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havertzgalaxy · 3 years

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Deep Orange - Kai Havertz fanfiction (Chapter One)

A/N: First part of a series I hope to continue. Title is still uncertain for me so this is kind of a place holder. This is a little bit of a dark tale, but I love the idea of Kai in a darker role. If you enjoyed it please give it a like or anything so I know to keep writing! I have a lot more to say about this story :)

Warnings: Alcohol, drug use, swearing, sexual references

Summary: Kai Havertz, a rising star in the football world, has just moved to London and he's off to a rocky start. After agreeing to go to a party with one of his old friends from high school, he meets Katrin Hummels, a mysterious, German musician who has lived in the UK for over a decade. Katrin flirts with Kai at this party, and he reveals that he is in a committed relationship. Nevertheless, Kai is heavily intrigued by her and the two quickly become friends. As Kai balances his career and his relationship, Katrin invites him out constantly to parties and clubs, which distract him from his important life goals. Soon, Kai finds himself on a downwards, drunken spiral of addiction and on a collision course with Katrin.

Available here on Tumblr, but here is the link for the fic on wattpad incase anyone prefers to read stories there: https://www.wattpad.com/1094322435-deep-orange-chapter-one

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Chapter 1

Let me start with the night I first met Katrin. Now, it seems odd to even think about a time before Katrin had a poisonous grip on my life, and there really isn’t anything in my life worth reciting before her. It was a quiet week in between matches in the Premier League and I had off for seven days, which was rare. I was invited to an evening out with a friend from high school who was studying in London at the time. Hesitantly, I accepted, but made it clear to myself that this was not a friend I would like to hang out with regularly. I mostly accepted to please my mother who had been pressing me to find friends from my previous life so I would eventually return home. So I called up my mother and told her I was finally meeting Leo Sauer. The most German German I had ever known moved to London. And I was meeting with him.

I had never thought of Leo as a wild card. He pretty much stuck to the rules. A good German boy got good grades and excelled in athletics, but this German boy had blossomed out of the rulebook. Suddenly Leo was a stoner philosophy student with connections to an underground intelligentsia-creative scene, a world woefully unfamiliar to myself. I have had so few nights out in my life, due to the demands of my rigorous football schedule, but I always accepted that absence in my life as a necessary sacrifice. It was not something I ever thought I would miss as I aged, especially if I had a World Cup in my hands. But my first memories of regret started as I took a cab out to the party. I noticed the way the signs on the businesses had a fading and mesmerizing glow, like there was a specific quality of the night that was turning everything neon forever. The air was orange, then it turned red. I thought to myself how odd it felt to go out to a place where I was specifically going to socialize.

And these feelings worsened when I arrived at the party. I was way out of my element. I began contemplating my own death as I walked through the doorway at a frustratingly overpriced two story flat in South London. I wondered what such an eccentric party was doing in a rather lame neighborhood, and why it was heavily decorated with memorabilia from India. As I turned each corner I passed another Ganesh, another Vishnu, Brama, until I was greeted with an overwhelming scent of incense and marijuana. The house was very dimly lit and seemed to be decorated in a frantic rush for a party, with multicolored christmas lights sufficing as lighting in long and dark stretches of the house. In one corner there was a red lamp without a lamp shade that provided an intense source of light that you couldn’t look at for two long. The entire house was pulsating to a dull bass line that rather confused me and as I breathed in the display of punk, artistic, and heavily braided London set, I quickly scanned the room for Leo and immediately joined forces with him, promising to myself that I would not to leave his side for the rest of the night.

“King Kai!” Leo gasped. He reached out his hand and pulled me in for a hug. “I didn’t think you’d make it, man!”

I switched to German, feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable for the moment in English. “Leo, bro, you look great.” I shuddered at my own words, did I usually sound this stupid? I never have this lack of confidence, what was going on with me?

“Jasmine, this is my friend Kai.” Leo turned to a beautiful girl sitting beside him. She had her hair fixed behind a vintage bandana and wore large and thick gold hoop earrings. “Kai, this is Jasmine. Her parents usually live with her, but she’s had a free house since last Tuesday. She studies philosophy as well with me at UCL.”

“Nice one! I’m Kai,” I extended my hand to her, suddenly overly aware of my accent.

“So great to meet you, Kai. Leo’s been mentioning how he has another friend in London. What are you doing here?” Jasmine revealed a thick London accent, or what I presumed to be one.

I was puzzled as to why she did not know what I was doing in London, but I responded quickly, “I play with Chelsea Football Club. Sort of recently moved to London, it’s been about three weeks so far.”

“You’re fucking with me!” Jasmine threw her head back in laughter.

“No, no. He’s actually totally serious.” Leo replied coldly.

“Oh no way! That’s wicked, man. I don’t think I ever met anyone on my sixth form’s football team, let alone Chelsea. I don’t give a fuck about football, but I hope your team does well now.” Jasmine cackled some more and Leo cracked open a beer quietly. “I actually don’t think you’re gonna meet anyone at this party who cares about football.”

Leo looked around and tensed his face awkwardly.

I smiled and retorted, “I think that’s a good thing!”

Jasmine darted up from her seat to reconnect with a girl who had arrived apparently called “Therese.” And suddenly Leo and I were momentarily alone. After an awkward silence between us Leo pressed me about my life. I asked him about his, and we spoke on and off about our past life back in Germany.

For the next thirty minutes, Leo continued to introduce me to a staggering amount of substance-abusing artists, unemployed twenty-two year olds, or trust-funded humanities students. Thinking quickly, I introduced myself as another philosophy student from Germany. I didn’t want to repeat the same conversation I had with Jasmine again. Although they questioned why I couldn’t have a bump of ket or a hit off a joint. After pretending to be someone I was not, I felt nervous. My palms were sweaty and my shirt felt tight. I wondered whether I actually passed off as someone from this corner of society, or if I looked like an outsider.

“Leo,” I turned to my only friend at this party. “I think I should go before someone takes a picture of this and sends this to my manager. I shouldn’t be at a party with anything illegal.”

“Kai, if someone takes a picture of you at this party and does something like that they’d never be invited to anything ever again.” Leo explained, “This is a very moral group of people. They’ve certainly had more than enough time to think about their values.” Leo responded with a quick joke. “Just let loose. Tonight might be your last night of this kind of freedom.”

So I ran across the street with a mask on in an anonymous pursuit of a Best-One and bought as many beers as I possibly could, deciding to get rip-roaring drunk. Something I had not really experienced properly in my life before that night. I returned to hide my beers in a bookshelf upstairs, downed three beers in a row with Leo, and talked to as many people as possible claiming I was this philosophy student of German philosophers. When they tried to talk to me about philosophy I just bullshitted my way through the conversation and we all laughed together. They were too high, I was too drunk. Nothing mattered. None of us were on the same page anyway. The alcohol hit me like a bullet train and I laughed and laughed at the fact that I was finally wasted. Everything felt like a dream.

In my drunken stupor I could hardly recognize the couch from the floor, although I delicately found the last available place on a couch in the upstairs hallway of the flat. I don’t remember properly reflecting on why there was a couch in a hallway, there just was and I accepted that. Upstairs, the music was slightly softer, and it sounded like it was made years ago and was playing out of an old stereo. Although the upstairs music was struggling to make itself heard over the louder computer-made music coming from downstairs. Deep in my philosophical contemplation over the music, I forgot how my legs and depth perception worked, and I stumbled onto the couch, nearly spilling over my beer onto a girl on my way down.

“Entschuldig-” I began in German, quickly correcting myself and forgetting how to speak English under the influence, “ah, fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Short dark brown hair, a fading tan, big brown eyes with heavy eye makeup, and slightly crooked teeth turned to me at once declaring back in German, “You’re very drunk.” She locked eyes with me deeply. She was direct. Holy shit. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Wow, you speak German as well?” I held her gaze for moments more before feeling something too intense. “I mean,” I stuttered, “I’m Kai. I just moved here a few weeks back.”

“I’m Katrin.” She smiled wide and took a long sip of her drink. “Of course I speak German.”

“Of course you speak German? Not every random stranger speaks German.” I teased, leaning my head back against the wall to stop the room from spinning out of control.

“I’m not every random stranger.” She smacked her lips and leaned back. She had a low, husky voice. A voice that had clearly been weathered by smoking and yelling. Even if her lifestyle choices were made apparent through her voice there was something about this woman that was puzzling me in a wonderful way. She had long intense stares and big brown eyes that powered them. She spoke sharply and lit a joint. I drunkenly inhaled her smoke. “I think I recognize your face. I think you play for Chelsea.”

Something inside me broke. I freaked out that she had some kind of power over me, as if she was threatening to blow my cover. She stared deeply at me as my lips fumbled to create a response. I raised my eyebrows in shock. Slowly I slurred a response. “Do you watch football?”

“Not if I don’t have to.” Katrin laughed, she quickly changed expression and replied. “Sorry, I don’t mean to insult.”

“Nah, I’m not insulted. I think the majority of the world would agree with me that it’s a sport worth watching.” I retorted fast, feeling my breath hot in my throat suddenly. In the other room I could hear some large bouts of laughter and the music changing at irregular intervals. Someone must have been skipping through songs.

“Let’s just say you win that argument then.” She cooed. “But I must tell you...I’m only lying.” She giggled, “I didn’t even know what Chelsea was until my friend, Jasmine, told me about an hour ago that another German was here. She told me that you play football here or something. And then she was like, ‘no one's gonna recognize him here’ and I was like, ‘as I German maybe I will, is he famous?’ So we googled you and we were like what the fuck. This dude is famous as shit.”

“Clearly not that famous.” I gestured around the room to the slew of preoccupied people, but quickly returned my gaze back to Katrin. I was utterly transfixed. Each word out of her mouth weighed heavy on my mind. Was she telling the truth? What was her story? She was a challenging conversation, making me nervous for no reason, “We don’t have to talk about that football shit. We don’t even have to talk in German.” I paused and burped. The room was spinning. I felt myself losing control of my reserve. “Sorry I’m quite drunk.”

“You’re not the only one.” She smiled and lifted up her small bottle of cheap vodka.

“I...I don’t usually drink. I’m not really allowed.”

“Not allowed?” Katrin raised her eyebrows. “Says who?”

“It’s part of my job. I’m not supposed to be rebellious, I’m supposed to be a role model.” I added nervously.

“You’d be a much better role model if you broke some rules.” She poured a large amount of vodka into her cup before mixing it with a little bit of soda. “Fuck, you’d be my role model.”

“You’re a rule breaker? That’s not very German of you.” I took a long swig of my beer after I spoke. She stayed silent so I spoke quickly, “Why are you in London anyway?”

She put her hands in between her face and wiped her hair back, composing herself. “I was forced to move here from Bavaria when I was twelve. My dad got a job in London and the whole family moved except my older brother who seems to get out of everything. Forced to learn English when I was thirteen, forced to go to university, make my parents proud. Then I dropped out. It wasn’t for me. Now I’m what you call a ‘soundcloud musician.’” She explained, “And I’m also what you’d call a lifeguard for a leisure centre near me.”

“That’s a lot to unpack.” I let out a loud laugh.

Katrin did not respond right away to me and this freaked me out. I wondered if I said the wrong thing, maybe I should have responded with some compassion and sympathy. Surely she was looking for a more in depth conversation, something which she might find with the intellectual class around us, I was just merely a guy she struck up conversation with because he almost spilled cold beer all over her. Where did I put the rest of my beers, anyway?

Before my thoughts spiralled off any further, she spoke again. “You have the most unusual face I’ve ever seen.” She touched my cheek with the tips of her fingers and my skin burned. As she moved her fingers across my face, her eyes flared and her pupils dilated. “Like you weren’t born on this planet.”

Her words sent shivers down my whole body and penetrated deep into my soul. Why was she touching me? What did she mean by any of this? Do I look ugly to her? I felt awkward by her comments, so I laughed nervously and asked suddenly, “What kind of music do you make?”

Before she could reply, the song had changed to something I couldn’t quite hear and she shouted out, “You fuckers! Turn this shit off!” She turned to me, grabbed two beer cans in her hands, dangling the joint in between her fingers, and did a dance, “I’m sorry, Kai, I’ve got to go make these idiots turn off my music before everyone with a brain leaves this party... But come to my show on Friday and you can see what kinda music I make.”

“Where is it?”

“Islington Assembly Hall. 7pm.” She leaned over, and I watched her lips grow closer to mine before she stopped, and whispered, “I wish I could stay longer and talk. I haven’t met anyone this captivating to me in a while… You’re a troubled soul and I can sense that. And God do I wanna fuck you.”

Her words had floored me so much I could hardly reply, but I mustered, “Unfortunately I am already spoken for.”

“That’s a shame. I think we were in love in a past life.” She winked, pulled back her intoxicating scent, walked off with a spring in her step before shouting back, “See you Friday!”

As she left I felt time moving more slowly for the first time in my life. I felt a sense of impending doom, while simultaneously feeling an inexplicably intense ecstasy. I knew from the moment I met her, Katrin was a ticking time bomb. For the rest of the night I stayed on the couch in the upstairs hallway at a party in a forgotten corner of London, completely transfixed.

#kai havertz #kai havertz fanfiction #german nt #euro 2020 #euros #chelsea #chelsea fanfiction #fanfiction

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kricketwritesstories · 4 years

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Title: Pack Your Bags Cause We’re Getting Married

Fandom: Avengers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Characters: Bucky, Reader, Steve, Natasha, Sam, and Tony

Summary: Bucky finally gets up the courage to confess his love for the Reader...but she's already engaged?

Bucky felt positively giddy as he left his apartment this morning. After a long bro to bro talk with Steve that lasted until the wee hours of the morning, it was decided.

Today was the day he asked Y/N to be his girlfriend.

From the moment they met, Bucky knew she was the one. It was like he was compelled to tell her everything; he couldn't help but open up to her. Her smile lit up his world and her laugh made his heart soar. For the past six months he'd been trying to get the courage to ask her to be his. Every single time he'd try his mouth would go dry, his hands would sweat, and he ended up asking her, "How about that local sports team?"

He'd done this so many times that Y/N had taken to answering him, "I hear they eat their young."

Rubbing the back of his neck and blushing furiously at his cowardice, she would laugh and so would he because dammit that laughter was infectious!

He took a deep breath as he approached her door. It took him by surprise to find the door open. Stealthily he positioned himself in the doorway. Y/N was sprawled out on her bed curled on her side facing the door. She took no notice of Bucky's presence because her eyes were focused on her phone. Her face was tinged pink and she was grinning like an idiot. Bucky sighed and leaned in the doorway watching her. It was a dreamlike moment until he heard a Scottish voice on the other end of the phone proclaim, "Pack your bags, cause we're getting married!"

Y/N squealed and rolled on to her back, her eyes never leaving her phone. Bucky felt his heart shatter into a billion pieces.

"If he doesn't think you're the right size because your thighs touch or your curves aren't in the 'right places' fuck that! You're a champion! You're amazing the way you are, and remember size doesn't matter if 90% of your dick is your personality," he continued.

Bucky couldn't stand to hear anymore. He stumbled down the hallway towards the elevator. When he reached the common living room he threw himself on the couch and turned on the TV, Sam, Steve, and Nat stopped talking.

"Buck," Steve said carefully, "how -"

"CAN'T A GUY WATCH," he paused and took a good look at the TV, "JAKE AND THE NEVERLAND PIRATES IN PEACE?!"

"Shit," he thought to himself, "of course it's still on the channel we had on last night while we babysat Clint's kids."

He stared at the TV as he thought back to the night before. For some reason, outside of Nat, Clint's kids loved having Y/N and Bucky babysit them. He let Lila braid his hair while Y/N played pirates Cooper. The ended the night all piled on the couch watching Disney Junior. His heart ached remembering the sight of baby Nathaniel cradled in Y/N's arms. He dared himself to imagine briefly that this was their family, and now all those hopes were obliterated.

Sam leaned over and whispered to his fellow Avengers, "Is Snow Miser seriously watching Disney Junior?"

"Maybe he really doesn't like Captain Hook, that sneaky snook," Natasha joked.

"Something must've went wrong when he tried to," Steve started to muse before he realized he was talking out loud.

His face went beat red and he prayed the other two didn't hear him. Well, his prayers weren't heard but his words sure were.

"Oh my God, did he try and ask Y/N out again," Nat said hopefully.

"Please, I'm pretty sure his balls froze off from all the years in cryo - he's been trying for months and he just can't do it," Sam mocked.

"Come on guys, cut him some slack," Steve pleaded.

"Steve. He's a grown ass man watching Jake and the Neverland Pirates intensely - like he's going to miss a plot point," Sam pointed out.

"Good afternoon everyone," Y/N greeted cheerfully.

"Good woah," Sam stuttered.

Typically Y/N wore oversized fandom t-shirts with zip-up hoodies, ripped up jeans, and a pair of beat up converse. Everyone knew she had confidence issues when it came to her body. It didn't matter that everyone called her 'cute' and 'adorable,' she wanted to be sexy and she didn't think she could be with the body she had.

Today, her confidence was through the roof. She wore a maroon off the shoulder lace top that hugged her curves, a black skater skirt, and open toed heals. Her make up, while usually natural, was done a touch more dramatic. Her E/C eyes were practically glittering with happiness.

Bucky refused to look from the TV, even despite Sam's reaction. He could feel bitterness tighten in his chest.

"Well, well, well," Nat said impressed, "what's the occasion Y/N?"

"Didn't she tell you," Bucky said bitterly unable to control the words that spewed from his mouth, "she's engaged."

Steve spit out the coffee he was drinking, drenching Sam in the process.

"Nice," Sam said curtly as he stood up to go clean himself off.

"I didn't think you were even seeing anyone," Natasha said as she looked cautiously between Bucky and Y/N.

Before Y/N could answer Bucky, still staring at the TV, started ranting, "Oh well it's because it's some Scottish guy she's seeing on her phone with that head seeing thing."

He was silent for just a few moments, but Y/N just couldn't get her words out she was so taken aback.

"Also I'll have you know," he shouted causing everyone to freeze, "that I've always thought your curves are sexy and beautiful. I've never thought they weren't in the right places. Your body, your face, your personality - it's all perfect to me."

Y/N couldn't will herself to breathe let alone move a muscle. Even Sam was stock still with paper towels bunched in his hands, he still hadn't made a move to clean the coffee off of himself.

"And another thing," Bucky shouted louder, his voice cracking, "I'll have you know that my dick is huge - and none of it has to do with my personality - and that it was that size even BEFORE the super soldier serum!"

"What fresh hell," Tony said confused as he walked into the awkward scene, "why is Terminator talking about his gun size?"

"James," Y/N said with a cautious yet amused tone, "were you at my door this morning?"

"I may have been walking by," Bucky admitted grumpily.

"So you heard Daniel -," Y/N started.

"What kind of fucking punk ass name is Daniel," he snapped, voice dripping with jealousy.

"Who the hell is Daniel," Tony said confused.

"Y/N's Scottish fiancé," Bucky spat bitterly.

"Daniel Euan Henderson," Y/N said in a strained voice.

"Y/N Henderson, huh," he said curtly, "well I hope you two are very happy together. I'm sure we'll miss you on the team."

"Y/N's leaving the team," Tony questioned in horror.

"- is a YouTuber," Y/N attempted once again to continue.

"Wow...what an exciting job," Bucky taunted, "someone who films themselves talking about shit is so much better than one of earth's mightiest heroes."

"Y/N is marrying a YouTuber," Tony asked as his confusion kept climbing.

"- who films himself talking to girls," Y/N tried yet again.

"Hmm he sounds real faithful there, good pick," Bucky said stubbornly while his eyes were still glued to Jake.

"- to help encourage them about their body image," Y/N explained as she finally was able to move herself forward.

"Well clearly it's working for you, sweet cheeks," Tony noted winking as he took in Y/N's appearance.

"I've been watching him for months now," Y/N continued ignoring Tony's comment.

"Oh wow," Bucky said hurt, "you've been seeing him for months?"

"Watching," Y/N corrected, "to try and boost my confidence -"

"Well he proposed so I guess it worked," Bucky said sadly.

"So Y/N is getting married," Tony asked.

"OH MY GOD I AM NOT ENGAGED! I AM NOT SEEING ANYONE! I'VE BEEN WATCHING HIS VIDEOS TO GAIN CONFIDENCE SO I CAN DO THIS," Y/N screamed exasperated.

She stalked over to the TV, turned it off, and faced James Buchanan Barnes. The moment he finally looked at her, he couldn't breathe. All jealousy and animosity flew from his mind and all he could think was how exceptionally beautiful Y/N was.

Steeling her nerves Y/N walked over to the couch. In one swift movement, before she lost her nerve, Y/N straddled Bucky's lap, placed her hands on his face, and kissed him for all he was worth.

Bucky's hands flew, one to hold the back of her neck and one to hold her waist, as he kissed Y/N back with abandon.

Y/N pulled back panting, and leaned her forehead against his. "So," she breathed, "how about that local sports team?"

Bucky's smile threatened to take over his whole face it was so big. "I hear they eat their young," he responded before kissing her again.

Natasha, Steve, and a still coffee soaked Sam all sighed dreamily as they watched the scene play out.

"What sports team eats their young and why do they have young in the first place," Tony cried out in horror, breaking the silence.

Bucky and Y/N broke their kiss because they couldn't stop laughing. They fell sideways onto the couch, still holding onto one another.

"To be clear," Y/N said seriously, "you're mine now, and I'm yours."

Bucky's eyes darkened at her words. "Also to be clear, I meant everything I said earlier," he said huskily as he glanced downward.

Y/N blushed furiously and buried her head in his neck to whisper, "I can't wait to find out myself."

In a split second, Bucky was on his feet and he threw Y/N over his shoulder. She squealed in delight as he carried her out of the room.

"You may want to invest in some noise cancelling headphones, Stevie," Bucky called back to his best friend and fellow floor mate.

Steve groaned, but couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. "Well at least my ship has sailed," he sighed.

Sam gasped, "Look at you grandpa, using that young people lingo like a boss!"

"What the actual fuck just happened," Tony shouted as his eyes went wide and his hands shot out as if he was trying to keep his balance.

Nat walked over to him and patted his head sympathetically and promised, "I'll tell you when you're older."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #reader insert #mutual pining #love confessions #jealous bucky #confused tony #misunderstanding #steve is a good bro

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thenicenamesaretaken · 4 years

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I’d Rather Hurt than let you Down

Written as a fill for the Non-Con Touching square on my @badthingshappenbingo card. It’s an expanded version of a 100 word drabble I wrote based on the prompt ‘Treat.’

Fandom: Prodigal Son

Characters: Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo, OMC

Tags: non-consensual touching, threats of rape, threats of violence, non-con drug use, Malcolm being and idiot

Rating: Mature

Square: Non-Consensual Touching

Find on AO3 here.

Malcolm isn’t used to waiting in lines at clubs.

For one thing, he rarely goes clubbing, it’s really not his scene. For another, when he does go out, the bouncers usually take one look at his Armani suit and handful of cash and let him right in.

But this is for a case, and tonight he’s not Malcolm Bright. He’s just Mal, a punk kid looking to blow off some steam and mix it up with the wrong crowd, and maybe get into some trouble.

