#back in england there was one night i spent like 3 hours talking to a bunch of guys just trying to understand what ‘playing lame’ means | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

footiehoefics · 4 months

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Not Approved

I'M BACK! This fic took way longer than I thought it would, and I am sorry. I'm so happy to post a new fic and I hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think please! I'm sorry if I take longer to post fics I just have a lot going on and I wish I had more time to write. Anyways enjoy! I love you! 5.2k words, TW none, fluff/angsty

gif: canirove

You don’t know how you and Mason made time for each other, but you always tried.

It was hard to both be public figures and have people comment on your relationship all the time, or criticize everything you did. It sucked when people blamed you for his “bad” performances. However, as tough as it was, you never let it get in the way between your relationship.

You had met Mason at an event you were both invited to. You were sitting next to each other, and to say you fell for him quickly, it was an understatement.

One date turned into two, three, four, five, you can’t even count now. They were always spaced out though, you would see him for a date one week and then not see him for at least 3 weeks. You would always text each other when you were apart and do facetime calls.

Your home was England, but because of your career you had to be in different places a lot of the time. This was an obstacle both you were willing to face.

Mason fell in love with you instantly as well. He was grateful his friends talked him into going to that event alone, otherwise he wouldn't have met you. He knew who you were, how couldn't he?He had seen you in movies many times. He always had a crush on you but to him it seemed nearly impossible to have something with you.

On your first date, he was so nervous. He had never been nervous to go on a date, as a matter of fact, he prided himself in being confident with girls. There was something about you that made him go crazy for you and he wanted to give the best impression. Every single time you were together he just felt the connection. Every single second it grew more and more.

You also knew who Mason was, living in London for a long time, it was hard not to know who he was as well. You were also a very big football fan, so you didn't want to freak out when you met him. He made you feel so at peace, like you could be yourself around him and not put up this “nice girl” persona everyone expected from you.

You were never the type of girl to have one night stands and go out much. You, of course, had that phase but as you got older you realized that it was not as important as people made it seem. You always loved being at your house or working on set. Mason loved that about you, you liked your privacy. Most of the girls he had been with, he knew it was just for attention. He always wanted to meet someone who respected his privacy and didn't just want his money.

After so many lowkey dates with him, you both started your relationship 2 months ago. You had both agreed to keep it private but not a secret. Your friends and family knew but that was it. If someone spotted you at his games, rumors always started swirling around but you never commented on it. People would say whatever it was about you both and it shouldn't matter.

Ever since Mason signed for Manchester United, you spent a lot of time with him in his apartment in Manchester. You loved being up North with him and being in your own little bubble with him and your dogs. It was like all the noise faded out.

Every weekend you would go on little dates, getting to know more and more places, and also so Mason could familiarize himself more with the city. This weekend however, Mason wanted to head down to London since it was one of his friends' birthdays.

You were currently getting ready to get in his car and start the 3 and a half hour car ride.

“Ready my love?” Mason asked you, popping his head in the bathroom to check you were ready to leave.

“Yep, I just need to get that bag downstairs” you replied, looking at yourself one last time in the mirror.

Mason headed over to the bed and grabbed the bag. “Fucking hell, what are you taking? We’re only going 3 days.”

You laughed at his comment. “I have to take some stuff back to the apartment in London and bring in new stuff.”

Once all the bags were in his trunk, you made your way to London. This would be the first time you would be meeting his friends. You know it was kind of late but, better late than never. You had been very busy and every time they would visit Mason in Manchester you were not there, not for a lack of trying. It had been hard to meet his friends and family with both of you being so busy.

You were a bit nervous but you knew that you just had to relax and just be yourself. You only knew Nathan and Benny, everyone else you had never met so you wanted to make a good impression.

—-

“This shirt or this shirt?” you asked, holding up two black shirts that honestly to any man would look exactly the same.

“Babe…they are the same…” Mason replied, looking at you clueless.

“Uh, no. This one is more see-through and this one has longer sleeves.” you pointed out, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “24 and already with bad vision…?” You told him, smirking.

“Oi those shirts are exactly the same, but I mean the first one I guess since it’s more see-through.” he replied, making you chuckle.

You were almost done getting ready, and so was Mason. The party was not far from your hotel so you were good on time. Your nerves started building up. You weren’t the best at meeting new people, but you’ve gotten better at it.

You had never been this nervous to meet your past boyfriend’s friends or family. With Mason it was different. This relationship meant everything to you, it was so important for you to really bond with his friends and for them to like you. Mason always tried to reassure you they would obviously like you and if they didn't that it would not matter, he wanted you. However, if they didn't end up liking you, it would hurt you and it would be hard to just brush it off. You figured if they were friends with Mason and they were similar to Benny and Nathan, then there would be no problem.

“Wear this purse” Mason told you as you were adding the finishing touches to your makeup. He was holding up a beautiful dark red and gold purse he gave you for your birthday not long ago.

“Oh you want me to show it off today?” You replied to him smiling.

“Of course, and if someone asks you where you got it just say the best boyfriend ever gave it to me as a gift” he winked at you making you giggle.

You grabbed the beautiful purse, grabbed Mason’s hand and headed to the car to go to the party. The little weird feeling in your tummy started happening again but you tried to brush it off.

—--

Once Mason gave the car to valet, he grabbed your hand and kissed your temple.

“Ready?” he asked you, smiling. He was excited about you meeting all of his friends finally.

“Mhm” you replied, not sounding confident at all.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine okay? They’ll love you” he told you caressing your cheek and looking deep into your eyes making your heart melt. You gave him a little on the lips and headed inside the party.

As soon as you stepped a foot inside, Mason’s friends swarmed him. Clearly they had missed him. Mason never had a lot of time to make the drive back down to London and his friends also barely had time to go up and see him. It was sweet seeing all of his friends hug him and reunite with him.

You let go of his hand so he could say hi to all of them and stood behind him a bit awkwardly waiting for him to introduce you. The first person he greeted stepped aside and looked over at you. “Oh hey! We finally meet you!” he said approaching you to greet you. You knew who he was, Mason having mentioned him quite a bit since they were former teammates and also just by watching football. “I’m Ben it’s nice to meet you” he hugged you and you hugged him back. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m y/n” you replied smiling at him.

Mason turned around and started introducing you to everyone. Everyone was really nice and welcoming towards you which made you feel at ease. Everyone except three people. You knew one of them, again because of football. However, the other two you had no clue.

You grabbed Mason’s hand again to guide you wherever he was going. You didn’t want to be that clingy girlfriend but you barely knew anyone and felt safe being with him. You both sat down in a small booth. You sat donw next a girl.

“Hi!” she said as soon as you sat down next to her. “I’m Sophia, Kai’s girlfriend. “Oh hello! I’m y/n… Mason’s girlfriend” you replied, matching her causing her to giggle.

She was a sweetheart the whole night with you, going to the bar together, talking about everything and anything. It gave you an opportunity to give Mason space with his friends and not be super clingy as you feared.

Once the bartender handed both of you your pornstar martini’s, Sophia guided you to the terrace where Mason, Kai, Nathan and Ben were with some of their other friends on table. Once Mason spotted you he smiled at you and signaled you to go sit with him. There was very little room between him and the girl beside him, so he sat you down on his lap making you blush and smile. You didn’t know who the girl was, she was one of the few people who was a little cold with you.

There were different conversations around the table going on, you were trying to keep up with them but at the end you just started chatting with Kai and Sophia who were in front of you.

“How long have you two been together?” you heard the girl ask Mason, making you look at her. “Oh sorry I didn’t introduce myself, I’m Shea” she said not even smiling, just giving you a blank expression. You were not gonna lie, you felt a little uncomfortable and intimidated by her. “Oh nice to meet you I’m y/n” you said smiling, unlike her. “Um, we’ve been together for like two months” you told her, answering her question.

Sha laughed a little, “I’m shocked, look at you” she said now with a more expressive face looking at Mason. Mason just smiled awkwardly. You could tell there was some tension or awkwardness, or at least just from his side. He looked visibly uncomfortable. You just tried to smile and be nice.

“Yea, my God what happened to you?” another voice said. This time it was the person beside Shea. You didn’t know his name but he was the other person who never introduced himself to you. “You never come down here, never want to go out with us anymore, have a little fun like the old days.” he finished making Claire laugh. “Don’t have time mate” Mason replied, smiling at him. “Of course you don’t, you have a girlfriend now” Shea said looking at you and smiling condescendingly. Oh, so this is what it was. Maybe it bothered them that he had a girlfriend now and had no time for them?

“So boring mate…” the guy said, taking a sip of his drink. “No offense” he chuckled looking at you, “we’re not used to Mase having a serious girlfriend and shit, usually it was just for the night.” he laughed, nudging Shea, making her blush. “Joe” Mason said sternly.

You wanted the ground to swallow you. Not only did his friends think he was boring now because he finally had a serious girlfriend, you now knew he used to do it with one of his girl friends…? It also hurt you Mason didn’t say anything to them, as if they were right.

You didn’t even know what to say. You scratched your neck awkwardly and looked at Sophia. She had heard everything and helped you get out of that conversation. “Does anyone want anything from the bar? Y/n and I will go get some more drinks” she asked the table. No one wanted anything thankfully.

You got up from Mason’s lap and were about to go inside when you felt someone grab your arm. You turn around, it was Mason. “Hey, can we go to the other side and tal-” he was about to ask when you interrupted him “No…um…I have to go to the bar with Soph.” you said. “Love please” Mason pleaded. “It’s fine Mase, I promise” you told him half smiling. He let go of your arm, understanding you didn’t want to hash on it right now. He knew you were hurt and he knew he had to explain all of it to you, but he knew you better than anyone else and you needed space right now.

Once at the bar, Soph asked you if you were okay. “I’m okay, I’m just like taken back a little bit” “Ugh Joe is such a prick you have no idea” she said rolling her eyes and making you chuckle at her comment. “I can tell.”

“He is so miserable I promise you. His life consists of partying every single day. Everytime he asks Kai if he wants to go to the club or a party and says no, he blames it on me.” she said and paused to take a sip from her drink. “It;s not my fault you have no life or great charactics to get a decent girlfriend and do something else other than get high or drunk every weekend.” This time you laughed harder, making Sophia laugh too. “I just hate him so much you have no idea” she told you. “No it’s okay, I mean I had a 5 minute conversation with him and I already don’t like him”

“What about Shea, do you know her?” you asked Soph. “Not much, other than she's a leach with Joe. She’s a bit bitchy but I don’t really talk to her, you know?” “Yea” you replied.

