#with black leather lapels and black elbow patches <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mycupoffanfiction · 5 years

Text

I’ll Be There For You

Biker!Tattooed!Steve x Reader

Summary: Biker!Tattooed!Steve admits his feelings when he sees you outside on a chilly night.

Warnings: Just pure fluff, mentions of no family for the Reader, though I never specify how or why.

Word Count: Approx 1600

Masterlist

A/N: @buckysknifecollection inspired me to write a Stevie fic! I’ve been in such a Steve mood recently. This went from tiny drabble to full fic, so there we go! Hope you all enjoyed your weekend, lots of love 😘💖💖

_____________________________________

Steve plopped down next to you on the front step of your static trailer, the cool Autumnal breeze gently shifting your hair as Steve draped his leather jacket around your shoulders, Howling Commandos embroidered on the back. His smile was soft and sweet as you glanced across at him, his large hand reaching out to offer you a warm drink, which you took gladly, giving him a wordless thank you.

He remembered the day he met you and smiled at the memory, remembering that he had once been someone you found intimidating until he’d shown you how soft and gentle he was. “What are you doing out here so late?” He asked, glancing down at his phone to check the time, seeing that it was close to two in the morning. “Couldn’t sleep.” You shrugged, gaze meeting his. “What are you doing out?” You turned the question around on him. Steve gave you a soft smile and shrugged. “Saw you from my window, had to come and see if you were alright.” He explained, causing the smile on your lips to grow.

Steve always seemed worried for your welfare and to be honest, it wasn’t misplaced. You didn’t exactly live on a good side of town and the trailer park you both resided in wasn’t the safest place around. But despite how unsafe it was, especially with your creepy neighbour around who seemed to enjoy making you feel uncomfortable and the crazy woman who lived two trailers behind you who liked to threaten everyone with putting boiled meat in their mail boxes, Steve and his group of bikers made you feel exceptionally safe.

He ran his group with Bucky Barnes, his long-time best friend and the pair of them had met you a few months ago when they had set up shop in the area and moved into the trailer park with a couple of their friends. They created a sort of community that felt like a family and they were so warm and welcoming, despite their initial impressions that left everyone on edge, thinking they were another lawless biker gang.

At first you had avoided the group like the plague, especially Steve and Bucky. They were both extremely strong and tall, leaving you to question your safety. Perhaps you had been too quick to judge though, because as soon as you got into trouble with your creepy neighbour one morning and he began to harass you, Steve was there to help you out as soon as he saw what was going on.

After that, you had invited him in for coffee as a thank you, your trust in the tall, tattooed biker suddenly growing and blossoming the more you talked. As the days passed after your first proper meeting, you spoke to Steve almost daily on your way to and from work. Then it evolved from small neighbourly chatter to hanging out together in the evenings, sometimes he’d invite you for breakfast on the weekend or for drinks on a Friday night.

At first you hadn’t felt like you even fitted in with their crowd of mismatched bikers, but Steve insisted you were part of their family now whether you were tattooed, a biker or neither at all.

“What were you doing up so late, anyway?” You asked, breaking Steve’s train of thought and bringing him back to reality. “Hm? Oh, just… Been thinking.” He nodded to himself. “Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” He asked, directing the conversation back at you rather than himself. You considered it for a moment as you sipped the drink he’d given you in one of the mugs Steve had stolen from Sam. It had purely been a joke, just to rile Sam up but when Steve and Bucky had realised how much fun it was to see him complain about his missing ‘world’s best pilot’ mug, which he had only because there were no biker mugs, they kept it up a little longer.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me what’s kept you up so late.” You nudged him in the side gently with your elbow. A soft puff and a smile across his lips practically melted your heart when Steve looked down at you. He mulled over it for a second as he scratched at his arm, drawing your attention to his tattoo sleeve. He made you so damn weak. His slightly grown out hair, thick stubble that was now close to a beard, his biker style turned lumberjack with his tattoos and his old black Harley he had fixed up. He was the epitome of handsome.

Steve mulled it over for a moment as he drank deeply from his mug. “Alright.” He nodded, agreeing. “But you have to go first.” He nudged you back. You suddenly saw Bucky poke his head out of Steve’s trailer door and smiled smugly. The pair shared a trailer and were roommates, despite the fact that they could easily afford two separate places to live, they chose to stay together, like they always had, as brothers. Bucky nodded at you, taking in the scene of you wrapped up in Steve’s jacket, the front lapels that were absolutely covered in patches and badges from bike shows, rallies and the bands he liked.

