hilarious. You could’ve asked me out that very first time and I would’ve said yes.”

A slow smile crept up Harry’s cheeks.

“And I’m sorry for laughing, it’s just,” Rosie continued, “it’s so simple, and we’re so fucking dramatic.”

Harry started laughing then, too. He dragged a hand all the way down his face, rubbing at his tightly closed eyes before blinking them back open to stare at her.

“So, just to clarify here,” he started. Rosie launched into another set of quiet giggles when she saw the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “You… would go out with me.”

“Yes, Harry,” she replied, “for fucks sake, I like you so much. Thought it was obvious.”

“I thought I was the one being obvious!” His shoulders sagged as the tension left his body. “We’re both idiots.”

“So stupid,” Rosie agreed.

“And god, so fucking oblivious,” he added.

“So oblivious.”

“And we’re also… getting dinner tonight?”

“Going on a date,” she confirmed.

“Yeah,” his smile was so wide, she probably could have counted all of his teeth. “That, a date.”

“Yeah,” Rosie beamed back at him, twiddling her fingers together, “so… you should probably go, then. And maybe, I dunno, put some clothes on?”

Harry glanced down as if he’d forgotten that he was shirtless. “Might be a good idea.”

Rosie leaned back against the wall as Harry gathered his things. Somehow, the handful of belongings that he’d brought had scattered all around her flat: his phone charger, his sweatshirt, his beanie. One of his socks was on the other side of the room, it’s partner stuffed into one of his boots. It didn’t help that Rosie was also disorganized; Harry was forced to move piles of her things aside to reach his own.

Finally, he’d collected everything into his arms. Rosie opened the door for him, but he lingered in the doorway, leaning back onto his heels and rubbing his lips together.

“Well I guess, erm, I’ll just see you later?” he raised an eyebrow.

“You will,” Rosie confirmed. “6:00, somewhere we could walk to?”

“Sure,” Harry said. They were engulfed in an awkward silence, and there was nothing else to do but stare. “Uh, bye then?”

“Bye,” Rosie repeated quietly, shutting the door as soon as he’d turned around.

She pressed her back against the door with a huff, mind reeling from everything that had happened. It had all gone down in such a short period of time, it almost didn’t seem real. Had Harry really dragged his lips all over her body, or had that been her imagination?

She had just started to walk towards the bathroom to check in the mirror for hickeys when a knock sounded on her door. She whipped it open to find a sheepish Harry on the other side. She didn’t know what she expected him to say, but when he finally spoke, there was a twinkle in his eye.