“Um…and do you know about her and…Mason?” you asked her, not really wanting to know the answer. “Don’t worry about her, they were never anything serious whatsoever. I’m not gonna lie to you, I think they used to…you know…but ever since Mason moved clubs and cities he has changed a lot…for the better, and I’m guessing it has a lot to do with you.” she said, winking at you. It sting a little knowing he used to…sleep with one his girl friends, and it bothered you a bit he was still friends with her or at least still hung out with her. You were confident in your relationship but after tonight, you felt stupid and a little embarrassed.

What if it wasn’t just Joe and Shea that thought Mason was now boring and had no time for them because of you? What if everyone else felt the same way but didn’t show it or told you like they both did.

“Can you go with me to the bathroom please?” Soph asked, standing up. “Yes of course” you paid for your drinks and headed to the bathroom. It was only one bathroom and the men’s bathroom was directly in front of the women’s bathroom, so you waited in the hallway for her.

You were scrolling on your phone while waiting for her when you heard Mason’s voice from the men’s bathroom. You hated snooping, but you heard your name and you couldn’t help it.

“Mate I just understand what’s the problem?” you heard him say. “I’m just saying, you're adapting to a new team, new city, new everything, a relationship would be the last thing I would focus on. Y/n seems lovely, trust me, but I think in the end it will just be a distraction maybe. It’s not just another girl you know? Her lifestyle is also public and it’s completely different to yours” you didn't recognize this voice. It wasn’t Joe (thankfully), it wasn’t Ben, Nathan or Benny, it wasn’t Kai as well. Whoever it was, you didn’t care, his comments hurt you. Not because they were mean, but because there was maybe some truth behind them.

It was hard already to make time for each other. He was right, both of your live’s were so different and public, how on earth did you think this would work. Love wouldn't be a problem, but work, and lifestyle would certainly be. Maybe since the very beginning you were right. You always had this feeling about your relationship with Mason, it was too good to be true. Your past relationships weren’t great at all. You were very careful who you gave your heart to. You were more than happy to give it to Mase. He never gave you a reason to not trust him with it. It was like this whole time, you were just waiting for the ship to crash, because at the end of the day that’s always what happened.

You felt your eyes sting with tears. You stepped away from the door and couldn't hear what else was said so just turned your back to the men’s door and got close to the women’s door. Mason and his friend stepped out, you heard the door open. You didn’t want them to see you upset and on the verge of tears so you didn’t turn around.

“Y/n?” You heard Mason asked. You did your best at pretending everything was fine but he could see right through you. HIs friend stepped out as well, and now you realized it was Declan. His best friend since childhood. This made it even worse. HIs best friend was telling him all of this, and as much as Mason would reassure you it was fine, you know when your best friend tells you something like that it’s more serious. It’s not just someone online saying it, or dickheads like Joe.

“Hey I’m just waiting for Sophia-” you tried to say calmly, when Sophia opened the door. “All done” she said, and stopped in her tracks when she saw the 3 of you outside. “Oh hey guys” she smiles. “I need to go inside” you said entering the bathroom.

You could not face Mason right now. This whole night was just a big shit show. The worse you thought could happen, happened but like 200x worse. You tried to compose yourself for 5 minutes in the bathroom. You were also waiting for Mason to leave. You wanted to go back home, you didn't want to be here. You felt unwanted by some of his friends and just like you didn't fit in.

You opened the door slowly and saw only Sophia waiting for you. “I’m done” you said, stepping out. “Oh listen, Kai and I will head home, it’s late and we always sleep early like old people” she told you. “Oh okay, yea I think I’m leaving too.” you replied. “Oh Mason went outside with Dec-” “No, just me, I’ll get an uber or something.” “Are you sure? Kai and I can give you a ride” Sophia told you sweetly understanding your situation. “no , it’s okay Soph, I don't want to bother him.” “Don’t be silly c’mon” Sophia grabbed your hand and guided you to the exit.

You felt bad leaving without saying goodbye to Mason and to all of his friends since it could come across as rude but, you couldn't be arsed anymore.

Kai and Sophia were kind enough to drop you off, you said your goodbyes and thanked them. On the car ride home, you texted Mason you had left with them and for him not to worry. You took your makeup off and got comfy in a pair of pj’s.

—--

You were honestly reevaluating your whole relationship with him. You loved him, more than anything. You have never loved anyone as much as you have loved him, however you hadn't gotten the chance to tell him those 8 letters yet. But what if it got more and more serious and somewhere in the future you both realize it’s not as easy as you two thought it would be, or what if you both get way too busy for one another, what if you really are a distraction for him, what if he actually want to go back to being single and having more fun with his friends? These questions were eating you alive.

You grabbed your phone to check if Mason had messaged you and you had 7 missed calls from him. You were about to call him back when you heard the doorbell ring.

You got up from the bed and went to answer it, knowing it was Mason. When you opened the door, you could tell Mason was visibly annoyed.

“Are you serious? You just leave without telling me or saying goodbye to anyone?” he asked entering your apartment.

“I texted you when I was on my way home” you defended yourself.

“Babe…what the hell happened tonight huh? I know what Joe said was way out of line and I owe you an explanation, but you didn’t want to hear it. Then you just leave without telling me.” He had a right to be annoyed with you, you knew that.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving okay? I was not feeling good after everything that was said, you know Joe, Shea and…Declan” you said, almost whispering the last part. As soon as you said Declan’s name, he knew what you meant and his demeanor softened.

“Baby-” “Don’t Mase, please” you said, moving away from his embrace.

“I know all of it is not completely your fault, I know. I just feel…embarrassed and” you were trying to find the words without crying. “It just hurt because maybe it’s true you know?”

“What’s true?” he asked you coming closer to you.

“Maybe he’s right it’s not the time for us to be together…maybe it will distract you from football and me from my work you know? What if you regret having this serious relationship with me because you miss being more with your friends and going out-""Hey, I wouldn't have started this with you if I thought that okay?” “Mason, maybe you think that now but, maybe Declan’s right? It will not be easy, we have completely different live’s. I just think maybe we should think about it for a bit”

Mason stared at you blankly trying to process everything you had said to him. “So you want what? A break from this?” he asked you with hesitation.

“Yea…i think it’s best if we just see the bigger picture you know?” you told him, as a tear ran down your cheek.

“I don’t want a break because I know what I want,” he said looking at you, almost crying. It broke your heart looking at him like this. “But if you feel like you need it then okay” he said nodding.

—-

That night, you both hugged each other for a long time. He ended up staying at a hotel and not your apartment. You weren’t gonna lie, you cried for hours. Your heart was broken. You knew it wasn’t a break up but it felt like one. The stupidest thing was that it was your own idea.

You let other people’s perspectives cloud the love you had for him. You still had those same doubts but, after being apart for 2 weeks you knew you needed him. However, you didn’t know how to even start that conversation with him again. What if he realized what you had said maybe was right?

Overthinking was your biggest enemy, and you let it get in the way of your relationship with Mason.

Beside this whole thing, you were also upset at the fact that his best friend didn't really approve of you. Other friends of his saw you as the girl who made him boring. At the end of the day it’s not like you were going to see those people a lot but, they were his friends. You always valued what your friends had to say about your partners, because they always wanted what was best for you. It would be no different between Mason and his friends.

You were in the middle of cleaning up the living room in your apartment when your phone pinged. You checked your notification and were surprised to see who had dmed you.

Declan.

Why the hell was he messaging you? He barely talked to you, you don’t even remember if he introduced himself to you.

You opened instagram to see what he had sent you.

Hi y/n !

Listen I wanted to talk to you, I know with both of us being busy it’s kind of hard talking in person. I am so sorry for the other night!😭 I didn't mean to cause anything between you and Mason. I know what I said may seem to you that I didn’t want you to be with him but it’s not like that at all. I was just concerned about a friend you know? He just moved to a new city, a new club, I assumed (wrongly) that maybe starting a relationship with someone who has a lifestyle like yours wasn’t the best idea and I am sorry! I know for a fact now after talking to him and kind of him getting pissed at me that you are probably the best thing that could’ve happened to him this year after the shit he went through. I didn’t know both of you had been getting to know each other since January, I know now why he wanted to keep that private. I also know how he got through it. I don’t know how you put up with him. I’m so sorry again, we haven’t spoken much but from what Mason has told me about you (trust me a lot) I’m sure you are a great person and I know you want what is best for him as well!

This was really unexpected, you thought. But it was also maybe the sign you need to man up and talk to Mason and get your man back.

Heyy

Thank you, you didn’t need to apologize. I understand why you and maybe some of his other friends are worried or concerned. I was too. That's why it sucks that it’s hard. But don’t worry about it please, you’re good.

Nah I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me. I also hope you two work it out even though it is hard. I completely understand why it is but trust me that guy is whipped with you🤣.

I feel like I sound like Mase sent me HAHAHA but I just want what is best for him and that is you so I hope it does work out!❤️

Thank you Declan!❤️

From this moment on, you decided to stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something about this whole mess. You got onto your computer and bought a train ticket to manchester. You had no plan at all, other than showing up at Mason’s apartment and hoping he still wanted to see you and be with you.

—-

The train ride felt like 10 hours. Your anxiety was eating you up, your stupid overthinking was hitting hard. You tried to push it aside and distract yourself the whole ride with a book or music but none of it was working.

You finally got to Manchester and got a taxi to Mason’s apartment.

What if he wasn’t even home? You didn’t have a key to his apartment, you never got to that stage.

Well there was nothing you could do because the taxi was already pulling up to his apartment building. The taxi driver helped you get your bag out of the trunk and you paid him. You stepped into the lobby and headed towards the elevator. You pressed the number 15 button to go up.

The elevator doors open and you step out. Once you reach door 159, Mason’s door, your nerves almost made you throw up. You took a deep breath in and rang the doorbell.

You waited for him to open the door and when he finally did, your eyes teared a bit at the sight of him. He was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants.

“Hey” he whispered, looking at you shocked.

“Hi” you said, trying not to choke on your sob.

He came towards you and pulled you in a hug. You forgot how safe you felt in his arms. How loved you felt when you were with him.

“We are never doing this again…I’m sorry” you whispered in his neck, hugging him more tightly than ever and tears finally spilling.

You stood there embracing each other for what felt like hours.

He helped you take your bags inside and get settled in his apartment. Once you did, you both sat down on his living room couch. He was watching The Grinch, your favorite Christmas movie.

“Nice choice” you told him and he smiled at you.

“Mase-” “Can I start?” he asked you, interrupting you.

“Okay” you nodded.