You took a deep breath as you watched Bucky shrink back into the trailer, your attention turning back to Steve, who looked rather ridiculous. He was perched on the top step of your trailer porch, hunched over and squeezed in to fit next to you. While you didn’t exactly take up much space, he was taller and more muscular than you, his broad shoulders taking up most of the room. Bucky had once made the comparison of you both being like a kitten and a huge guard dog.

“I lost my family, it hurts sometimes.” You huffed. “Today was one of those days where it hurts.” You explained, resting your chin on your hands. “Oh.” Steve said so softly, it was almost a whisper. He was possibly the softest person you’d ever met, despite his appearance making the townsfolk think differently. Steve wasn’t quite sure what to say to comfort you, but his arm found its way around your back and rested on your shoulder, pulling you gently against his side. The warmth of him was comforting in itself and you sighed with content. You felt safe and calm in his presence.

“Sometimes I don’t know where I even belong, if I even fit somewhere. Sometimes it just feels overwhelming.” You admitted, Steve squeezing you a bit tighter. “Right here.” He spoke just above a whisper. “You belong right here, with us. We might not be the most conventional family, but we’re a family.” Steve smiled down at you. “We’re your family.” He added, his free hand coming up to gently brush some of your hair back and behind your ear.

You felt yourself blush, his touch was so gentle and sweet and it made you automatically lean into him without even meaning to. “What were you thinking about?” You asked quietly, Steve’s eyes studying your flustered features. He huffed out a soft laugh from his nose, hand gently coming to rest on your jaw, his fingers pressing against your neck softly. “Is this okay?” He asked, his hot breath fanning against your flushed skin. Giving him a slight nod, Steve kept his slate blue eyes on yours for a moment longer, drinking you in.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, the question catching you off guard and you gasped a little, cheeks warming even more. “Sorry, that was- it wasn’t right of me to-.” Steve rambled but you cut him off, a streak of confidence kicking in and before you could stop yourself, you had brought your hands up to turn his face towards yours, your lips brushing against his ever so slightly.

Steve made a soft moan of surprise, his hand falling to your waist as he leaned into to the kiss more, his lips moving gently against yours. His lips were slightly cracked and dry, but still soft and so addictive. Your heart leapt when you felt his grip tighten on your waist and your hand came down to run your fingers over his exposed arm, fingertips trailing over his artwork. Steve’s tongue gently slipped over your lips and you welcomed him, his tongue eagerly, but still so gently caressing yours.

Steve pressed a few kisses against your lips and your cheek before he pulled away, eyes blown wide and dark with excitement. His lips glistened slightly, a soft smile stretching them a little, creasing around his eyes as he kept his gaze locked onto yours.

A comfortable silence loomed for a moment as you both enjoyed the moment. So many feelings were now out in the open and Steve wanted to do it right. “Was that what you were thinking about?” You asked, voice soft and quiet as you broke the silence. A smirk grew on Steve’s lips and he nodded slightly. “That and a question.” He murmured. You gave him a questioning look, while he paused to take in a long and slow breath, his fingers scratching at his beard before carding through his hair.

“Will you go on a date with me, sweetheart?” Steve asked the question with such care in his voice, as if he was afraid to push you too far or ask for too much. You felt your heart leap and soar, cheeks warming again and you grinned at him, his fingers reaching to fiddle with your hair a little as he studied your reaction. “I’d love to.” You nodded.

_____________________________________

Permanent Taglist (OPEN):

@shygirl-00 @swanlakemikey @scuzmunkie @paintballkid711 @lovelylilia @mapreza1 @love-bucky-3000 @cals-cigarette @scarlett-berserker @2407zzz @mercurybarnes @mywinterwolf @geeksareunique @fairislesheets @wendaiii @mochibarnes @anyasthoughts @miamua-posts @megantje123 @sideeffectsofyou @veganfangirl5 @a--1--1--3 @loving-life-my-way @xapham

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #biker!steve x reader #biker!steve #steve x you #steve rogers #stevie rogers #biker!au #biker #tattooed!steve #steve fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve fanfiction

385 notes · View notes

emeraldtawny · 5 years

Text

Drug Dealer!AU Harr, Lancelot , Sirius & Fenrir (ft. Seth): Networking

A little taster of my Drug Dealer AU. The set-up of the characters is linked here and I recommend reading it before reading this. Hope you all enjoy~! :3

“This is a bad idea. Nothing good can come of this, Lance, and you know it.”