“I… may have forgotten my keys.”

~~~

To those of you made it this far, thank you! I’d love to hear from you if you’re willing to shoot me a message... feedback is key, after all!

xxxooo Tile

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry #styles #harry styles fanfiction #friends to lovers #SILO

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prolestariwrites · 4 years

Photo

Somewhere In Between

Fandom: Devil May Cry Pairing: Dante/Lady Rating: Explicit Tags: Friendship, Friends with Benefits, First Time, Sex Word Count: 3619

Summary: Dante has never had friends, until Lady comes along and changes all that.

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Dante didn't have friends. Friends meant time, and investment, and sharing stuff about yourself. He didn't have time and he didn't make investments and he sure as hell wasn't telling anyone he was the half-demon son of the savior of humanity turned orphaned devil hunter.

Which is why knowing Lady had always been… strange. After Temen-ni-gru, he expected to never see her again considering how much she had suffered. Seeing Dante would surely just dredge all that up; after all, he didn't go around the places he had been chased out of, and visiting his childhood home was out of the question. Why poke at old wounds? Let demons lie, Dante always told himself.

But not Lady. She kept showing up. She was at the Devil May Cry the day after the tower disappeared, laughing with her arms folded at the mess his shop was in. "What the hell did you do?" she had teased as she stepped over the broken billiard table.

Dante had glanced over his shoulder in surprise from where he was trying to patch a hole in the wall. "Demons attacked right after Arkham stopped by. What are you doing here?"

Lady shrugged. "Thought I'd check to see if you were dead or not. Since you're not gonna offer me a seat, do you need some help?"

Not one to look a gift set of hands in the mouth, he had accepted, and together they had loaded up the trash and put all the broken bits of furniture in the dumpster behind the bagel shop on the corner. Again, he had expected that to be it, but Lady came back again, and again, helping him paint over the drywall and put together a new pool table and even sweeping. After about a week the shop was liveable again, and she perched on his desk (which he had told her a hundred times not to do), swiping a slice of pizza from the box (another thing he kept telling her not to do) and said, "So when do I get paid?"

"What?"

Lady shrugged. "I've been working for you for a week. Is this like a bi-weekly thing or something?"

Dante snorted and leaned back in his chair. "I didn't hire you, and I'm not paying you."

She made an indignant grunt and threw the pizza crust at him, hitting him in the chest. "Then why the hell have you been having me do all this?" she shouted.

"I thought you were being nice!" he protested. "Besides, I don't have any money. Have you seen me work?"

Lady flipped him off and stormed out of the shop, leaving Dante with mixed feelings. One on hand it was way quieter, and easier to do what he wanted without her hanging around: namely, sleep and scratch himself. But she was some kind of company, and dealing with her meant he didn't have to deal with remembering Vergil falling off of the side of the tower.

Two days later she had shown up with a wad of hundred dollar bills. "There," she said, pushing it into his hand. "Now you can pay me."

Dante made a face. "Where did you get this?"

Lady rolled her eyes and slipped two bills from the roll. "I did some jobs. I'm a devil hunter, just like you. Only I can't go legit because I can't open a business since I'm not eighteen. So you're gonna pay me, and I'll take a cut."

He had been taken aback by that: he was nineteen himself, and Lady always seemed way older. At least way more mature. He had figured she was in her twenties at least. "No way. I'm not some kind of… demon hunting pimp."

"Are you stupid? We'll make twice as much if we work together!"

"No." Dante handed back the money, but Lady folded her arms and stared at him defiantly. Finally Dante had rolled his eyes and asked, "When do you turn 18?"

"Two months."

"Fine. Work for me until then. Then you're on your own."

"Fine. Want to play poker?"

That's how it started, this weird friendship that wasn't a friendship. Lady worked jobs and he paid her, and she hung around the shop helping with whatever she felt like. In their downtime they traded stories of fighting monsters and playing cards until Dante owed her more than a month's salary. Jobs trickled in, which they took turns doing, unless Dante was busy with the more mundane tasks of management. Being a business owner was more complicated than Dante had figured, and the first time the lights went off, she pitched a huge fit until he conceded and handed the bills over to her to figure out.

She showed up suddenly one day with a bottle of gin and a cake, declaring it her birthday. "Finally," Dante had muttered, even as he gratefully accepted a shot and a slice. Lady just laughed, the two of them getting wasted to celebrate.

But she was back the next day, sunglasses masking a hangover and a grouchy expression. "Don't talk to me," she mumbled as she laid down on the leather couch.

"What are you doing here?" Dante asked.

"I work here, numbnuts," Lady grumbled. "Now shut up, my head is killing me."

He didn't kick her out; instead, he got her an ice pack and a coffee, and they just kept going. Months went by, arguing more often than getting along, working side by side or on their own as the other watched the shop. The business wasn't doing very well, but enough to keep pizza on the table, until in frustration Lady demanded some changes. "We need to advertise, Dante!" she shouted, one hand pressed to the top of his desk as he peeked over his magazine. "We're never gonna get jobs if people don't know we exist. You don't even have a business card or anything! This isn't a damn lemonade stand, this is our livelihood!"

"What do you want me to do?" he argued back, dropping the magazine and folding his arms. "Not like I can take an ad out in the Yellow Pages. 'Got a demon? I'll come kill it for ya.' Yeah, that won't get both of us in jail, or the nut house."

Lady huffed, blowing her bangs out of her forehead, but she didn't offer an argument. Dante smirked at her as she tapped her foot until finally she said, "Then what we need is a broker. Someone to find us work, manage our jobs."

"Yeah okay." He picked up the magazine and opened it, lifting it high enough to block her out. "Good luck, let me know how that goes."

Well fuck it all, didn't she bring Morrison by three days later, and Dante had to admit she was right.

So it was friendship, maybe? A partnership, sure. They are used to each other at least, and Morrison proves to be good at delivering for his fifteen percent. Things go on an upswing, and Dante manages to keep afloat and pay Lady on time.

A few more months go by, and on Lady's next birthday, he surprises her with another bottle of gin.

She gives him her half smile and pulls her own bottle out of the bag. "Let's do this."