I’m really sorry about that night” “You don’t have to apologi-” “Yes I do y/n. You were clearly uncomfortable with what was being said and I should've told Joe to shut up and not be rude. I should’ve said something and I'm sorry.” he said, grabbing your hands.

“And Shea…” you were dreading him talking about what he sued to have with her. “There was never anything serious between me and her. Yes I used to…you know…but I realized a long time ago that’s now what I wanted anymore. I wanted to find someone and be with them and share my life with them. And I found my person and it’s you.” he said now looking at you.

“I know what Dec said may be right, but what’s the point of having it easy all the time?” he asked you smiling, making you tilt your head and admire him. “It was never going to be easy, but I want us to make it work okay? You will never ever be a distraction for me, you have helped me so much when things have gone to shit. I need you baby.”

You started tearing up again.

“I love you Mason. So much” you told him, lifting your hand up and cupping his face. He just smiled at you and kissed you.

You missed his lips, the feeling of his lips on yours. 2 weeks of not touching him had been hell, a hell you never wanted to repeat.

“I love you too. So much.” he replied.

“I’m also sorry babe. I let people get into my head and started overthinking too much I’m sorry-”

“Stop. We are good okay? Maybe we needed this, you know? To realize how much we need each other.”

You nodded your head and kissed him again.

“Please promise me, other people’s opinions will not affect what we have” he said to you.

“I promise. It’s me and you.” you replied.

“You and me.” he told you.

#mason mount #mason mount fan fiction #mason mount x reader #mason mount fluff #mason mount angst #mason mount x y/n

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

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pick and go - 1

summary: you’ve just landed a job as athletic trainer for the manchester rugby team, the night before you start you decide to stop by a pub. you end up meeting Simon who’s rugged charm and strong form influence you to take him home, only to find out the next morning that he plays for the team. rugby au

simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!athletic trainer reader

warnings: smut (mdni), mentions of alcohol, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, oral (fem rec)

a/n: so @/ task141xyn posted a fic with a rugby player!simon and I’m obsessed, I played for like 7 years so I just had to write something. So here's a little self-indulgent one-shot.

next part

The air was warm when you stepped out of your flat, your body exhausted from the hours you spent unpacking and organizing everything inside, this place was new. You weren’t a stranger to the UK, having spent a few years prior working at various clubs around England, one up in Scotland, but you wanted to explore, wanted to see what was around before your life became consumed with broken ankles and concussions.

Walking down the street you’re greeted by various chants from what felt like a hundred pubs, everyone in Manchester in high spirits thanks to their rugby team win that night. You didn’t follow the games too closely, considering your job consisted of attending every game the team played, you’d rather spend your off time not thinking about work.

The city was alive, people flooding the streets while strings of lights illuminate your path. Your eyes set on a large wooden sign, ‘The old maid’ it read, making you laugh a little at the name, you shrug your shoulders I could go for a beer. Entering the pub the climate changed instantly, it was almost stuffy, the large crowd composed of mostly large brawny men, some donning casual clothing, others dressed in red and white stripes.

You seat yourself at the bar ordering a pint from the bartender who nodded and promptly placed one in front of you. It was cold, a welcome change of temperature from the humid aroma of the pub. Working with large sweaty men for years you’d become accustomed to it, but never used to the odour omitted from them.

In a quick turn of events, your sense of smell is taken over by the scent of tobacco, whiskey, and soap as your solitary presence is invaded by a rather large figure looming beside you.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked, his accent thick as the smell of whiskey drafted from his lips.

You turn to face him, he’s gorgeous, broad and tan, dirty blonde hair framing his face that’s littered with small scars you want to run your fingers over them, eyes locking onto his dark orbs, trying to read him but they give nothing away.

“Already have one,” you say, nodding towards your beer a small smirk on your face.

“Yea but you’ve been nursing that since you got here, how about a real drink”

Your eyes gleam “What’d you have in mind”

He raises two fingers to the bartender, pointing back to his own glass before two glasses of dark liquor are placed in front of you.

“Whiskey?”

“Hard to find good bourbon here, it does the trick,” He says scooting his body closer to yours while he pushes the glass toward you.

The two of you sat drinking and talking for a few hours, somewhere between drinks 3 and 4 he had introduced himself as Simon. He was refreshing, you talked about the city, he offered to show you around one day, he was charming, enough so that by midnight you tried to excuse yourself from the pub, arguing that you had work in the morning before stopping yourself for a second, drunken eyes fluttering to his, offering to let him walk you home, his grin grew devilish as he swigged back the remainder of his drink before placing a firm hand on your back, guiding you outside.

Your skin felt like it was on fire, his touch searing as he pulled you into his frame, the now cool night air doing nothing to stop the burning that was creeping up your body. The walk back was filled with laughter, you stumbling a little over the uneven ground and Simon’s arms coming quickly to catch you, holding you close as his eyes scanned over your face.

“This is me,” you say, pointing toward your door.

You pull away from him but he’s quick to grab your face, rough palms holding you steady as he closes the distance and kisses you. You melt into him, hands coming to grip his wrists keeping him connected to you, he finally pulls back allowing you to catch a breath.

“Do you wanna come in?” You ask sheepishly, he doesn’t give you a response, instead just grabs your hand and leads you inside.

Once the door was closed his hands were on you, your waist, your hair, anything he could touch as you practically tear your clothes off, encouraging him to do the same. A mix of your clothing strewn across the floor of your flat as he kisses you, walking your body backwards till your knees collide with the bed and you fall back, he’s quick to cover your form, his broad chest and large arms caging you as your arousal pools in your belly.

“Do you have a rubber?” he asks between kisses.

You shake your head, “I’m clean, on the pill” you say as he plants kisses over your bare neck and chest, earning a wanton moan from you.

He moves down your body, sucking and kissing at the skin of your hips, his mouth rests above the line of your panties as he glances up at you, silently asking for permission.

“Please”

His smirk grows as he tears your panties down your legs, the cool air of the room coming into contact with your wet cunt.

“Fuck you’re beautiful” he whispers before using his flattened tongue to lick a stripe up your heat, earning a gasp from you.

He eats you out like a man starved, hands planted firmly on your waist to keep you from moving as your hands snake down to tangle in his hair, holding him to you. He brings his fingers to tease at your entrance as his lips suck at your clit, you’re a mess of strangled moans as he pushes two fingers into you, pumping slowly, grazing that sweet spot that has you arching into him. He can sense your need, quickening his pace as he watches you come undone on his fingers.

“So perfect doll, want you to cum on my fingers then I’ll give you what you want”

Your muscles seize as he pulls your clit into his mouth,

“Yes, fuck don’t stop” you manage through your moans.

The band in your stomach threatens to snap as he keeps his pace, watching you squirm under his grip. Your orgasm hits you and your flesh burns, your eyes clamp shut as he continues to lick you through it, watching as your hands grip the sheets beside you. He releases his mouth once he feels you unclench around his fingers, mouth travelling up to lick and tease over your hard nipples, every nerve in your body is screaming as he leans down to kiss you, remnants of your high still on his mouth.

He pumps his cock a few times before teasing at your entrance, watching the way your face contours at the stimulation, he runs the tip along your folds, coating himself in your slick before prodding at your entrance. The stretch of him is uncomfortable, his size far bigger than you’d taken before, he inches himself in slowly, allowing you time to adjust, you run your palms over his chest, stopping to hold at his shoulders as your eyes connect, he pumps into you slowly, watching your mouth fall open as strings of moans come out, you grip at his shoulders to ground yourself as he quickens his pace.

He snakes his hands under your knees to lift your hips from the bed, allowing him to hit deeper inside you, you’re grabbing at the sheets, the pillows, anything you can reach as he fucks hard into you.

The air is thick with the smell of sex, your hair a mess over the bed while Simon’s body glistens in a thin layer of sweat, the room is filled with moans and grunts, the sound of skin hitting skin as Simon reaches a hand down to toy with your clit causing your body to arch against the bed. His tip is poking against your cervix, gliding deliciously against your walls as he urges you toward another orgasm.

“Fuck baby, need to feel you cum on my cock, need to feel you squeeze me”

It’s all too much, the sensation of being full of him mixed with the way his fingers circle your clit your second high hits you quick, your sight spotted with stars as you feel your blood rushing.

“That’s right, good girl”

His praise has you melting, your body moulding for his pleasure, he grabs your knees, pressing your thighs into your chest as he uses his weight to keep you folded. You can barely form words, all your senses taken over by him, your nails dig into his back, hard enough that you’re sure he’d have marks later. His pace becomes feral, he’s chasing his own high.

“Shit where do you want me”

You roll your head to look up at him, his eyes dark, forehead damp with sweat.

“Inside, please, need to feel you” you manage through your moans.

“Yea? Want me to fill this little pussy”

You nod your head,

“Need words doll”

“Yes! Fuck, please”

He smirks and with a few more deep thrusts he releases a deep grunt, shooting his load deep into you, he holds himself there for a minute, the two of you catching your breath before he pulls out, watching his seed drip from your sore cunt.

“Fuck that’s a beautiful sight,” he says before moving up the bed and laying back, arm snaking around your back to pull you close to him. You trace patterns over his chest with your finger, revelling in the way his muscles tense when you hit a ticklish spot as his fingers comb through your hair. Your exhaustion catches up to you, his steady breaths slowly lulling you to sleep.

You wake up a few hours later, streams of sunlight making their way through the window, bathing the room in a warm glow, you stretch your limbs and feel over the bed, eyes opening at the realization that you were alone, you huff a laugh to yourself, easier than kicking him out you think as you pick yourself up and walk over to the shower.

Your morning was quick, showering, breakfast and gathering equipment, you had to be at the stadium by 9 and it was already 8:20, you lived rather close which was nice, but having to navigate new streets would take some time.

You made it to work with a few minutes to spare, finding your office and setting up all the equipment you needed, it had become routine, packing and unpacking your things. At 9:30 you heard the laughter from the team rolling in, making their way to the changing room to get dressed for practice, a knock on the door and the head coach is poking his head in.

“Mornin’ ” he says “I’m Nick, head coach for the team, nice to meet you”

You smile and shake his hand introducing yourself.

“Teams all here if you want to meet them” he informs

You nod and let him lead the way down the hall, the room scattered with clothing and equipment, filled with tens of large men.

“Boys this is the new trainer” he introduces you as you wave politely, glancing around the room to look over the men you’d be tending to before you feel your heart drop to the floor. Your eyes land on those dark eyes, the dusty hair, and those arms. You feel your breath hitch as you try to compose yourself, a few team members standing to introduce themselves.