It’s what their suspect looks for. Pretty, vulnerable young men who they can drug, drag home, abuse, and rape. He’s sadistic and insatiable; three victims last weekend, another victim the night before. And Malcolm’s hoping to become his next target.

It may not be the best idea he’s ever had—catching a predatory rapist by offering himself up as prey. But he’d rather be the next potential victim than some unsuspecting college kid.

It takes 20 minutes for him to get inside. He’s on his phone while he waits, like nearly everyone else in line, keeping Gil updated.

Gil was not happy with the plan, at all. There is a lot of potential for it to go wrong, Malcolm will admit. But he’d rather it go wrong and still catch the guy than to not try at all and let him go free for another weekend. Gil had insisted he wear an actual tracker and not just use his phone, in case he lost it. The tracker is tucked into the waistband of his boxer briefs. By the time those start coming off, it will be past time for the team to arrive, so there’s no reason to think they won’t be able to find him wherever he ends up later in the evening.

He shoots off one final text as he nears the front of the line, shoving his phone in his pocket and pulling out his wallet to get his ID ready and cash for the cover charge. Then, he’s inside.

He’d made an educated guess on which club their suspect would most likely start his evening at, based on his patterns from the previous weekend. He’d made a lot of educated guesses for this one, but he was confident in all of them.

He goes straight to the bar and orders a drink. He finishes it quickly and orders another, then heads to the dance floor. For this to work he needs to put himself out there, draw attention to himself and what kind of a good time he’s looking for. He dances for a while, finishes his second drink, and heads back to the bar.

Once he manages to find a place to stand, Malcolm leans against the bar, tight pants showing off his ass, his shirt a size too small and just short enough to show off a strip of skin when he moves. He knows how he looks—ridiculous, to be honest, but good. He’s fit, the jeans make his ass look great. He’s begging for attention in any and every way he can. And he fits right in.

A man sidles up to him, gives him an obvious once over and smirks. “Hey, hottie, how bout another drink? My treat.”

Malcolm smiles back, looking up at him from underneath his eyelashes, coy and tempting. The man matches the description of their suspect, and Malcolm turns up the charm.

“That’d be great,” he says, looking the man over once himself, pausing dramatically when his eyes settle on his crotch. There’s not much to see there, but his look is suggestive when he meets the man’s eyes once more anyways.

The man hands him another drink, and Malcolm has no doubt that it’s drugged. “And who do I have to thank for the free booze?” he asks.

“You can call me Stephen, sweetheart. And what do I call you?”

“Mal,” he answers with a sweet smile.

“Cheers, Mal,” the man—definitely not a Stephen—says before taking a sip of his own drink.

Malcolm smiles even wider, clinks his glass against Stephen’s and drinks eagerly, hoping desperately that the team has his back.

It doesn’t take long for Stephen to get handsy, to start whispering filth into Malcolm’s ear. Malcolm hasn’t even finished the drink yet when he steps into his personal space and rests a hand on his hip, fingers slipping up underneath his shirt to run against his bare skin.

“You’re real pretty, baby. Can’t wait to take you home, see what you’re hiding underneath these clothes. Not that you’re hiding much, little slut. Shaking your ass in those jeans.”

A shiver runs through Malcolm at the touch and the whisper of breath on the shell of his ear, but he pushes down on the fear that’s building in his chest as he starts to recognize the effects of the drug.

He steps back out of Stephen’s reach, mumbling what he hopes is a ‘no,’ and runs into someone behind him. It’s disorienting; he turns to apologize but the quick movement makes his head spin and he sways, grabbing hold of the bar to steady himself as his vision begins to swim. His mind screams at him to fight the drug’s effects, but he ignores that, too, lets the wave of dizziness wash over him, submitting to the mindless euphoria that begins to set in.

Stephen slings an arm over his shoulder and pulls him in to lean against him. He’s saying something—an apology or an excuse, Malcolm can’t quite tell. He loses track of time, of himself, but he tries to say no, to push away from Stephen’s hold, at least he thinks he does. He has to make sure Stephen knows he doesn’t want this. He regains a measure of awareness when he realizes Stephen is walking him towards the exit, and real terror starts to overtake him, then. He tries to step away, to duck out from under Stephen’s arm, but the motion nearly sends him sprawling to the ground.

Stephen just laughs it off. Through blurred vision, Malcolm can see a few concerned faces watching as Stephen grabs him by the bicep and holds him upright once more. He wraps his hand around Malcolm’s hip this time, possessive and smooth, like he’s done it a hundred times. Malcolm tries to push him off, but then he’s leaning against Stephen and the world doesn’t feel like it's spinning anymore. Despite his best intentions, he finds himself settling against the solid mass of the other man’s body, letting Stephen support him as they walk out into the parking lot.

It’s a blur from there. Stephen puts him in the back of a car, follows in after him. Malcolm can feel his heart rate increasing as they pull away from the club, as Stephen starts to run his hands along his thighs and chest. He leans in for a kiss, and it’s controlling, almost vicious. He pinches Malcolm’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and grips tightly, forcing his head where he wants it to go.

Malcolm is dimly aware of everything that’s happening to him, but at the same time, he’s detached and unable to react in any way. Stephen slides a hand along his lower belly, dipping his fingers into his waistband, slipping just low enough that Malcolm's cock begins to twitch in interest and he moans softly, not in pleasure but in fear, though it sounds the same.

"I knew you'd be into this, whore," Stephen says with a dark chuckle, running his fingers back and forth across his skin.

“‘M not, ge’off,” Malcolm mumbles incoherently.

He tries to move away from Stephen’s touch but it only makes things worse as his uncoordinated shifting brings the other man’ hand closer to where he's growing steadily harder in his pants.

"Hey, save it for when you get home," the driver yells from the front seat.

Malcolm moans again, shaking his head, but Stephen pulls him into another kiss, cutting off his protests.

They arrive at their destination and Stephen pulls him out of the car, leaves him leaning against the side as he ducks back in to tip their driver. Malcolm pushes himself up weakly, tries to walk away, though he has no idea where he is or where he's trying to go. Just… away. Away from Stephen and his wandering hands and what's coming next.

The details are fuzzy, but somewhere in the back of his mind there's a strong impression that Stephen is going to hurt him. He can't remember how or why… and he knows that help is coming, but he's still afraid of what could happen before they arrive.

He stumbles, nearly falling as soon as he’s away from the support the car provides. Stephen is there in an instant, hauling him up roughly and pulling him along till they reach a door. He pushes him up against the wall next to it, holding him in place with a hand fisted in his collar. The door swings open and Stephen pushes him inside then slams him back against the door once it’s closed, hard enough that Malcolm sees stars when the back of his skull thuds against the solid wood.

Stephen grinds up against, slotting his legs between Malcolm’s, and Malcolm can feel that he’s hard where he’s rubbing against his upper thigh. Stephen kisses him roughly, forcing his tongue inside his mouth, biting down hard on his lower lip. He kisses and nips his way down the column of Malcolm’s throat then sinks his teeth viciously into the muscle of his shoulder. Malcolm cries out, his whole body tensing as the pain shoots through him. He pushes weakly against Stephen’s shoulders, pulls at his hair with one hand to dislodge him, but it only makes the man angry.

He steps back and slaps Malcolm hard across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor with a cry of pain. Stephen squats down beside him and looks him over with a leer.

“You’re really into this, aren’t you, pretty boy?” he sneers, pressing against Malcolm’s crotch where his cock is hard and straining against the tight pants.

He can’t help it, the light teasing touches from when they’d been in the car combined with the friction from when Stephen had been rubbing against him at the door had felt good, and his physical body and his logical mind are not communicating well at the moment. Malcolm groans when Stephen increases the pressure and cups him through his pants.

“Can’t wait to get these clothes off of you and really have some fun. Gonna mark you up real good, make you even more pretty for me before I fuck you. Can’t wait to get my hands on that ass of yours. You look so good in those jeans.”

Malcolm shifts, trying to roll away from Stephen’s touch, from his gaze but the other man stops him easily.

“Let’s get a better look, shall we?” he continues, deftly undoing Malcolm’s button and fly and shoving his hand down his pants, inside his underwear. He squeezes Malcolm hard, drawing another cry of pain from Malcolm. His pain only increases Stephen’s pleasure, his eyes sparking with a sick glee as he jerks Malcolm roughly and presses his thumbnail against his sensitive head. “Ah, fuck baby. You’re so hard for me, aren’t you? You sound so good. I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Finally, Stephen releases him and stands once more. He bends down and grabs a fistful of Malcolm’s hair, pulling him roughly to his knees, drawing more pained little noises from Malcolm’s lips.

“Time to put that pretty mouth of yours to work,” Stephen murmurs, freeing his own cock from his pants and positioning himself in front of Malcolm.

“Fuck you,” Malcolm somehow manages to spit out, meeting Stephen’s eyes defiantly from where he’s kneeling in front of the man.

The blow comes faster than Malcolm can track, another slap sending him to the floor once more and splitting his lip open. In an instant Stephen has a hand in his hair once more, pulling him up and holding him in place as he rubs the head of his cock against Malcolm’s lips, smearing the blood from his split lip across his mouth.

“Reds a good color on you. Knew it would be. Now listen carefully, Mal. You're going to suck me off like the good little slut you are. If you bite, or try to fight it, I’m going to beat you to death and fuck you as you die. Understand?” Stephen says, his voice deadly serious.

Malcolm nods, terror coursing through him, causing him to shake. Stephen tilts his head back, presses the head of his cock against Malcolm’s lips once more.

And the door slams open, his team rushes in, screaming at Stephen to put his hands up and step away. Stephen complies, already insisting that what they’re doing is consensual, but no one is listening to him. The sudden flurry of commotion and the heady rush of relief at their arrival makes Malcolm’s head spin and he tips, nearly falling over and just barely managing to catch himself with one hand. He shuts his eyes tight, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass.

“Bright? Hey, kid, you with us?” someone asks and Malcolm opens his eyes to see Gil’s worried face in front of his own. He has to blink several times to be able to focus properly on him, but he does manage to nod.

“I’m okay. I’m alright,” he mutters.

Gil brushes his thumb against Malcolm’s cheek and along his lip where the marks from Stephen’s blows are surely evident.

“Just a smack,” Malcolm mumbles. “I’m okay.”

Gil helps him to his feet slowly, gently, looking him over for any other signs of injury, his expression twisting into a look of disgust and fury when he sees that Malcolm’s pants are undone. Malcolm fumbles with the fly and it’s so much harder than it should be but he gets them done up again.

“Malcolm,” Gil starts, but then Malcolm is pitching forward and Gil catches him, holding him upright.

“Just tired. Wanna go home,” Malcolm begs.

Gil sighs, rubbing his shoulder gently, tenderly. “Not quite yet, kid. CSU needs to take some pictures and draw some blood. I’ll drive you home as soon as they’re done, okay, City Boy?”

Malcolm nods sleepily, leaning into Gil’s gentle embrace.

“Did we get him?” he asks a moment later. “Did I do good?”

“Yeah, kid. You did great. You did great,” Gil assures him, rubbing his back with soft, gentle hands and holding him tight.

Malcolm lets his eyes slip close, a small smile turning the corners of his lips up as he sinks into the safety of Gil’s arms.

He knew his team would have his back. They always do.

#prodigal son #bad things happen bingo #tw: noncon #malcolm bright #gil arroyo

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stories-sometimes · 5 years

Text

Skinny

Pre-Serum Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: Skinny Steve is in love with one of his best friends, although it seems like so is everybody else