Friends, okay, yes. That's what Dante thinks as he watches Lady pour out three shots for him and three for herself, sitting across the desk from one another. He could be friends with her; she knew stuff about him, enough anyway, and had put the investment in, and they had worked together now over a year. Finally comfortable with the label, he lifts his shot and clinks it against hers. "Happy Birthday," he says.

"Thanks." They both drink their shot, turning the glass over on the table when drained, and Lady looks at him pointedly. "So why haven't we had sex yet?"

Dante sputters, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth before gaping at her. "What?"

"You and me," Lady says, gesturing between them. "We haven't had sex yet."

Dante makes a face and picks up the next shot. He knocks it back as she yelps, "Hey!" Lady glares at him and drinks her own, wincing a tiny bit as it goes down before she continues, "What is it? Don't you want to?"

"What?"

"Are you not attracted to me?"

"What?"

"I've had a lot of offers, Dante. A lot. I would think you'd want—"

He reaches for the third shot, but Lady is quicker. She snatches it away, holding both his and hers under her palms as they glare at one another over the table. "I ain't listening to this, not sober anyway."

Lady rolls her eyes. "Come on, I'm serious. We should have sex."

"Why?" he exclaims.

She shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know. It's not like you're seeing anyone. Neither am I. No time to date in this business and they just get eaten anyway. It would be nice to be able to just… let off some steam."

"First of all," he says, planting his elbow on the table and lifting a finger, "you're way too young for me."

"I'm a year younger than you," she scoffs.

"Second, you're not my type."

"Oh really." Lady laughs nodding at the picture on his desk. "What's your type, blonde?"

Dante refuses to take the bait, lifting a third finger. "Finally, I'm your boss. And it would be illegal and inappropriate."

Lady rolls her eyes. "Since when are you legal or appropriate? Besides… here, take the shot."

She hands him the glass, and Dante eyes her suspiciously as they both drink. With the last shot finished, Lady looks down uncomfortably, studying the six empty glasses on the table. "I'm quitting."

"What? Why?" he exclaims. It must have come out louder than he intended, because Lady looks up sharply. "What do you mean, you're quitting? 'Cause I won't have sex with you?"

"No!" she laughs. "I have enough to start my own business. And you need to do this on your own. Morrison has enough jobs for us both, and if I go on my own, I can branch out, do some traveling—"

"Okay, okay," Dante sighs, waving his hand. So much for friends. He should have figured she would be wanting out at some point, and he presses his lips together tightly as they stare at one another. "Fine. I get it."

She smiles unexpectedly. "I'll still be around. You owe me a lot of money from cards." Dante blushes and Lady stands. "Now that that's settled, you've got no more excuses. Let's have sex."

"Wait, this is—" He's cut off when she slides over the desk and lands in his lap facing him, settling on his thighs as her arms go around his shoulders. The wheels on the chair roll a bit with the impact, and Lady perches forward, pressing her chest against his. Dante studies her face, but she's still sober, the telltale shimmer in her pupils not there, no flush on her nose. Besides, he had seen her drink loads of times, and three shots of gin was nothing to a pro like Lady.

"Dante," she says quietly. "You're the only friend I've ever had. I don't trust anybody else, but I'm going a bit crazy. If you promise not to fall in love with me, I will let you rail me any way you'd like. Now what do you say?"

He blinks in surprise. Her crude language barely registered, because she called them friends? That calms his nerves a bit, and as Lady wriggles a bit in his lap, he has to admit, he's intrigued. "Friends with benefits," he murmurs. "How do I know you won't fall in love with me?"

Lady gives a deep sigh and he laughs. "Yeah, okay," Dante replies. "Fine, but just this once."

She grins before leaning in to press her mouth on his. It's awkward for a half second until he remembers to close his eyes, and his hands settle on her waist as he lets Lady take the lead. Her lips slide over his, tugging until they open, and he manages to stop a startled noise when her tongue presses between them.

Her hands slip into his coat, and Dante has a mild bit of panic. The truth is that he hadn't done this before: not even kissed a girl, let alone had one on his lap, pressed against his growing erection and pawing at his chest. His fingers squeeze her hips, not knowing what to do, and when she pushes the fabric over his shoulder he is half dead and half relieved when she pulls back and says, "Let's go to your bedroom."

The room is a mess as always, and he feels a tiny bit of embarrassment as she surveys the dirty clothes strewn around and the mess of blankets and pillows on the bed. "Uh, the sheets are clean—" he tries to assure her, but Lady has her arms around him and pulls him into another kiss, cutting him off.

"Bed," she orders, and Dante obeys. He pulls his boots off before sitting on the bed, and then stops to gape as she unbuckles the belt on her shorts and slips them down her legs. Her own shoes are gone, so she stands in just panties and a loose blouse, which she pulls over her head. She's not wearing a bra, and he gapes at her body.

"You gonna…" Lady prompts, nodding at him.

"Oh. Yeah." He pulls his own tshirt off and tosses it away, then stands to undo his belt. Lady moves in front of him and pulls down his zipper, and Dante swallows thickly as she smiles up at him.

"Let's see what oh my god," she says, her eyes going wide when she slips her hand inside. He nearly jumps out of his skin when her hand closes around his dick, half hard already, and heat flashes up his neck when Lady looks utterly confused. "Are you serious?"

He shakes his head. "What?"

"Take your pants off, I gotta see this."

Alarmed and embarrassed, Dante shucks his jeans and underpants down, leaving him naked to her wide-eyed stare. "Wow," she whispers.

"Is that good?" he asks.

Lady looks up at him and grins. "We're gonna have fun."

And it is fun; Lady doesn't hold back, touching him all over and letting him touch her too, his kisses growing bolder as he gets more comfortable with the idea. He likes her breasts best for sure, sucking eagerly on the little pink buds and kneading her flesh in his hands until she tells him she's not a radio and to give it a rest. For her part, she seems to know just what to do, and when they switch positions so she's on top, her mouth on his chest drives him nuts and he tries to figure out how to ask her to use it on his cock, where her hand is stroking him lightly.

But he doesn't need to, because she declares herself ready and hops off the bed to remove her panties. Dante sits up on his elbows to watch, his eyes focusing in on the space between her thighs. His mouth goes dry when she stands naked in front of him, and he stares so intensely that he misses her question. "What?" he stammers.

"Do you have a condom?"

Dante swallows. "No, I… I mean, I'm half demon, so ya know…"

Lady rolls her eyes. "I'm not risking it and having some weirdo demon spawn." She grabs her shorts and pulls one from the pocket, opening it as she climbs on the bed. "Have you done this before?" she asks, eyeing him.