“It’s nice to meet you all, I’ve got some work to do but I’m in my office if anyone needs anything,” you say, turning quickly and rushing back to your office. You feel your heartbeat in your ears fuck why didn’t I ask him what he does for work. In your defence, he didn’t know your occupation either, but from his reaction, he was not as uncomfortable seeing you as you were him.

Your office has a large window that looks out onto the pitch, a perfect view of practice, you try to distract yourself making ice bags and preparing tape but you can’t focus, not when he’s jogging around the field, tackling other men like they weighed nothing, you bite your lip as your thoughts wander to the previous night, at least now you knew where his stamina came from.

A few hours pass before a young man stands in your doorway.

“Hey, one of the guys hurt his wrist, think you could help?” he asks as you nod, grabbing a small bag of tape and making your way to the room.

You step into the sight of a shirtless man, the red lines that littered his skin all too telling, you take a deep breath and make your way over, sitting on a stool in front of him before grabbing his arm to inspect his wrist.

“You didn’t tell me you worked here,” he says, wincing at the pain of you twisting his wrist slightly.

“You didn’t tell me you played here” you respond, eyes glancing up to lock on his, he’s calm, you hope he can’t hear your heartbeat as it thrums in your chest. Your eyes roam over his form, strong arms, abs that you have to fight every urge not to lick right there.

“It’s just a small sprain, I’ll tape it and you’ll be good”

He nods, watching you move around to tape around his wrist.

“Sorry for just leaving”

You huff a laugh, “It’s fine, I would’ve kicked you out anyway”

He quirks an eyebrow, “After I gave you the best sex you’ve ever had” he says grinning

You smile, “You’re very sure of yourself”

“It’s true though”

You shake your head, “I’m finished, get out of here” you say pushing at his shoulder.

He drops from the table, pulling his shirt back on.

“You know if you keep checking me out people are gonna catch on to this”

“This?”

He smirks, “You’re off at 5 yeah?”

You nod, eyes narrowed in question.

“I’ll see you at 5:30 then,” he says with a wink and leaves.

“You are trouble” you whisper to yourself, packing your kit back up before making your way back to your office, watching the minutes tick down.

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watermelonsugacry · 1 year

Note

I’m so curious to how ur going to do loml since the lyrics are in past tense👀👀👀😥

Building Harry's House: Love Of My Life

A/N: i'm sorry this one came out late but ficmas day 3 is here! tysm for your patience lovies! i love you all so much!

SUMMARY: With the world knowing of their once secret relationship, Harry and YN navigate life together as an official couple and everything that comes with it. (3.5k)

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn

SINCE 2010 MASTERLIST // Building Harry's House masterlist // previous song here! 🇬🇧

—2013—

“And over there—right up against that weird lookin’ tree—is where I had my first kiss,” Harry points to the path of trees near a stream of water.

It was the first time in months since the band has had a break long enough to go see their families. It’s been nonstop with writing and recording a new album, interviews left and right and performing in a different city every night.

So with the extra time they’ve spent with their families, Anne was insistent on inviting Penny and YN over for so much needed family time.

While the mums and other family members sat around the kitchen table and chatted the morning away (and told embarrassing stories about their children), Harry leaned over to his bandmate’s ear and whispered, “Wanna take a walk?”

He tried not to get too excited when she quickly accepted his offer with a small nod of her head with a breathtaking smile.

“Bet it was pretty steamy, huh?” YN teases as she playfully bumps her shoulder with his.

“Definitely above the PG-13 rating, m’sure,” Harry tucks his chin into his chest as he smiles at the sound of her giggle. “Yeh know, sometimes when I walk around here by myself, I feel like I’m six again.”

With that, YN breaks into another fit of giggles when Harry suddenly and dramatically lays down in the middle of the field, limbs spread out beside him like he’s making a snow angel without the snow.

YN plops down to lay beside her band mate and she closes her eyes with a sigh. It's been such a long time since they've all had a break from their hectic schedules that it felt amazing to simply pause.

“Harry? Can I ask yeh something?" She keeps her gaze above to the overcast sky, her favorite type of weather, and when she hears him hum in response she continues, "Have yeh ever been in love?”

She's not all that sure as to why she suddenly asks her question. It's just one of those times when she feels comfortable enough to ask her best friend anything. She's lost count of the number of times they've stayed up till the early hours of the morning talking about anything and everything that comes to mind: how to came to love music, who were their first crushes, what might have they been doing if they weren't in the band (a scary thought that they only entertained for a brief moment).

“Yes. I’ve actually been in love my whole life it seems,” He decides to answer truthfully. When he turns his head to meet her gaze, Harry’s eyes flicker back and forth with hers. “England is my soulmate, I think. I know every crook and cranny of this place. I’m in love with the view, the feel, the smell of it here. When I get older, I’ll probably buy a house here.”

YN smiles and turns her face to the greenery around her, letting out a soft chuckle, “That’s beautiful, Harry.”

Was it silly for her heart to sink a tiny bit when he didn’t say he was in love with her? She surely couldn’t have expected for her nineteen-year-old friend to be in love with anyone at the moment, let alone her out of all people.

If she only knew that he was stupidly in love with her since he was merely sixteen years old...

“Have you?”

“Have I whot?” She challenges, already knowing what he’s asking yet too scared (and embarrassed) to answer him so quickly.

“Y’know what I mean,” He gently pushes an elbow to her arm. “Have you ever been in love?”

“I don’t think so...” YN pinches her eyebrows together, feeling his eyes burn into the side of her head. “Nevermind, I take that back. I have and I am.”

“Really?” Harry asks in disbelief, trying desperately to hide his disappointed tone. “Do I know the lucky lad who stole your heart?”

“Yup,” When she turns to head to meet his eyes, she gives him a cheeky smile before touching her chin to her shoulder, “S’me.”

She laughs at the playfully disappointed shake of his head, “‘Course it is.”

She only laughs harder, clutching her stomach when he gives a wistful push of her head. Although he must admit, he’s utterly and wholeheartedly relieved at her answer.

—2020—

“M’not gonna let you pack my house up all by yourself. That’s what professional movers are for, darling.”

Harry’s voice comes from the bathroom connected to the master bedroom. YN sits with her legs criss crossed on his bed, fidgeting away at the rings scattered along her fingers.

Harry’s packing some of his stuff as he prepares to head over to LA to start filming his new movie Don’t Worry Darling. He’s going to be staying there for a couple of weeks while she'll stay back a few days to help pack and sell his beloved London house.

Harry and YN both lay on the couch together in her home in LA. She lays on her side, her back towards the back of the couch with Harry resting his head in the crook of her left arm while she holds and reads her book with the other. His arms are wrapped around her middle section with their legs tangled out in the rest of the couch.

While Harry naps, YN has been gently carding her fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp. She’ll occasionally retrieve her hand away in order to turn the pages of the book.

"Hi, baby," YN gives him a soft smile as she continues to massage his scalp. An action that has him humming back in satisfaction with a sleepy smile of his own.

"Hi," He mumbles still in his sleep-induced state. As he snuggles further into her, he kisses her shoulder before digging his face into the crook of her neck.

YN suddenly gets deja vu at this, well more like deja vu in reverse when the two were merely nineteen years old and she couldn't seem to take a well-needed nap in an airport private waiting area. When Harry offered her his arm to cuddle into him, she was hesitant as she's never done something like that before, let alone be fond of physical touch in general.

But she was desperate to fall asleep and he eased her into it, letting her come to him and adjust herself close to him as she saw fit. The two teenagers were woken up not even an hour later and found themselves cuddled like a couple. Her face was snuggled deep into the crook of his neck while his arms were fully and securely wrapped around her.

It was the first of many late night cuddles and the first of her baby steps into becoming more physically affectionate—well at least toward Harry, but growth nonetheless. He's shown her so many things and has exposed her to aspects of life she'd never even thought to dream of. If someone were to tell her 10 years ago that she'd be officially in a relationship with Harry, cuddled up with him on her couch, falling head over heels in love with him, she would have laughed in their face and told them to fuck off before her knees going weak at the thought of their life together.

But out of everything he's been able to guide, teach, and show her things about herself, the one that sticks out the most is to let her feel her emotions. For far too long, she has suppressed her true feelings; whether that be keeping on her media-trained mask during nasty interviews, holding on to the truth about her father for so many years, or her deep love for her band mate. In more ways than she can possibly count, he's made her comfortable enough to say what she wants to say and feel her love even if it makes her uncomfortable at first. Maybe that's why she says what she wants next without giving it a second thought.

“Move in with me.”

YN feels his breathing on the column of her neck come to a pause. She can tell that it takes him a second to process her words in his sleepy state as he lifts himself up a bit to be able to fully look at her, “What?”

“I want you to live here. With me. Officially,” Harry just continues to blink up at his love with his slightly puffy eyes from his nap. “I mean unless you don’t want to, of course. That’s completely alright if yeh don't. I was just thinking,” He raises himself up on his elbow, a smirk forming on his lips.

Harry leans up over her and presses his lips to hers, silencing his girlfriend of her rambles.

“Yes,” He says against her lips. "I wanna be your official roomie," Harry smiles at the giggle that bubbles past her soft lips. He wonders if he's still asleep or living in a daydream of some sort, “I love you, YN.”

“I love you more, Harry.”

“I adore you.”

“Don’t make me take back me offer.”

“I just want to help pack the small stuff then. Don’t like the idea of people snooping around your things.”

Harry’s head peaks out of the doorframe and he gives her a pointed look, “Really?”

“Whot?”

“Whot?” Harry teases back. “What’s the real reason you want to do it y’self?”

“It’s just," YN mindlessly draws random shapes on the comforter with her finger, "That house has a lot of memories in it. Memories that we made together. Whether when we were ‘together’ or not. I at least want to help in saying goodbye to it s'all.”

“Aw, baby. Why are you getting all sentimental about a house? M’right here.”

“Don’t patronize me,” She laughs, swatting his hands away from her face. “You don’t feel sad about leaving a place you lived in for so many years?”

Harry gives his love a gentle smile at her words. He pads his way over to her and makes himself comfortable next to her on the bed.

“Well, before I didn’t. Remember how I told you that I didn’t even really live in it until you, honestly. And, yeah I am kind of sad to leave it because we’ve made a lot of memories in her but,” The dimples begin to dig into his cheeks in a smile, “I think my excitement and happiness outweigh the memories we’re gonna make over there. We’re officially going to be living together. No more sleepovers. No more having to live without something we forgot back at our own homes. And all those memories are gonna live and stay in m’heart, not in these four walls. And I don’t see us leaving London indefinitely. We still got our seasonal home here that we can go back to whenever you want.”