Word Count: 2603

Masterlist

~~~

I sat at the bar, keeping to myself, instead watching my two best friends dazzling everyone in the dance hall. They were naturals, irresistible to any person who stumbles across them. Both are completely in their element, Bucky simply says a few smooth words and offers a dance and the girl’s his for the night, she’d flash her a smile and all the guys would be enthralled. And I was one of those many men. My eyes are drawn to her every move, every laugh she lets out, every step she takes around the hall.

“Come on Stevie.” I feel a sudden clap on my back, snapping me out of my trance. I spin around to see Bucky with some adoring blonde attached to his arm. “Loosen up, find a partner.” He suggests, as if that’s something I could do as smoothly as he can.

“It’s not that easy for me Buck, I’m hardly what most dames want.” He rolls his eyes at my response.

“Maybe if you actually put yourself out there you could find someone.” He follows my gaze, still stuck on her. “You know if you ask her to dance she’d probably say yes.”

“She can have any guys there’s no way she’d settle for me.”

“Fine.” He mutters under his breath, “have it your way.” He turns away from me, letting his date drag him out to dance. I ignore his comments, residing to just staring and hoping she’ll come over. Somehow my mental messages work and she makes her way over to me, leaving the guy she was with yearning for a second more attention from her.

“Bored of dancing.” I say to her as she slips onto the bar stool next to mine.

“Can’t seem to find the right partner.” She replies, showing me her signature smile.

“Well I’m sure that guy disappointed at that fact.”

“He was getting too handsy, he thought I wanted more than just a dance.” She says, her face showing her clear disdain for that man. I scowl at the man when I notice him looking over at her again. “What about you, found a date for tonight?”

“Nah, leaving the flirting to Bucky.”

“Good idea. But does that mean you wouldn’t accept a dance from anyone.” She says, a cheeky smile covering her face, it’s clear what she is suggesting.

“Well, I don’t know, maybe, depends-” I stutter out, cheeks quickly turning red.

“You’re useless at this.” She lets out a sweet laugh, offering her hand out for me. I accept it immediately, letting her lead me to the other dancing bodies.

“I’m sorry if I step on your toes, I’ve got two left feet when it comes to dancing.” She laughs at me.

“I’m sure you’ll be just swell at it.” I probably look ridiculous, my inexperienced dancing against her elegant, effortless moves. I’m only just the same height as her, a change of appearance from her usual, more manly, conventionally attractive dance partners. Still, she seems to be happy right now, even if she is only doing this to make me feel better. Some sad pity dance.

I’d known her all my life, we grew up living next door to each other. She was one of the few who had talked to my when I was a young, sickly kid. Her and Bucky had always looked out for me, saving me from the bullies no matter how many fights I got in. He’d pull me out, she’d clean me up. She was good at that, taking care of me. I always remember her being independent, a strong woman from day one. She was raised by her dad, although he was hardly a parent. He worked in a factory during the day and rotted away with a bottle at night, she solely took care of him, herself and everyone else she loves.

As we grew up, more and more guys found interest in her, and how could they not. She was a thing of beauty both inside and out. Even a brief glance in her direction has any sane man’s mind turn to mush. And she picks me to dance with.

“How’d enlistment go?” She asks. My face suddenly turns sour.

“I’m not healthy enough.” I grimace, glancing down at the floor, ashamed of my physique. “Bucky got in though.” She looks at me sympathetically.

“There’s still ways to help the war effort.” I shrug. “Hey,” she says, placing her hand on my cheek, forcing me to look at her, “trust me, you’ll find a way. I know you, you’re not gonna stop until you find the best way you can fight this war.” I smile briefly, imagining that I could do something meaningful to win against the Nazis. The night soon was over. We walked home together, going our separate ways as we reach our respective apartments.

The next morning me and Bucky sat in a booth at the diner she works at.

“Hey doll, think you could get us some food.” Bucky shouts across the room to her.

“Or you could wait until I’m done serving these people.” She shouts back, ignoring us while for as long as she could, focusing on other customers. Eventually she had to come over to us.

“Took you long enough.” Bucky teases.

“There’s other customers Buck.”

“Why do I get the feeling you avoid us here?”

“Maybe I do.” She smiled playfully at him.

“Why are we even friends?” He mumbles grumpily.

“I question that every time I see you Bucky.” He looks up, pretending to be offended. I let out a loud laugh at the interaction, managing to get her attention. “I had a good time last night Steve, we should do it again some time.” I nod rapidly in response, unable to form words. “You want the usual?” She asks us, we both nod. As soon as her back is turned to get our food I see a cocky grin covering Bucky’s face.

“Told you she’s say yes.”

“Yeah you were right, no need to be smug about it.” I reply, trying to avoid the look on his face, staring at anything but him.

“Maybe you should listen to me more often punk.” He says, lightly kicking my leg to get my attention back. Our food finally arrives, Bucky quickly wolfing it down before leaving for work. I remain in my seat for a bit longer, opting to sit and sketch the diner, studying the other patrons and her working. Out of the corner of my eye I see the man she was dancing with last night walk into the building. His eyes instantly found her, a creepy smile growing over his face. When she went to serve him he tries to keep her there for as long as he can. Despite his attempts, it was clear she wants to leave that table. I keep my eyes fixed on them, worrying for what he might try. As she goes to leave he grabs onto her wrist, pulling her back in, not letting go when she starts to try to shrug him off. Once that happened I close my sketchbook, making my way over to them.

“Hey, let go of her.” I say firmly.

“What’s it to you short stack?” He stands up, tightening his grip on her.

“Steve leave it, I can handle this.” She says, eyes warning me. “Sir you need to let go and leave the premises.” She addresses the man. We now have the attention of the rest of the diner. The man, not wanting the cause more of a scene, finally let go of her.

“Fine I’ll leave.” He says, backing off and raising his hands in surrender. He began to storm off, slapping her ass as he passes her. She gasps, stepping back from him as he walks away all too proud of himself.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you any respect.” I begin to step up to him before she pushes her hand on my chest to stop me.

“He’s not worth it.” She whispers.

“You wanna go!” He shouts at me.

“Sir, I need you to leave before I call the cops.” She repeats to him. He turns, actually leaving, avoiding the angry stares and mutters from the other customers. “Don’t worry about Steve, just go sit back down.”

“But he-”

“It’s fine, I get stuff like this all the time.” She guides me back to my seat before I can protest.

“What!” I glare, how dare people treat her that way. I feel a protective fire fuel inside of me. “Why haven’t you ever said anything?”

“Because I knew you’d get like that. I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“You haven’t even told Buck.” I exclaim.

“I can deal with it myself Steve.” She says more firmly this time. “Just sit down, finish your food.” With that she leaves to continue her work. I sit, mixed feelings flowing through my head. On one hand I want to protect her but I knew she hated to feel like a damsel in distress. She could look after herself, she was firm in that belief and didn’t want anyone taking that away from her. I stared at her back, she’s busy serving another table. I desperately want to prevent anything like that happening, to be the person who could stop people like that; to be the person who stops the bullies of the world.

I stay at the diner for longer than I had to, continuing my sketches. Eventually I leave, with my drawing done and without her talking to me I had no reason to justify my stay. As I walk past the alleyway behind the diner, I hear someone shout.

“Hey you!” I turn around to see the guy earlier kicked out. “Think you could just embarrass me in there and get away with it.”

“I think you embarrassed yourself on your own.” I reply, standing my ground.

“What the hell that’s supposed to mean?” He says, shoving me into the wall of the alley.

“I just don’t think it’s right to harass women who obviously aren’t interested.”

“The girl was interested, just needed some encouragement.” He laughs smugly. I launch a punch into his face, enraged by his words, actions and mindset. It was weak, but still enough to piss him off.

“You want it to be like that!” He shouts, firing back with his own punch, sending my head into the wall behind me. This makes me dizzy enough for him to easily push me to the ground. Despite the pain I get back up, putting my hands up ready to try fight back and defend myself. He hits me back down almost immediately, and once again I get back up. “Why won’t just quit! Stay down!” He screams angrily at me, kicking my feet out, knocking me down.

“I’ll always stand up to people like you.” I say, just managing to drag myself up.

“How long are you gonna keep this up?” He growls, punching my nose. I grunt as I hear a small crack.

“I can do this all day.” I say strongly. This repeats, each time he hits me down I somehow get back up. He finally gives up, not before pushing me down into the garbage cans of the diner. I groan out as he leaves, feeling blood trickle down my face from the nose and where my forehead hit the floor. I lay slumped over the garbage bags, letting myself recover a bit before I would attempt to drag myself home and forget about the experience. It wasn’t long before I heard the backdoor of the diner open. I turn to see her stood there, a sharp gasp leaving her lips.

“Hey, you’re shift over?” I say the only thing I could think of in this moment. She nods absentmindedly, her mind anywhere but her work. Distress was covering her face as she rushes over to help me.

“Steve, I told you to stay out of this.” She says, gently resting her hand on my cheek, checking over my injuries.

“He started it.” I mutter under my breath. She glares at me. “He caught me when I was walking home.” I admit. She sighs, carefully pulling my arm over her shoulders, lifting me up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” She leads me back to her apartment, resting me down on her coach. Quickly she gathers her first aid kit, pressing a cloth to my head, adding pressure to stop the bleeding. “When are you gonna stop getting into these fights?” She asks.

“As soon as people stop treating others like there above them.” I reply, sounding braver than I feel right now and every other time I’m sat injured in her apartment.

“Then I guess I’ll be cleaning you up for the rest of my life.” She smiles at me, applying ointment and a bandage to my head.

“I just hate seeing you get treated like that, a dame like you doesn’t deserve that.”

“I told you I can handle it myself.”

“Doesn’t make me like it anymore.” I murmur as she’s done cleaning me up.

“I’ve got to admit, I kinda like you looking out for me.” She says, a light shade of red dusting her cheeks.

“Really.” I smile back, sounding a little to eager, forgetting about the pain in my head.

“Yeah, makes me feel like a worth something.” My smile drops at her admission.

“What do you mean? You’re worth the world to so many people. Don’t you see all the guys who’d give up the world for a moment of your time.” Her blush deepens.

“Are you one of those guys Stevie?” She flirts lightly. It instantly becomes my time to turn red, although mine was a much deeper shade. I nod shyly, avoiding her intense gaze.

“Yeah, you know I’d do anything for you.” She places her hand on my cheek, guiding me to look at her. “You’re the most important woman in my life.” Slowly she leans in towards me, letting her lips lightly graze mine. “You really want me?” I question once she pulls back. “You could have any guy you want and you gonna pick me.” She kisses me again, this time more confident and passionate.

“None of them treat me like you do. That’s what matters to me, you make me feel special like no one else can. The other guys empty compliments don’t do that for me.” She reassures me, her face lighting up more than I’d ever seen it before. “I really like you Steve Rogers, more than I’ve ever like a guy before. It’s kinda scary how much I care about you.” My heart feels as though it has exploded with joy. I’m convinced I’ve died and gone to heaven, and if I have I never want to leave as long as it means I get this attention from her. I pulled her closer, kissing her desperately as if it’s the last thing I was ever going to do.

“You really don’t mind this.” I say, gesturing to my skinny frame. She rolls her eyes.

“I think you look damn good.” She grins, watching my face somehow turn more red. “And if you’d have me, I’d love to be your girl.” My eyes grow wide, all my wildest dreams coming true.

“Yes, yes, please be my girl!” I respond, far too excited, loving the way ‘my girl’ sounds as it rolls off my tongue. She soon matches my excitement, eagerly kissing me.

She murmurs against my lips, “I’m your girl.”

#steve rogers #pre serum steve #skinny steve #steve rodgers x reader #steve rodgers imagine #pre serum steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barns imagine #1940s #1940s steve rogers #40s au

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ubernoxa · 4 years

Text

THE DARE

A Guns N’ Roses FanFic

Chapter 6: A Under the Stars

The lie came of Delilah’s tongue like she had rehearsed it a hundred times.

Delilah held the piece of paper with the lie written across it. They stood in front of a pay phone that was located a couple blocks down, so that they couldn’t be traced back to the apartment.

Delailah remained frozen in front of the payphone until Mags spoke, “You will be fine. Just read the lie right off of the paper.”

At first Mags wanted to roll her eyes and call Delilah a wimp or goodie two shoes, but she quickly realized that she couldn’t. Delilah was practically shaking as she picked up the phone and dialed her parent’s number. Mags placed her hand on Delilah’s back to hopefully calm her shaking.

“Sanderson household, Gabe speaking,” Delilah slimed eternally thankful that one of her older brothers had answered the phone instead of her mother.

“Hey Gabe its Delilah,”

“Hey Delilah, How’s baking going? Why are you calling? Do you need someone to go pick up some extra food or something?”

In fear that Gabe would continue to ramble, a family trait that they all wished they didn’t inherit from their mother, Delilah interrupted him, “No I didn’t end up baking with Beth today. I am actually helping out at a food kitchen that I stumbled upon while on a morning walk. Someone was handing out fliers and I offered to help out. That is actually why I called, can I talk to mother or father? I am assuming father is at Church so is mother there.”

Delilah hadn’t noticed Mags scrunching her face whenever Delilah said mother or father. It sounded odd the way Delilah said it, in Mags opinion.

“Good afternoon Delilah,” Delilah could feel her heart begin to freak out as she heard her mother’s voice. The last time her heart felt like this was last night...with Duff. A stupid smile crossed Delilaha’s face as she thought of their moment.

“Good afternoon mother. I would like permission to volunteer at a food kitchen. They really need my help, and I feel like God lead me to this woman who was handing out the fliers asking for help,” Delilah read the lie right off of the note that she held.

“That sounds wonderful Delilah. When will you be coming home?” Mags let out a sigh at Delilah’s mother’s reply.

“So that’s the thing. They need my help until 3 AM making the bread, so they offered for me to stay the night in the church,” this was the part that Delilah was worried about. This was the part where she was worried that her mother would ask her to bring Gabe or Mark, or tell her she couldn’t go all together.

“How kind of you. What’s the address? I could send Beth and the rest of your friends over to help out.”

“No mother, that wont be neccisary. I feel like this is a journey that God wants me to go on by myself. Mother, I don’t know the best way to say this, but I feel like this is the perfect opportunity for me. I want to completely focus on giving with no distraction.”

“That is complexity understandable honey. We all need to find ourselves and go on our own spiritual journeys. All I ask is for you to be safe, and be back ontime tomorrow afternoon to help prepare dinner,” her mother responded before saying that she loved her and looked forward to seeing her tomorrow.

“I can’t believe that worked!” Mags cheered as she wrapped her arm around Delilah’s shoulder.

The girls entered the apartment which was currently filled with the guys getting ready. It was absolute chaos.

“This is normal, the yelling?” Delilah asked over the music the guys were playing to get ready.

“Yeah, usually they’re more drunk though,” Mags said before throwing Delilah the shirt and pants she picked out earlier.

“Go find a closet or something to change in. The guys will probably be using the bathroom to get ready. I gotta run to my brother’s truck to grab some shoes for us,” Mags said before heading out the door.

“I’d offer you my room, but Axl is getting ready,” Izzy startled Delilah as he spoke.

“You can change behind the couch though if you help me scotch it forward just enough,” Delilah smiled at Izzy’s words and helped him move the couch forward just enough for her to hide behind it and change.

Delilah squirmed on the ground as she tried to get the pants Mags had picked out for her on. It was a struggle as she had never changed into clothing while hiding behind a nasty couch while also lying on the ground.

“Why the fuck did ya move the couch Izzy?” Delialah could recognize Axl’s voice anywhere.

“Del is changing,” Izzy simply replied while sitting on the couch where Axl quickly joined him.

“How’s it going back there Del?” Delilah already rolled her eyes at Axl’s question. She half expected him to look.

“Great, thanks for asking,” she sarcastically responded as she got her shirt over her head.

“Izzy, I’ve always like this couch,” There was something about Axl’s tone that Delilah didn’t like.

“Why? It’s a piece of shit.”

“But it’s great for fucking chicks on. Something about the busted springs or worn down fabric I guess,” before Axl could continue talking Delilah shot up behind the couch.

“Are you serious?” Axl let out a laugh as Delilah quickly made her way across the room

She bolted across the room earning laughs from Izzy and Axl.

“Did you finally tell her about the couch?” Mags walked into the room fully changed.

“You knew?” Delilah screamed earning a couple of laughs. By now the whole band was watching the scene unfold.

“Yeah, sorry Del. I was gonna tell ya later. I just didn’t know the right way to tell you that half of this apartment has had sex with a girl on the couch,” Delilah decided to join Mags in laughing in hopes to defuse the situation. She didn’t want to make that big of a deal about it. Plus it wasn’t like she was naked on the couch. It still was disgusting and she made a note to remember to take a shower later

Del then quickly followed Mags into the kitchen, “you look good.” Delilah smiled at Mags words as she looked down at her Bowie shirt and ripped jean pants Mags helped her find.

“You too,” Delilah replied as she watched Mags apply some makeup.

“Oh hey, I got these for you. You can probably sneak into the bathroom before one of the guys take it again,” Mags handed her the black eyeliner and foundation with a smile. Delilah thanked her for the gifts and headed towards the bathroom.

Once inside she tried to ignore the fact that the eyeliner and foundation looked brand new which meant that Mags probably stole it for her. It was a nice gesture, but the theft part made Delilah feel dirty, but not as dirty as the couch.

“You need any help?” Delilah jumped around Duff’s voice. She must have figured that he had been watching her hold the eyeliner unknowing of what to do with it.

“Honesty yeah. Foundation is pretty straight forward, but eyeliner. Like I get it the eyeliner is to line the eyes hence the name , but how do you apply it properly. Are you supposed to hold it a certain way or are you supposed to do the top or the bottom of the eye first?” Delilah’s rambling was quickly interrupted by Duff’s laughter which filled the bathroom.

“Want me to apply it for you,” he pointed towards his eyes which were neatly outlined in eyeliner.

Delilah nodded earning a smile from Duff.

He let out a light chuckle

“What’s so funny? Is my foundation messed up?” Delilah quickly turned around to check for imperfections.

“No, no you look amazing. I was laughing at the fact that you’re going to have to sit on the sink, so I don’t have to bend over...a lot,” Duff insisted as he turned her around. He hadn’t noticed how much shorter she was than him until now.

Smooth Duff real smooth. He wanted to kick himself as the words left his mouth.

Delilah prayed that Duff couldn’t see her blush as he complimented her. She hoped the foundation covered most of it. Before she knew it she was sitting on the sink and Duff was gently applying the eyeliner. Every once and a while, his calloused fingers would dance across her skin causing her heart to flutter.

“Why are you so good at this? I can barely draw a line without messing it up,” Delilah moaned as Duff moved onto the other eye.

“Well Dely, I used to be in a punk band before guns. Now hold still,” Delilah barely heard the words he said as he currently had both of his hands rested on her thighs as he spoke. She hope he couldn’t feel her forever increasing heartbeat.

“I was pretty still,” Delilah interjected.

“Dely, you were pretty, but you were not anywhere near still. You were almost as bouncy or twitchy as my drummer,” Duff teased back. Delilah could barely stay still as he massaged his thumbs into her inner thighs as he spoke.

To say she was lost for wards was an understatement.

“I like the shirt by the way,” Duff added as he worked on her left eye.

“Thanks, this guy was telling me about this Bowie guy and we listened to an album or two, and I really liked it,” Delilah commented as she caught a smirk form on his face.

“Oh, this guy sounds pretty cool,” Duff joked back as he finished her other eye.

“Nah, not really. He plays bass, so talk about a loser,” Delilah teased before leaving the bathroom.

In no time all of them, minus Izzy, were on their way to the bar. Delilah asked Izzy why he couldn’t come, but all he said was that he was preoccupied and Mags immediately made Delilah drop the conversation.

“Are we meeting anyone there?” Duff asked the group to hopefully escape his conversation with Steven. Steven has been relentless at keeping Duff occupied with pointless conversation where they talked about pure nonsense.

“Nah, the girls are working tonight,” Axl sadly replied.

Delilah’s heart sank as she heard Axl’s answer. Other girls? To her, he doubts were confirmed right then and there. She obviously wasn’t good enough for Duff.

Duff watched as Delilah hunched her shoulders over.

He internally cussed himself off and squeezed his way through their small group to stand next to her.

“Have you ever had a good beer before or just the stuff that tastes like piss,” Duff asked attempting damage control.

“Nah just piss,” Delilah smiled back at the blonde.

“Well this bar we are going to has one of my favorite beers, I’ll have to get you one,” Duff felt a sigh of relief fill his body as Delilah smiled and nodded back to him.

Time quickly flew by when they got to the bar. Duff bought Delilah a beer, with the money she assumed was from their gig the previous night, and it actually didn’t taste half bad.

Duff quickly realized that Axl’s warning was real when Steven wouldn’t leave his side when they walked to the bar. At first, Popcorn talked to Duff about actual band things, but the conversation turned into what was on Steven’s mind that very second. Duff’s frustration with Steven continued to grow as he insisted on sitting next to Delilah in the booth, making it almost impossible to talk to her. Steven’s antics weren’t by any means subtle, but they were effective.

Duff watched as Delilah danced in her seat to the music that was playing. When she shook her head, her curls flew from side to side.

“The song is by the Clash. The band playing is doing a pretty good cover,” Duff felt like he had to yell over Steven and Axl as he attempted to talk to Delilah.

A very drunk Mags glared at him from across the table, but he could barely hear what she was saying, nor did he care.

Delilah sent a smile towards Duff, but remained silent as Axl and Slash talked amongst themselves. She felt like she was surrounded by them like she was on an island or something. With Axl to her left, and Slash to her right, Steven across from her and Mags next to him, there was no way to talk to Duff.

Delilah turned towards Axl and shot him a confused look. Did she hear him say something?

“Slash is grabbing another round. Need more?” Axl was only inches from Delilah’s ear when he spoke sending shivers down her spine.

“Nah, I’m still working on this one,” Delilah put on a fake smile as she answered him. She looked over towards Duff who looked like he wanted to be anywhere, but sitting next to Mags and Steven.

“Looks like Duff is having a lot of fun,” Axl pointed towards Duff who looked over towards Delilah and mouthed something she didn’t understand.

She turned towards Axl who was laughing at Duff’s comment. Delilah watched Axl mouth something back. From what Delilah could dicifer, he mouthed something along the lines of sucks to suck.

Slash came back to their table with three more beers and handed them to Delilah and Axl.

“Wanna dance?” Duff quickly shot his head in Mag’s and Delilah direction only to be relieved when the guy who owned the voice asked Mags to dance, not Delilah.

“You should sit next to him,”

Delilah looked over at Axl and shot him a confused look.

“Why?”

“In a couple of seconds Mags will be on the dance floor, and Steven has been eyeing the girl at the bar all night. You two will finally get some alone time,” Axl replied before taking another sip of his beer.

“Why are you being nice, I pegged you as more of the annoying piece of shit guy in the band,” Axl laughed at Delilah’s comment.

Just as Axl had predicted Mags was on dance floor, and Steven headed towards the bar.

“You better be careful or with a mouth like that, you’re going to hell,” Axl replied back.

Delilah faked a gasp and placed her hand on her chest pretending to be offended. “But I’m just a good Catholic girl, I could never go to hell,” Delilah said before heading over towards Duff.

Axl remained frozen for a couple of seconds trying to process what she had said. He didn’t know why his brain was stuck on the way she said ‘good girl’, but he liked it.

“Well that was weird,” Slash replied before taking another sip. Axl was almost startled by the guitarist’s words.

Weird.

Weird was a good word for it.

“Is this seat taken,” Duff smiled as Delilah came over. About time.

“Yeah, by you,” she smiled as Duff’s words.

“So, overall thoughts on the beer?” Duff noticed the beer that was in her hand.

“Really good, but the music is even better!” Delilah cheered back as she threw her arms up in the air.

“I’m glad you like it!” Delilah’s heart practically melted when he smiled.

“Want another?” Duff stood up to go back to the bar, but immediately noticed a change in Delilah. That’s when it clicked. This was probably the second bar she had ever been to, maybe she needed a break.

“Or follow me. The night is still young,” Duff offered his hand. Delilah looked over at Mags who was happily dancing with the guy who asked her earlier. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?

She quickly took his hand and followed him out of the bar walking past Steven who was talking to some girl, Duff was relieved for the first time that Steven was distracted.

The two of them then headed out of the bar into the crowed streets of Sunset Strip. Delilah felt Duff’s arm wrap around her waist as they walked toe and toe. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw this many people in the streets.

“Where are we going?”

Duff simple retuned a smile and pulled her in closer to him.

“I was thinking Beijing,” Duff could barely hold in his laugh as he heard a groan escape Delilah.

“How do you feel like Iceland?” He asked receiving another groan from Delilah.

“Too cold,” she moaned.

In not time the two of them arrived outside his apartment complex and Delilah followed him up the stairs.

“There is always Seattle,” He said as he opened the door reveling his cramped apartment. Once again he received another groan from Delilah as plopped down on the floor making sure to keep her distance from the disgusting couch.

“Isn’t Seattle known for terrible weather? Cold, windy, rainy? Honestly the only thing that entire city has going for it is their football,” Duff smiled as he walked towards the kitchen.