"Uh…"

"Didn't think so." She gives a little laugh as she rolls the rubber on, and Dante watches closely, trying to follow her movements. Then she swings her leg over to straddle him again, pressing his length between her legs. The rubber doesn't dull things nearly as much as he had assumed, feeling her heat through the condom, her folds softer than he had imagined they would be. "This is lubricated, so it should help," she pants as she grinds against him.

Dante nods, not entirely sure what that means. Before he knows it she lifts her hips to position her body over him, and he watches in a sweet anticipation as his cock disappears inside her. "Fuck," she pants, huffing a laugh as she presses her palms to his chest. "God you are big."

"Should I—"

"Don't move." He nods, laying back, his own hands flat on the bed. Dante longs to touch her, to feel that place where they are joined, or caress her hips, or even grab her chest again. But he is afraid of distracting her, so he stays perfectly still as Lady works as much of him as she can, until more than half of his length is inside. She tilts forward, still panting, and glances down at him. "I think… I think that's as much as I can do… maybe it'll be easier next time."

Dante nods, his eyes wide. Is this it? It can't be, so he waits as she catches her breath. "You alright?" she asks, laughing at his expression.

"Yeah. Just don't want to…" Lady nods, and she pats his shoulder.

Then she moves, and fuck shit son of a bitch it is good. Dante can't stop the groan that leaves him as her body grips him, sliding up and down like a tight, hot glove. It's better than his hand has ever been, even better than hers, and when she finds a nice steady pace his eyes roll back a bit as he fights the urge to thrust upwards into her.

"Dante," she whispers, kissing him, and he eagerly returns it, sucking on her lips as she rides him. Tentatively he reaches up, his palms sliding up and down her sides until he gets the nerve to grab her breasts. She moans when he squeezes her lightly, the sound rocking through him and pushing a new pleasure button, and he does it again, grinning at the pleasure in her voice when he rubs his thumbs on her nipples.

Soon he starts to grow more frantic, the friction proving too much, and despite his best efforts he grabs her hips and thrusts upwards. Lady cries out, but she kisses him feverishly, and he takes that as a good sign. Which is good because he can't hold out much longer, and now that he is bucking under her, Dante can feel himself getting closer to orgasm.

She must sense it, because she whispers, "Are you gonna come?"

"Yeah… yeah…" he pants.

Lady sits up, one hand braced on his stomach as she rides him, and the other reaches between her legs. His eyes go wide as he takes in the sight of her breasts swaying and her fingers quicking stroking herself; it's all too much, and he cries out as the first contraction hits. Dante throws his head back with a hiss as he comes, his seed emptying into the condom as he thrusts with each wave, and when Lady gives a little cry of her own, he can feel himself shake. It's more intense than any he had had before, every muscle tight with the rush.

"Shit.. shit…" she gasps, her head dropping forward and her hand working furiously. His head spins a bit as he watches her, the last of his orgasm rolling in bursts while Lady arches her back, her face twisted with pleasure.

Then it's over, and after she catches her breath again Lady carefully moves off of him. The difference is immediate, his cock softening once the tight grip is gone, and as she sprawls out on the bed with a "Whew!" Dante sits up to try to figure out how to take off the condom.

"You uh…" Dante pauses as he frowns down at his dick, carefully peeling the condom away. "You good?"

"Yeah." He looks around for a moment before grabbing a plastic grocery bag that had been left on the floor. Dante drops it inside and ties off the handles before leaving it on the bedside table. He turns around to see Lady laying on her side, watching him with a chuckle. "Aren't you?" she prompts.

"Yeah," he replies, trying to sound casual. He cocks his hand on his hip before dropping it, trying to mask his embarrassment. "You?"

Lady laughs and rolls off the bed, reaching for her clothes. He gets a really good view of her backside before she straightens, and his brows go up when she pulls her shirt on and leaves the rest on the bed. "Let's go finish that cake, then we can do it again."

Surprised, Dante nods eagerly. "Yeah, yeah, okay—"

"Put some pants on," she scoffs, half teasing and half scolding before heading out the door.

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#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dmc lady #dante sparda #fan fiction #somewhere in between #myfic

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trashfor-imagines · 4 years

Text

The Music Series: Haikyū!! Edition! | 6

A LITTLE MESSED UP ft. Bokuto x Reader

Summary: Short story: You’re the life of the party, but sometimes you accidentally on purpose get out of hand and surprisingly Bokuto’s always chooses to take care of you. Warnings: Alcohol. Smoking. Drunk behavior.

Music blared loudly through the bar. The band playing had a bit of a pop vibe to them that made everyone dance around. It was a Friday night which meant konpa. This was a tradition your friend group participated in on almost a weekly basis, barring exam time. It was different than a traditional konpa. Instead of an izakaya, the group, fluctuating anywhere between twenty to forty people, frequented the same seedy little bar in Shinjuku where the only five employees were friends of someone in the group. It was known for having live musicians, usually in the indie, DIY, punk genre and being frequented by mainly college students. Everyone loved listening to loud music to let off steam.

You had a particularly difficult week and had been looking forward to getting absolutely smashed. You’d gotten some scathing remarks on a review you’d written from your Classical Literature professor that was pretty crushing and your boss at the publishing company you worked at went in on you for not being more available - despite having explained twice already that you were an active college student. Then there was the fact your mother wouldn’t stop calling you just to chat and your next door neighbor was an old woman who lived alone and seemed to always need help with something and your big old heart just couldn’t say no to either woman. Honestly you were constantly running out of spoons and you wanted someone to take care of you.

Drinking game after drinking game, you played them all. Win or lose, as long as you were having a good time, you didn’t care. It was past midnight now and trains had long stopped running. You were dancing in circles with a group of girls you knew, arms in the air and bouncing rhythmically to the beat. Opening your eyes, you scanned the blurry sea of faces around you. You didn’t see him so you just keep dancing. It wasn’t until the band stopped playing and house music played, did you make your way over to the bar to order a beer.