“S’just, I remember yeh saying how England was your soulmate. The love of yeh life and all tha’, you know?”

Harry tilts his head to meet his shoulder in a shrug, “S’just coordinates to me now.”

As scary as it might seem, it surprises the two of them at how truthful his words are. England has always been a safe space for Harry but as the years go by, he finds himself finding that same comfort—and then some—somewhere else; or someone else, more like. There’s no denying the fact that earlier that year at Jonny's place on New Years day shoved the couple into the public eye with the brightest spotlight either one has ever experienced before. With traveling for his job, Harry doesn’t know his land’s creases and ends as much as he used to; it's all a part of growing up, he guesses.

“[The album is] named after the Japanese pop pioneer [Haruomi] Hosono, who had an album in the ‘70s called Hosono House. I immediately started thinking about what Harry’s House might look like. It took time for me to realize that the house wasn’t a geographical location, it was an internal thing,” Harry smiles to himself at the thought of YN being his home. As cheesy as that sounds, it just feels wrong to picture another place in this world where he feels the most safe, the most secure, and the most loved.

“When I applied that concept to the songs we were making here, everything took on new meaning. Imagine it’s a day in my house or a day in my mind. What do I go through? I’m playing fun music. I’m playing sad music. I’m playing this, I’m playing that. I have doubts. I’m feeling stuff. And it’s all mine. This is my favourite album at the moment. I love it so much.”

...

“Oi, what’s all this?” His love’s words make him turn around with a smile, his dimples digging into his cheeks at her attire. YN is currently rotating back into her dress phase and she’s wearing a long blue sundress with a slit up the side to deliciously show off her toned thighs—a dress that’s been one of her favorites (and his) as of late.

“M’taking you out somewhere.”

“Where? We can’t really go anywhere since everything is closed,” YN wittily points out since they’re in the middle of a global pandemic and travel is very limited.

“Does a date have to be at a restaurant?” He playfully challenges her with a rise of his eyebrows as she approaches him, swerving past all the cardboard boxes scattered on the ground and eyeing the picnic basket on the counter in front of her boyfriend.

“Oh so it’s a date?” Her eyebrows pinch together with a playful shake of her head when he gives her a hum of agreement. “And what’s the occasion? An anniversary m’not aware of? That’s make me a bad girlfriend if it was.”

“Does there need—woman, just let me take you out on a date. Don’t make this overly complicated.”

“I’m a woman. It’s practically in me nature to make things ten times more complicated than they need to be. Or the other way around. Depends on the situation—”

“For fucks sake, baby just go get yeh shoes!” Harry huffs out a laugh, grabbing onto her shoulder and turning her around himself, giving her a pat on her bum to aid her along the pink carpeted stairs.

When he leads a confused YN past his yellow Ferrari, he basks in the way she lets out a surprised laugh at the two bikes he set up for them in the driveway. She lets him lead her down the concrete trails that lead to grassy ones near his home. She takes in the moment of riding her bike through the secluded area and briefly closes her eyes to feel the rare, warm London breeze on her face. After a couple of minutes of peddling through the greenery, they finally come to a stop. She looks around at what looks like a small garden. Trees keep the area closed off from the initial public eye as well as bushes upon bushes of roses.

Harry doesn’t dismiss the way she lets out a breathy laugh once she’s gently placed her bike on the ground, reaching up to fluff her hair and look over her shoulder to her love, “I haven’t done that since I was a teenager.”

While he begins to set up a blanket and the food he brought, he fondly watches her walk around the bunches of flowers, plucking a few and bringing them to her nose.

After sitting down to eat the small array of food and sipping on the bottle of red wine, the couple takes the time to enjoy their environment. The pandemic has caused the two to come down from their busy schedules the past ten years their careers have to offer them and do practically nothing. The time off has caused them to self-reflect more than they ever have before, making them look at their lives through a new lens of gratitude.

It makes them grateful for things they took for granted: the flexibility their careers have allowed them to have during this time, investing time in other relationships with their friends and family, and physically being with one another during this scary time in the world.

“It’s a bit exciting to be filming for that type of era,” YN gently swivels her wine glass as the red liquid inside swirls around the bottom. “I think the 50s are gonna suit you, babe. From what we rehearsed together, you’re gonna fookin’ nail it, m’sure.”

Harry mindlessly picks and twists at the grass there by his hands, “You think so?”

“Oh I know so,” She takes a sip from her glass after giving him a reassuring nod. “And you’re gonna have so much fun with it, too. Especially when yeh get on the set for the first time—like for Little Women—I was instantly transported into the 1860s. I was worried I would act too modern just because of how I normally act in me day to day, but the set pieces were just so cool and...”

As YN goes on talking about her experience in the acting world, Harry can’t keep his eyes off of her. Her natural beauty is incomparable to any of the women his past management team set him up with. Her hair was down and in its natural state where it seems like she’s pushing a curly lock of hair behind her ear every other minute. The tattoos scattered around the expansion of her arms complement her so well and they look exceptionally beautiful under the cloudy London sky. And her smile...he could talk about all the ways her smile manages to take his breath away every single time.

If he could stay here forever, he surely would without a second thought.

"YN YLN?" The use of her full name captures her attention and she’s instantly drawn into his green gaze. He looks down and smiles to himself before continuing, “Knowing you for as long as I have, I’ve learned my lesson about how to approach things with you. I know you and I think you more than anyone how much I tend to jump in feet first and land in a bit too hard. I know we’ve wasted five years hiding our feelings, almost three years jumping back and forth between friends and something more, and not even a year into an official relationship with each other, but baby, I knew I wanted to marry you for about 10 years now. You’ve flipped my world upside down.”

YN’s breathing stops completely at the mention of marriage. Over the years, the two have playfully thrown around the idea of marriage, mentioning how they want to spend the rest of their lives together, but have never had a sit down conversation about it before.

“Now, I don’t expect you to give me an answer right now. All I’m asking is for you to think about it, okay?”

“Think about what exactly?”

Harry hums out a soft smile. He gently takes her left hand in his and slides a makeshift ring on her finger made of grass blades and a small flower bud.

“If y’wanna be my wife.”

As excited as she is for the potential of being his wife, his partner until the end of her days, it terrifies her to no end. If this were a perfect, fairy tale story, YN wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. She wouldn’t think twice about her answer and should be flailing herself into his arms, bringing herself to tears.

But that’s not realistic for her. Harry’s right, he does know her. He knew that if he officially popped the question to her, if he brought out the ring he’s had for her since he was twenty-one years old and slipped it onto her finger, she would have had an anxiety attack. He knew that her mind would be racing a mile a minute and would not let her rest until she thought of everything her intrusive mind would allow before giving her peace.

She loves him and wants to spend forever with him, so why can’t she say it?

Meanwhile, Harry almost wants to laugh. Not at her lack of response of her worrisome state of mind, but of how right he is. He silently watches as the gears in her mind pump oil—she’s physically here, but she’s mentally somewhere else.

Knowing her like the back of his hand, he doesn’t interrupt her thought process but instead lifts her hand to press a gentle kiss to her knuckle, her shoulder and her cheek before getting comfortable on his back.

I’ve always wanted to write a song about like home and loving England and all that kind of stuff. And it’s always kinda hard to do without being like ‘went to the chippy and I did this thing’”

“‘Love of My Life’ was the most terrifying song because it’s so bare. It’s so sparse. It’s also very much in the spirit of what Harry’s House is about: I wanted to make an acoustic EP, all in my house, and make it really intimate. And because of the circumstances, it was made very intimately; everything was played by a small number of people and made in a room. For this song in particular, YN and I made it in between my home in London and in her's in LA," Harry holds himself back from mentioning that it's not his home in LA as well but decides to leave that bit of information out for obvious reasons. "We produced it together and it's always that much more meaningful when it's her being the one that's playing on the record. To me, it’s everything. It’s everything I’ve wanted to make.”

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foxes-that-run · 5 months

Note

Do you have any thoughts on the California song that leaked a while back? I haven’t seen anyone post about that one but the lyrics are so interesting to me.

Hi anon - I have lots of thoughts and there were some posts when it leaked. Also, when it did Taylor left KC earlier than expected to LA and was not seen for a week.

It dates itself as written in LA during pandemic restrictions with ‘over ridden overseas’ and ‘stuck inside my summer home’. HH was largely written then as was Folklore/Evermore. All 3 are more Haylor than the works before with themes of reflecting on their lives and relationship.

He talks about this period at 22 mins of his Zane Lowe HH interview, he did nothing for 6 weeks, booked a studio and wrote late night talking and sushi then. Then he went to England/Italy and came back to LA. So it’s either written April or November 2020. Also to Zane Lowe, he said for Harry's House he did a lot more writing alone, (1:06) which I think California may be all him.

In terms of the song there are lots of references to flag it’s Taylor, skinny girl/shiny car, ‘it’s you who left a mark’ refers to This Love: “This love left a permanent mark, this love is glowing in the dark” she has a few references to marks in relation to him.

There are a few lyrics I’ll flag:

Kitten scratch - to me, LNT is Harry and Taylor talking by phone during the pandemic. The kitten scratch sounds like they may have met up, or perhaps he means a metaphor of pain caused by talking to her but HH is pretty warm

Hampstead Health in the summertime makes me think it was written after summer. He said to Zane that in that journey from Italy to the UK he thought about who he missed and his work/life balance. He the returned to LA to film DWD.

Summers death left to breath sounds like something ended and festered. While LNT and Sushi are the initial rush of speaking again California has mellowed to wanting to make room to cuddle and has resentment. I think it’s written closer to evermore/Coney Island than Folklore/The 1 & Exile.

Now… unpaid tab in shitty bar. They’re each worth 9 figures+ so that’s not literal, they’ve spent time together in the Bowery Hotel bar.

So after LNT in the March - May period. Harry returned to Europe and drove to Italy and back (20 hours each way) over the period Folklore was released. He said to Zane no one knew where he was. He did something similar in late 2018 in Japan.., after he wrote Falling. He wrote little freak and To be so lonely in that time period.

In November 2020 he returned to LA and started filming Don’t worry darling, it was in the media the day after the Long Pond Sessions were released. The long pond sessions was when it was announced Joe was William Bowery.

To me, California was possibly written in November 2020 in a post travel quarantine.

#haylor #harry styles #harry styles unreleased

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dunkzillla · 1 year

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A Place to Call Home (1/3)

Still on my Nigel/Bryan brain rot so we’re back again. This was an excuse to write a UK centred fic that I haven’t been able to do in so long! PSA: In this universe, Nigel retired in 2011 and that was it. No return to ROH and no WWE commentary. Everything else is compliant in that this starts following Revolution 2023 and Bryan’s loss to MJF, and includes all of the background to BCC. Enjoy!