“You like football? I didn’t peg you as the sport type?” Duff yelled from the kitchen in the apartment.

He dug through the fridge and pulled out some vodka.

“All my brothers played,” Delilah replied when he came back into the room. Brothers?

Delilah watched as Duff opened the door and motioned for her to leave the room.

“Where are we going now?” Dilalah asked as she was leaving the apartment.

“Wait no, don’t fucking answer that,” Delilah groaned as she followed him upstairs.

“Watch your fucking language Dely, and well since you asked,” before Duff could finish listing off cities Delilah interrupted him with a load groan. Duff’s laughter filled the stairway as they climbed up to the roof.

The two of them sat on the roof that overlooked the strip and talked quickly jumping from one topic to the next.

“Noo you didn’t,” Delilah gasped as Duff told her about the time he died his hair blue.

“Yeah, thought it was very punk,” Duff shook his head as he took another sip of the vodka and passed it to Delilah.

“I think you could pull it off, blue hair,” Delilah tried to hide her laughter.

“Wow you are a terrible liar, you couldn’t even hide your cute giggle,” Duff teased as he pulled Delilah onto his lap. She took another small sip of the vodka and her face scrunched at the burn as it did every time.

Duff’s laughter filled the air, joining Delilah’s.

The strip might have been loud and filled with music filling the air, but neither Duff nor Delilah could hear that. To them it was as if they were on their own island. An island where Delilah didn’t have to leave tomorrow. An island where they never had to worry about where their next meal came from. An island that was all theirs.

“Dely, I would appreciate it if you would kiss me right now,” Duff purred into Delilah’s ears right before they kissed under the stars.

#80s rock #duff #duff mckagan / oc #duff fanfiction #duff fanfic #the dare fanfic #the dare #gnr #guns and roses fan fiction #slash guns n roses #guns n’ roses

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stilldani24 · 4 years

Text

Seize the Day - Newsie!Bucky x Journalist!Reader - Chapter One

Summary: The Newsie Strike of 1899 made the world stand still for two weeks. For one kid and his bum-legged best friend, it meant The World was watching and they needed to make a difference. Based on Disney’s Newsies.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1300

Warnings: Disabled character, violence, snarkiness, Bucky has a crush uwu

A/N: Hey guys! Finally the first part is here. Just to be clear, Bucky and Steve are in their late teens and Steve is his pre-serum body type. There’s also an example of a walking suit at the bottom of the fic beneath the tags. Okay, enjoy! Oh, and if you wanna be tagged, just ask!

Business was slow that day. Back when they were first in the business, people would feel sorry for them since they were young and Steve was a crip. Now that they were older and more newbies joined the game, people tended to buy their papes instead of the older boys who could easily get a “real job”. They had tried getting real jobs, but since Steve had his bum leg and Bucky was essentially a fugitive, being a newsie was the only option out there.

“Ey, Stevie,” Bucky told his best friend as he approached the dozing boy, kicking his good leg to jostle him away. “We might have to take ya up on that offa’. Cut off ya leg.”

Steve grunted as he was woken up, moving his cap from his face and squinting at his best friend. “Piss off, Buck,” he groaned as he gripped his crutch, standing it up before hoisting himself to his feet. “These folks jus’ don’t care about the t’ird week of some trolley strike.”

“No kiddin’,” Bucky replied, taking his own cap off and wiping his brow. “We need’a go back now, the streets are gettin’ bare.”

Steve nodded as he grabbed his paper bag, slinging it across his chest before making his way down the street with his best friend. Out of their two hundred papes, they only sold about eighty-seven at the price of a nickel each. They got about two dollars each, which after needing to buy papes and food, it left them with next to nothin’ since the World didn’t buy back unused papes. On their way back to their new fire escape, they attempted to sell more papes, but to no avail.

“C’mon, let’s just give it up,” Bucky told Steve, clapping his shoulder and leading them down an alleyway. As they approached the ladder to the fire escape, two burly looking guys rounded the corner. Seeing a quick few bucks, the guys were quick to pin the poor crippled boy to the wall as they attempted to pass.

“Lookie here. It’s one of dem newsies,” one guy spat. “Surely you got some money on ya, huh? Give it up.”

As the guy reached into Steve’s paper bag, the young teen trying to kick them away, Bucky approached them from behind and tried prying them off. While Bucky was strong, these two men were far stronger. The one not holding Steve up to the wall grabbed Bucky and shoved him back into a few garbage cans, causing a loud ruckus that scared away a few alley cats.

“Stay out of it, punk,” the man sneered, turning back to his friend only to receive a swift punch to the face. He stumbled back into the garbage cans as well, obviously surprised and in shock, but he quickly recovered to fight back, only to find a young girl no older than the two boys.

You stood there, arm on your hip with your head cocked while glaring daggers at the man you just gave a neat shiner to. “Now that there’s a lady present,” you say as you look back and forth between the two cowardly men. “Surely, you’ll gain a gentlemen’s charm and piss off, huh? Don’t wanna make a scene in front of a dame.”

The two men just stared at you, and the two boys stood in stunned silence. One of the men dropped the crippled boy and began to approach you.

“No?” you questioned as you cracked your knuckles, shaking out your hands. “Alright, then.”

As the man lunged at you, you quickly struck and punched him so hard in the throat, he stopped completely. His breath had been completely taken from him and the pain of a punch landing to his throat caused the breath to remain lost. As he struggled to regain oxygen to his lungs, the other man went to grab you but one swift heel to his groin made him stumble back in pain and drop whatever money he had taken from the boys.

“Now, if you’re done,” you said as you scooped up the money, returning it to the scrawny kid’s bag. The two men got up and began running away, looking behind them every so often. You then turn to the two boys, leaning down and helping the stronger looking boy up. “You boys alright?”

As you went over to the other, scrawnier boy, you scooped up the dropped money that the two bozos had left while scurrying away. You then helped him to his feet, making sure he was alright before handing him his crutch.

“We could’a had it, sweetheart,” Bucky spoke up as he stood, brushing the dirt out of his hair and from his clothes. You looked over with a little smirk, placing your hands on your hips and raising an eyebrow as if to say, “oh, really?”. Bucky took that chance to check you out, and gosh, were you ever a dime. You wore clothes that obviously meant you came from the upper class, in a matching walking suit. That was quite rare unless you came from wealthy parents. Your [Y/H/C] hair was in tight ringlets, but long and rested near your rear. They bounced whenever you moved. Oh, and your [Y/E/C] coloured eyes. Bucky swore he could be lost in them at any second, but he blinked to recollect himself. “What’re ya doin’ out ‘ere skulin’ around in dark allies, anyway?”

“Stories don’t come from anywhere, boys,” you replied, raising your notebook and pencil. “Gotta write somethin’ and it ain’t gonna appear out of thin air. Thanks to you, I got my story for the day. Can’t you see the headline now? ‘Brave Journalist Saves Two Newsies from Late Night Muggin’.”

Bucky scoffed as he crossed his arms. “Yeah, in what pape? The New York Sun?” he joked, nudging Steve with a chuckle. The remark made you cross your arms impatiently, tapping your foot.

“Yes, actually,” you replied, showing them the front of the notebook, which had the New York Sun’s logo. Their chuckles quickly quieted down at the sight of your emotion, which had turned from joking to serious now. “I’m done wastin’ my time. Have a good night, boys.”

As you turned to walk away, you could hear the taller boy let out a chuckle. You made sure to sway your hips a bit more as you walked away.

“I didn’t catch ya name, sweetheart!” he called after you, biting his lip. You smirked as you turned around to face him but didn’t stop walking, as you were walking backwards now.

“I didn’t throw it!” you replied with a cheeky grin, before turning back around and leaving the alley from the way the boys had entered it. When Bucky had jogged to the entrance to catch a last glimpse of you, you were already gone. Bucky chuckled as he walked back to his friend, hands in his pockets.

“What a gal,” he smiled to himself, nudging Steve again. Steve had been quiet the entire time since he had never once spoken to a girl before and didn’t know the first thing about talking to them.

“Out of your league, Buck,” Steve replied as they continued their way down the alley, finding an empty fire escape. Bucky took Steve’s crutch and threw it up each flight, helping him up the stairs until they reached the roof. “Ya damn ugly.”

Bucky shoved his best friend, who laughed as he toppled over onto his behind and moved to laying down. “Goodnight, Buck.”

“Goodnight, dumbass,” Bucky replied as he took a cigarette from his front pocket, lighting it with the nearly empty lighter he kept in his paper bag. As he watched the sunset and traffic move across the square, he smirked to himself. What a gal.

Tags: @morsmordrethings @captainscanadian @thingsthatkeepmeawakeeveryday @wtfisachoncexx @this-kitten-is-smitten @jllngls02 @abrilkatz123 @writeturnlove @buckysgirls-stuff @tomhollandenthusiast @louisbaeee

Here’s what a walking suit looks like:

#bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #winter soldier #falcon and winter soldier #steve rogers #captain america #mcu #mcu memes #mcu fanfiction #marvel #avengers #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #fanfiction #wow #i did something #danielle writes

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shownuslaugh · 5 years

Text

Through the Years

Series: Bigbang 6th Member AU

Pairing: SJ/GD

2007

Taeyang nudges SJ forward but the younger girl’s slight frame takes it more as a shove. She lurches forward, mumbling under her breath and staring directly at the ground. She can’t look up. Can’t look him in the eyes. And why should she? He’s been nothing but a pain in her ass since day one, pushing her around and harassing her to her wits end.

“Say it,” Seunghyun tells her.

SJ crosses her arms and squares her shoulders before looking at Jiyong dead in the eye. “Happy birthday. Jerk.”

Daesung gasps and pulls SJ back, scolding her so quietly someone stumbling on the scene would think he’s saying nothing at all. SJ shakes away his hold on her with an annoyed huff.

“Thank you.” Jiyong’s smile is razor sharp, making SJ gulp audibly. That smile means something is coming. And it won’t be good for her.

2008

“I don’t wanna!” SJ whines the entire time Daesung drags her behind him. “Dae, he hates me! Why should I even show up?”

“Because we’re a group. Now come on.”

“Do you still have the gift I got for you to give him?” Taeyang peers at her curiously, searching for a square box hidden in her bag.

“No,” SJ answers with a bite to her tone. “I tossed it.”

“What?!”

“Don’t worry! I’ll give you your twenty bucks back.” She fishes around in her pocket. “Here.”

Taeyang groans. “SJ, you can’t keep doing this.”

“Watch me.”

“I don’t think any of us really want to,” Seungri mutters.

SJ’s brow arches. “What was that?”

“Just go be a bitch to him so we can get this over with and have fun. We’re all sick of it.” Seunghyun is the one to answer SJ, practically daring her to argue with the intensity of his gaze.

SJ’s eyes wander from Top to the bar where she notices Jiyong propped up on the counter. He’s chatting with some girl in a dress two sizes too small and makeup that looks like it was done in the dark. SJ’s stomach falls to the soles of her feet.

“See!” She gestures wildly. “He doesn’t even want to spend his birthday with us anyway! Just…” SJ pulls some change out of her pocket and shoves it towards one of the guys. She honestly doesn’t care who. “Give him this and tell him to get a condom out of that machine in the bathroom. It’s on me. Can’t have our precious leader catching an STD, can we?”

SJ storms out of the club.

Daesung looks between her and Jiyong. “She knows that’s Dara… right?”

Taeyang sighs. “I don’t think she cares.”

Seungri toys with the coins SJ gave him. “Who wants to give this to hyung?”

All of them groan.

2009

SJ sneaks quietly weaves through the other party goers, searching the dense crowd for Jiyong. He shouldn’t be this difficult to spot at his own birthday party but he’s sending her on one hell of a search.

“Oh, hyung!” SJ grabs Seunghyun’s arm, pulling him down to her height. “Have you seen GD around?”

Seunghyun points toward their kitchen. It seems like it takes far more effort than necessary, so SJ appreciates his drunken attempt. She pats him on the cheek, giggling at the way his eyes sparkle at the affection.

When SJ enters the kitchen GD is alone, nursing a can of beer. He grins at her crookedly when she approaches.

“Ah, there she is! My favorite girl in the world.” His words slur together and SJ’s suddenly struck by a feeling of discomfort. “You actually came this year.”

SJ grimaces. “Yeah.”

“Do I get a present this year?” Jiyong bats his eyelashes, giggling playfully.

She considers the gift card to one of his favorite music stores safely tucked away in her back pocket. A sense of outrage fills her suddenly. “My presence is your present, you jerk!”

She’ll just spend it on herself.

2010

SJ is… surprisingly pleased with herself. The entire day has passed, schedules are done, Jiyong’s birthday dinner wrapped up, and he still has no idea. No idea that the second he opens the door to his bedroom-

“PARK SOOJIN!”

SJ runs to his room, almost tripping over her own feet in excitement. She trows out her arms and yells “Happy birthday, hyung!”

Jiyong doesn’t know whether to be impressed or exasperated as balloon after balloon falls out of his bedroom and litters the hallway. “SJ, what the fuck?”

She deflates a little. “Don’t… don’t you like it?” Did she overthink how close they were getting? Was she misreading signs whenever he’d chuckle at one of her pranks on the other members? Did she just ruin everything good they had going between them?

When he sees the panic in her eyes he’s quick to reassure her. “No, no, no, it’s great! I was just shocked at first!”

Still not completely convinced, she points to his bed. “There’s more.”

He creeps in slowly, careful not to pop any of the balloons. His bed is absolutely covered in silly string and streamers, the colors alternating between red, black, gold, and white. Beneath all of that is a picture frame. It’s clearly hand painted, the designs intricate yet sloppy all at once. Jiyong smiles, brushes away the celebratory debris, and picks the frame up as if it’s the most precious thing he owns.

“Thank you, SJ.” And he means it.

“It’s from the day we found out we’d debut together.” SJ’s voice is soft, lost in memory. “Youngbae’s mom helped me track it down.”

�� Jiyong ruffles her hair before letting his hand slide down the side of her face and cup her cheek. “You’re the best.”

2011

“Jiyong!” SJ tugs on his leg in an attempt to drag him out of bed. “Come on! Let’s go!”

“I don’t want a party this year!” He kicks her away impatiently, not in the mood to go out. “I just want to stay in and spend it with the people I actually care about.”

“So, fuck us then, huh?”

He sits up at the sound of Dami’s voice. “I thought you were working!”

Dami shrugs. “When SJ calls I answer.”

“But when I call-” Jiyong doesn’t finish that sentence. “Never mind.”

“That’s what I thought.”

SJ perches on the edge of his bed, threading her fingers through his. “I know how long it’s been since you’ve seen your family… so I might’ve made a few phone calls and bought a few plane tickets. Don’t worry, you still don’t have to go out somewhere. Everyone is here.”

“And you’ll stay?”

She nods. “Whatever you want. It’s your day, Jiyong.”

2012

“SJ, seriously. It’s his birthday!” Daesung watches as SJ gets ready for her date with Siwon.

“You think I don’t know that?” She shoots him a glare that’s equal parts amusing and terrifying. “It’s not like I can just ring up Unicef and be like ‘hey can you reschedule this whole charity gala thing? It’s my best fri-”

Daesung’s entire demeanor perks up. “It’s your what? Go ahead, SJ. Finish your sentence.”

SJ rolls her eyes. “I’ll be back before midnight. I’ll just see him then.”

“Alright, Cinderella.”

She’s not back by midnight.

Jiyong waits up expectantly, heart growing heavier and heavier with each minute that passes by. She’s never missed his birthday before. Never. Maybe that’s the exact moment his hatred for Siwon started, burning so bright and so intense it colors his every action around SJ’s boyfriend. Fuck, the word hurts to even think.

So he just goes to bed.

The clock glows 2:32 am when Jiyong feels his bed dip and slender arms wrap around his waist. He shifts around so he and SJ are face to face.

“I’m-”

Jiyong shakes his head. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”

SJ’s cheeks puff up. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Oh?”

“I was going to say: I’m all yours for the next twenty four hours. I know I’m a shitty friend for choosing the gala over you, but I’m not leaving your side again until this time tomorrow. You’ll be absolutely sick of me.”

Jiyong hides his grin by pulling her into a tight hug. “God, you’re such a little punk. What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

He can practically hear the smile in her voice. “Love me anyway?”

2013

“What the fuck is this?” Jiyong pulls the blindfold down and looks around the bright white studio. His eyes immediately find SJ’s who simply smiles and gestures around her.

“Ta da! It’s yours!”

“What’s mine?”

“This.” SJ skips around. “This whole place! You can use it as an art studio. I know you’re really into that lately and your apartment doesn’t really have enough room so… do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” Jiyong looks around in awe. “I fucking love it.” He picks her up and spins her around, planting a kiss on her cheek as he lowers her back on the ground. “SJ, you’ve got a beautiful fucking soul, babe.”

“I expect your first work to be for me.”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

2014

SJ looks mildly upset. Okay, so, maybe Jiyong’s downplaying it a little. She looks absolutely devasted.

“SooJin?” He gets no response. “Kitten?”

SJ huffs. “Don’t call me that. I don’t deserve it.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know what to get you this year,” she wails pathetically. “And when I finally found something Kiko mentioned you might think it’s dumb…”

Jiyong can’t help but laugh. “SJ, I think you know me a little better than Kiko. What was it?”

SJ bites her lips nervously. “Well…”

“SJ. Show me. It’s my birthday present anyway.”

She huffs in annoyance. “Fine.” She fishes through her bag and pulls out a little keychain. “I know it’s not much but I thought it was cute and reminded me of you. It’s a g dragon.”

He runs his thumb over the tiny dragon, curving and twisting its body in a way that makes it look like a capital G. The laughter bubbles up in his chest, spilling out of him before he can repress it.

“SJ, this is adorable. I love it.”

SJ blushes, quietly saying, “I mean… I thought you would.”

2015

“Sooo…” SJ threads her fingers between Jiyong’s and swings their arms as they walk through Times Square. “You know how I’m, like, the best gift giver ever?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you might actually hate me this year.”

“What? Why?”

Instead of saying anything, SJ points up to one of the many, many screens above their heads. There, in all its neon glory, is single handedly the most embarrassing photograph Jiyong has ever seen of himself. He’s asleep, mouth wide open, stubble across his chin, and his eyes are half open. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LITTLE PRINCE accompanies the picture in bold while lettering.

“You have five seconds,” Jiyong mutters.

“Oh shit!” SJ doesn’t hesitate before taking off through the crowd. “Remember how much you love me!”

“I’m going to kill you!”

2016

Jiyong eyes the kitchen table with rapt interest. Every single Dragon Ball related movie or tv series sits in front of him, teasing him, begging him to just dive in. But he can’t. SJ made sure of that.

“SJ, come on,” he whines. “This is my birthday! Why do I have to wait?”

“Calm down you big baby. I’m almost done.” She hurries out of the bathroom and shoves a bunch of fabric in his arms. “Go change.”

“Are these… matching pajamas?”

“Yep! Now go!” SJ pushes him towards the bathroom so she can pop in the first dvd. He emerges from the bathroom not even a minute later, looking cute and cuddly and every bit the dork she knows he is.

“Aww,” she coos. “Look at you.”

Jiyong rolls his eyes and plops down on the couch. “I feel like I’m in one of your weird wet dreams.”

“You wish. Now, are you ready to start from the very beginning?”

Jiyong considers her words and feels vaguely sentimental. This really is starting from the beginning. The beginning of them. Or, uh, their friendship. Yeah, friendship.

“I can feel you getting sappy on me, Kwon,” SJ teases.

He clears his throat, picking his cat up off the floor and settling the tiny creature in his lap. “Play the damn dvd.”

“Yes, sir.”

2017

“Okay, so,” SJ sets a book down in front of Jiyong. It creates a heavy thud against the wooden table as she does so. “I can’t take full credit for this one. You’re mom helped me out with it and I’ve sort of had the idea for a couple years now. I figured with Kwon Jiyong being out now it’s an appropriate time to give it to you.”

“Babe, you’re rambling.” Jiyong chuckles.

SJ nods. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s cute.”

“I’m not cute!” She shakes her head as if trying to keep herself on track. “Anyway, you’re mom had all of the pre-2009 photos. The rest of them are ones I had.”

Jiyong starts flipping through the book. It’s red leather, his name embossed in gold lettering on the front. The whole thing is cool and smooth to the touch, each page painstakingly put together with effort and love. Most of the photos he’s seen before. Some of the more recent ones… well, those are new.

“You took these?” He asks in pure awe.

SJ nods. “I like candids. The ones where you aren’t looking. That’s my favorite.” She points to a photo of him onstage. The angle makes it seem like he’s larger than he is, more important than he is. He’s standing on his own but laughing at something going on off camera, smile stretching from ear to ear. In one of his hands is his mic. In the other is SJ’s own outstretched hand.

Jiyong makes a promise to himself that night as SJ heads back to her own place that she’s never getting away from him. Ever.

2018

“Hyung!” SJ pops out from behind Jiyong’s father with a gorgeous, blinding smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Oh, SJ, really. Again with the hyung?” Jiyong’s mother scolds her half-heartedly.

Dami laughs. “Careful, Mom. You’re scolding your future daughter-in-law.”

“I’m aware.”

SJ rolls her eyes before sitting herself firmly by Jiyong’s side. He almost can’t believe it. She looks so good. So healthy. Her skin is practically glowing and even without makeup she’s completely flawless. She’s gained some weight from touring, softening her curves and face. Her femininity is undeniable and Jiyong finds himself more attracted to her than ever. If this is the difference a few months can make he wonders what a whole year will bring.

“I’ve got your present.” SJ pulls out a little box from her bag and pushes it across the table, the wrapping already partially coming off, but it’s fine and all the more endearing because it just means SJ did it herself.

Jiyong has to hide the grin on his face when he pulls out a silver bracelet, a bejeweled blue jay handing from the delicate chain. His heart melts when she fastens it around his wrist, her fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.

“So you won’t forget me,” she says with a shy smile.

Jiyong scoffs because what the fuck. How could he ever? “You’re full of it,” he answers with a smile that says everything he can’t quite yet

2019

Life… doesn’t get better than this, Jiyong decides as he watches his father toss an arm around SJ and give her a quick side hug after she laughs particularly hard at one of his dumb jokes. His mother also watches them with a fondness in her eyes while Dami… well, Dami’s got her eyes on Jiyong.

“When’s the wedding,” she leans over and whispers in his ear.

It’s unbecoming of a soldier to blush but Jiyong can’t help how the tips of his ears burn bright pink. “Shut up.”

“Has she given you your present yet?”

“N-no.” Jiyong doesn’t like her tone or the teasing sparkle in her eye.

Dami makes a shock sound. “Really? Allow me to wrap this up then.”

“Dami, what are you-”

“It’s been real, lil bro, but I think we should all be heading out. Right, Mom?”

Jiyong’s mother (already aware SJ’s present is a little on the private side) responds in the affirmative after a moment of shock. “Oh, yes, I’m exhausted. How about you, dear?”

Jiyong’s father shakes his head. “I’m fine.” His wife elbows him in the ribs. “I mean, yes, let’s go. I’m tired.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow, love.” Jiyong’s mother gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “SooJin, sweetheart, why don’t you stay a while longer? We’ll meet you back at the hotel tonight.”

“Not if it goes well,” Jiyong’s dad rumbles. He gives a hearty laugh when Dami shushes him dramatically.

“Well that was…” Jiyong blinks in confusion. “Actually, I don’t know what that was.”

“Cringe?” SJ offers the word up with an awkward laugh.

He nods and silence settles. It’s strange. Usually things aren’t this tense and weird between them. Usually their silences are comfortable. Easy. Hardly noticeable. This one hangs heavy on Jiyong’s heart, convincing him he’s done something horribly, terribly, utterly wrong.

“SJ-”

He’s shocked when she moves from her spot across the restaurant table to sit right beside him. He’s even more shocked that she moves in closer, pressing her hands to his firm chest, openly admiring the hard muscles beneath her fingertips. This is out of character. SJ would never… would she? Is this why his parents were in such a rush to leave? To give them alone time?

“What are you doing?” His voice is thick, barely audible, drowning in lust and confusion. “SJ… what’s going on?”

Her eyes flicker up to his, deep pools of the most delicious chocolate. “I have a present for you.”

She moves slowly like she’s scared of running him off. It’s slightly ridiculous in Jiyong’s opinion. The only place he has any intention of running to is straight towards her. Fully, openly, happily. When their lips meet he can’t hear anything but the sound of blood rushing in his ears, flooding a little further down south. Her lips fit against his perfectly. Like they were made for each other. He grips her hips and pulls her closer, throwing his everything into the kiss. This may be the only time he ever gets this, so why not make the most of it?

“Jiyong,” SJ moans as she breaks the kiss. “I… just… look, listen to this later, okay?” She pats his front pocket where she slipped in a tiny USB drive during the kiss. “And happy birthday.”

Later that night as he’s alone- blessedly, strangely, alone- he plugs the USB into his laptop. There’s only one music file available and he clicks on it instantly. The opening chords are soothing yet dramatic. He recognizes it as SJ’s work before her voice even starts up. He closes his eyes and for four minutes loses himself in the music. It’s not until the very end that he realizes.

The song was his birthday present.

The song was for him.

Park “I can’t write love songs without outside help” SooJin composed and produced a whole love song for him.

Jiyong’s head starts spinning. What does this mean? Where does it leave them? Instead of overthinking things he chooses to replay the song again and again until he blinks and the sun is peaking hazy over the horizon.

#bigbang au #bigbang 6th member au #sj au

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thedepthsremember · 6 years

Text

Maxwell x MC (Riley) [ao3]

Tag list: @imissmaxwell @fullbeaumonty @breaumonts @littlecrookedheart

Rating: Things get mildly over PG-13. Scandal!

----

The morning after the costume ball, Riley woke up from an entertaining dream involving Maxwell as a sort of … squid merman, involving a rather imaginative use of his tentacles. It was more funny than anything, but it does remind her of what’s important: Yesterday, she and Maxwell had finally had sex.

----

“I'm done overthinking it. I want you, Riley.”

Riley's heart was beating in her ears. It took all her effort to not jump off the bench and scream YES, YES, LET’S DO THIS. She took a deep breath. “Maxwell, if we're going to do this, then…I need you to ask me.” She peered up at him through her eyelashes. “Because if you're saying what I'm pretty sure you're saying, then…” She nodded firmly, smiling. “But… I need you to say it. So there's no ambiguity.”