“Stop your needless worrying, Sirius. It’s a simple business deal and everything is under surveillance and moderated.”

“Which means as soon as the police catch wind of this, we’re all going to jail, if not worse. Dammit, why did I agree to be dragged into this?”

Sirius’ exasperated sigh echoes his distaste of the situation as he rakes his fingers through his short hair, his amethyst hues glancing out the window at the sickly neon lights lighting up the surrounding buildings. His grip on the steering wheel of the car tightens, his leather gloves scrunching its fabric together as his fist clenches.

“Relax, Sirius.” Lancelot’s refined voice drawls out as if tired of his friend’s constant disbelief in his abilities - which he is, “It’s a simple over-the-table discussion. The man may be young, but he’s cooperative and knows what he’s doing. I can almost guarantee a positive outcome from this.”

Sirius closes his eyes with a sigh, “Whether he’s on board with it or not doesn’t matter when even opening up this operation to a broader scale is just asking for trouble. It’s bad enough with just the three of us as it is.”

Opening his eyes, Sirius directs his gaze to the rearview mirror and lets his eyes lock with the man in the backseat, one eye of grey and the other covered by a silver patch, like his family namesake.

“What about you, Harr? You’ve been quiet the whole ride here. It’s never too late to turn back.”

“Just because you want to, you coward. Don’t force your opinion onto him.”

Lancelot scoffs before turning around in the front seat, his elbow propped up on the seat as his eyes, as blue as the Crystals they refine and synthesise, meet Harr’s with an almost piercing glare, an inkling of a threat seeping out of his serious gaze.

Silence. Shortly after, a soft sigh; not of resignation, but more to reassure and calm one’s nerves.

“Let’s go, Lancelot.”

The younger man doesn’t wait for a reply as he opens the car door and steps out of the vehicle. Lancelot and Sirius share a glance, Lancelot’s holding silent smugness whilst Sirius’ only holds concern.

“If you’re not back in 30 minutes, I’m dragging both of you back here, whether the deal goes through or not.”

“It won’t take that long. Just stand by and be ready if we need a quick escape.”

Ignoring his friend’s clearly vexed glare, Lancelot exits the car slamming the door behind him. The heels of his boots click softly against the road as he moves to stand beside Harr, the latter’s trenchcoat fluttering its edges with the night’s breeze. The two stand as different as night and day, Lancelot’s clean-cut crimson red button-up with a classy black blazer with white accents contrasting against Harr’s mahogany trench coat covering up most of his tall form. Yet the two stand in front of a building neither would consider a place they would go to of their own whim.

The infamous Cat’s Cradle nightclub. A popular hangout for the adult youth of the city, yet the shadow of its less than savoury underbelly looms ever-present over the fun boisterous atmosphere the nightclub promises. With nothing more than a shared side glance at the other man beside them, the two men step towards the nightclub’s entrance, the bass of the music loud enough to reverberate through the walls and jostle the ground beneath them with their vibrations.

The garish neon lights intensify tenfold as they step into the nightclub’s walls, shades of cyan and bright pink flaring and illuminating the room, each pump of the bass through the countless speakers drowning out the vicinity with its catchy, deafening music. That matters little to Harr and Lancelot, aware of how out of place the smartly dressed older men look compared to the younger party-crazed inhabitants of the club, straining their vocal cords over the music and tipping back shots without a care in the world.

“Where is he?”

Harr’s voice is barely above a whisper, but Lancelot picks up on every word despite the constant distractions surrounding them, the highly refined Crystal coursing through his bloodstream working its magic - or rather, science.

“Near the back. He should be expecting us so let’s not keep him waiting.”

With a curt nod, they begin to weave their way through throngs of people, Harr reaching up to adjust his collar with awkward discomfort while Lancelot pushes through the crowd creating a path for them both. As they emerge on the other side, both breathe to relish their regained personal space before approaching the esteemed VIP area, velvet ropes cutting off the area from the rest of the club, the air of esteem more refined yet still bubbling with the excitement of the club’s bubbly atmosphere.