Title: A Place to Call Home

Pairings: Nigel McGuinness/Bryan Danielson, mentions and implied — Bryan Danielson/William Regal, Bryan Danielson/Jon Moxley/Claudio Castagnoli/Wheeler Yuta

Ratings: Mature — Language

Word Count: 6,237

Summary: Bryan’s always considered Nigel more than a friend to him. They’ve shared beds, food, they even shared a woman once, they’ve shared late night talks, their hopes and dreams. They were companions outside of the ring the way they were enemies inside of it. Bryan remembers every single stolen kiss underneath the covers. He remembers every single touch that Nigel thought Bryan was asleep through. Maybe they had a complex relationship, where they made each other bleed more than smile, but Nigel was — he was something to him. Everything, at one point.

AO3

I’m 5 years ago, and 3,000 miles away — The Bones of You, Elbow

Bryan knows where he’s going exactly twelve hours after he loses the title match against MJF. He goes to bed bloodied and bruised, his broken heart still barely beating in his chest, and he wakes up knowing exactly what he needs to do next.

He touches down in England, flying straight from San Fran, the day after that.

It hadn’t taken all that much to get the information he was looking for. He’s Bryan Danielson, after all, and people know they can trust him. Still, it’s surprising how many people didn’t actually have the information Bryan wanted. He wonders if it’s really that easy to just disappear.

Bryan rents a car and drives straight to the address Doug Williams had texted to him.

It’s funny, that this is where Bryan has ended up. He’s been a World Champion in different companies, he’s training the younger generation, he’s really done it all, he shouldn’t be this, this desperate for the World title in AEW. But he is. He can feel it fizzing inside of his bones, right inside of the core, the desire, the need to become champ again. And nothing — nothing he’s doing is working. He couldn’t beat Mox when they were apart, couldn’t beat Mox as a team, couldn’t get that title when he focused only on himself and not the group. Nothing is working. There’s only one thing left that Bryan can think of, to get him that big one.

Liverpool is cold and wet, and Bryan cranks the heating up in the rental car. He hates driving on the other side of the road. He hasn’t had to do it in a long time, can’t remember the last time he came over here, and normally when he was, someone else always took over the driving.

He focuses on the task at hand so he doesn’t think about where he’s going, what he’s going to do, and what he’s going to say when he gets there. He focuses on not crashing the car, because he doesn’t want to have to explain why a day after a brutal match he’s in Liverpool.

Thanks to the totally useless navigation in the rental car, Bryan pulls up to the car dealership half an hour before it’s due to close. Cars on the forecourt are being cleaned, pulled into the back of the building, and the ones doing it stare at him like they’d wish he hadn’t pulled up. That’s okay, because Bryan isn’t here to buy a car.

He heads inside the showroom, his shoes scuff against the shiny white floor, and he can smell leather polish and coffee. There’s a few cars inside, all gleaming and sparkling new. Desks are dotted around, all of them deserted as the showroom starts to close down for the evening. Bryan’s never been one to really care about cars. The only reason he spent any kind of money on the one he has now is because it’s more eco friendly. Yuta had been more excited about it than him, wanting first dibs on being a passenger in Bryan’s Tesla.

There’s the scuffing of shoes and the closing of a door, and Bryan looks up, eyes instantly falling on the man he’d come to see.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise—“

Nigel McGuinness’ words are cut off when he looks up from his clipboard. He’s still so handsome, rakishly so, his hair’s grown back but he’s lost that all too familiar bulk. Somehow, he looks like Nigel without looking like Nigel at all.

“Bryan.”

There’s shock written all over Nigel’s face, like he’s seen a ghost. And Bryan guesses he has, really. A ghost from his past that he never expected to see again, one that he hasn’t seen in over a decade.

“Surprise,” Bryan says, giving Nigel a small smile and stepping closer to him. “You know, when Regal told you you could sell ice to an Eskimo, I didn’t expect you to, you know, actually start selling things.” Bryan remembers when Regal said it. It had been a rare occasion that Regal had come to see him, and Nigel had been on one of his tangents, Bryan doesn’t remember what it was about, he just remembers the way Regal had looked at him in awe and had said ‘Dear boy, you could sell ice to an Eskimo.’ Nigel would always deny it, but he’d gone red, all flushed and embarrassed, at what Bryan knew was a compliment. Nigel’s a talker, he’s always been good at talking. Whether he’s buttering you up or cutting you down to size. Nigel’s the guy to do it. So it doesn’t actually surprise him that he’s found Nigel all these years later, working as a car salesman.

“Yeah, well,” Nigel says, clearing his throat, “Stick to what you’re good at, right?” He turns away from Bryan and walks over to one of the desks. It must be his own, because he picks up a mug and takes a long drink from it.

“What are you — how did you find me?”

Bryan takes more steps to get back close to Nigel.

“Doug told me.”

“Fucking bastard.” Nigel mumbles, going around the other side of the desk and sitting in the chair. He looks at home here, while also looking terribly out of place. He looks handsome in a suit, smart, distinguished. But he shouldn’t be here. He should never have been here.

“What do you want? We close soon.”

“Not here to buy a car, Nigel.”

“Then I doubt there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Is there somewhere we can talk, please?” Please isn’t a word Bryan’s much used with Nigel. They never used to say please and thank you to each other, Bryan wasn’t a beggar and Nigel didn’t care to make him one.

Nigel looks at him, his face still pale with shock, but resignation takes over. “I have to lock up. Just — wait here.” Nigel picks up his mug and downs the rest of the contents before standing up. He disappears behind a door, leaving Bryan to walk around the showroom.

There’s a board on the wall with what must be all the salespeople’s names on. It’s an intricate table with words that Bryan understands but not in this context, and Nigel’s name is at the top of the board, with numbers bigger than everyone else. Bryan suspects that’s a good thing.

Nigel is gone for a while, so long that other workers come in to collect their things and ask him if he’s okay, or telling him that he needs to leave. He tells each of them that he’s waiting for Nigel, that really, he’s okay. Bryan half thinks that Nigel’s done a runner out the back it takes him so long to come back, but he eventually does, carrying a backpack, and wearing a zip up jacket that looks so much like the ones Mox, Claudio and Yuta wear to the ring. Except Nigel’s is navy blue and has the showroom’s logo on, rather than the BCC lettering. It occurs to Bryan that Nigel would look at home wearing one of those jackets. Claudio tells him they’re from Lululemon, the good stuff, according to him and Yuta. Mox doesn’t know what Lululemon is, but he said he likes the way it makes his arms look when he wears it so he lets Claudio buy them and get them printed. There is one for Bryan, but he’s just, never felt like putting it on. He felt less like wearing one when Regal did what he did, but he thinks maybe now, if Nigel was wearing one with him, he’d like it a little more.

Nigel’s got a black laptop bag hooked over his shoulder, and a folder tucked under his arm. He ushers Bryan out of the showroom, flicks off the lights, locks the door, presses buttons on the security alarm and brings the shutters down. It’s so… mundane that Bryan hates it. Before now, the only Nigel that Bryan ever thought of was wrestling Nigel. Who came down to the ring with his Pure title backwards, wielding an iron with his stupid Union Jack on. Who went through too many tubs of hair gel to be healthy, who beat him bloody in the ring but sat with him while he cried after his grandfather passed away. This is not a Nigel he’s ever thought of. Nigel with a normal man’s job. Nigel with responsibilities that don’t include ordering merch for shows or sorting out visas.

“Where are we going?” Bryan asks.

“I don’t live far. Just follow me.” Nigel gets into his car, a flashy thing. It’s so unlike Nigel that Bryan wants to cringe. Back when they were wrestling together, sharing rooms and driving everywhere together, Nigel hated flashy. Couple of the guys used to use their first big paycheck to get themselves flashy watches, expensive shoes, designer clothes. Nigel wasn’t like that. Nigel saved money, Nigel was smart and cautious, and half his clothes were from Goodwill because he couldn’t give a fuck what they looked like as long as they fit.

Bryan guesses the car is one from the dealership, that he gets it cheaper considering it’s where he works, but it’s still no unlike Nigel. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe thirteen years can change a person. Maybe now Nigel does like flashy. He’s wearing a fancy suit, driving an expensive car. Maybe this is Nigel, just a new version of him. There’s been many versions of Bryan, after all, and he knows that. There was the very first version, then came Dragon, the one that Nigel knows the best, then he was Daniel Bryan, and there’s been numerous versions of him, only some of which Bryan even liked, and now, now he’s back to being Bryan, with hints of Dragon thrown in there. But maybe it’s time to bring back Dragon, the real one. And to do that he needs the real Nigel.

He follows Nigel’s car for around five minutes before they pull up to a row of houses. They’re pretty, all in a line and connected together, with sandy coloured bricks and white trims. Each one has stairs leading up to the coloured doors. It’s so… cute and quaint.

Nigel gets out of his car, pulling the laptop bag and folder with him, looking like your average salesman. Nigel’s never been average at anything and Bryan hates so much that that word is rattling around in his brain when he thinks of Nigel. Nigel who’s explosive and full of fiery rage, who swears like a trooper and makes him bleed like no one else can. Nigel who stuck to his guns and spiked and bleached his hair no matter how many times he told him how stupid he looked, Nigel who never did anything the way anyone else did. Nigel who was so far from your average person that he may as well have had his own category. But now Nigel looks like every other man. Bryan probably wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a crowd. And maybe that’s fine for himself, or for other people, but it’s not okay for Nigel.

Bryan follows Nigel wordlessly up the steps to the front door, carrying his own duffel bag over his shoulder. There’s not a lot in it, he hadn't planned on sticking around in San Francisco after Revolution, so he’d packed lightly. He’s got a couple of changes of clothes, his bloody gear, and his wash bag. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to stay here in Liverpool, as long as it takes to get what he wants, he guesses, so unless that takes less than a day, Bryan’s going to need to buy some clothes.