He nodded slowly, starting to understand. “Riley,” his voice was low and soft. “I'm done waiting. I… I want us to have sex.”

Hearing the words in his voice did something to her. Her lips parting with want, she grabbed him by the squid tie and yanked him down to her. It was messy, and she tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth as she released him. “Hell yes,” she breathed, and he laughed. “Where do you want to do this, my room, your room…? Wait, don't you share with Bertrand--?”

He stood, pulling her to her feet with a grin. “I know just the place.”

She had just enough time to be intrigued -- before he suddenly turned and dashed away, yelling with excitement.

“H-hey!” she called, laughing with shock. “You're forgetting something important!”

Slipping off her heels, she sprinted after him, laughing the whole way. She loves this man, so much.

----

Memories tumbling through her brain, Riley kicks her legs against the sheets, giggling and rolling around excitedly. God, she forgot what it was like to have a sex life. She squishes her thighs together. How does anyone get anything else done? There are things she should probably get up for, but images of them together have filled her brain, leaving no room for anything else. As many nights (and car rides, and boring meetings) as she’d spent imagining how his dance moves might translate over to what he could do with his hips, the real thing was on a completely different level. And how sweet was it that he tested every available bed in the palace to make things perfect for them? She can’t get over it. She squeezes a pillow to her face, smothering her giggles. She’s the luckiest lady in Cordonia. Probably even the world.

There aren’t any events today, so no real reason for Maxwell to come wake her up, but she can’t help but hope he does anyway. Then she remembers that she is well within her rights to do something about that. The idea is still strangely, thrillingly new. She pulls out her phone, then pauses on what to say. “I can’t stop thinking about yesterday” is true, but then again, a lot happened yesterday, and there are parts she’d rather not think about right now. She casts around for something better, and eventually settles on a classic.

“I miss you ♥”

As soon as she hits send, she tosses her phone back on the nightstand and tumbles out of bed in one ungraceful movement. Ugh, headrush. Stumbling to the door, she unlocks it before diving back into the warmth of the covers.

Not thirty seconds later, there is a familiar knock.

“Goooood morning! It’s me! …Maxwell!”

She shakes her head, smiling. As if she couldn’t recognize him by now from his voice, his knocks, his excited footsteps. “Come in!”

There's a pause. She wonders if he’s still remembering the time at the beginning of the social season when he came in to wake her up, and walked in on her changing instead. She had very calmly pulled on her dress, and then explained to him while smoothing the creases out that if he ever came in without knocking again, she would put him through the window. He had clearly taken this to heart, as since that time he almost never opened her door first, instead waiting for her to do it.

Slowly, the door opens.

A smile spreads across her face at the sight of him, bright eyed and smiling back at her. He steps in and closes the door behind him, taking in the scene with hands in pockets. “Well, don’t you look cosy.”

She stretches. “I’ve decided never to leave this bed again, and it would be nice to have a buddy.”

He pops up on his toes, raising a hand. “I volunteer!”

She laughs. “I was hoping you would. Lock the door?”

Automatically he turns to comply, then pauses and looks confused. “Wait.” He clicks the lock into place. “You sleep with your door unlocked?”

Busted. Of course she hasn't made that mistake since Applewood. Stupidly, she feels her cheeks heat as she’s forced to admit this isn’t a completely casual, unplanned seduction. Of her own fiancé. “I may have… unlocked it for you.”

His grin reappears and he starts towards the bed, but before he can climb in she says, “Take off your pants.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Bossy today.” But he’s biting his lip as he unbuttons his jeans.

She smiles sweetly. “I just thought you might be more comfortable.”

“For the record, I was not complaining.” He lets his pants fall to the floor, then spreads his arms wide with a flourish. “Anything else?

Well. She leans forward, watching intently. “Lose the shirt.”

“Yes ma’am.” Never taking his eyes off hers, he begins unbuttoning his shirt, one slow button at a time. Right as he unfastens the final one, he spins around. With his back turned, he peers over his shoulder, throws her a wink -- and begins shimmying the shirt off his shoulders.

She bursts into giggles, clapping with delight. It is topped only by the one he gave yesterday as the best and funniest striptease she has ever been privileged to receive. She sees him turn back to face her just before her world is enveloped in black fabric.

She's laughing too hard to get his shirt off her head, but feels the bed dip as he climbs in next to her. “Good morning,” he says right up against her lips, and she can feel him smiling.

“Well good morning to you, sir,” she says, giddy from finally touching him. She’s kissing him in little sips before pulling back. “But be careful! My fiancé was just here.”

He pulls the shirt free, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he cocks his head. “Should I be concerned that my fiancé lacks object permanence?”

“Oh! Maxwell!” She's laughing too hard at her own dumb joke. “There you are!”

Snickering, he collapses onto her, and they lie there for a bit while their giggles subside. She runs her fingers through his hair and he burrows into her with a contented sigh.

“Hey,” she says eventually.

“Mmm?”

“I’m really happy.”

He sits up halfway to look at her. “Yeah?”

She touches his face. “Very much.”

His smile grows beneath her fingers. “Me too.”

She lifts her head and he meets her halfway. It starts soft and slow, until Maxwell makes a little hum against her lips, and Riley presses more firmly into him, deepening the kiss. She tugs on his hair gently and he lets out a moan that stirs the fire in her belly. She’s learned it doesn’t take a lot before he starts getting vocal, but encouraging that has become her new favorite game.

Though right now he seems to be winning, as he’s made his way to her neck, sucking gently until he gets some noise out of her. Leaving more kisses as he goes, he trails down further until he reaches her tank top. He tugs at it. “You've got me at a disadvantage, here.”

“Have I?” she asks, too innocently. When he looks up at her, she flicks her eyes down then back to his, and he quirks an eyebrow, curious. His hands run along her sides, down and down until… “Oh.”

As it turns out, they’re both wearing exactly one piece of clothing. “Yep,” she smiles.

He climbs over her, holding himself in a plank with arms on both sides of her head. His eyes twinkle down at her as his eyes rove down her body. “God, Riley…”

“Maxwell…” She returns, wrapping her arms around him and trying to tug him down, but he refuses to budge. “Hey. Get down here!”

“Your wish is my command.” He lowers his lips to hers--only his lips. She can feel him smiling, the punk.

Well, that just won’t do. She tightens her arms around his back and and wraps her legs around his hips until she’s hanging from him like a koala. He snickers, planting kisses all over her face. “I wonder if we--can walk--around like this. Start a new trend?”

“How are you with piggyback rides?” She nibbles on his ear. “Maybe that would be a little more…” she grinds up against him for emphasis. “...subtle.”

He groans, dropping down onto her. “Oof!”

“Sorry!”

She laughs. “Don’t apologize, you’re right where I want you.” She runs her hands across his back, feeling the muscles there. “God, I love touching you.”

He sucks in a breath, and she can tell he’s pleased. “If it feels nearly as amazing as touching you…” he trails a hand down, and she gasps. “Wow,” he blinks at her. “You’re soaked already. I can feel it through my boxers.”

She blushes. It’s a stupid thing to feel self-conscious about, but it’s never taken much to get her going. She finds herself deflecting. “They make a terrible condom,” she replies brashly.

He laughs. “I can do something about that.”

#maxwell beaumont #trr #the royal romance #v writes things #I am trying to get closer to smut but it is a Process :|#posts this before I overthink it anymore #I have somehow written 10 chapters of this! wowzers #brief tentacle mention and then I promise it’s gone. for better or worse

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h4rr3h · 6 years

Photo

Harry and Evan were as platonic as platonic could be. Living together does that. You see their unlivable quirks; like how they always leave the toilet seat up, or how they never rinse their dishes, or how they never fully close the chip bag so they end up stale. And after six years of living together, Harry and Evan knew each other’s quirks well. The pair were long gone from their college days and fully immersed in the confusing reality of adulthood. Navigating your twenties is hard, but with your best friend by your side, it makes the whole disarray just that much easier. But, Harry has a secret, one that he’s been hiding from his best friend since the day they met, and she’s about to find out. Especially now that Niall spilled about the “Ohio Incident”. A lesson on facing your fears, being too old for college parties, cronuts (are those even still a thing?) and finding things out just a bit too late.

ohio is for lovers, chapter one evan bosco and the greatest one night stand that never happened

Since they day they met, Harry Styles knew Evan Bosco would take him on the ride of his life.

Sunday, March 25, 2018

185 Bleecker Street, Apartment 11A, New York, NY

Since they day they met, Harry Styles knew Evan Bosco would take him on the ride of his life.

“Get up! Get up!” She hollers, jumping on the edge of his bed.

It’s eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. Harry is hoping for another hour of sleep, Evan is hoping for Harry’s homemade pancakes.

“I want breakfast!” She grumbles, like a child.

Harry knows he won’t say no. God, he could never say no to this girl, “make them yourself.” He groans, pushing his face into his pillow.

Evan jumps closer, and Harry grabs her ankle and wiggles her around a bit. She stumbles but puts her palm against the ceiling to stable her balance. She’s wearing one of his jumpers with a pair of pajama shorts underneath. He pretends that he can’t see the eggplant shaped birthmark on her inner thigh. That’s not his territory.

“Let gooooo - “

Harry tugs on her leg, pulling her onto him. Evan laughs in protest but wraps her arms around him, hugging him close, throwing a leg over his lap, “Pancakes?” She jets her bottom lip out and he gives in.

“Pancakes.”

Thursday, August 23, 2012 Washington Square Diner

150 West 4th Street, New York, NY

Harry Styles is not a fan of decaf coffee. But it’s three in the morning and he was about to round his thirtieth hour of no sleep and he reckoned if he had another drip of caffeine he would surely die of a heart attack at the age of eighteen. The chemical always heightened his senses. He was all too aware of the bored waitress sweeping behind the counter of empty display cases that in just a few hours time will hold bagels and pastries galore. Her rhythm is off key when she moves to the left, it’s a sweep, sweeeeep instead of a short quick sweep sweep.

There are four other people in Washington Square Diner with him; an old man sitting on the furthest inside seat of counter, a punk looking couple, and a simple girl. The old geezer is leaned up so gingerly against the brick facade wall that Harry worries that the slightest gust of wind from an incoming customer might knock him over. He’s clearly asleep, or drunk, or dead. The couple are picking at the paper placemats laid in front of them despite a table full of hot, greasy food. And finally the girl, that damn girl.

Sweep, Sweeeeep.

Evan Bosco sits at the other end Washington Square Diner, earbuds in, but nothing playing. People leave you alone when they think you’re listening to music. She picks at her stack of pancakes, so soaked with syrup that they’re sticky and too sickly sweet for the common human. But that was how she liked them. Evan pretends not to notice the red eyed boy staring wide eyed at the scene around him.

He must be a tourist, she thinks.

She listens to the peaceful pattern of sweeps from the lonely waitress behind the counter. Another mouthful of pancakes washed down by her cup of black coffee and she’s counted twice now since the boy with bloodshot eyes has caught her sightline again. Old Man Figgins snorts in his sleep and Evan attempts to hide her bemusement. Mitch and Hannah in the front and center booth are high on Molly or X or whatever fad drug they were doing this week. Evan catches Harry’s eye again. Only she doesn’t know him as Harry, at least not yet. For now, he was the zombie boy who caught her gaze in between staring into his untouched mug of coffee and looking around him like he was hiding from something.

Harry’s shoulders ache. He supposes it’s his bad posture, or at least that what his mother would tell him. He shifts his weight in the booth, the squeak of the fake leather seat whining as he makes a feeble attempt to stretch his sore muscles.

Sweep, Sweeeeep.

The air smells sweet like maple syrup and powdered sugar. The scent almost makes him nauseous. He glares down at the room temperature cup of decaf coffee and lets out a little sob to himself. Harry winces before the taste even hits his lips.

Fucking decaf, he complains to himself.

He can’t tell if the girl with honey hair sitting on the other side of the Diner is looking at him on purpose or not. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun, strands still falling in her face. She hides almond eyes behind a pair of oversized wire rimmed glasses that look like they belong to the elderly man asleep (or dead) at the counter instead of a young woman. There’s a crinkle in her forehead when he catches her looking again.

It’s then that he notices the sweeping has stopped.

Evan rises from her seat, but not without shoving another bite of pancake into her mouth. She licks her sticky lips and crosses the Diner in thirteen strides to the back corner booth where the boy is sitting. He looks even worse for wear up close. His greenish (although they look dull under the pale Diner lighting) eyes are bloodshot to hell and, along with red rimmed eyes, he has bags so dark Evan wondered for a moment if he’d been recently socked in the face. She notices he’d put far too much creamer in his coffee, it sits so beige and stagnant in the white mug with roadmap-like hairpin cracks along the edge of its mouth.

Something like this wasn’t rash for Evan Bosco. She was used to flighty strangers in the night, whether she was at the park or the Diner, or the Subway station. New York really was the city that never slept, in the sense that the people who inhabited it were walking talking zombies who drank expensive coffee and ate fad pastries instead of brains, just shuffling and grunting onto their next stop. It was these strange hours of the night a few times a month that Evan stepped away from the hustle and bustle of simply existing in such an exhausting city and took some time to pause.

She met some interesting people along the way, like Hannah and Mitch who would sometimes pay for her pancakes if they were feeling up to it and offered her drugs she’d never take. Or Old Man Figgins, who smelled faintly of cat pee thanks to the dozen or so cats he had collected in his studio apartment around the corner on MacDougal Street.

Why was she coming towards him? Harry thinks, She’s probably coming to tell me to fuck off.

But she doesn’t, and Evan slides gracefully into his booth and it takes him a moment to resonate that the girl he’d been staring at for the better part of forty-five minutes is staring back him from across the table.

And she smells like maple syrup.

Neither of them speak when she sits, Harry looks into his mug like he’s waiting for it to tell him its greatest secrets.

“I’ve never seen someone look so somberly at a mug of coffee.” Evan states.

Harry blinks once, “it’s decaf.”

That explains it, she thinks. Also, nice accent.

“Why’re you drinking that?” She questions.

He shrugs, What an odd question.

Odd question for an odd girl.

He rips open a sugar packet and dumps it in, hoping it will mask the flavor (it won’t), “too much caffeine. Been up too long. Need to sleep sometime I suppose.”

Evan nods her head, “so why do you keep staring at me? Do I have something in my teeth?”

She curls her lips up and bares a white smile to Harry. He tries his best not to smile too much back at her. He pulls his coffee mug to his mouth to try and hide it.

“Just wonderin’ what you were doing here,” he mutters, lips pressed to the edge of the porcelain mug.

Evan rips tiny tears into the edges of the paper placemat, “could ask you the same thing.”

“This is the city that never sleeps, am I right?”

She rolls her eyes, what a cliche tourist thing to say.

“I guess,” she huffs, “this is really the only place around here that’s open twenty-four hours. I come here when I need to think.”

Harry rolls his eyes, what a cliche teenage girl thing to say.

“And what do you think about?” He quizzes.

By now Evan has made it three quarters of the way around her placemat and she’s mentally scanning the rest of the table for things to occupy her fingertips; the napkins, sugar packets, a dollar store miniature coloring book with three waxy crayons in red, yellow and blue.

She shrugs, how terribly invasive, she thinks to herself. Although it’s exciting. She’s spent most of her time in and out of this city. Between dad’s work and travels she’s seen the inside of airport terminals so often she thought she ought to have a punch card for the JFK airport. There’s something fuzzy growing in her stomach and it makes her want to throw up, but in the most exhilarating way possible. She can be anyone tonight. Anyone to this person. She’s not her father’s daughter who shares the same bright eyes and sense of adventure and terrible nail biting habit. And she’s definitely not the girl that Jacob Huckabee just dumped twelve hours ago in a Starbucks on Bleecker Street.

“I think about the color blue, and the way that the sky looks right before the sun rises,” Evan plucks out a crayon from the little cardboard box and flips her edge torn paper placemat to the blank white side, “I think about this city and how, despite us being constantly surrounded by other people that we never actually touch them,” she draws a cluster of stick figures inside of a box below a deep blue crayon sky, “sure, we may bump into them on the sidewalk or the subway but we don’t interact with more than a mumble of a sorry or barely even that. All these damn people and then they bump into other people and it just keeps going on and on-,” Evan drags the circle around the box a few times, “for seemingly forever. One-point-six million people just bumping into each other, day in and day out.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. He pulls the red crayon from the box and turns the paper around to him, scribbling hair and smiley faces on two of the stick figures standing side by side before presenting it back to her, “and then there’s us.”

“You never answered my question,” Evan replies, “about what you’re doing here. I’ve never seen you here before tonight.”

Harry doesn’t like questions, mostly because he never really has an answer. He was at the Washington Square Diner and three thirty in the morning because he was wired on caffeine, jet lagged, stressing about his upcoming first year at university, and well, hungry.

“You’ve met all one point six million people in this city?” He raises an eyebrow. Evan folds her arms and he caves. “And I was hungry.”

There’s a wrinkle of questioning between Evan’s eyes that causes her glasses to slip ever so slightly, “you don’t have any food.”

Harry shrugs.

Evan reaches for the last crayon, the yellow one, and draws a door that leads out of the stick figure clustered box and past the circle of repetition and to the blank part of the placemat.

“Want to get out of here?” She asks.

Harry isn’t sure what this girl is asking. Is she trying to sleep with me? He thinks. Not that it would be the worst way this night (morning?) could end.

“Sure.”

Evan smiles and damn near pulls him straight from the booth. Harry grabs the paper placemat with the torn edges and their drawing and folds it neatly, “in case we get lost we’ll always know where to find each other,” he says before tucking it into his back pocket.

Old man Figgins wakes up when the front door of Washington Square Diner slams shut. It’s a fairly warm night. There’s no wind and the air is stagnant with summer’s leftovers. A slight lick of humidity fills the air; it’s stale, old, recycled. Just like this damn city. It’s a smell that Harry can’t place and one that Evan just calls “that city smell”. It’s mechanical, but still manages to smell like greasy chinese food after its sat out for too long, mixed with the slight wet dog smell of this evening’s rainstorm.

Harry and Evan run down the sidewalk of West 4th Street towards Washington Square Park. Evan’s not much of a runner, especially with a stomach full of sticky pancakes and black coffee.

Harry isn’t sure why they’re running. Is it a race? No, she’s not running fast enough for that. Is she running away from him? No, she’s smiling every time he looks at her to check her pace. She grabs his hand and drags him further, her hand is soft in his.

Evan isn’t quite sure why she’s running. Overtired? Maybe, she should’ve been in bed hours ago. Craziness? Probably, she’s felt every emotion crammed into a half day and still lived to tell about it.

They enter the park at the corner of Macdougal and Washington Square South.

With heavy breaths, they fall to the ground in a fit of laughter, two strangers in the middle of the night. If this were a romantic comedy, Harry probably would’ve kissed her. But all he could notice in this moment was the way that the sidewalk lamp posts glowed in the reflection of her glasses and that her blue eyes looked so bright he thought he could’ve fallen in love right there on the spot.

Harry didn’t really believe in love at first sight or even really love at all for that matter. It was a thing for saps and Hallmark cards. But, by God, he swore he saw the rest of his life with this girl flash in front of his eyes when she shut hers and placed her hand over his.

“So what’s the plan?” He asks, when his breath finally catches up to him.

Evan lets out a breathy laugh, “that’s one thing you’ll learn about me, I never have a plan.”

Sunday, March 25, 2018

185 Bleecker Street, Apartment 11A, New York, NY

It’s like a dance routine, the way that Harry and Evan work around their tiny apartment kitchen. They’ve mastered the art of passing by the other to get a utensil from the opposite end of the counter. Harry knows to dip slightly to the left when Evan reaches above his head for the mixing bowls; all her weight rested on her right foot, her left one extended backwards behind her. It’s choreographed teamwork.

“Shit, we’re out of chocolate chips,” Evan groans as she digs through the cupboard.

Harry’s got his Kiss the Cook apron on, mixing bowl full of raw pancake batter cradled in one arm and whisk in the other, “when did we run out?”

“I made those cookies for Poll’s party a couple weeks ago.”

“You didn’t write it in on the shopping list,�� Harry tuts.

Evan glares over the tops of her glasses, “shut up,” she say, kicking him swiftly on the ass.

He does that cocky little smirk that causes the crease of his dimples to indent even more. Evan swears she’s detested it since the day she met him, but that’s only because it causes one single butterfly in her lower stomach to flutter for just a fraction of a moment that happens so quickly, the first few times it happened she could’ve sworn she was imagining things.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” Harry asks.

Evan shrugs, shaking away the butterfly, “Huck had something he wants to do later. He was scarce on the details.”

“Isn’t he always?” Harry quips.

Evan hates when her best friend takes jabs at her boyfriend. Sure, Harry and Huck get along as well as they probably ever could, but there’s those backhanded compliments and little quips between comments that they fire at one another that makes her think one of them is bound to get sucker punched one of these days.

It’s the second time in the course of sixty seconds that Evan tells Harry to shut up, but this time it’s with a little more fervor and he takes the hint. At least for now.

“Maybe it’s a surprise,” Harry wiggles his fingers dramatically.

“Eh,” Evan starts, “he’s not really one for surprises,” she acts nonchalant but her head swirls with ideas.

They spin together to swap sides of the kitchen, pressed chest to chest for the briefest moment. Evan chuckles to herself at the sight of Harry’s tattoo-laden bare chest under his apron. A sizzling sound sparks in the air when Harry pours the batter into the hot pan, tiny bubbles forming up. Two steps to the left and Evan is pulling out more milk for their coffee that’s been steeping in the French press. They cheers with their matching monogrammed mugs that Harry still insists drinking out of even though his has a chip on the lip.

“I can’t wait for the day you cut your mouth open on that mug so I can dance around the apartment screaming ‘told ya so!’”

Harry winks and takes a sip from the side with the chip and the mug rubs against slightly rough spot on the inside of his upper lip where it’s cut him over and over in the past but this time there’s no metallic taste of blood mixed with his coffee.

Outside the front door of apartment 11A, Jake Huckabee can smell the sweet scent of pancakes outside of his girlfriend’s apartment. While he much preferred waffles, after pulling an all nighter studying for Monday’s exam, pancakes would just have to do right now. He knocks four times in rapid succession and can hear the gentle pat pat of Evan’s feet against the hardwood floors.

“Baby, you look so tired,” Evan groans to her boyfriend, holding her hands on either side of his face.

She slides them down to his shoulders, giving them a single squeeze before wrapping her arms around his neck. Jake presses his forehead into her collarbone and peppers kisses along her neck. Evan giggles and pulls him into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

Harry tries not to stare at their spectacle and finishes up the first round of pancakes, “have a fresh batch ready to go!” Harry says a little too loudly, his voice cracking a bit at the end.

Evan laces her fingers with Huck and pulls him to the kitchen. The dance is disturbed now by Huck standing like an awkward fucking giant in the middle of the kitchen. Evan bumps into him with a hot pan of cooked bacon and he winces and rubs the rapidly forming burn on his arm, Harry steps on his big toe while backing up to get the syrup from the cupboard.

“Hey Huck, can you put this stuff on the table?” Harry asks, slightly annoyed, but mostly just to get him out of the fucking way.

“Sure, man,” he replies, giving Evan a kiss on the forehead before putting the plate of fresh pancakes on the tiny dining table in what was supposed to be the other half of the living room.

Living in a New York City apartment, especially when you’re barely able to cover rent and food, is like playing a real life game of tetris. The buildings are full of right angles and corners and straight lines, and the rooms take on multiple uses. The living room becomes a dining room on Sunday morning but a dance hall on Saturday nights. The weird corner in the kitchen that’s too small for a table but too big for a bar cart becomes a place for Harry and Evan’s ‘his and hers’ cats to perch and catch some morning rays. The bedrooms double as therapist offices and gymnasiums. And so on, and so forth.

The threesome settles at the dining table and it’s a symphony of scraping forks and Huck’s cow chewing because of a deviated septum from a broken nose as a kid. They’ve had many a morning like this. Harry would be stupid to act like this didn’t happen every goddamn Sunday morning and now especially since Evan and Huck saw less of each other because of his spastic medical school schedule, time was precious.

“So how goes Ye Olde Med School?” Harry asks, letting his fork scrape against his teeth for a second or two too long.

Huck rubs his tired eyes. The classes are exhausting and seemingly never ending, the course load is enough to make anyone’s goddamn head explode, he sleeps an average of four hours a night, and he spends so much time in the library he can’t remember what day of the week it is most of the time.

“It’s good,” he says simply.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Washington Square Park, New York, NY

“So what are you thinking about now?” He asks.

“Are you a therapist?” Evan questions in a dry tone.