Blowing the bartender - a boy you had classes with a few times - a kiss, you took the glass bottle with you as you meandered to the small enclosed back patio. It was deserted save for a person who was headed back in. You made a motion with your fingers to your lips and he passed you a cigarette before disappearing inside, the shutting of the door barely muffling the sounds of music and partiers. You stepped onto the bench carefully, sitting down on the back of it. The cigarette sat between your lips and you closed your eyes, feeling the cool night breeze that rushed through the city’s alleyways. Tonight was a great night. Tomorrow morning not so much. Your brows suddenly furrowed, realizing you didn’t have a lighter. A blast of music signaled that someone had just joined you.

Opening an eye, you couldn’t help the blush and lazy smile that appeared on your face upon seeing the man before you staring at you with a familiar and intense gaze. He was definitely drunk. Bokuto Kotarou was two types of drunk. First he was a charismatically loud and fun drunk, and if you got enough drinks in him, he would become serious and if he had his eyes on you, completely romantic and passionate.

Reaching up, he plucked the stick from your lips and placed it between his own. Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out a matchbook, fumbling slightly until he could light it. He stomped out the match, taking a single drag of the smoke before giving it back to you.

“It’s bad for you.”

“Then don’t enable me,” you replied, taking a drag.

“Like I could say no to you,” he scoffed, turning to sit down on the bench and carefully inserting himself between your legs. He pulled your legs over his strong shoulders and relaxed, gripping your thighs to keep you from accidentally falling backwards.

“Bokuto, take me home,” you whispered.

“In a little bit. It’s only two. Since it’s almost the end of their shift, the guys want to play a few more drinking games with the staff before we go.”

Finishing your beer and cigarette, you and Bokuto walked back inside and sat on the couches where the drinking crew sat. After several rounds of Pin-Pon-Pan, you were officially thrashed and could hardly keep up. Your owlish savior excused you for the night and the two started the long trek home across Tokyo to his apartment. He had switched beer out for water long ago, lying and saying it was vodka every time you asked him. You were quite the difficult to handle type of drunk, constantly side tracked and absolutely bratty, full of demands. Despite it having been two years since the two of you met, you hardly changed from when you first met.

A boy you knew from one class had brought Bokuto to the third ever konpa your freshman year of college. There was almost an immediate spark and the two of you were all over each other, even going to his apartment afterwards. The morning after, you didn’t stick around and disappeared. He came to the next konpa, the same thing happened, and the two of you agreed that as long as you were both into it and were single, this could keep happening. The rest was history after that, and that’s how Bokuto became your weekly dick appointment.

You still caused this man the same problems as always. Bokuto, however, matured in a sense. It depended on the situation really, but he was more serious about certain things, like his career. He decided he wasn’t going to finish college. Instead, he was going to try out for the Black Jackals after this semester. He remembered how after he told you his decision, you had acted quite recklessly at the following konpa, more so than usual. You had said some nasty things to him, kissed a stranger, and had been such a nightmare that friends asked why he even bothered with you. He simply smiled at them and, when you passed out in a booth, took you home and put you to bed. That’s what confirmed to him that you cared about him and this realization made him feel even more strongly about you.

“Bokuto, why don’t you fix your roots?” you asked, reaching up to touch his hair. At first he attempted to swat your hand away before finally lacing his fingers with yours, trying to keep you from falling behind.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Let me fix it for you. It was so cute when it was growing out.” Your free hand joined your intertwined ones, gently grasping onto his wrist. Pressing your lips to his bicep, you peered up at him. He was so handsome and tall and-

Looking down he smiled at you. “I’ll think about it.”

You grinned and your gaze wandered past him to the store window and your eyes widened, a burst of energy escaping you as you pulled him over, wanting a better look at the dress in the window. “Look how cute it is. Do you think it’d suit me?”

He watched as your eyes sparkled and he couldn’t help smirking at you. “You look good with or without clothes. Doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.”

You narrowed your eyes and playfully slapped at his shoulder. “You dog.” Looking back at the dress, you sighed, “This store’s so expensive. Let’s go.”

The two of you continued on your way. It had barely been another fifteen minutes when Bokuto realized he was basically dragging you. He sighed, realizing you were getting exhausted. Peering back at you over his shoulder, he stopped walking, casting his gaze upward as if to ask God why. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back.

Opening one eye, you smiled at him. “Piggyback, please.”

“Come on, (Y/N), I’m tired too,” he pouted.

Stomping your feet you frowned at him, “I said please though!”

He sighed and squatted down enough for you to hop onto his back. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” you replied dismissively, climbing on.

Bokuto reached back and gave your ass and firm slap before standing up straight. “If I didn’t, then how do you explain why I always put up with your nonsense?”

“I hate you,” you pouted, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He sighed, "When are you going to finally admit you love me?”

“When you mean it,” you mumbled.

“Silly girl, don’t you know I mean it every time?”

By the time you made it to his apartment, you had sobered quite a bit. The two of you cuddled up on the couch in your underwear, making out and watching Japanese game shows between intimate physical moments and sweet whispers. You didn’t want to bring it up, but you’d been thinking of what he said when he was carrying you the entire time. Don’t you know I mean it every time? It was hard for you to digest.

He was a very honest guy, but you spent years digging in your heels when it came to having feelings for him and becoming anything other than friends-with-benefits. You remembered he hadn’t been mature or serious enough for you when you first met. He was that fun guy; the one you fooled around with, not married. You had been nursing a broken heart from a high school sweetheart at the time as well, deciding that you weren’t ready yet and you certainly weren’t going to date the first guy you slept with after your break up.

But you weren’t broken hearted about that boy anymore, and he wasn’t an immature goofball anymore. For the first time, during the span of knowing him, you opened your eyes that night and re-evaluated him; how he always seemed to be the one to take care of you, how whenever you freaked out on him he stayed by your side. Bokuto was always there for every meltdown and he was always the one you thought of when you needed someone to help you fix your problems. It’s why you can’t stand the idea of him leaving school for pro-volleyball. It feels like he's leaving you and... You never want to be without him.