Nigel’s house is nice. The front entryway is warm and inviting, the walls painted magnolia, with a shoe rack and a coat hanger that Nigel hangs his zip up on. He dumps his laptop bag, keys and folder on the entry table, and kicks off his shiny shoes. The living room is much the same, magnolia walls, a small amount of furniture but the most inviting looking couch Bryan’s ever seen, and by the TV, there’s a bookcase. It’s full, from top to bottom, with wrestling DVD’s. There’s some photos in frames on the little bits of the shelves that stick out, and Bryan sees himself, bloodied and in pain, locked on a submission by Nigel. Bryan recognises it instantly as their last match. Glory By Honor VIII, the Final Countdown. Nigel’s hair is shaved, and Bryan’s is longer. He beat Nigel that night. The last time he’s ever stepped foot in a ring with the man he’s wrestled thirty seven times. That night he’d known it was the last time he was wrestling Nigel in Ring of Honor, he just wishes he’d known that it was the last time he was ever going to be in a ring with him. The last time he was ever going to punch his stupid, beautiful face until it bled. The last time he was going to feel the pain of his muscles being worked by someone who didn’t care whether they tore right off the bone.

“Coffee, tea, water, beer?” Nigel calls from the kitchen.

Bryan steps away from the bookcase, remembering that he’s in Nigel’s house and Nigel is in the kitchen, and not just staring back at him from an old photograph.

“Coffee, thanks. Black, no sugar.”

“Creature of habit.” Nigel mutters, taking out two mugs from the cupboard and setting them down. He puts coffee in one and a tea bag in the other. The kettle boils next to him.

For a man who used to sit and talk to him for hours about just about anything, Nigel is silent now. It’s not exactly an awkward silence, Bryan knows there’s a million things they could say to each other, and he’s not scared to say them. He just. Doesn’t know how. Doesn’t want to, right now.

Nigel hands him the coffee when it’s done, and then steps past him into the front room. He sets his own mug down on the coffee table, and strips off his suit jacket, loosens his tie and undoes a couple of buttons. That looks a bit more like the Nigel that Bryan knows. Loose. Undone. Free.

Bryan takes a seat, sipping on the hot, bitter coffee. It’s good, he hasn’t had anything since being on the plane, he’d focused so much on just getting out of the airport and driving to the dealership that he hadn’t even had a drink or eaten anything. This was more important. But everything’s slow and syrupy now, not an anti-climax, because seeing Nigel feels as good as Bryan knew it would, but it’s not — it’s not going the way he thought it would. He wasn’t expecting to find a shell of the old Nigel, he wasn’t expecting a nine to five man with a house and flashy car. He doesn’t know what he was expecting really, because god knows he didn’t think Nigel would be still running the British independent circuit, but he thought maybe he’d be doing something… different.

“So,” Nigel says, breaking the silence. “Why are you here? I’m sure you didn’t come all this way just to see what I was up to. Doug has my number, too.”

“Can’t old friends visit each other?”

“Sure. But that would require us being friends.”

Bryan frowns. “You don’t think we’re friends?”

“No, I don’t. It’s been bloody fourteen years, Bryan. We weren’t even friends before, but now?”

They weren’t — Bryan’s always considered Nigel more than a friend to him. They’ve shared beds, food, they even shared a woman once, they’ve shared late night talks, their hopes and dreams. They were companions outside of the ring the way they were enemies inside of it. Bryan remembers every single stolen kiss underneath the covers. He remembers every single touch that Nigel thought Bryan was asleep through. Maybe they had a complex relationship, where they made each other bleed more than smile, but Nigel was — he was something to him. Everything, at one point.

“You’re such a liar.” Bryan says. He doesn’t know what else to say. He can’t exactly refute the knowledge that he hasn’t been around the last decade and a half. But Nigel disappeared, Nigel left and he didn’t want to be found. Sure it was easy to find him when he wanted him, and it was only now that he thought to look for him, but Nigel didn’t want to be found. Should Nigel be mad at him for letting him stay hidden?

“Look, I’ll say the same thing to you that I said to your old man, I’ve no business getting in a ring again. Whatever he’s told you — no, thank you.”

Bryan looks up from his mug. His old man?

“Regal called you?”

“Yeah. Start of last year. Wanted me to come back to the ring. It was after WWE let him go, said he wanted to start something new and he wanted me to do it with him.”

That. Bryan didn’t know that. Regal never, ever told him that he’d approached Nigel to come to AEW. If he’d have known that, he’d have never texted a bunch of people to find out if they knew where Nigel was. He’d have just asked Regal.

“He wanted you for BCC?”

“Guess so. That isn’t what he called it at the time. Just that he was going to where you were, and so should I. I said no, he called me a coward and he put the phone down. Don’t know who he’s calling the fucking coward.” Nigel mutters the last part over the rim of his mug, and he slurps at it noisily. That’s Nigel. Nigel never had any manners when it came to eating or drinking. He was loud and annoying and messy.

“You watch the shows, then?”

Nigel pauses for a moment, realising he’s been caught out. He doesn’t try and lie his way out of it though.

“Yeah. Haven’t had a chance to watch your match from the weekend yet,” Nigel says. “Though I’m guessing because you’re here, you didn’t win. Thanks for the spoiler.”

“He cheated.”

Nigel hums. Nigel knows a lot about cheating. The first time they fought for a title, the Pure title, Nigel won by count out, making sure Bryan couldn’t get back in the ring. He’s done it a few times, Bryan remembers how Nigel threw that unsuspecting woman into Christopher Daniels, keeping him outside of the ring until he was counted out. MJF might have used different tactics. The ring, a fire extinguisher, but regardless they’re shades of Nigel McGuinness. Doing anything and everything to win, even though deep down, they’re good enough to win on their own.

“What did you expect? You get in the ring with a snake and you expect not to get bitten?”

Bryan shakes his head. Because yeah, he knew the risks. He knew that he wasn’t going into a clean match. He knew that he was going to overcome adversity. It’s just. He’s done it before. He’s beaten Nigel, a slippery, slippery snake, he’s beaten him. So why couldn’t he beat MJF?

“I’ve been bitten plenty of times before, and usually I have the anti-venom.”

“You’re forty years old. That shit doesn’t work anymore.”

Nigel’s right, in a way. The anti-venom doesn’t work anymore. Because these days he’s been going up against a different kind of snake. These younger wrestlers aren’t of the same species as they are, they’re different, and so Bryan needs a different type of anti-venom. He needs a snake to beat a snake.

“What do you suggest?”

Nigel scoffs. “You didn’t come all this way for advice on how to beat MJF.”

Well, he did, actually. But he didn’t come just for advice. He came for Nigel. To be the best he needs Nigel.

“I didn’t know where else to go, what else to do.”

“The only thing you could think to do was come and see me? Did they check you for concussions after the match?”

“Why are you pretending?”

“Pretending—“

“Pretending that this,” Bryan motions between them, nearly spilling his coffee over Nigel’s nice couch, “Was nothing. That we were nothing. Is it easier that way? Is it easier to sit here thousands of miles from where you belong, pretending that — that you’re not Nigel fucking McGuinness?”

Anger twists on Nigel’s face. That’s the Nigel Bryan knows. He knows angry Nigel, he knows the snarl of his upper lip into his nose, he knows those imperfect teeth bared at him like he’s ready to rip his throat out. He knows that — him, and he feels comfort rather than fear, when he points an accusatory finger at him.

“Who the bloody hell do you think you are? You don’t say a word to me after all this time, you didn’t even try to find me. Not until you wanted something, and you want me to, what, welcome you with open arms and tell you how much I’ve missed you? There might have been something before, but if it wasn’t enough for you to pick up the phone when you found out I was retiring then why is it enough now? You fucking selfish prick.” Nigel spits at him, slamming the mug down on the coffee table, and it does slosh a little over the side. Nigel doesn’t seem to care.

“You didn’t want to be found.”

“No I didn’t, not by people like Ares or Castagnoli or Roddy. But Doug knows the people he can give my information to. There’s a small, and I mean small, handful of people he’s allowed to do that for. And in the space of a year, one of them called, and the other one, well he fucking turns up at my work unannounced.”

“I can’t believe you’re a salesman. A car salesman.”

“You do what you have to do to pay the bills.”

“Why Liverpool, and not London?”

Nigel shrugs. “I tried London for a bit, but it was too… It felt too much like defeat. Having to move back there. So I came here instead.”

“Where you lost the Pure title.”

“That’s not—“

“I know.”

They fall silent. Bryan’s not ready to tell him really why he’s here, maybe if he hadn't dropped that bomb on him that Regal already asked for him to come back to wrestling and he said no. He’s got to approach it differently now, he’s got to make Nigel see that what this is — where he is right now, it’s not home. This has never been Nigel’s home. Home is back in the US, wrestling or wrestling adjacent, training or commentating or something, with Bryan. Home is Nigel complaining about not being able to get a decent cup of tea or constantly arguing with people over the use of U in words like honor and favor. Nigel’s home is alongside Bryan, bringing out the Dragon.

“Hungry?” Nigel asks after a while. The anger seems to have gone now, just as quick as it always would back in the day. Nigel could call him an insufferable asshole and push him into some stage boxes one moment and then the next he’d be asking what they were getting for dinner, or hauling him into the locker room to ask him for help lacing his boots. Bryan got so used to it that he wouldn’t even flinch when Nigel shouted or swore at him, while everyone else would.

“I could eat.”

Nigel reaches under the coffee table and grabs a handful of take out menus. He hands them to Bryan, “Take your pick. Not sure which ones are vegan friendly.”

“I’m not — I eat eggs and fish sometimes.”

“What?”

“I got a soy allergy, and I struggled to eat enough protein on the road. I’m still mostly vegan but. I indulge, sometimes.”

Nigel raises an eyebrow. “But what about the — liver stuff, and the staph?”

“All in check. Like I said, mostly vegan, and we’ve come a long way from only having soy proteins as an option but. I’m not as serious about it as I was before.”

“You, not serious about something? Give me a break, you’d be serious in an argument about Santa Claus coming down the chimney.” Nigel says, but he picks up a Chinese menu and starts going through it. Bryan doesn’t argue, because that would prove Nigel right and Bryan hates doing that, he can be such a smug bastard when he knows he’s right.

Seemingly haven chosen what he wants, he passes the menu to Bryan, and then opens up his phone. Bryan doesn’t ask why Nigel doesn’t just use Uber Eats or whatever the delivery service is called here in the UK, because he knows Nigel likes to do things the old fashioned way, even after all these years. He remembers once, when a booker was trying to tell Nigel how to do something, how he should do it a different way to how he was doing it because it was better, more modern, and Nigel had taken the booker by the collar of his shirt and spat in his face ‘There’s no school like the old school and I’m the fucking headmaster, alright?’ The booker had nodded and barely refrained from pissing his pants. Bryan had admittedly swooned a little bit. He was pretty young when it happened, and Nigel was big and imposing and Bryan liked when he threw his weight around. He liked when Nigel showed that feral side of himself, even when he showed it against Bryan. It was like seeing the real Nigel.