She opens her eyes and rolls her head over to face him, she can feel the soft tickle of the grass on her cheek. It’s quiet, and that’s saying something for the city. There’s the ever present sirens in the distance and honks and the other white noise static she’s become accustomed to. After all the places in the world that her father had taken her on his work trips, she detested the fact that he had to settle on New York City when it came time to take the promotion and settle down. Now he was the Editor-in-Chief of Travel Lately; one of those boujee travel magazines that showcased resorts and accommodations only the one-percent could afford. It was a modest upbringing when her father was just a measly travel writer carting his daughter around the world. But he was amazing at what he did and made good connections, and well, things changed. Now he spent 9-5 in an office building surrounded by glass walls and computer monitors the size of big screen televisions.

“I’m interested in what you have to say,” Harry says, plainly. He’s turned his head over too and Evan can feel his breath feather across her face. He smells of coffee and mint.

Is he trying to sleep with me? She thinks. Men are all the same.

Evan rolls onto her side, propping her face up on her palm and surveys Harry. He’s laying on his back, hands folded on his stomach. His breathing is light and steady in perfect rhythm. His heart is racing, and she can hear. Even his heart beat is in sync with his breathing and she wondered how in the Hell anyone could be so in tune. Harry’s eyes are more green than she noticed in the diner; they looked more hazel under the fluorescents and she spots a pair of swallow tattoos just below his collar bone poking out from above his shirt. She reaches out to trace one.

“I already told you what I think about, and what I was doing in the Diner. How about you answer some questions, buddy?” She finishes dragging her finger across his skin, his body emitting shivers under her touch.

Harry takes a deep breath to try and recover himself, he wonders if she can hear how fast his heart is racing, “do you want the long or short version?”

“Long,” she smiles, “we’ve got another couple hours until sunrise.”

Evan listens intently while he speaks, “well, I got here this afternoon, from England, if you couldn’t tell.”

She could.

“I’m starting University on Tuesday and I’m scared shitless. I already hate this city. It’s so loud and lonely despite the fact you are never actually alone anywhere...ever,” he continues, “you have to wait twenty minutes for a seven dollar cup of coffee that takes less time to drink than it took for you to get it. It’s so goddamn loud. I don’t think I’ve heard a second of silence since I’ve gotten here. And there’s tourists, like, everywhere. It’s exhausting.”

“Shit, I’d hate to see what you’ll be like after a month,” Evan quips.

“Dead, hopefully.”

There’s a playful smirk on his face and it makes Evan feel things she shouldn’t feel about a complete stranger, “Where are you going to school?”

“NYU-”

“Wait are you shitting me?” Evan sits up, clutching her chest.

Harry is confused, “no?”

“I’m going there too! That’s so cool! Small world, huh?” She jabs his ribs, “so what made you decide to cross the world to come to school?”

He lets out a stream of breath, it comes out as a low whistle, “...my best friend talked me into it. Wanted something different, I suppose. If I stayed home I’d probably be working in my parent’s little pub. Sold me into the whole big city thing and here I am.”

“So where’s he?” Evan asks.

Harry shrugs, “probably at home.”

“What’s his name?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Harry tuts.

Evan rolls her eyes, “so says the guy who wants to know what I’m thinking because he’s sooo interested in what I have to say,” she proclaims with faux drama.

“Fair enough,” Harry starts, “his name is Louis. We met really young. He’s a couple years older, already in school. His family lived next door to my parents growing up. Parents split and his dad stayed in England so he’d spend summers with him and the rest of the year here with his Mum. We just stayed in touch over the years.”

“So you just dropped everything to move to the states and be with your best friend?”

Harry thinks about it. That wasn’t really the full reason why. It was just his easiest way out of a drone life of working the pub and then it would eventually be passed on to him like it was his to his Mum and surely onto his children after he grew too old to care for it. It wouldn’t have been a bad life. It’d be comfortable, he’d marry the girl next door and she’d work in a shop up the block from the pub and they’d have a comfortable and familiar existence together and maybe pop out a few kids and go on a couple vacations. But Harry had known from a very young age that that was not what he wanted for himself. So the easiest way out was taking Lou’s advice and getting the fuck out of dodge.

“I guess, in a way. It’s complicated back home but entirely not at the same time. I needed to get away from the constant sameness of the day to day. I needed something more for myself than what life back home could offer me and he offered to help me out and here I am.”

Evan clutches her chest again and finds the whole thing so goddamn endearing she may burst. She wants to ask him about home and the best friend that she can thank for bringing him here and about a thousand other things but she doesn’t.

“That’s so bromantic!”

Harry rolls his eyes, “does that adequately answer your question?”

She adjusts herself so that her head is resting on his chest. His heart is racing so fast Evan can feel it thump gently against her and Harry flushes and prays she doesn’t notice.

She does.

“For now.”

She lets her fingers tiptoe on the grass around her. A silence has fallen between them (if you’re not counting Harry’s furiously beating heart) and Evan musters up the courage to ask what she’s about to, “so where are you staying tonight?”

Harry fumbles with his answer, “uh just some like cruddy hotel until uh I move into the dorms. Louis’ mum’s apartment is cramped enough as it is without me there. W-why do you ask?”

“Can I see it?”

He chokes on air. Holy shit she really is trying to sleep with me. He blinks once, “uhm sure, I guess.”

Sunday, March 25, 2018

185 Bleecker Street, Apartment 11A, New York, NY

“Does this mean you’ve finally grown a pair of balls?” Niall asks, sipping his beer, feet resting on the edge of the coffee table.

Harry pushes his legs off his goddamn coffee table and leans back in his seat, taking a last sip of his drink before slamming the bottle on the table, “no, I’m just going to start being honest. I can’t stand seeing her with that human Valium.”

“They’ve been together longer than you’ve known her, mate. I think you need to just keep your mouth shut and accept the fact that it’s never going to happen,” Louis chimes in, always the voice of reason.

“If you tell her does that mean you’re going to stop bringing up your overdone sad sap trope every time she’s not around and you’ve had more than two drinks?” Niall pips casually.

Louis tries his best not to chuckle, “yeah man, it’s kind of getting old. Either move on or tell her. And personally, I vote don’t tell her. Not after this long, and you live together…it’s just kind of sad and entirely too creepy.”

“Thanks,” Harry seethes, finishing his beer and getting up for another.

“Where is she anyways?” Niall asks.

“Out with the Valium,” Harry sneers. He’s four beers in and feeling brave.

“Bitter, table of one.” Niall mumbles into his beer.

Louis rolls his eyes and mentally adds another tick to his count of how many times he has to smooth over something Niall says for Harry’s benefit. Just a normal side effect of having one friend with no filter and another who takes everything much too personally.

“How’s Jordan?” Louis asks, changing the subject.

Oh, right, my girlfriend. Harry thinks. Well, at least this week.

“She’s good. We’re supposed to be going on a weekend trip up north to see her parents in a couple weeks. That should be interesting.”

“You’ve met her parents like four dozen times, what’s so different this time?” Louis inquires.

Mr. and Mrs. Charles Meyers of Troy, New York wanted nothing more than for their first born daughter to marry the man of her dreams. Harry was not this man. They were old fashioned, made Harry and Jordan sleep in separate bedrooms whenever they spent a night at their McMansion upstate. But a little after midnight Jordan would sneak into the guest room and snuggle up to Harry for a cuddle or a fuck or whatever they were feeling at that particular time. There’s just something about that boy, they always thought. He was smart, well put together, made good conversation, was respectful to their daughter, but Mr. and Mrs. Meyers knew that Harry Styles was not the man their daughter would marry.

“It’s their like thirtieth wedding anniversary or some bullshit. So everyone is making a big deal about it and Jordan is asking too many questions about ‘the next step’.”

“...you mean like normal couples do?” Louis fails to see the clear annoyance in Harry’s tone.

He groans and puts his face in his hands, “she’s just - I don’t know how to describe it. She’s all over me all the time and then I’ll say something she doesn’t agree with and she’ll dump me for two weeks and then just show up at my door like she hasn’t been cursing my existence for the last fourteen days.”

Niall pushes his glasses up his nose, “poor Harry, can’t get the girl he wants, can’t get rid of the one he doesn’t. Life is so cruel.”

“Remind me again why we keep you around?” Harry snickers.

Niall grins, “for the amazing commentary and real life wisdom.”

“Yeah,” Harry snorts, “that’s it.”

Thursday, August 23, 2012

St. Marks Hotel

2 St Marks Pl, New York, NY

Harry wipes his sweaty palms against his jeans and paces the length of the tiny hotel room four times by the time Evan is done in the bathroom. He’d never had a one night stand before, unless you counted the time he lost his virginity to his first girlfriend who then promptly dumped him the next day. Harry liked to think there was no correlation, but he was just a lousy kisser and an even worse lay at age sixteen.

He sits at the edge of the bed and it let out a squeaking groan in protest. Whoever was staying next door was surely in for a (loud) treat. He ponders briefly if he should play some music to help set the mood or dim the lights or shut them off completely. The blanket he’s sitting on is scratchy and he swears he can feel it through the fabric of his jeans. Finally, he hears the click of the bathroom door opening and approximately five thoughts process through his head at once;

One, her hair is down, swung over one shoulder. It’s precise without looking like she did it on purpose (she did). Harry notices a small globe tattoo at the very top of her shoulder.

Two, she’s taller than he thought, standing in front of him as he’s seated on the edge of the bed frozen with fear. He’s eye level with her bust and now he can hear her heart too.

Three, her skin is a lot warmer than Harry expected. His hand cups her hip, his thumb toying with the bottom hem of her loose fitting tee shirt.

Four, she smells like a mixture of seasalt and French vanilla coffee.

Five, he can’t fucking go through with this.

“I - I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Harry stands and backs himself into a corner, biting at his thumbnail, shoulders hunched over. Evan takes a step towards him and he flinches backwards.

“Have I done something wrong?” She asks. She’s on the verge of tears, mostly from the embarrassment of flinging herself at a total stranger she’d picked up at a fucking Diner, and partially because she misses her boyfriend, well, ex now.

“No, no. You’re fine. I just can’t sleep with you. You’re great, honestly. I just...can’t do it.”

“Oh my God,” Evan gasps, “are you gay? I’m so sorry, I just assumed - “

“No! No I’m not gay,” Harry corrects, “not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just, not. I know I’ll regret all of this in the morning and quite possibly the rest of my life -”

Evan laughs, loud and breathy. It’s more of a relief than anything. She really didn’t want to sleep with Harry either. Although he was quite attractive and interesting and all that but in a way she thought that sleeping with him would cheapen the night. Having sex with him would’ve given the whole spontaneity of everything less meaning and it took him forcing himself into a corner like a terrified puppy for her to realize that.

“Come here,” she says, sitting down and patting the space of mattress next to her.

Harry hesitates, his heart still racing as if she were underneath him.

“I just got dumped,” Evan starts, and he isn’t quite sure why she’s telling him this, “he said that while we were great together, he had to focus on school and his career and I just didn’t fit into that. So I cried, and went to the Diner, ate my weight in pancakes and now I’m here, with you.”

“I think he’s an idiot,” Harry consoles, holding her hand in his.

Evan swallows the lump in her throat, “thanks.”

“No problem.”

Silence again, and it’s truly quiet for the first time since Harry had arrived in the City. He sighs and savors what he’s sure are going to be far and few in between moments. Evan yawns and rubs her eyes, it’s been a while since she’s been this tired. She’s been tired since she got to the Diner and the night’s ups and downs just added to her exhaustion.

“You can sleep here if you want,” Harry offers, “or I can call you a cab if you’re not comfortable with that.”

Evan smiles, “I think I’ll stay here.”

Sunday, March 25, 2018

185 Bleecker Street, Apartment 11A, New York, NY

“Where the fuck is Evan?!” Polly hollers from the hallway between apartments 11A and 11B.

It’s half past seven and the boy’s show at the bar up the street starts in a half hour. Evan never misses show nights on Sundays and Polly is impatient.

“Relax, maybe she got stuck in traffic,” Louis rubs her lower back, trying to calm down his girlfriend.

Polly stomps and puts her hands on her hips, “well then she should’ve called! This is so disrespectful. She knows how important - “

Louis covers her mouth with his palm, “Polls, it’s fine. I’m going to round up Harry and Niall and we’re going to go across the street to get set up. Meet us there in ten?”

She nods, her stature loosening a bit when he removes his hand, “sorry, I’m PMS-ing,” she defends, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Lou teases before giving her a kiss on the forehead, “I’ll order us a round and you can get nice and blitzed tonight.”

She chuckles and smacks him on the bum, “go! You’ll be late!”

Louis goes back into 11A and Polly can hear the faint sounds of him hollering at the other two to hurry up. Pounding footsteps make their way up the hallway and Polly is half pissed, half relieved to finally see her cousin.

“Finally! I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Polly snapped.

Evan didn’t respond and just pulled her into the apartment.

“Everyone to the living room!” She yells excitedly and Polly rolls her eyes and wonders what the hell she’s doing.

The three boys come rushing into the living room. Huck isn’t far behind and lets himself into the apartment. Evan steps away from her cousin and clutches onto her boyfriend, excitedly biting her lip.

“What?!” The four friends chime in unison.

“We’re engaged!” And she holds up her left hand and shiny diamond ring to prove it.

Niall stifles a laugh into a cough and Harry plans on getting very, very drunk.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Goddard Hall

79 Washington Square East, New York, NY

It had been three days since Evan parted ways with Harry. They hadn’t so much as shared their names with each other, nor phone numbers nor anything else. They fell asleep halfway into an episode of Friends and Evan left when the dawn of morning came. When Harry finally woke up in the early afternoon, he thought maybe she’d been a dream; a toxic combination of too much coffee, not enough sleep and a brand new city. But when he heard a crinkle from his back pocket and pulled out the tattered paper placemat with her drawing, he knew she had, in fact, been for real.

He couldn’t wait to tell Louis.

Move in day at Goddard Hall was going smoothly for Evan and her father, Evan Bosco Sr. After believing for months that their daughter was a son due to faulty ultrasound equipment in Cambodia, Mr. and Mrs. Bosco couldn’t decide on a name for their daughter, so they just settled on naming her what they had intended on naming their son.

“I think that’s the last of it,” Evan Sr. says, dropping the last tote of belongs on the floor of his daughter’s new dorm room, “want me to help you unpack?”

“Nah,” Evan replies, “I’ll probably just do the essentials tonight, get a pizza and watch some Netflix.”

Evan Sr. had a swollen heart, watching his only daughter, his only child leave home for college. Even if she really wasn’t all that far from home. The apartment would be quieter, he’d miss their morning cups of coffee while they split the paper; crosswords and the business section for him, current affairs and comics for her. He’d miss (although he’d never admit it) when he’d have to remind her to pick up her dishes or clean up her room. He’d miss having his partner in crime with him.

“Alright, if you need anything, just call me and I’ll be here.”

“Yes dad,” Evan groans.

“I’m not far. Even if you need to get away from your new roommate -”

“I’m sure the twelve minute subway ride to get home will really be a daunting when I want to shower in private.”

He laughs, “where is this roommate anyways?”

“No clue,” Evan shrugs, “maybe I’ll get lucky and end up with a room to myself. Then you’ll really never see me.”

“Hey,” Evan Sr. turns the rolling chair from the desk and sits in it, “how about once a week, no matter what, we do something? Whether it’s dinner, lunch, shopping, a movie, doesn’t matter. Deal?”

“Dad,” she starts, she can see the corners of her father’s eyes twinkling like they do right before he cries, “I’m not moving to a different country, just a different neighborhood. You’ll be too busy living up the bachelor lifestyle in your newly empty apartment that you won’t have time to miss me.”

Evan Sr. stands and pulls his daughter into a hug. He squeezes her tight and plants a kiss on the top of her head before letting her go and heading for the door, “okay, I’ll let you get to it.”

“Love you, Dad.” She says.

Her father waves and yells, “Love you too, my little snickerdoodle!” Down the crowded hallway back at her.

Evan laughs and closes the door, turning to her empty dorm room. She sighs once and lays down on the uncomfortable twin bed and instantly regrets fighting her father to let her live on campus.

Somewhere in the middle of the third season of Arrested Development, Evan falls asleep, curled into a ball on her unmade bed. It’s dark in the room when she wakes up a couple hours later with still no sign of her roommate. Maybe I did get lucky and end up alone. She thinks. She plugs in her microwave and whips up some cup noodles and settles back into bed. Another hour passes before there’s a the sound of keys jingling outside the dorm door. After a couple of hushed swears the door pops open and it takes a few seconds for Evan’s eyes to adjust from the brightness of her laptop screen to the darkness of the room.

When the light flicks on she can’t seem to find the words she wants to say so instead, stares with her mouth agape at the sight of Diner boy standing in front of her. He looks at the piece of paper in his hand, “Evan?”

“Yeah?”

Evan scrambles to the move in slip on her bedside table with the name of her roommate listed on it, “I assumed Harry was short for Harriet.”

Harry bursts out laughing, falling onto his bed across from Evan’s.

Since they day they met, Harry Styles knew Evan Bosco would take him on the ride of his life.

FIRST AND FOREMOST THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE ON THE PROLOGUE. Holy crap. And all the lovely messages too! I’m so excited to go on this journey with you guys and share all of the shenanigans that this gang is going to get into.

Until next time!

#fic: oifl #chapter oneeeeee #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #1dff

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internetgremlin-writes · 7 years

Text

Of Punks And Nerds

YAAAAS I got my first request! This one is for @frizzy2ne1 who requested a Billie Joe Armstrong imagine.

Prompt/Summary: Requested - High School era Green Day. You are a high achieving student with an unfortunate crush on your delinquent homeroom classmate

Pairing: Billie Joe Armstrong x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of drugs/underage drinking

Word Count: 3933

I don’t know when it got so bad, but then again you never really do. Heck, I don’t even remember when it all started. I sigh and stare out of the window, a million thoughts a second racing through my mind, mostly of him. I scold myself: I need to stop thinking about him so much, but I can’t help it. He’s become everything to me, and yet I don’t even exist to him. I’m vaguely aware of my best friend, Lindsey, whispering my name, but I decide she can wait, my daydream taking priority over mindless gossip.

A sharp elbow to the ribs makes me flinch and I shoot a dirty look at Lindsey. “Fran,” she hisses again. I blink a few times and readjust from my sulky daydream to miserable reality. “What?” I hiss back. “Frances?” Mrs Peterson calls from the front of the room. “Yes, Miss?” “Are you present today?” “Oh, er yes,” I mumble, the blush must be obvious on my face judging by the fact that my ears feel like they’re on fire. My voice is a mere squeak, embarrassment eating me alive as I shrink back into my seat.

I’m too afraid to look over at him, I don’t want to see him laughing at me with everyone else, even if it is a sign that he knows I exist. Lindsey sends me a look that says “Sorry, I tried to warn you,” I shrug and chance a glance over at him. Typical, this would happen on one of the rare days that he decides to show up, but my panic is calmed. He’s not looking at me, he didn’t even giggle with everyone else. His eyes are wide and glazed over, and he’s staring blankly at the ceiling. A small smile flickers across my face and again I curse myself. I can’t be this obsessed with someone like him. Lindsey catches my look and smirks at me, wiggling her eyebrows and winking for effect. I flip her the bird under the desk.

Technically, this is all Lindsey’s fault. At one of her sleepovers a few months back we had been up late and giggly on wine coolers and were discussing boyfriends, or in my case lack thereof. Like a lion with a piece of meat she refused to let the subject go, determined to find out who I was crushing on and like any best friend she refused to take no for an answer. With help from the others and lots of probing and pushing she had managed to extract my “type”, which in all honesty I didn’t really know and so to keep the beast at bay I began randomly listing features.

“Billie Joe Armstrong,” she said with a triumphant smile, leaving me to snort loudly into my drink. “W-what?” I spluttered, cooler running down my face. “You described Billie Joe,” “I most certainly did not,” I snapped venomously and told her exactly where Billie Joe could go. That boy is nothing but trouble, he’s been in my homeroom since freshman year at Pinole Valley and on the rare occasions that he feels like showing up (and even rarer on time) he’s either stoned, hung over or just plain rude. He’s got a gang of friends that dress like he does - skinny jeans that shouldn’t be so tight, beat up Chuck Taylor’s, flannels and shirts with bands on them or other vulgar symbols. He is loud and obnoxious, you’d hear his laugh from a mile away and his voice is very distinctive being slightly more southern than most Californian scents. Billie Joe Armstrong is the type of kid who thinks he’s above teachers, and he makes sure that the teachers know it.

Because Lindsey had mentioned it, the following Monday I kept a watchful eye for him, and on Tuesday and Wednesday when he didn’t show up. On Thursday he strolled in twenty minutes late without so much as acknowledging Mrs Peterson, whose face was growing red as she scribbled out a detention slip. Billie Joe had thrown himself into his seat at the back of the room and was lounging with his feet up as if he owned the place. “Mr Armstrong, feet off the desk please,” he had stared at her with the same interest that one would give a dead fly. “Bite me,” Peterson’s face was a picture as she stormed over, batted his feet with a rolled up newspaper and slammed two detention slips on the desk. He picked them up, the look on his face amused and careful, maintaining eye contact with her as he very pointedly ripped the slips to shreds. “That’s it! Get out!” She flipped and Billie Joe stood up, knocking the chair over and sauntered out of the class, hands stuffed into his pockets. “My pleasure,” he grinned.

He didn’t show up the next week.

Unfortunately, that only piqued my newfound interest in the delinquent. Over the next few weeks I started to notice things about him, the fact that his hair was out of control but it totally suited him, the reddish brown colouring looking unacceptably good, how those skinny jeans made his legs look like heaven, how he wasn’t particularly tall but still had all the airs and graces of a ringleader, how his teeth were crooked but his smile was still dazzling, the fact that he was stoned a lot was suddenly funny rather than disgusting, his bad attitude and habits became endearing, how his shirt always hung off him in a way that only made me desperate to know what’s underneath.

Before I knew it my school days were spent scanning the corridors for any sign of him, heartbeat wildly out of control with anticipation waiting for him to walk through the door, stomach flipping somersaults every time I did see him. It was ridiculous, getting this silly over a boy, and a delinquent one at that, but here I am nauseas and more nervous than usual and desperate not to make a fool out of myself in front of him. Fortunately, we don’t share any classes otherwise I would never be able to concentrate, and if I want to stay on track for Valedictorian at the end of the year I need to.

I stumble through the rest of the week, as usual barely seeing Billie Joe and feeling like an idiot when I do. I always seem to see him when I’m doing something embarrassing like readjusting my clothes, fighting with books in my locker, tripping over my own feet or just leaving the bathrooms. At least he never looks at me, otherwise I think I would die. “Frances?” “Huh?” “Seriously you have to stop zoning out so much. It’s not healthy man,” Lindsey tells me off on Friday. I glance up from where I was idly twisting my pasta, if that’s what you could call it, thoughts on the group sat across the cafeteria as per usual. “Sorry, what’re we talking about?” I looked up, pushing my glasses back up my nose with a guilty grin. Lindsey rolls her eyes in good nature. “Party, tonight?” I titter nervously and fiddle with the hem of my shirt, a bad nervous habit. “Uh, I don’t think so. I have a shit ton of homework,” “We all do,” one of my close friends, Jessica, pipes in. “C'mon, Fran, one night won’t kill you,” Sarah adds from where she’s sat beside me. “I, I’m really not sure, you know I’m not the party type guys,”

Lindsey’s eyes flicker across the cafeteria as a loud guffaw and various whoops and shouts echo through the room. The table that had just erupted seats Billie Joe and his friends, and apparently one of them had cracked a well approved joke because they’re in uproar, fists banging on the table and hyena noises filling the large space. Billie Joe’s laugh hits me and I fight the smile on my face, his laugh makes me happy, even when it’s at someone else’s expense which judging by the minuscule freshman who’s stood picking his lunch off his shirt, it is. “His band is playing,” Lindsey says to me, distracting my attention away from the scene back to the conversation. “Oh?” I feign polite interest. In reality my pulse rate has just gone through the roof, I can feel the butterflies beginning to build up in my stomach and already my mind is working on all of the best-case-scenarios of Billie Joe and I at a party. “So, you coming?” I don’t want to seem too keen, as far as Lindsey and the girls are concerned, my crush on Billie Joe Armstrong was invented by them and is nothing more than a funny joke that they like to wind me up about. I refuse to let them know that he’s wound his way into my head and is seemingly not leaving any time soon. “I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it,” I offer, before gathering my books and heading off early to double history.

I convince myself to forget about Billie Joe and the party, knowing already what a bad idea it is, and instead drive myself home in my ancient car and focus on actually getting some work done this evening. Or at least, I try to until less than two hours after I arrived home, Lindsey and the group are walking into my room with various bags in their arms. “Guys?” I ask “We’re getting ready here, going to the party and then sleeping over at yours,” Lindsey states casually, throwing her stuff down on my bed as if she had been planning this for weeks. “I’m not going to the party,” I remind her. “You said you’d ‘think about it’ that’s a yes,” Jess pipes up.

Lindsey wants to play makeovers, but I’m not in the mood. I don’t really want to go to the party in the first place let alone allow the girls to make me up like a clown first. I throw on a pair of shorts with a white top and a flannel. It’s fairly warm so I don’t bother with pantyhose or hoodies, I fish out a pair of white pumps which I decide will do. Lindsey manages to wrestle me into a chair and make me sit still long enough for her to shove a necklace around me, neaten up the loose curls in my hair and smudge some eye makeup on. After what feels like forever of watching everyone change their outfit god knows how many times, we finally leave and head out. I offer to drive, but Lindsey insists we walk so we can all have a drink.