As they approach the bouncer standing in their way, his brown eyes narrowing in recognition and a refined smile curling his lips, he unhooks the chain of the rope and stands aside before they even reach him.

“Right this way, Mr Silver, Mr Kingsley. He’s been waiting patiently for you.”

The two men pass him, both eyeing the bouncer somewhat sceptically, seemingly surprised by the deeper tone of voice coming from the mouth of someone with luscious baby blue locks framing his face and stretching down to caress his back. They pay this little mind, however, as the man they’ve arranged to meet comes into their view, Lancelot moving forward with purpose with Harr moving slightly slower behind him, a silent sigh escaping him for whatever is to come.

Under the blue lowlights of the nightclub, a young man lounges casually against the lavish plush couch, his legs crossed and one arm hanging over the back of the couch, his other busy rubbing a Crystal between his thumb and forefinger. His magenta hair jumps out, somehow brighter and more eye-catching than the countless flashing lights surrounding them. Eyes of an equal hue gleam with confidence, charisma and a cocky aura, yet in a way that draws one in instead of being repulsive. His foot kicks languidly back and forth, his eyes narrowing at the Crystal he holds, a suave smirk splitting his lips accompanying it. The metal bauble pierced to hug the curve of his left eyebrow sparkles with the reflected light from the Crystal, as well as the earring dangling from his left ear, the intricate chain with a spade motif attached glistening with the light’s divine influence.

His eyes flit to the men approaching him before they even make their presence known and he grins wide, the sight somehow more invigorating and adrenaline-pumping than the nightclub’s entire atmosphere; the man who runs such an infamously popular nightclub would, of course, have the personality to match.

“Yo. Glad you could make it.”

Even over the pumping bass of the music, his tenor voice only emphasises his charismatic demeanour. His legs uncross as he moves to stand, his tight jeans with rips littering the right leg yet minimal on the left hugging his legs down to the black laced boots adorning his feet. The white V-neck he sports generously teases his collarbone and the beginnings of his pecs before a black waistcoat with lime green accents draws one’s eye away, the dozens of silver chains hooked onto the lapels and following to the pocket of the waistcoat another charming addition to this man’s entire character. Slicking his hair back with a simple push of his fingers through his hair, he throws the Crystal softly into the air before catching it with a cocky grin.

“Well, gentlemen. Shall we begin?”

#ikerev #drug dealer AU #harr silver #lancelot kingsley #sirius oswald #fenrir godspeed #seth hyde #did I purposefully make Fenrir that attractive? why of course I did huehuehue #hopefully I can make fics introducing most of the guys and their roles in this AU #fingers crossed gkrjgtdhy

59 notes · View notes

breha · 7 years

Text

@princessparadoxical said: Always down for more Farah/Amanda 😉😉

Here’s an AU where Farah is a bouncer and the Rowdy 3 is a punk band Amanda is in:

It was definitely Todd’s fault.

The Electric Spin was a club carved out of a gutted laundromat on the outskirts of town, the kind of place with no sign on its door or address on its website, but a packed house every night all the same. Amanda loved it: the neon piping in the ceiling, the black paint on the floor in the process of being scuffed back to white tile by hundreds of feet, the row of still-working washers and dryers behind the stage that they let the staff and bands use. Each one was named for someone famous who had played there, and they said that if you washed your gig jacket in one of them, it would be lucky forever.

This is where Todd’s total dickwashery came in: Amanda had reached into her backpack to get her jacket and felt the frayed collar of Todd’s instead. Had he somehow mixed them up? Doing laundry at her house in the dark, maybe. That would be so Todd. Sure enough, when she pulled the jacket out, instead of her “No Spoons, No Masters” patch, there was Todd’s shitty Dead Kennedys pin. Amanda kicked the air, which hurt - her knees were not great today - and sat down on Martin’s guitar amp.

“What’s up and down, Mando?” Vogel asked. He squatted down next to her, bouncing steadily on the balls of his feet.

She waved him off. “Nothing.”

Suddenly, Cross, Martin, and Gripps appeared around her like they’d risen out of the stage floor.

“Is something bothering you?” Cross said. “'Cause I’ll kick it. In the face!” He struck a karate pose and kicked the air to illustrate, complete with an enthusiastic “hiiii-yah!” Amanda couldn’t help smiling.