Oh fuck.

Like clockwork, you woke up first with strong arms wrapped around you. Stretching out, you carefully slipped from his grasp. He slept like a log for the most part so it wasn’t difficult to make your morning after escape. You managed to shower, find the aspirin, and make a pot of coffee before you headed home. Setting some aspirin and a glass of water on his nightstand, you took a marker from his desk and wrote on his hand before pulling on your clothes as you walked out the door.

Several hours passed before Bokuto awoke. Groaning, he turned to his side and saw the empty space where you’d been and sighed. Just once he wished you’d actually stay long enough for him to wake up to you. As he reached up to rub his face, he paused at seeing the black marks on his hand. Fully opening his palm, he stared in disbelief.

I love you.

tag list: @hihiq

#bokuto kotaro #bokuto x reader #bokuto #kotaro #bokuto kotarou #fukurodani #haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#haikyu #volleyboys #fanfic #imagine #one shot #the music series #reader insert

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writeyourownlifestory · 4 years

Text

Sucker Punched

Chapters: 2/9 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: Mention of past child // psychological abuse, Fight Club!au Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, learning to love yourself

Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @ghostnebula, @madidraw @madi-main, @gazebobullshit, @thoughtfullyyoungduck

By the time Eddie was 13, he was allergic to peanuts, tree nuts, and several cooking oils. By 15, he had never swum in gym class and never went to a friend’s birthday party or had one of his own. By 16, Eddie knew that he liked looking at boys rather than looking at girls, though that didn’t seem to matter at the time. By 18, he had graduated high school and that was the end of his social life. And by 21, Eddie’s life had been torn to pieces.

He was a victim of Munchausen syndrome by proxy and now left without a mother, without a home, and without a clue. On top of being told he should go to group therapy, his caseworker had also suggested doing something to blow off some steam. Join a book club or go to the gym. Or maybe join a need-to-know based fight club. Either or.

Chapter one found here

They wound up at a diner, just a few blocks down away from the gym.

They sat in a quaint little booth and ordered coffee, though Eddie still wasn’t a fan. He knew the caffeine was something they’d have to get used to, but for now, he still wasn’t really into it. He sipped slowly, for the sake of Beverly and Ben, but other than that, he just continued to open up those little creamer packets and pour them into his mug.

“I just don’t get the point of it,” Eddie admitted after a bit of time. “Why would you want to fight someone? I know professionals do it for money, but unless you’re getting something out of it, what’s the point?”

“It’s a sense of relief,” Ben explained carefully. “A way to relieve stress. You throw a few punches, take a few hits.”

“It’s a way to let off some steam,” Beverly added. “It’s like a hobby! Think about it. Some people listen to music or play an instrument. Some will go to bars and drink or pick up someone to sleep with. Completely relieving yourself from your problems, even if it’s just at that moment.”

Eddie squirmed in his seat, stirring his overtly creamy coffee slowly. “You say that like you’ve done it.” Ben and Beverly exchanged a look, a wide smile coming across both their faces. “Wait. Have you?”

“I’ve dabbled with it before,” Beverly admitted.

“What, did you have a fighting name or something?”

“Fighting name?”

Ben snickered lowly. “He sounds like Richie.”

“This isn’t backyard wrestling where everybody has a made-up persona. That shit is fake. What happens in that basement still exists the next day.”

Eddie glanced at Ben, his facial expression a mix of confusion.

“You get beaten up for real.” He clarified. “You don’t step into that ring unless you’re prepared to face the consequences. Bones can be broken. Ribs can be smashed.”

“Ben nearly put somebody in the hospital one time,” Beverly mentioned like it was the hottest piece of gossip around town.

“I think you’re forgetting that you put someone in the hospital.” Ben fired back, though all Beverly did was shrug, like she was oh so very proud of this fact.

“Does your mom know?” Eddie asked curiously.

“Hell no. Do you think she’d be happy her son was fighting like that?”

“Besides, this shit is all on a need-to-know basis. Only people who fight are people not willing to blab and most people viewing it are there to gamble, so no one there is going to make a fuss about it.”

Eddie leaned back in the booth, still unsure of all of this. In retrospect, he understood and even respected the need to release a little bit of steam, but it all seemed so complicated. Who would want to spend their nights fighting all the time and possibly getting hurt because of it? Wouldn’t a bruise just add on more trouble? Or were the people that confident that they’d walk away unscathed that they wanted to take the chance?

A few days later, Eddie went to the group meeting with Beverly. Bill and Henry were there, both wearing the bruises they had received from the other. Eddie wondered if they would interact at all. He knew they weren’t very chummy outside of the group, but when one commented, the other was quick to retort.

Bill suffered from a stutter and Henry was low enough to mock him on it, even despite the director of the group reminding him that this was meant to be a safe place. A place for healing for them all. Bullying of any kind couldn’t be accepted.

Eddie had been bullied a time or two while in school, but not very often. Although he would have been an easy target, it just wasn’t worth it. He was pathetic enough already, pushing his face down in the dirt would be like adding insult to injury.

He mentioned it to Beverly as they walked back into town. Eddie had work and would be there until closing. Ben worked the morning shift and mentioned to Eddie that he and Beverly would be going back to the basement and wanted to apologize for not including his last time.

It didn’t seem like his sort of thing and truly, Ben hadn’t been wrong. He was still finding it hard to understand why anybody would want to participate in something like that.

“You don’t have to be friends to step inside the ring, but you don’t have to be enemies either,” Beverly told him. “When you’re in there, you could be up against the kid that pushed you in the lockers back in seventh grade or you could be up against your best friend. Anything is possible.”

“Do you get to choose who you fight?”

“If Mike and Stan approve of it. Usually, you have to sweet-talk them. They like to keep it somewhat fair, try to keep everybody in the same weight class, you know?”

“How did this stuff even start?” Eddie asked as they turned the corner.