When we get there I instantly feel sick, this isn’t the usual kind of party I get dragged along to. The parties Lindsey usually goes to are held by the rich kids, they’re usually in Berkeley or Pinole or anywhere outside of Rodeo, where I live, they’re held in big houses with big driveways and no neighbours near enough to worry about. Tonight we’re in deep Rodeo. The place is a small family home, the front yard is scruffy and littered with kids toys and beer cans already, the music is so loud the sidewalk is pulsing and it looks like it might fall down any second. I’m instantly glad I ducked out of Makeovers 101 because the group look very overdressed.

Never losing her smile, Lindsey waltzes in and immediately is greeted by a big burly guy with a mohawk. “Hey guys, this is John, it’s his place,” Lindsey introduces us briefly and I smile tightly at him. I have no idea how Lindsey knows a guy like John, she’s very sociable but we all tend to avoid the punks. It’s not too bad though, most of the senior year is here so I know nearly everyone, although there are definitely a lot more punks here, so I’m guessing it was one of Billie Joe’s gang who’s throwing this thing. I notice that there are also people here who look a lot older than me, but I try not to let it bother me.

“AW FUCK! Alright who wants to hear some real music!?” A rough voice rings out loud and clear after a second of shrill white noise as the microphone attaches to the amp. There’s a cheer and a lot of shouting and suddenly a furious guitar begins followed by equally enthusiastic drums, bass and vocals. If the house seemed to be pulsing from the radio music, this live stuff was making the place shake to the point of near collapse. I snort a laugh to myself and turn to tell Lindsey, but notice that I am alone.

On instinct I walk away from the loud music, although you can hear it clearly from any room in the house. I stumble across the kitchen which has been transformed into a self-service bar and spot the rest of my group already chugging something a lot stronger than wine coolers. Trying not to be a pooper and ruin the mood, I make myself a spritzer and cradle it pathetically. The music changes slightly from furious to more upbeat and I can feel my body thrumming with it. Whoever the band was, they were great. Lindsey catches my eye from where I’m floating on the periphery and I motion that I’m going to the music.

Following the sound is very easy, and I end up in a basement. Thinking ahead, I down the spritzer before descending the narrow staircase, it wouldn’t be great to spill my drink all down myself at eighteen years old. The first thing I smell is sweat and booze. The band are barely visible at one end of the room, while the rest is a mosh pit which is majority punks. I give in to all my inhibitions and let my sudden adoration for this music to control me as I dive into the pit. The band sound great, you can’t understand most of the lyrics to the songs, but it doesn’t matter, the singer shouts enough to get the general meaning of each song across. Everything is ferocious and energetic and I wonder why I haven’t ever listened to this style before, I feel great. I don’t even mind that I’m being virtually crushed by guys three times my size, I’ve worked out that it’s easiest to move with them, pushing and jumping in a large circle that takes up most of the room. If you try to stand still you’ll get crushed. I wonder briefly if this is Billie Joe’s band that are playing, but I discard the idea. This band is too good to be a high school band, they’re talented and electrifying and clearly professionals, that John guy has probably booked them especially. All too soon the set finishes up and the band draw to a close. Everybody stops moshing and aside from being drenched in sweat, heads back upstairs as if nothing had happened. Considering that I’ve never done anything like that before, I’m not so adept at recovering and instead let the crowd wash over me as I stand hunched over and gasping for air. Eventually the room clears out and I can feel the fresh air from the open windows beginning to infiltrate the hot, recycled air.

I’m not really aware of the fact that it’s just the band and I in the room until there’s a gentle tap on my shoulder. “Frances?” I spin round to stop, face to face with green eyes. Instinctively I push my glasses up my nose. “Here, thought you could use it,” the person says and I feel a sudden cool relief. I look down to see that he’s pushed a bottle of ice cold water into my hand. I snap the lid of and down the contents immediately, the liquid soothing the burn in my throat and brining my temperature back down a little. “Yeah, thanks,” I gasp once I was done. The guy gives me a low chuckle in return. In the dim lights I take a second to actually get a look at the guy. Looking over his shoulder I can see someone disassembling the drum kit and someone else packing away the guitars, so I guess that this is the lead singer. I have to admit, he’s very cute, with his sparkling green eyes and messy hair that’s fairly short, but long enough to run your hands through and bleach blonde. He’s got a sweet but cheeky smile, and his skin is dewy and flushed from playing which makes him glow. Even his sweaty clothes that are hanging off his body and make him gorgeous. “Wait,” my tired brain catches up. “How do you know my name?” I question, certain that I’ve never seen him around before. If I had then I would definitely be obsessing about this guy, not stupid Billie Joe. “Uh, Frances, we have homeroom together every morning,” he says in the kind of voice you use when you’re talking to someone very slow. My eyes rake shamelessly over his body again, trying to pick out a feature I would remember. I know that I’m a daydreamer and spend a lot of my time zoned out, but I thought I knew everyone in homeroom pretty well. I frown a little and tilt my head, as if it will help, and slowly it starts to dawn on me. That figure, those eyes, that smile. “Oh my god, Billie Joe!” I gasp and his rich laugh echoes across the small basement. “You didn’t recognise me? I’m offended,” he pouts and suddenly my face feels like I’m sat next to a fire and I want the ground to swallow me whole. I can’t believe I didn’t even recognise him. “And for fuck’s sake please, it’s just Billie, or BJ. I’m only called Billie Joe when I’m in trouble,” he adds as I’m still stood, eyes now fixated on the floor.

“You, er, you changed your hair,” I offer meekly. For the second time in a minute his laugh bounces off the walls. “I guess I did. It needed cutting ages ago,” he mimes his old big hair and I find myself tentatively laughing with him. “I like it. I mean, it er, suits you. Your new hair I mean. Blonde looks, yeah, I like you blonde,” I stutter my compliment awfully, but it seems to have the desired effect because Billie runs a hand through it and shrugs, muttering a thanks to the floor. I want to die, I want to die, I want to die my mind is screeching at means begging to get the hell away and never show my face near him again, but I can’t seem to make my body move. “Good, uh, I’m glad you like it y'know,” I smile shyly, but my brain is mush. I can’t seem to comprehend anything other than the fact that he knew my name and was voluntarily talking to me.

“Your band is very good,” I blurt before thinking about what I’m saying. My brain has definitely turned itself off. “Thanks,” he responds with a lopsided grin, his teeth flashing in the dim lights. “I’m really glad you made it, y'know,” Billie’s voice is completely different to the one he used on stage, it’s soft now, and almost sweet. My whole system seems to have gone into shut down and I can’t seem to control anything. “Really? Me?” I pull a face. “Yeah, you. That’s why I got John to throw this thing, because he’s friends with Lindsey and I hoped she’d drag you along,” Billie is rubbing the back of his neck, and staring at the floor as he speaks. I can’t understand what he’s saying, my mind is in total whiteout and I’m not processing a thing. “I’m sorry, I’m not follow-”

I’m cut off as Billie steps towards me, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me into his body, one hand cupping my face as he pushes his lips against mine. Instantly my knees go weak and I melt into him, arms wrapping around his neck on instinct, pressing back against the soft heat. He moves his mouth slightly and I follow suit. The world could be sucked into a black hole and I wouldn’t notice right now, the current situation completely overwhelming my senses, the musky scent of boy and sweat combing in the most delicious way, my eyes are closed but Billie’s image is burnt into my brain, his skin is on fire under my hands and smooth to the touch, the soft tendrils of his hair begging for me to run my hands through it, the thumping sound of the party above us is all but white noise and all I can taste is his mouth on mine, the both of us taste faintly of alcohol and something personal that only makes me crave him more.

As soon as I feel his tongue, hot and wet and just as wonderful as the rest of him, I pull back slightly. Although this isn’t my first kiss (it’s most definitely my best one) I’m not one to full on make out with a guy I’ve barely spoken to before, crush or not. “Billie,” I begin, my voice small and breathy as I slowly drag my hands off him, much to my distaste. “Frances,” he responds in the same hushed tone, then something snaps in his eyes. “Fuck, Frances I’m so sorry,” he gasps and immediately my stomach falls through the floor. “I didn’t mean to do that to you, well I did, but y'know not yet anyway, but fuck you just look so good and oh god I’ve fucked up,” he groans, words blending into each other as he buries his head in his hands. “Don’t be sorry,” I say as I peel his hands away from his face, immediately getting lost in his eyes. In the light they’re a dark green shade in a small ring around hugely dilated pupils that make him look almost puppy-like. “You’re not mad?” “No,” I almost whisper. A small smile makes its way back onto Billie’s face. “Good, because I know this is fucking stupid and we’ve literally never spoken before, but I can’t help but notice you and everything about you and fuck labels and cliques and all that shit, do you wanna hang out sometime?” The grin on my face must be huge, but I try to remain reserved. “Depends what you mean by hang out,” I challenge. “Fuck, I dunno. Whatever you wanna do, go to the movies, the diner, Gilman Street - that’s the music club - fuck even the mall if you wanna, my house to listen to records? I don’t fucking care,” he rambles.

“All of the above,” I murmur, my voice only loud enough for him to hear. Billie closes the small gap between us by gently grabbing my face and planting a chaste kiss on my lips, before interlocking our hands. “C’mon, don’t wanna miss the rest of this shit thing. If we’re lucky they’ll just be starting seven minutes in heaven,” and with a cheeky smirk he pulls me back up the basement stairs to join the rest of the party, my mood beyond elevated.

———–

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fire-bear · 7 years

Text

Riot

Warnings: Violence. Also, I don’t know police procedure so let’s just pretend this is how they do things.

Even after going through university to get a degree in engineering, Gilbert knew he wanted to be a policeman. He’d always wanted to be one, figuring that it was the closest thing to being a knight in shining armour. Of course, his father, the Oxford physics professor, talked him into striving for a ‘better’ career. But, when Gilbert graduated and his father told him he could do what he wanted, he had jumped at the chance to become a policeman.

Now a Constable on the beat, Gilbert was delighted to deal with a variety of situations. From something as simple as giving tourists directions to arresting drunks on a Saturday night to standing outside a crime scene to make sure the public didn’t get inside. He loved every minute of it: getting to chat with people on the street; arresting people who had committed crimes; keeping everyone safe. Even arresting drunks made him feel good, knowing he was putting them somewhere safe for the night and they weren’t going to walk into traffic.

The only part he hated was when there was some sort of protest which devolved into a riot. He hated having to scare or bully people, especially when they were protesting an important issue. Being sent to pick up his riot gear always sent a feeling of dread through him. Would he be in the middle of a bad one, with deaths on both sides? Would he be sitting in a van all day?

Usually it was the latter but on that particular day, they were deployed immediately.

Gilbert wasn’t even sure who was protesting and for what. When they got to the square where the protest was taking place, there were people dressed in hoodies or in nondescript clothes. Others, however, were dressed in black and ripped jeans and chains and piercings. People were yelling and screaming. Some were waving large flags or banners. Others – mostly those in black – were throwing heavy things like bricks or glass bottles. Several fights had broken out with the officers already on the scene trying to pull them apart to no avail.

“It’s a protest of a protest!” his Inspector told him. Inspector Héderváry glared at the mess in front of them, tugging harshly at her hair as she pinned her plait to her head. “We’ve to separate the drunk punks who crashed the party from the actual protesters and keep them from killing each other.”

“What are they protesting about, again?” Gilbert asked, curiously.

Héderváry’s expression turned dark. “Something stupid,” she answered. She turned to the rest of them. “Right, you lot! Out you get – you know what to do!”

They all jumped from the van, the sound of many pairs of boots landing on the tarmac as they rushed across the road, their riot shields up and ready. Gilbert found himself at the back of the pack, Hérderváry behind him and Constable Vargas beside him. Vargas was scowling, as usual, keeping his grip on his baton tight.

“This’ll be fun,” Gilbert grumbled.

Vargas rolled his eyes. “This is such a stupid waste of time,” he replied. “I want to be back at the station on my well-earned break.”

“You never do anything,” Gilbert protested.

That was all they could say to each other before they entered the fray, shunting their way forward as they cut a path between the punks and the protesters. Up close, the punks looked both kinds of pissed. Gilbert could only wonder at what had made them so angry. He didn’t like the look of the protesters either: they looked like the kind of people he arrested for being drunk or high and shouting hate at ethnic minorities.

Eventually, they had a wall between the two warring parties. That didn’t stop the punks from shouting abuse at the protesters and vice versa. Gilbert couldn’t hear the words properly with all the noise. When the punks started shouting at the police and throwing things, Gilbert was glad he had the shield up. His back was covered by his colleagues and he wondered how long they’d have to stay there.

Suddenly, his shield jolted, hit by a kick from one of the punks. His eyes widened as he looked up and down their wall and saw that all of the punks had decided to attack the police. Other officers were attempting to wade through the chaos, arresting one person at a time to drag them off to the waiting vans. They would be of no help to Gilbert and the others as the punks began to kick and punch and shove them backwards.

Before Gilbert knew it, the line was breaking and officers were hard pressed to defend themselves from the punks. Beside him, an officer fell to the ground and a man lifted his foot to stomp on him. Instinctively, Gilbert flicked out his baton and swung it at the leg he stood on. The man fell and the officer managed to scramble to his feet – just in time as another man came barrelling into his shield.

Unfortunately, Gilbert didn’t have time to help him for another person started hitting at his shield with a baseball bat. Where the guy had managed to find one was a mystery but he was relentless, forcing Gilbert backwards as he flinched with each hit. Trying to keep his shield steady, he reached around to hit him on the leg with his baton. But the bat was heavier and thicker and the baton wad not really designed to be used against another weapon: it flew from his hand and landed several feet away where it was immediately scooped up by another punk.

Shocked, Gilbert momentarily forgot the attack and was caught off guard when the bat hit his shield once again. He stumbled backwards and his foot caught on something hard, toppling him. His back hit the ground with such force that his breath was knocked from him and his shield arm was flung out, leaving the shield lying uselessly on the ground. As he gasped and coughed, trying to force his body to move, the man with the bat stepped up to him, the weapon raised. Gilbert’s eyes widened, wondering if his protective gear would actually keep him from being killed.

He never found out. The man was suddenly spun around and, as he lowered his arms, he fell to the side, apparently unconscious. Behind him stood another man, hand clenched in a fist and dressed in tight, black jeans with holes at the knees and what appeared to be a black leather jacket. His blond hair was sandy in colour and badly ruffled. He had rather large, bushy eyebrows, one of which was pierced by what looked like a metal bar. A ring pierced his lip which his tongue nervously flicked out to spin. Their eyes met and Gilbert realised that his were green, dulled from alcohol by the looks of things. He gave Gilbert a nod and turned, rushing away into the crowd again.

Gilbert stared after him, stunned and unmoving. Time seemed to have stopped until someone tripped over his foot and he remembered where he was. Then he struggled to his feet and looked for the Inspector in order to regroup.

Later, once it was all over, Gilbert learnt that all the punks had been arrested – none had been allowed to leave the square. Quite a lot of protesters were arrested as well. They were all sent to different police stations to be processed, including Gilbert’s own.

When he walked into the station, eager to get his gear off and back to the streets for a more calming few hours of work, the sergeant on the desk stopped him. “Gil, Alfred’s called in sick,” said Matthew, apologetically. “Is there any chance you can help process all those people from the riot? Please?”

Having never been able to resist the puppy dog eyes, Gilbert reluctantly agreed and hurried off to get into his uniform. Once he had, he was soon going from cell to cell, bringing them to a desk and asking them some simple information. Some of the information he gleaned from them was not of consequence, of course, and were mainly insults. Gilbert had to refrain from writing 'Dickhead’ in the name slot several times.

Finally, there was only one more to do and he would be done for the day – other than his own report, at least. He strode down to the cell with another sergeant who unlocked the door for him. And, for the second time that day, Gilbert was stunned, staring at the man who had saved him from the bat. He seemed surprised as well. But he blinked those green eyes – now a little brighter and shining with intelligence – and was soon smirking.

“Good evening, Constable,” he said.

Frowning, Gilbert glanced at the sergeant who shrugged. Then he shook his head and gestured at the man. “Come on. I have to take down your details.”

“Can’t we do it in here?” he asked, his smirk growing and his eyes glinting.

A shiver ran down Gilbert’s spine which startled him. Narrowing his eyes, he explained, “I need to do it at a computer.”

“Ah, I see,” said the man. “A slave to technology like the rest of us.” He stood and paused, waiting for Gilbert to turn so he could follow.

The sergeant placed handcuffs on him as Gilbert held the next door open for them. Then he watched them on their way to the desk in case the prisoner had any ideas about making a break for freedom. Of course, whoever he was, the man merely sat down on the chair, shifting around until he was lounging in it, butt at the edge of the seat and an arm hooked over the back of it. He reminded Gilbert of himself when he was at high school or university.

“All right,” Gilbert said, opening a new file. “Name?”

“Arthur Bedivere Kirkland.”

Gilbert paused. “Bedivere?” he asked, merely to confirm. “As in… Knight of the Round Table?” When he realised how rude he had been, he hastened to add, “Just so I know the spelling.”

Grinning, Arthur nodded. “The. Very. Same,” he said slowly, his tongue flicking out over his lip ring. This time, Gilbert saw the glint of silver from within his mouth, as if he was chewing on a small star; evidently, Arthur had a tongue piercing.

“Right,” said Gilbert quickly, refusing to acknowledge the strange feelings he had upon his new discovery. He quickly typed it in. “Well, Mister Kirkland, date of birth?”

“Call me Arthur,” he insisted with a twitch of his lips in amusement. “It’s the twenty-third of April, Nineteen Ninety-Five.”

As he typed it in, Gilbert worked out his age. “Aren’t you a bit young for…?” He trailed off, eyeing the t-shirt he could see under the jacket. “Is that The Clash?”

“Yeah.” Arthur seemed amused, watching Gilbert. “You a fan?”

Blinking, Gilbert shook his head and turned to the form again. “Place of residence?” he asked. Arthur only shrugged a shoulder in response. “You don’t know? Or are you homeless?”

Arthur shook his head. “I live in student halls. Or, I did. It’s the end of the year and I’ll be going home but, as soon as I can find a cheap flat, I’m out of there. Maybe before I find a flat.”

“I’ll have to put your parents’ address,” said Gilbert, trying to tamp down his curiosity. Why would Arthur want to leave home so quickly? Was he on bad terms with his parents? Was he being abused? Were the parents homophobic?

He dug his nails into the palm of his hand in order to stop himself from thinking about Arthur’s sexuality.

Once he’d put in the address, though, he realised those were the next questions. “I, uh, need a gender and sexuality, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Male, bi,” said Arthur, simply. “Though, today, I think I’m swinging more towards men.”

Gilbert couldn’t stop himself from looking up at that smirk. He cleared his throat and hit the enter button to see if Arthur had any priors. When nothing came up, he filled in the details of the crime and situation before he looked at him again. Arthur seemed to be bored by that point, slouching further and looking around the room. Gilbert took a moment to really look at him, noting the slight downturn of his lips, the furrow in his brow, how his eyes glistened. This wasn’t a criminal, he realised. In fact, he doubted Arthur had even wanted to be in the square, had probably been pressured into attending. Gilbert hoped he’d get off lightly.

“I need to take your statement,” he said, softer than he’d intended.

Looking up, Arthur nodded solemnly. Then he began his tale. Just as Gilbert had suspected, it looked as though Arthur had met up with some friends he’d met on his gap year when he was travelling. They’d been having fun on a pub crawl when they’d come across the protesters. Arthur had wanted to get to the next pub since he’d needed to pee but the others had decided to stay put and tell the protesters what they thought of them. After he’d excused himself and hurried off to the closest toilet, Arthur had returned to find the place in a mess. He’d tried to convince the ringleaders to leave it alone and go home but nobody listened to him. Then the fighting started and he’d tried to keep out of it as much as possible, only stepping in when someone seemed to be going too far. He’d been arrested and that was that.

Having dutifully typed in the last few words, Gilbert hit the print button and waited for the old, rickety printer to cough its way into life. “Thank you, by the way,” he said as they waited. “I think you might have saved my life.”

“Not really,” Arthur mumbled. “All I did was punch my friend who is, apparently, a tosser.”

Stifling a laugh, Gilbert told himself to focus. What else did he need to do? As he surveyed Arthur, he wondered when the last time he’d eaten had been. Did he even have enough money for food? Especially if he was buying alcohol, too… “Do you need anything? Water? Sandwich from the vending machine?”

Arthur blinked at him, clearly surprised. It took him a second to regain his composure but then he said, “A drink would be good… The water’s free right?”

“And, for you, the sandwich is, too. Hang on.” Gilbert looked up and around the room which was apparently empty now. Everyone else had probably gone for their breaks. However, the door suddenly opened and Matthew walked in. “Mattie!” he cried in delight. “Any chance you can bring me a drink and a sandwich?”

Matthew looked between them and, with a kind smile at Arthur, nodded. Then he left them alone with a silence which seemed heavy. Arthur was the one to break it. “Thanks,” he muttered, chin tucked into his chest.

“Not a problem, Arthur. You look like you need it.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell again.

“What are you doing at uni?” Gilbert asked as he stood to pick up the form he’d forgotten about. He returned to the desk and looked for a pen.

“English Literature and Creative Writing,” Arthur answered, accepting the pen to sign the statement. “It’s fun, so far.”

“'Creative Writing’, huh? What do you write about?”

“This and that,” Arthur answered. “I tried writing a murder mystery this semester but I gave up and went back to fantasy.”

“Why’d you give up?” asked Gilbert, chin in his hand, watching Arthur practically unfurl. He straightened in his chair a bit, dropped his arm and faced Gilbert fully.

For the first time since he’d met Arthur, Gilbert saw him blush. It was a dainty thing, a little pinking of the skin along his cheekbones. Gilbert felt it belonged more on a young woman than on what looked like a hardened punk. Most of all, though, it was beautiful and Gilbert struggled not to feel embarrassed as well.

“I, erm,” said Arthur, hesitantly. “I wanted the main character to be a, well, a policeman. Not a detective, I mean,” he added, hastily. “Just… a constable… whose friend is murdered but no-one believes him because the time of the death is wrong and it looks like a suicide. But I wasn’t too sure on the correct police procedure…”

“I could help you out,” said Gilbert without thinking.

“What?” Arthur’s eyes widened and he perked up so much that he was no longer slouching. “What do you mean?”

“Er.” Gilbert didn’t really know himself. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had such a strong urge to help the student. Maybe he reminded Gilbert of himself at university. Maybe it was something more. But he had to think of something to save face… “I could meet you in Il Suo Pasto – it’s an Italian restaurant a few streets away. After you get out, of course. If you’d like.”

Slowly, a smirk formed on Arthur’s face. Gilbert could feel himself starting to blush, his face definitely on fire. “Mm,” said Arthur, eyes lowering so that he was looking up at Gilbert from under his eyelashes. “Sounds like you’re asking me on a date. Got a pen and paper?”

“Um,” said Gilbert, intelligently. He looked around for a spare sheet before remembering his notebook and pulling it from his shirt pocket. As he handed it over, he heard the door behind him open and he jumped in surprise, turning to see Matthew returning with a cup of water and a sandwich laid out on a plate. “Ah,” he said. “Thanks, Mattie.”

“No problem,” said Matthew, handing the items over to Gilbert. “I’m going on my break now, okay?”

“Right.”

Once he was gone, Gilbert turned back to Arthur to find him handing back the pad and pen. “It’s in the back,” he said by way of explanation.

“What is?” Gilbert asked, handing over the meagre meal.

Arthur only grinned. “You’ll find out,” he said, at the exact moment the far door opened and the sergeant in charge of the cells came looking for his misplaced prisoner. As he led Arthur away, reluctantly letting him keep his food, Gilbert gave in to his curiosity and flipped open his notebook. There, in neat handwriting and a note to 'call me’, was Arthur’s number.

They have a lovely ‘date’ where they flirt but don’t acknowledge it and Arthur essentially interrogates Gilbert on the intricacies of the justice system.

I was gonna add a bonus bit where it’s a few months later and, though they’re not dating and they don’t really start for a while afterwards, they have their first kiss and Gilbert likes it. ;) But then it was getting a bit long and I decided it was best just to end it here. It was also going to involve Arthur wearing glasses and changing his lip ring to a green coloured one which would draw the eye - or Gilbert’s eyes at least - from Arthur’s eyes to his lips.

Just in case: Arthur’s 20 and Gilbert’s, like, 24/25?

#prukweek2017 #Day 5 #hetalia #fan fiction #went and posted this instead of scheduling this first time around #nearly stopped breathing

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renaroo · 7 years

Text