“I’m fine. I just don’t have my jacket,” she explained. “I wanted to wash it before the show.”

“Ah, you don’t need that luck,” said Martin.

“We’re already in the flow,” said Gripps.

Vogel nodded. “Word.”

Amanda’s phone buzzed: Todd. She picked it up and walked over to sit on her drum stool. “Dude, did you take my jacket?”

There was someone else talking in the background, so at first it was difficult to make out what Todd was saying.

“Yeah - I mean, no, it wasn’t me. Dirk switched them. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. But I - look, I just need to - I have it and I’m outside but this lady won’t let me in and...honestly, I think she’ll punch me if I try to go around the back.”

Amanda jumped off her stool probably faster than was wise. She ran to the front door and stuck her head out. There was Todd, looking sheepish with the jacket in hand as he argued with an absurdly beautiful girl. When Todd had said “lady,” Amanda had expected some kind of middle-aged person. This woman was Todd’s age or maybe younger, and everything about her was, well. All Amanda’s dumb gay brain could come up with was “symmetrical.” The collar of her button-up sat crisply over the lapels of her unadorned leather jacket, which led to her military-square shoulders and her regular, serious face. Even her hair, which rose around her head like a storm cloud, gave the impression that not a piece of it had ever been out of place, possibly out of sheer willpower on her part. Amanda suddenly felt extremely self-conscious about her eyeliner being uneven.

“Hi,” Amanda said, or hoped she did. It might have come out more like “huh.”

“Hello,” replied the symmetrical girl. “I’m filling in for Bud as bouncer until 8:00, and Mr. Park specifically told me not to let anyone in until the doors open for the show.” She spoke a little too fast, as if she’d prepared the words ahead of time and just wanted to get through them without fucking up. It wasn’t what Amanda would have expected her to sound like.

“Yeah, but I’m just trying to give my sister her jacket,” Todd argued.

The girl opened her mouth to speak, clearly about to restart a debate she and Todd had been having for who knows how many minutes, but Amanda interrupted.

“Look, I’ll just take the jacket, okay? Todd doesn’t have to come in.”

Amanda tried not to grin as the girl wrinkled her nose and considered this.

“...Okay, fine.”

“Yessss.” Amanda plucked her jacket out of Todd’s hand. “Thank you so much, dude. You’re my favorite brother.”

She turned to go back inside, then, suddenly overcome with confidence - maybe from the luck she was about to get washing her jacket - she turned back.

“Are you gonna stay and watch the band?” she asked.

The symmetrical girl stared at her. “Me?”

“Yeah, obviously you. Come on, we’ll give you a free t-shirt. I’m Amanda, the drummer.”

In her peripheral vision, she could see Todd rolling his eyes. As if he had any flirting skills beyond bragging about being an a band. Ha!

“Farah,” replied the girl, offering her hand for Amanda to shake. Farah. Amanda shook her hand, trying her best to look cool, then made sure to stick out her tongue at Todd behind Farah’s back before she retreated back into the club. It would be sound check soon, and they wanted to make sure things were loud to enough to damage everyone’s hearing permanently.

Filling in at the Electric Spin had been an unexpected development. Farah and Bud had worked together on a security team about five years ago, and they still kept in contact to trade tactics and advice. He’d called at 09:00 to ask if she could help him out: his cat was sick, and he needed to take her to the vet, so he wouldn’t be able to make it to work until 20:00. After a few minutes of mentally adjusting her plan for the day, she’d agreed. Bud was her friend, maybe. You were supposed to be there for friends. Probably.

The sad guy with the jacket had also been unexpected, as was his drummer sister with the chipped nail polish - Amanda.

“Roll with the punches,” Farah muttered to the sidewalk. “Be ready for anything.” Even messy punks who offered you a t-shirt and invited you to their show out of nowhere. Farah could go to a punk show. She was cool. Cool and relaxed. Relaxed and cool. Definitely.

Over the last hour or so, the line outside the door had grown until it curved around the block out of Farah’s sight. Amanda’s band must be popular, she realized. Everybody wore jackets with studs and had various types of jewelry on - in - their faces. People laughed and jostled each other as they waited to get in, giving the line a party-like feeling in itself. The audience had been flowing steadily into the club since 7:30, and Farah couldn’t imagine that the place could hold that many more people.

Farah checked her watch. Bud was two minutes late. Three minutes. Three and a half.

