ficlet: glorious tumblr ask meme dumpage
just crossposting some ficlets i filled on my tumblr a while back. you can find them here
nc-17, louis/justin bieber.
request: hey zee wanna write me some louis/justin where justin has to win louis over because louis doesn't like him?
justin doesn’t understand. he’s fucking awesome, okay, and louis tomlinson is obviously just not on his level. he’s not on his level and he’s just jealous that everyone in the world likes justin. he’s fucking friendly and charismatic okay, ryan seacrest told him so and-
“you’re being a twat, and i stopped caring five minutes into this conversation,” niall grumbles around a mouth full of burger.
justin scrunches his nose, “bro, could you chew with you’re fuckin’ mouth closed?”
“don’t take your personal cocksucking problems out on me,” niall retorts.
justin glares, “i don’t want to suck his cock, i want to punch him in the face.”
“same thing, whatever. louis doesn’t hate you,” niall says, swallowing with a sip of his coke. “well he does hate you. the whole ‘i’m awesome’ argument doesn’t really sit well with him.”
justin sighs, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches niall finish off his fries.
“maybe i should just blow him,” justin concludes.
niall rolls his eyes.
-
“this isn’t gonna change my mind,” louis says, voice aired out.
justin rolls his eyes up to look at him, blinking purposefully as he moves his mouth down to meet where his hand slides up from the base of louis’ cock.
“fuck,” louis whimpers, fingers tugging on the back of his head.
justin pulls off, the tip resting on his lips as a bread of pre-come seeps out.
“don’t touch the hair, bro,” justin quips, mouthing at him.
“such a fucking cunt,” louis hisses.
justin takes him down as far as he can until he shuts the fuck up.
everybody likes him, okay?
nc-17, niall/justin bieber.
request: justin tries to convince niall he likes him just as much.
“you look really sexy like that,” justin blurbs, watching niall as he tries to get his sweat soaked hair out his face.
“fuck off,” niall snorts, shaking his head. there’s a sad tinge to the smirk that passes over his lips, like maybe he genuinely think that justin’s trying to make fun of him.
justin rolls back on top of him, hands braced on either side of his shoulders. niall looks up at him with a raised eyebrow, face still slightly pink. justin looks at him for a long, long time.
he swears too much and sometimes when he hasn’t had sex in a while he gets really impatient and wants to finish long before justin’s even had a chance to get worked up, but he’s niall. warm and always smelling of some type of fresh, clean cologne.
“stop looking at me like i’m a steak,” niall huffs. (there’s that, too, that he doesn’t want attention on him for too much time. always trying to find a way to step out of focus.)
“but you taste delicious,” justin mumbles, licking along his neck before nipping at his lips.
“shut up,” niall murmers, chasing the kiss as justin pulls away.
justin sucks on his lip, shifting to get a hand between them, lining himself up again. he doesn’t give much warning, just slides back to niall while he’s still loose and easy.
“oh, god,” he whimpers, almost trembling.
justin looks down into his eyes, whispers against his lips, “fuckin’ sexy.”
pg-13, harry/nick grimshaw.
request: nick reflects on how ~vulnerable harry makes him feel.
harry steamrolls in and out of nick’s life in a whirlwind every time they start to get comfortable.
it’s the nature of things really. he’s a fancy popstar and nick’s a morning radio dj. he stays, harry goes. when he’s there they have this thing the dance around, almost touches and half finished sentences. it’s- it’s so stupid, trivial. nick should just tell him that he’s all he ever thinks about and that he doesn’t want harry to jet off to fucking germany or sweden or wherever he’s going this weekend.
but he’s not going to, because that too much. too much time apart, too many quick phone calls trying to catch each other before bed and after a show. too many insecurities when new pictures come out, harry drunk at some club in sydney or new york city or amsterdam.
harry’s gone again. left on a plan to fly out to america for some awards show nick will watch at three in the morning again. and nick’s just- he’s lonely. he’s drunk, too wound up with all these feelings he’s keeping to himself and there’s a decently looking model at the bar, fucking stunner after three more shots of patron.
“oh,” harry says.
“oh?” he asks. because he needs to know, he needs the validation of harry being jealous, or angry, or scared that he’s losing nick just like nick knows he’s losing him.
“well i met someone, too,” he says.
nick holds back; cheers him on, listens, bites his lip until it bleeds.
nothing’s ever quite mutual, is it?
pg-13, harry/nick grimshaw.
request: more harry/nick of whatever you like but make it angsty and happy (maybe some jealousy)
nick is literally going to kill someone. it’s one in the fucking morning. he’s too old for this shit.
the banging on his front door doesn’t let up between the time it takes for nick to throw on a shirt and swing the door open in his best exasperated fashion.
“harold fucking styles,” he nearly growls. it might actually be a growl. he’s not entirely sure he’s completely human at this hour.
“did you have sex with olly?” harry sobs. nick thinks maybe he might be joking for a second, but then he starts sniffling and nick immediately recognizing it as that stage just past drunk where harry thinks everything is worth crying over.
“oh, fuck’s sake,” he groans, pulling harry into his house. aimee, predictably, hasn’t so much as peaked out her door.
harry makes a low humming noise akin to the start of a cry, leaning all his weight on nick. “don’t have sex with olly anymore, okay? okay?” he blabbers, petting nick’s face with sticky hands.
“jesus,” he sighs. he manages to get harry into his room, rolling his eyes has he goes on about olly, unsure of where he got the idea from.
“i don’t want you to have sex with olly,” he whines, face scrunching up and ready to cry.
“hey, oi, hey hey,” he says, forcing harry to look at him, “i’m not having sex with olly okay?”
harry sniffles, pout still heavy, “i don’t want you to have sex with people who aren’t me.”
nick can’t help but smile, trying his best not to laugh at harry, too drunk to think about the fact that nick’s more than happy sleeping with him, and only him.
“alright, pet. let’s get to bed, yeah?” nick soothes, brushing harry’s hair out his face.
harry nods, easily laying down where nick guides him.
“no olly,” he grumbles, already half asleep.
“no olly,” nick snorts. he passes out just as quickly, because it’s way too fucking early to gaze lovingly as his dumbass popstar.