Double Time (18/24)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence Pairings: Tuckington, Chex Rating: T Synopsis: [Hero Time Sequel] After the events of Hero Time, the city and Blood Gulch are prepared for the true return of superheroes in a big way. But while Washington is attempting to adjust to a new relationship and a new living arrangement, the call of new heroes and a new mayor mean major changes for his professional life as well as his personal one. How will the balance of values fare when his new partners come to test everything he’s made of.

A/N: I was so, so broken up over Adam West dying He was such a fundamental part of getting into the world of superheroes for me and I loved and admired him so dearly. I’m not sure if my adoration for him and his incarnation of Batman comes through in my writing at all, but even if it doesn’t I hope that I and others inspired by his heroics find a way to continue the legacy that endeared him to us oh so much.

Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @i-stole-orions-heart, @cobaltqueen, @icefrozenover, @thepheonixqueen, Enmuse, @a-taller-tale, Yin, @notatroll7, @vpzerada, @washingtonstub, and Awesome_Milkshakes on AO3 and tumblr for the wonderful feed back! I truly appreciate it more than you know.

It’s a Trap!

He honest to god didn’t know what to make of her.

“What’s the matter, Wash? Cat got your tongue?”

Junior, somewhat in spite toward Washington, began snorting in laughter which only doubled when the hero gave him a warning glare. It was a lost cause getting any respect around everyone there, that much was for sure. Someday Wash was going to accept that as the status quo of Blood Gulch and not be as irritated by it as he was that moment.

Refocusing on the redheaded woman before him, Wash wasn’t sure what to do next. She clearly was someone he remembered, and yet someone he wasn’t sure he knew at all. A paradoxical confusion he hadn’t felt since the time he realized that Texas was still alive and around to lend, or in most cases not lend, her helping hand in Blood Gulch.

“You’re… from Freelancer,” he put together.

The woman stared back at him for a moment, a flicker of disappointment across her face before she sighed and lifted up her goggles. “I was kinda wondering what the time paradox was going to do with all the nonsense that happened in Freelancer. Was kinda hoping I had left more of an impact.” She looked into Wash’s eyes, her green eyes nearly electric in they brightness. “Guess I could have done more to reach out and make an impact to other members of the team, too, though. For that I’m sorry, Washington.”

Suddenly, it all came colliding on him at once. Wash let go of Junior and got to his feet.

“Field leader — Carolina. How… But… You…” he stammered before holding up his hands and taking a long breath. He then looked back at her seriously. “Explain the time paradox comment because I find when words like that are used, the other nonsense falls in order or by the sideline.”

“Of course,” Carolina answered before holding up a finger. “Give me one and three quarters of a second, though.”

“Wha—“ Wash began.

Suddenly a blur of blue swept past him from one direction, nearly causing him to stumble back along with Junior, who hit the ground rear first, and then from the other side, which blew Wash forward before he found more solid footing. Carolina was standing in front of them still, hands on her hips and things seemingly unchanged.

That was, seemingly unchanged until an explosion went off down the road from them

Shocked, Washington and Junior both turned toward the explosion and looked amazed.

“What the hell was that?” Wash demanded.

“Just for amusement’s sake, do you want that answered or do you want the paradox thing answered?” Carolina asked dryly.

“Which answer is more relevant to keeping us further from death?” Wash asked critically.

“There’s a debate to be had on that,” Carolina hummed in response, foot tapping.

“Forget it — answer the explosion thing first!” Wash decided, throwing up his hands.

“Right, that was the Felix stand up cut out,” Carolina answered, pointing to the display behind them.

Caught off guard, both Wash and Junior spun around toward the display only to see it completely gone, only the Wash cut out he had grabbed before was still with them. Then he turned back to Carolina.

“Why was it rigged to explode!?” he demanded.

“I thought that part was obvious at this point,” Carolina said, cocking her head to the side. “Didn’t you read the note I gave you?”

“The note—“ Wash began before thinking back on the day at the park. “You were warning me about Felix in the park… and now you’re saving me from exploding posters of him.” He looked at Carolina. “Sounds like you’re coming back from the dead to tell me that Felix is evil.”

“Well… I mean, have you met him?” Carolina asked. “No one talks with that many double meanings without being a secret bad guy. I mean, why else would someone be so cryptic all the damn time?”

Washington and Junior glanced at each other before looking back to Carolina.

“People say I’m cryptic,” Wash pointed out. “Usually it’s to protect the people I love from my identity.”

“That they know about?” Carolina asked critically.

“You’re cryptic — leaving a random note in the park instead of saying hello. Sounds like you’re evil,” Wash argued.

“I couldn’t walk up and say hi, you were being watched by Felix. And I was totally right,” Carolina reminded him. “You’re welcome by the way. For both saves.”

“You sound eerily like Tex,” Wash said with a squint.

For a moment, the comment seemed to tun Carolina almost to stone, her face frozen in shock.

Washington, a little concerned, reached out toward her to see if she had somehow managed to hurt herself. “Carolina? Are you…”

Suddenly Carolina grabbed him by his shoulders and began quickly shaking him, an intensity of fire in her eyes as she did so. “You take that comment back right now I swear to god if anyone heard you if somehow she heard you don’t you realize how offensive that is oh my god what’s wrong with you can’t you see that there’s no worst way to offend a woman children spend their whole lives trying not to grow up to be just like either of their parents you shut up don’t you know what’s good for you punk take it back right now—“

Junior honked in alarm while Washington tried not to grow dizzy from the shaking.

Finally, he grabbed Carolina’s hands and forcefully yanked them off his shoulders. “Stop that! I can’t understand a single word you’re saying!” he snapped at her. “What was that? Super speed?”

Carolina blinked a few times then put a hand against her forehead. “Wow, sorry. That was maybe an overreaction there.”

“You think?” Wash asked critically.

“Look, I meant what I said in my note the other day,” Carolina said, dropping her hand and looking intently into Washington’s eyes. “Both that you shouldn’t trust people you don’t know… and that you need to put some faith in the people you do know right now. Because what’s going on? It’s too big to explain to you just yet.”

Washington crossed his arms. “Well that statement sure builds a bridge of trust between us,” he said sarcastically.

“I just saved you from a car and from an exploding Felix,” she counted on her fingers. “Exploding Felixes, by the way, have trended toward a bad omen for you lately if you haven’t noticed.”

Blinking, Wash rubbed at his neck. “Well… you’re not wrong.”

“Right. Because I’m right about this,” Carolina argued flippantly. “But even if you can’t trust me because of some paradox I’m not going to explain to you right now—“

“Blargh!” Junior pointed out.

“Agreed, it’s very alarming that she keeps mentioning things she can’t mention,” Wash muttered.

“You’re not going to trust me, fine. I’m pretty much an unknown in this equation, I get that,” Carolina remarked. “But if you can’t trust me, then by all means, trust the advice I gave you before. Trust who you know.”

Fo a moment, Wash wasn’t even sure what she was talking about, but the events of the last few days all came clicking together, and his eyes widened. “You’ve been working with Tex and Church behind the scenes. You’re the reason I’ve not been seeing much of Tex — you and whatever it is she has Church working on decoding.”

Carolina waved her hand in a seesaw fashion. “Eh. I’ve kept away from dealing with Church… for… reasons.”

“Cryptic again,” Wash warned.

“You are such a killjoy compared to the Wash I used to know,” Carolina said. “I kind of like it. You have the air of experienced badass. You even have a sidekick. Man, it’s like you grew up on us—“

“Ju—“ Wash caught himself and shook his head. “The Extraterrestrial Kid is not my sidekick. I don’t believe in sidekicks. I think they churn out kids into mini child soldiers and set their lives on a path not completely of their own choosing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Carolina crossed her arms. “Wow. Pretty strong opinion for a former sidekick.”

Junior gasped and covered his mouth like the world’s largest secret had just been revealed to him.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Wash said flippantly. He never took his eyes off of Carolina. “I deserve to know what’s going on if it’s my life that’s on the line. If Felix is bad, then he also knows far more about my personal life than I care for him to know. And that’s not getting into the situation with Locus and the mayors.”

“Yeah, we’re trying to figure out which of them is the pack mule for their payments,” Carolina said with a shrug. “Church was supposed to be finished with that by now but, fuck if someone here didn’t happen to distract him with lots of useless security upgrades.”

Washington raised his hands up. “Wait a minute — what are you talking about? Someone’s paying Locus?”

“And Felix,” Carolina explained. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that their costumes match.”

While Washington stared straight back at Carolina, Junior snorted behind him.

“It has to be Kimball — didn’t you see how she’s the one putting up these traps?” Wash said, pointing to the broken Kimball stand up. “It’s obvious.”

“Uh, obviously a plant,” Carolina argued. “Would you just trust that I’m on this already? Sheesh.”

“No, you said to trust who I know, and I’d trust this more if it was coming out of Tex’s mouth,” Washington said firmly. “Speaking of which, why isn’t she the one here dropping these morale bombs on me right now instead of you?”

“Wash, do you really not know what’s happening right now?” Carolina asked skeptically. “Weren’t you the sidekick to a detective superhero?”

Squinting at her, Wash began to feel even more on edge than he had before. “What do you mean?”

“Think about what’s coming up, and why someone just wanted to take you out of the picture,” Carolina said, waving to the cardboard cut outs behind them. “There’s an election — one where funds are being funneled to mercenaries with incredible powers. And tonight is the night of their big debate.”

Wash looked at her incredulously. “And—“

“And anyone who could put whatever plans they have in danger is going to be taken out of the picture,” she said seriously. “Anyone.”

Eyes widening, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. “Tucker,” he gasped. “Tex is going to save him?”

It was then Carolina’s turn to squint and tilt her head. “Who? I was talking about the kids you were training—“

“Goddammit!” Wash shouted, throwing down the cut out and leaping past Carolina while Junior let out a series of alarmed honks. “Watch Junior!”

“What?” Carolina called out behind him. “I don’t do kids— Ow fuck! It just bit me—“

Washington didn’t have time to look back and scold either of them.

He had to get to Tucker. He had to call the Reds. He needed to check on even Church.

And he had to beat himself up for not realizing the danger himself right away.

#writing #rvb fic #RvB: Hero Time #RvB: Double Time #Tuckington #Agent Washington #Agent Carolina #Tucker Junior

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cocoarosalia · 7 years

Text

Rocking the cradle Chapter 12: Contemplation

Normally she’d be excited for things like this. Elly was having a sleepover at Alya’s house, she could finally go out on patrol, get some good air in her lungs, she should be looking forward to it.

But Mari could not bring herself to push out what happened yesterday from her mind. She was utterly dumbstruck when she found her daughter weeping into Adrien’s shirt. And when she found out what actually happened? If Elly hadn’t pleaded for her to stay close by she would’ve found the woman and strung her up by her neck with her yoyo.

Hell if she finds her tonight she still might, she’s not above using fear to get her point across.

When she finally met up with chat at the Louvre there was an odd tension surrounding him

“Lovely night for an outing don’t you think chaton?” she said, leaning over his shoulder to look down at the civilians walking by

“Not nearly as lovely as you my lady” He replied leaning back to gaze into her eyes

Something was off, that much she could tell in an instant “Alright chat, what’s got your fur all fluffed”

He was surprised by her sharp eye “What makes you say something is wrong? I’m just my usual completely composed self as is usual.”

He let out what he thought was a convincingly passive laugh but she was no fool. There was clearly something knawing at him and she would love nothing more than to talk it out but she was having too many of her own problems to really judge.

She pulled him to his feet and smiled warmly “I know there’s something eating you but there’s no point in pressing you for details. Instead, how about we take our time tonight, ok?”

He flashed his usual cheshire grin back “sounds like a plan my lady”

So true indeed the plan was to just leisurely take their time around the city but there was apparently a problem with that.

For the 3rd time that night Ladybug found herself perched on the railing across from Alya’s house.

She looked up at chat “Sorry about this Chaton, for whatever reason my body keeps bringing me back here. God only knows why.”

He peered down at her and waved a hand dismissively “No worries bugaboo, I actually know the family here so it’s good to know they’re safe for the night.”

They heard a commotion coming from inside. They readied their weapons, prepared to fight the impossible.

But what they saw looking in neither could win against.

Sophie had won yet another game against her brother and dared him to give Elly a kiss on the cheek. Too prideful for his own good he mustered up the courage to follow through. Eloise was shocked at first, she wasn’t used to this kind of wholehearted affection. Sammy had hoped she’d just shut up and take it so that they could keep playing in peace.

Oh if only he were so fortunate

Elly was now viciously determined to return the favor as she chased her bestest guy friend around the house. He tried hiding everywhere he could think of to escape her annoyingly confusing affection but she was like a pest, always where you don’t want her to be.

A video text popped up on both eavesdroppers’ phones, detailing the whole event.

“Those two seem pretty cute together don’t you think kitty?” Ladybug giggled

The look of disgust on Chat’s face was hysterical “She’s way too good for him. Her father would be furious”

“No question about that” She leapt up to the ledge beside him “Come on Alley cat, we have a lot more of the city to get to”

Chat wasn’t sure why seeing his sunshine chase Sammy around the house worked. Logically it should’ve put him in an even worse mood than before. And yet, his body felt a lot lighter, he felt himself focusing a little more. Somehow, in some way, seeing Elly chase around that little punk worked. He and his lady took a pause by the school to catch their breath and get a snack from one of the convenience stores. He was in such a good mood that he might even work up the nerve to talk about what was bothering him in the first place.

“G-GET AWAY FROM ME!”

But apparently that would have to wait for now.

Chat raced toward the screaming voice from the rooftops. He would’ve called for ladybug but she was still in the store and there was no time to wait. Whoever was in trouble sounded desperate and out of time.

He stalked up to the alley from above to get a better look, his electric green eyes glowing. He could see three men surrounding something apparently small, couldn’t tell what it was. Sliding silently down some pipes he inched closer to find out what the assholes were terrorizing.

His rage boiled over from his discovery

“Hey don’t be like that little girl we’re only looking for a little bit of fun. It’s not like you were going anywhere important.”

“Please let me go! I have to get back home. My mama and papa are waiting for me.”

This girl didn’t look much older than Eloise. With bruises all over her skin she coward against the brick wall. One of them crouched down and got in close

“Look here squirt, that’s the third time you’ve that piss poor line. Now my buddies and I really aren’t that scary. Haven’t you ever heard that american phrase ‘Don’t judge a book by it’s cover’? Well that applies to you too!” He snaked his hand over her thigh “So why don’t we just curl up with a good book-”

Concrete met face which met Chat’s size 9 steel tipped black leather clad boot

“It’s that fucking Chat Noir freak!!” one of the thugs announced. Another attempted to rush him with a steel pipe that broke off. He ducked, grabbed the criminals arm and flipped him right onto his back. Even with a third one sneaking up to land a blow to his head Chat smoothly leaned left, grabbed his sleeve and hurtled him into a group of trash cans.

His breath was hardly labored as all three lumbered up to take another shot at him

‘Come with it fuckers. I won’t let anyone else go through pain ever again.”

*Back with lil ol Ladybug*

“Chatooon! I got our snacks!” Ladybug called out “I even found these neat catnip ones, figured i’d teach you a few tricks!” all she received was nothing but the sound of running cars.

“Where’d he go? I thought I told him to stay”

The sound of painful grunts and thrown bodies coming from close by suddenly caught her attention. She groaned and ran to check it out.

“That better not be him” She grumbled “See, This is why we need the treats”

The scene was straight out of a horror flick

The young girl was fine but the guys that were harassing her...less so. The shorter, fat one was crumpled into in a heaving bloodied mess, his face quite acquainted with the brick wall. Another, pinned violently to the ground by Chat’s staff going through his shirt.

The last molester only prays that he were in their positions

“Fuck man let me go!” It was surprising that the man could even talk considering chat’s gloved hand was firmly surrounding his throat. By now the hero’s breath was shallow from exertion but it was like he had no off switch. This man had to pay for what he did and chat was so close. He could almost feel his claws touch.

‘Just a little tighter’ The voice in his head cooed ‘Or maybe just use a cataclysm, that would end it so quickly.’

A flash of red and black wrapped around his waist as Chat was yanked backwards by his lady’s yoyo. The man fell to the cold ground, swallowing desperately for air.

“Chat what the hell!?” Ladybug scolded “Did you even try to restrain yourself? These are civilians you maniac.”

He pulled hard against the restraints and clenched his fist “Civilians are human ladybug, these are worthless pests that tried to hurt someone who they thought was weak and defenseless”

A sigh passed through her lips “Be that as it may how do you think it’ll look when she sees you grinding these dudes into the pavement”

He froze in place. That hadn’t occurred to him during the fight. He cautiously looked over at her. There was no trace of fear in her eyes. But what was lurking behind those eyes hit him harder than any akuma.

Pity

As if all at once he was rushed with guilt. Even if these guys were the scum of the earth, bringing them to the brink of death would solve nothing. Why even bother?

“What’s wrong ya pussy?” A wheezing voice taunted “You really need some freak bitch like her to tell you what to do? You must be into some really freaky shit huh?”

Chat lurched forward only to be pulled back again “You keep talking jackass and I’m gonna forget just how much energy it takes to hold him back” Ladybug advised coldly

Adrien’s head was ringing too loud with too many thoughts. He had to escape. If he doesn’t...who knows who else he might harm.

Ladybug stumbled back when she felt the string snap. Without even a single clue on where he was going chat leapt up to the roof and sped off to wherever.

“Shit that’s not good” she sighed. Ladybug looked around the disaster and noticed all that chat left behind “Fuck that’s no better”

She was gonna get him back for all this but for the time being she had to play clean up crew (not that different from home actually)

The wind made his ears tingle as he leaned against the eiffel tower

Why did he go and beat those guys to a bloody mess? What about those assholes made it so easy for him to consider actual murder? It didn’t make any sense. He could’ve just scared them off and that would be the end of it.

His chest felt so tight. He knew perfectly well why. He just hoped that he wouldn’t have to admit it to himself.

‘She looked just like her’ he buried his head in his knees ‘Alone and afraid. Like she’s been through this pain before.’

Even as he looked over the glittering lights all he only saw the darkness in between them. How ironic. He’d always felt comfort in the shadows. It was somewhere to hide when the light began to overtake him. But now? Now it was like they were creeping in on him. Waiting for that perfect moment where he’d sink just low enough for them to drag him beyond any savior’s reach

Until a voice rang out to him

“I knew I’d find you sulking out here” Ladybug said expectantly.

Chat refused to even face her right now “I ran away to be alone you know”

“I do know but I don’t care. I’m not asking you to pour your heart out to me.” She knew he was feeling alone right now. So, even if he didn’t speak she didn’t mind just being another body beside him, filling the space.

They sat for a while in silence with nothing but 6 inches of space between them. He thought she’d read the air and leave. He truly did not want to have this conversation. He didn’t wanna face those dark thoughts all by himself.

*bzzt*

The buzzing of ladybug’s phone jolted him out of his funk. She quickly apologized and opened the message.

He could see her face contort into different expression. Confusion, laughter and even disgust at one point.

Chat felt so ignored ‘Uh, Hello?’ he fussed silently ‘I’m having a real inner turmoil over here! Questioning my legitimacy as a hero? ANYTHING!?’

Ladybug was straight up enthralled with whatever she was watching

‘I’m having an existential crisis...and she’s chuckling it up over a text...the fuck’

He craned his neck far to get a peek at this apparently quality content. She quickly caught onto his snooping and pressed her phone against her chest. He figured that would be the end of it and sighed in disappointment

‘Well at least maybe now she can-’

“Chat”

His tail straightened fully to attention “Y-yes my lady!”

Ladybug suddenly scooted up real close to him. His hairs stood on end in anticipation

“You wanted to know why you fought those dudes right? What you were doing it for?”

He nodded mechanically

She played the video displayed on her phone “If I had to guess. You did it for kids like her”

It was a video of Elly all dressed up for bed. She wore the cutest ‘I only wake up for breakfast” pajamas and clutched a stuffed black cat that he’d bought her.

“Alright Elly, how was your first sleepover?” Alya said

Eloise took a deep breath

“I had a super duper fun time! I got to listen to Uncle Nino’s music and dance with Sophie. We played lots of really fun games and I even got to talk about my favorite superhero Ladybug!”

“Is Ladybug your only favorite hero?”

Her face looked like it she had committed the greatest crime known to man

“Oh no, not at all!” Elly thrust the stuffed doll into the camera “I also really, really, REALLY love Chat Noir too! I think he’s really funny like my daddy!”

Chat’s face was turning redder than Ladybug’s suit he was so embarrassed by all the sweet compliments.

“Speaking of him, Wanna say goodnight honeybun?”

You could see Elly’s honey-gold pigtails bounce around wildly as she nodded her head

“So, I know that you’re probably out doing really cool adulty stuff but just make sure you go to bed at some point. Especially you mama! You look like an old lady when you wake up in the morning”

He snorted to suppress his laughter but didn’t notice Ladybug’s look of utter disgust that her daughter would oust her like that

“Anyway, I’m excited to see you tomorrow! Nighty night mama and papa, I love you!”

The screen went black as the video ended. She could see in the dim reflection Chat’s face turned up in a bashful smile. He leaned on her shoulder, his tail lazily yet happily swaying back and forth.

She was first to speak “Being a hero is a lot like being a parent. You work late hours because you spend all day enjoying your kid. Sometimes you have to handle massive temper tantrums and often there’s not a word of thanks for any of it.”

She stood up and look over all the peaceful people walking by

“But, If I know that there are kids like her out there who get to be as happy and safe as she is right now. Then I think that’s thanks enough, don’t you think mon minou?”

The tightness in his heart felt unbearable but it wasn’t from shame or guilt anymore. It was from pride.

This is what he was meant to be. A knight serving valiantly by his Lady’s side. Forever protecting the smiles of those who can’t.

He reached out for her hand…

But was immediately repelled by his own staff in his face

“Nice try you stray! But I still haven’t forgiven you for ditching me when you threw your kitty hissyfit!”

He could barely speak because she was pressing it so hard into his cheek

“B-but bugaboo I was so conflicted in my emotions! I had to leave to protect you and those around me”

“Emotions my ass. Who had to be the one to yank your staff out of guy’s shirt, comfort a group of sniveling assholes that you weren’t going to kill them, and then ON TOP OF THAT, escort that little girl all the way home? Her parents insisted that I take all these sweets”

She took notice that his ears twitched at the sound of sweets ‘God he has a sweet tooth’

“I truly am sorry my lady, I’ll never do it again. What can I do to make it up to you?” He professed “andpotentiallygetoneofthosepastries” He finished much quicker.

“Hmm I wonder” she hummed passively. She took chat’s weapon from his face and crouched down to his face

“You know you’ve been a very bad kitty tonight, don’t you?” Her voice felt like it was drenched in seduction. His mind flashed back to the night he and his had that flirty chat session. He swallowed hard and nodded slowly.

“Very good. Now then, I think it’s time for you to learn a few tricks, don’t you?”

‘I have no idea where she’s going with this…but I’m gonna be the best pet she’s ever had’

She held out his staff, holding his gaze the whole time “Our first trick for the night, mon minou?”

He held his breath in anticipation…

“Fetch” She tossed his staff right down the tower

“…….what?”

“You have three minutes to retrieve the stick and bring it back to me, In your teeth of course. Succeed and you can have a treat. Fail?... I string you up by your tail till morning, secret identity be damned.”

Only unintelligible sounds came from his lips

“Aaaand start!” She exclaimed cheerily

Adrien had to skip morning classes the next day from how bad his body ached

“Mothy! You’re home!” Hawkmoth was starting to grow real annoyed with his newest akuma. He’d never had someone actually want to be akumatized before, so he took the risk and accepted her deal.

Had he known part of the deal would be her laying up on his couch all hours of the day, smoking on her 5th pack of cigarettes and constantly being just a general nuisance, he would’ve left her at that decaying apartment building they met up at.

“Have you captured the miraculous?” he responded coldly

Noemie let out an exasperated sigh. She peeled herself off the chic modern couch and swung her arms around his neck, pressing her mature body onto his “oh mothy, you worry far too much. These things take time, like our solid relationship”

“The only thing solid is that door that you will soon be on the other side of. Get my miraculous or leave my sight. I took you in on the chance that you might be worth my time. I would highly suggest that you don’t make me regret it.”

Noemie got off him and returned his icy stare with her

own “Pop quiz Hawky dear”

He raised his eyebrow in annoyed curiosity “What do all living things crave more than anything in the world?”

She didn’t give him the chance to answer “The answer is light. Take someone’s light and they kneel faster than a dollar store hooker”

The sound of heels striking tile rang loud in the open air “Next question, can I still obtain those miraculous however I see fit?”

“Hand them to me with the slightest imperfection and I snap your neck”

“Ooo talk dirtier to me daddy” she retorted

He turned and strode out the door, slamming it behind him “Hmph, can’t take a joke, can he?”

Getting comfortable again on the couch she switched on her phone to an image of Adrien, Marinette and little Eloise walking happily toward the bakery.

“Won’t be long now Elly. Hope you’ve been a good girl for mommy.

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