“Hey, sorry.”

She turned and found herself staring at a black t-shirt. There he was, finally - all 6′6′’ of him. She took a step back so she could see his face without looking up.

“Thanks for filling in for me, Farah. Anastasia’s fine, she just ate something she shouldn’t have and I panicked.” He shrugged his giant shoulders and looked sheepish. A lot of people were looking sheepishly at her today. Well, except Amanda, who had smiled as if Farah were an old friend.

Farah put her hand on Bud’s elbow. “I’m glad Anastasia’s okay. I think I might stay for the show.”

The inside of the club was humid and packed with people, the kind of crowd that made Farah reach into her jacket for her knife just to hold onto something solid. She edged her way towards the stage to get a better look at the band, which seemed about to start. There were four men - maybe; it was probably not right to assume - and, tucked in the back with her drums, Amanda. She looked completely at home, spinning one of her drumsticks in her hand as she laughed at something the guitar player had said.

As much of a hush as could be expected fell over the crowd as the frontman stepped up to the microphone. He didn’t have an instrument, although he was, nonsensically, holding a wiffle ball bat.

“We are the Rowdy Three!” he screamed. “Let’s get rowdy!”

Farah tried to yell to the person next to her - there are five of them! - but Amanda’s drums drowned out her voice.

It was unlike anything Farah had ever experienced. The band was a wall of noise that lifted her up and carried her away. They seemed not to care about anything as plebeian as genre; they were punk one moment, funk the next, and, for one memorable song, genuinely classical. It turned out the wiffle ball bat was for punting various objects into the audience, mostly hats and small stuffed animals. (Farah was certain she also saw at least one dildo that almost hit somebody in the eye.) She danced until she could barely breathe, and she felt, for the first time in a long time, not afraid of anything.

After the first set, Amanda pulled her hair into a ponytail and wandered over to the bar for a beer. She kept an eye out for Todd and Dirk, but, knowing them, they were probably either arguing or making out in a corner somewhere, neither of which she felt much like getting in the middle of. Someone pushed a side door open, and a gust of cool air blew over the back of Amanda’s neck. Man, she wanted a cigarette. The adrenaline of performing was still buzzing through her body, and her hands shook slightly as she pushed open the door and reached into her pocket for her lighter.

A few other people were smoking in the alley, and there, leaning against the wall by the trash cans, was the lovely bouncer from earlier. Farah. She had one of the hats Martin liked to bat into the crowd in her hand. It was Amanda’s favorite of the bunch they’d bought from the secondhand store that afternoon - green with the words WOMEN WANT ME, FISH FEAR ME embroidered on the front. Farah seemed slightly bemused by it.

“So, what do you think of the music?” Amanda asked, and Farah jumped in surprise. Amanda exhaled a cloud of smoke and grinned at her.

Farah smiled too, and Amanda’s stomach jumped a little bit. She had an asymmetrical smile. Her hands moved in wide circles to emphasize her words. “It’s - it’s awesome - it’s brilliant. Your organizational structure and artistic personality make no sense, of course, but I had - fun. Thanks for asking me to come.”

Amanda laughed. “You’re so weird.”

This made Farah frown. “No, I’m not.”

“I mean that in a good way.”

“Oh.”

They both looked at their shoes. Then Amanda said “Listen - ” at the same time that Farah said “I should - ”

“You go first,” Farah said.

“Do you want to go get a milkshake after this? I know a really cool 24-hour diner and I think you’re really cool so. You should go...there. With me.” Amanda tried not to visibly cringe at her own utter awkwardness.

Farah smiled again, apparently not noticing. “Yeah, okay.”

Amanda smelled like cigarettes or incense or maybe both. She let Farah listen to her favorite Bikini Kill album with her headphones and talked about her brother and her friends a lot, but didn’t seem to think it was weird that Farah didn’t have anyone to talk about except her fish.

“Dude, you have a betta fish? That’s so cool. Aren’t they, like, really aggressive?”

“They’re misunderstood.”

Farah felt Amanda’s hand slip into hers and realized that she was probably fucking up her entire schedule for tomorrow by being out this late. She also realized that she didn’t much care. For once, she felt like going with the flow.

#femslash february #femslashfeb2017 #ffcbw #farah x amanda #dghda #farah.......my anxious daughter...........#my fic #ridiculous fluff

32 notes · View notes