They stopped outside the grocery store and Eddie moved a few steps away so Beverly could light up her cigarette. He no longer had to worry about the possibility of falling into an asthma attack, so the smell of smoke wasn’t going to kill him. He still knew about the chances of second-hand smoke, so he kept some distance, but he wouldn’t stop her from doing it.

“Mike runs this whole thing,” Beverly told him, going to lean against the glass showing the advertising of the store. “Mike’s dad had set up the boxing ring back when he was a kid and after he died, he didn’t have the heart to tear it down. He figured they’d get some use out of it and suddenly it turned into a weekly thing.”

“When do you usually fight?”

“Not so much anymore.” She said, flicking away the ashes. “Most guys don’t like going up against a woman and not a lot of women like fighting, so only a chosen few will fight me.”

“And you put one of them in the hospital?”

Beverly smiled fondly, taking in a long inhaler and letting the smoke slip through her lips slowly. “Moose Sadler. He was a wannabe tough guy who thought it would be smart to fight a girl because he thought he’d win.”

“And I take it that he lost?”

“Within minutes.” Beverly waved him off, flicking the cigarette onto the ground and using the toe of her boot to stomp it out. “I ended up nearly blinding him. Quite proud of that, to be honest. He hasn’t come back since. I think I might have damaged his pride a bit.”

“That’s pretty impressive, B.”

Beverly did a dramatic curtsy, waving her fingers as she walked off down the street. Eddie waited a few moments before heading into the store, sending Ben off so he could meet up with Beverly and go watch for the night.

Eddie tried not to think of the club. He tried to think of his routine and stick with it. He had a meeting with his caseworker a few days later, who asked if he liked the placement thus far. He had no real complaints and asked if his mother had been told where he was relocated. Due to the restraining order, she wasn’t allowed any contact with him.

It was for Eddie’s benefit. She had brainwashed him to the point of him nearly developing Stockholm syndrome. He was forced to believe he needed her or else he would die, making the adjustment period far harder on Eddie.

He didn’t like to think his mother still had a hold on him. He didn’t want to imagine himself unable to cope in everyday society just like she told him he wouldn’t.

He wanted to be stronger; wanted to point out that he was better than that. Better than what everybody thought he would be. And that meant making sure the caseworker knew he was thriving, even if he wasn’t.

He was surviving and that was fine. That was all that mattered at that point.

Eddie wasted another week just going along to his routine. Work, and cleaning, and cooking. Sitting and watching TV with Mrs. Hanscom. Sometimes she would show him a few photo albums that featured her late husband and son. Eddie’s mother never took pictures of him. He didn’t know why. Maybe they couldn’t afford a camera due to all the medical bills that continued to pile up.

She stopped a few pages in, pointing to a picture of Ben when he was just a toddler, sitting in a sandbox. Beside him was another little boy. With tan skin and dark hair.

“That’s you.” Mrs. Hanscom mentioned lovingly. “You were about three hear. Oh, your father used to let you play in the sandbox for hours. Benny would build the sandcastles and you would knock them down.”

Eddie couldn’t imagine his mother ever allowing him to get his hands dirty like that. His backyard at home was very bland and boring. No pool, or sandbox, or even a swing or slide. It was just dead grass and a dirty fence.

Mrs. Hanscom promised to find more pictures for him to look at, of himself as a child and possibly some of his father when he and her husband were kids.

He liked filing through the pictures, seeing all the memories this small family shared. He found himself just a little bit envious. He wondered if he would have a similar fate had his father not died. Would he have been able to stop all of this, maybe even prevent it from happening to begin with?

Eddie didn’t like to think of what could have been. About the alternate realities of what his life would have been like had his mom not been such an over a caring person.

He went to the group therapy with Beverly, speaking up no more than he had the previous times he had been there. It was going on about two months now and while he spoke if spoken to, he also didn’t put himself out there any more than he felt he needed to.

He didn’t want to bother. If someone was going through something, he didn’t want to waste time talking about whatever he was feeling. Some people needed the spotlight more than others and he was fine with that.

It was a few days later that Eddie decided to go along with Beverly and Bento Mike’s farm. Beverly had mentioned that Ben would be fighting and he was curious to see how it would go down. Ben was a fit guy and seemed to know what he was doing in the gym. He wondered if that translated well over inside the ring.

Back outside, trying his best to ignore the smell of the musky air and sheep, he stood by Beverly and Ben, waiting for it to start. Four fights were to go on and it seemed Ben would be going late.

They had to wait a while since there were no time limits on fights. Mike tried to make them stop around the half-hour mark since they were burning the night away and everybody had to go to work the next morning, but Beverly had mentioned that sometimes they would drag out longer than that if the fight was just that good.

The first to go was Bill again, going up against Mike for a chance. It seemed now and then he’d jump in the ring and throw hands if he was up for it. He destroyed Bill, leaving him with a bruised eye and fat lip.

After that, it was Criss and Huggins again, and that went on longer than anybody cared for. Eventually, Stanley demanded that they either OK each other or forfeit because they had other things to focus on.

After them, it was Hotchsetter against Bowers and that was also strained out, but enough blood had been shed for it to be enjoyable.

Ben was the last night of the night and he was up against someone named Tozier. The latter came bouncing in the ring, shadowboxing as he waited for Ben to join him.

“Don’t get too scratched up this time,” Beverly said, pushing his hair back.

“Gonna kiss my wounds if I do?” He asked playfully, pulling his shirt off and handing it over to her.

Beverly took it, a thin smile playing across her face. “Not even if you ask nicely.”

As far as Eddie knew, they were nothing more than friends, but you didn’t need a telescope to see how much Ben liked Beverly. They were best friends and had been for some time. Ben had been there for Beverly when everything went down with her dad and supported her to move in with her aunt.

Beverly had never mentioned whether or not she felt the same, but now and then Eddie would catch her glancing at him and there would be something in her eye that he hadn’t been able to describe.

His mom never read romance novels. She didn’t like smut and if they hadn’t been biologically related, Eddie would have thought she found sex to be revolting in general. However, the internet is a wide place and he had been able to track down a few things during his secret internet time.

The eyes were meant to be the windows of our souls, so the way you used them was very important. Eddie may not have known the words to describe the way Beverly would watch Ben, but he knew it meant something.

Ben climbed into the ring, smiling politely as the Tozier guy circled him like a shark. He had the same headband again though this time a pair of insanely bright colored shorts.

Stan counted them in and within a flash, Tozier tackled Ben to the ground, launching his lanky body against him in a matter of seconds. He wondered if that was against the rules, but he remembered that there were no rules.

No outside objects. Stops when they say stop. Any hits after stopping is a cause for banning. Other than that, it was pretty much a free game.

Ben wasn’t bothered by the sudden attack and swiftly rolled them over, pushing himself off Tozier and jumping back to his feet. They danced around one another, making it obvious that this was something they had done before. Tozier was always up for the element of surprise, but Ben was more graceful than that.

Tozier got a few kicks in and even knocked Ben onto his knees, but it was Ben that won in the end. He got Tozier down and with a couple of pops to the face with his elbow, blood-splattered and Tozier was down for longer than three seconds.

Mike called it and Ben was pronounced the winner. He helped Tozier up, sending him off to clear himself up as he went back to Beverly to collect his shirt.

Since the only people who made any money on this was Stan and those who made their bets, there was no reason to stick around afterward. They were making their way back to the car, they were approached by a still bloody Tozier.

Eddie thought for a moment this would take a dark turn, but instead, Tozier was there for a high five and some overzealous compliments.

“One day you’re gonna have to teach me those moves!” He prompted.

Bev, going into her clutch, pulled out a makeup wipe and moved in to wipe away the blood that had flowed from Tozier’s face.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to wipe your mouth?”

Tozier jutted his chin out, allowing Beverly to clean him up easily. “Nope!” He replied cheerfully. “Are you guys getting food. Do you wanna get food?”

“Did you lose any teeth?” Ben questioned.

“Nah, you got me on my nose.” He mentioned, popping his lips to show that they were still in fact. “Come on, I’m buying!”

“We’ll meet you there,” Ben promised, watching as Beverly shoved him away. Tozier hurried off into the darkness, leaving the three of them to get back inside Richie’s car.

“So where is ‘there’ exactly?”

There turned out to be the diner, the same as the first time Eddie had done with them to the farm. When they arrived, Tozier was already there, with Mike and Stan in the bunch. Bill followed soon after and they all squeezed into the far off table.

Eddie sat quietly, sitting next to Beverly, pushed into the corner so he was the farthest from everybody. They ordered cheese fries, tots, and chicken fingers. They had ice cream floats and a bunch of other greasy snacks and delicious sweets to share.

Tozier plopped down in front of him, tossing a cheese-covered fry into his mouth. His nose was a bit swollen and his glasses were finally back onto his face. He still had the headband on, but it was pushed up a bit more, making his hair look a bit fluffier than it had been in the ring.

“Sup.”

“Hi,” Eddie replied tentatively, keeping his eyes on his plate where he had been tearing up the pieces of chicken.

“Your Ben’s little brother, right?”

Eddie did look up, his brow caving as he frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re his foster brother, ain'tcha?”

“I’m not . . . I’m not a foster kid. He’s my cousin.”

“But the Hanscom’s are your foster family, so he’s your foster brother? His mom is your foster mom?”

Eddie didn’t know what to say. He thought about running, but it felt somewhat pointless. “Sure.” He answered.

“Cool, cool, cool. Did you like our fight?”

His brows raised this time, in confusion and surprise. “Did I like it?”

“Yeah! Beverly is always rooting for Ben, so I was hoping I could have a cutie in my corner cheering me on.”

Eddie didn’t respond. He just stared, taken back by the boldness that was this man. Beverly was quick to the rescue, shooing Tozier away by throwing a handful of tots at him.

“That’s wasting food, Marsh! There are starving children in Africa!”

“And yet here you are, eating it up and bothering Eddie in the process.”

“I’m just talking!” He insisted, holding his hands up in defense. “Are you ever gonna jump in the ring, little man?”

“Can you knock it off with the little shit?” Eddie snapped. “I’m of average height. Not everybody can be a fucking giant.”

“I’m just saying. If you want some tips, I’m happy to give you some pointers.”

“Eddie doesn’t want your tip, Richie.”

“Oh! Marsh gets off with a good one. Gonna let Benny get off too?”

Another handful was thrown in his face, though this time Richie did catch a few. He slipped away, proud of his antagonizing as he went over to the other end of the table.

“Don’t let him bother you. He’s smart, but he’s a moron.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie reassured, wiping his hands on his napkin.

Eddie didn’t know if the flirting was intentional or if Tozier, or Richie, whatever he was called, was just saying it to mess with him. He just continued to break up his chicken tenders, taking tiny bites of the breading. His mother, despite being overweight herself, rarely fed him anything with real substance. All his chicken was grilled and bland; no sauce or seasoning. Nothing fried or covered in dressing. It was something he had to get used to, the extra flavor added to every meal.

Richie was true to his word and paid for everything, handing his hand over to the waitress before she could even put the bill down and tossed a few dollars down for a tip. Now that Eddie was working, he had some money of his own. He spent it on lunch any time he and Ben decided to grab some food during their breaks, or flowers for Mrs. Hanscom on days he just wanted to do something nice.

He didn’t splurge on anything for himself. He didn’t need anything anyway.

But he was ready to pay his fair share for the meal, but it seemed Richie already took care of it. He tried to offer him some cash, holding a ten out to him outside the diner, but the shaggy-haired man rebuffed him.

“Keep it. Buy yourself something nice.” Richie told him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“You didn’t have to buy everyone’s dinner.”

“I lost, dude. It’s fair and square.” He shrugged, unfazed.

Eddie wondered if he did this often. Buy dinner for every time he had his ass kicked. There were seven of them eating and drinking, and even if they had just bought appetizers, he was sure the prices racked up quickly. Did he work often enough to be able to afford that? Eddie didn’t want to ask, he didn’t want to be too forward.

Beverly called for him, waving him off in the direction of Ben’s car. Richie gave a small salute before heading off into the darkness of the parking lot. Eddie waited a moment before leaving too.

#Reddie #Reddie!au #Richie Tozier #Eddie Kaspbrak #It #IT AU #no clown au #Fight Club #Fight Club AU

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