When the food comes, after pathetic small talk about the weather and football, Nigel puts on the TV and says, “You okay watching yourself? Because I already paid for it.” He loads up the PPV and looks at Bryan. He’s not, he’s not really ready to watch the match back, but he’s going to have to at some point. With Nigel might be the best option.

“Sure.” He says, and Nigel presses play.

It’s shocking to him, that Nigel fucking McGuinness, one of, if not the best Pure wrestler, lives in Liverpool, working as a car salesman, buying fucking PPV’s to watch when he’s finished work. He should be where he is now, a decorated wrestler, still at the top of his game, training the younger generation. He could have been, Bryan knows that, he could have been had he just lied to the WWE. All the times that Nigel has been a snake, and the one time it truly would have mattered, he covered up his fangs. If Nigel had just lied, just, hadn't told them about his arms that weren’t even a big deal to begin with, well maybe they would have ruled the WWE together. Maybe they’d have been able to go to AEW as a team, recruiting Mox and Yuta and Claudio. It’s what Regal clearly wanted. They could have had it.

They’ve long finished their food by the time Bryan’s match comes on, and he’s glad because he feels a little sick when it starts. It was only just over a day ago, and it’s still raw. Bryan’s lost before. He can deal with it, it’s just — it’s another big one. He loves them, dearly, but his boys, they’ve all held titles since being in AEW, Yuta the Pure title twice, Mox the World title three times, and Claudio the Ring of Honor World title twice. It’s just him who has nothing to show for his time in the company and it’s — it's hard. Regal calls him the perfect wrestler, but right now he has nothing to show for it.

Nigel doesn’t talk at all through the match, he watches intently as each time Bryan almost wins only to have it cruelly ripped away from him happens, and then when it’s all over, and he’s covered in Max’s blood that he swears he can still feel on his skin, and he’s lost and there’s no one there to help him.

“Where were the others?”

“You saw. Mox was all banged up, they were busy.”

Nigel shifts from where he’s sat on his couch. He’d never bothered to get changed out of his suit, and Bryan wonders if that’s something he normally does or whether he just didn’t want to while Bryan was here. The Nigel Bryan knew was always more than happy to walk around in his boxers. He would answer the door to the delivery guy wearing them, and if he could, he’d have probably turned up to interviews wearing them.

“You aren’t really running with them anymore though, are you? After what the old man did?”

“No. I want to — I want to again, though. Being away from them for these last few months, watching them together. Only made me realise that I’m better when I’m with them. Even when I don’t win.”

Nigel hums, his mouth set in a thin line, and his fingers scratch over the short stubble on his jaw. “So, why aren’t you? Why are you here instead? You could be with them, but you’re not, you’re with me.”

“Because they’re — it’s Mox and Claudio. It doesn’t need to be a big thing, going back to what it was before. Maybe with Yuta, he's sensitive, but we’re a family. I don’t need to go back to them on my hands and knees. I’ll just — go back.” Bryan says. And maybe that sounds flippant, maybe to other people that would sound like Bryan’s walking all over the people he loves, but it’s not, he’s not, that’s just how they are. It’s now they’ve always been. And Bryan’s, Bryan’s hoping that it’s the same with Nigel.

“What did Regal tell Mox? About what he did?”

Of course Nigel would want to know that. While always chasing the man’s approval, Nigel never fully trusted Regal. Sometimes he’d get in Bryan’s ear about it, how eventually the old man would do him over. Regal’s never done anything to Bryan, but he guesses that Nigel was right, in a way, because he did screw Mox over. Bryan doesn’t know why he did it, the only man who knows is Regal and he keeps everything close to his chest, storing it away even if letting it out would calm the hurt of others, the ones he loves.

“Nothing. Just what you saw — They won’t talk to him.”

“Are you talking to him?”

“Yeah. I stayed with him at the hospital when MJF hit him from behind. He’s… off doing other stuff right now.”

“Course he is, he always did like making a mess and then walking away from it.”

Bryan wants to protest, something inside of him always wanting to uphold the honor of the man who built him, but he holds back, because Nigel is right and Bryan’s known that for a long time. But he’ll always love him. No matter what he does.

“Well, as fun as this is, I’ve got work in the morning. You’re welcome to stay up and watch anything, there’s Netflix and everything. I have a guest room, top of the stairs and the first door facing you. Fresh sheets and all that.” Nigel says, and he gets up, clearing away the take out menus and boxes and drinks.

“Thanks, what time do you—“

“I’ll be out of here at 7:30. I’ll leave you the spare key, if you want to go out, or leave, or whatever. Just make sure you post it back through the letterbox if you do.”

“What, I can’t keep it?” Bryan says, quirking his mouth up with a smile.

For a brief second, Nigel almost smiles. He schools it pretty quickly, and sticks his fingers up at him. “Not a chance, Dragon. I don’t need you turning up at my doorstep every time you lose, you’ll be here every sodding week.”

Bryan feels himself warm all over when Nigel calls him Dragon. To hear it coming out of his mouth, god it sounds so good.

“Well that’s not very nice.”

Nigel doesn’t bother to answer him, he just gives him the finger again before disappearing up the stairs. Bryan’s plunged into the quietness of the room, the TV’s still on low, playing the last episode of Rampage. Bryan switches it off and heads into the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water.

It’s easy to be in Nigel’s house, even though he’s never been here before and hasn’t been around the man in fourteen years. It’s just, it’s easy. Nigel’s gone to bed, he doesn’t need to be worried about anything. He’s just. He’s at Nigel’s house. He’s not going to call it Nigel’s home, because Nigel’s home is not here, doing this. This is just a house, just a place he can lie to himself and call home because it’s easier than facing the truth.

Bryan sips on the glass of water, one hand gripped on the counter behind him. There’s not much in Nigel’s kitchen, a stand mixer that doesn’t look like it’s ever been used, the kettle and toaster which have definitely been used, books are stacked on top of the fridge, mugs hanging on a mug tree, coffee pots and sugar pots and some plates sitting on the draining board. There’s a painting of a seaside town on the back wall and below it a little bistro table with two chairs.

Above him Bryan hears Nigel moving around. The shower turns on and Bryan finishes the rest of his water, rinsing out the glass in the sink. He grabs his bag from the bottom of the stairs where he’d dumped it and makes his way up them.

The guest room is pretty bare. There’s a bed, a bedside table with a lamp, and a chest of drawers. But it’s clean and pretty spacious. He can still hear Nigel in the shower, so he slips out of his clothes and lays down on the bed, booting and charging his phone up after it had died sometime this evening.

He’s got a message from Regal. Where are you? It says. He must have gone to his place or something. He doesn’t want anyone to know where he is yet, just in case he or anyone else tries to tell him not to do this, to come home. He’s doing this, no matter how long it takes.

The other messages aren’t important, one from Tony telling him to take his time coming back to work, but to make sure he gets himself checked over if he feels anything out of the ordinary. One from his sister, asking if he’s okay.

There’s one from Doug, asking if he made it. To that he replies with a thumbs up. Doug never asked what he needed Nigel’s information for. He’s always been good like that. He always let Bryan switch rooms with him when he wanted to be with Nigel, always dealt with Colt’s snoring and never ever, ever said anything about his and Nigel’s complicated relationship. It doesn’t matter to Doug what it’s about — just that Dragon’s asking for Nigel.

He aimlessly scrolls on Twitter until he hears the shower turn off. He listens as Nigel finishes up in the bathroom and goes back into his room, the door closing with an audible thud. Bryan wonders what it’s like inside. Is it simple like the rest of this house, or is the bedroom more personalised? Nigel always liked to sleep cocooned in more blankets than were necessary, does he still do that, does he need more blankets now he’s in the colder climate, or does he have a heater on? Bryan wants to know. He wants to know this Nigel the same way he knows his Nigel. He wants them to become one again.

Bryan heads out into the hall and into the bathroom, needing to shower off the plane sweat and air from his body before he goes to bed. He can hear what sounds like chattering and laughing from the other side of the wall, so unless Nigel’s hiding a gaggle of people in his room he must be watching TV.

It’s a tribute to their relationship that Nigel just offered up his guest bedroom rather than asking him if he’d booked a hotel. Bryan would have, if Nigel had asked, he might have turned up unannounced and used the element of surprise to actually find him, but he wouldn’t do that to him. He might break his nose and wrench his arm out of the socket inside of the ring — but that’s them. Where he’s reckless with Nigel’s body he’s careful with his heart. Or at least, he tries to be. Maybe not talking for over a decade isn’t being very careful at all.

He showers quickly, listening to the sound of the TV in Nigel’s room as he dries himself off and brushes his teeth.

Bryan gets into bed and shuts the lamp off. Across the hall, he hears a loud snore. That’s new. Nigel’s never been a snorer.

He falls asleep like that, listening to Nigel snore. He’s in Nigel’s house, but hopefully, he’ll be able to take Nigel home.

#writing #nigel mcguinness x bryan danielson #bcc polycule #blackpool combat club #nigel mcguiness #bryan danielson

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rcsplendent · 10 months

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for muses of your choice ! <3 🤡💋🥵⚖️💔✈️🦁🩰🚨😈🚫

answers under the cut bc i'm insufferable & added gifs to every single one. also i used a randomizer to pick who got each prompt so this was xtra chaotic !

🤡 ... a time where they felt guilt / embarrassment.

𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐊𝐒𝐄𝐈 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐎𝐕 : " guilt ? ... " ( he's silent for a while, thinking. ) " i'm not sure. i — well. what i mean by that is there are too many to choose from. but, erm ... i suppose the first one that comes to mind is ... when i was a child, i used to pretend to be sick to get out of lessons. and, um. one day, i pretended to be ill so i would not have to do my mathematics lesson that day. but that meant my father was unoccupied for the morning, & so he made viktor do extra training. i ... think viktor must have trained for eighteen hours that day. and i wanted so badly to tell the truth so viktor could rest. but ... i knew the consequences for lying would be ... disastrous. so i never confessed. i think viktor collapsed from exhaustion. i felt awful. i still do. "

💋 ... their first ( or simply a very special ) kiss.

𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐀 : " it's a funny story, actually ! i was sixteen, maybe. i spent most of my time at sea, but i had stayed home one summer to help my father with a construction project. he was building an orphanage. and there was this girl, angelica — her mother was supposed to run the orphanage, so she was helping out, taking care of the kids while it was being built. but she kept feeding these damn cats all around the build site. it drove me insane — we were already behind schedule, and the cats were really throwing a wrench in things. so i confronted her, you know — told her to cut it out or find somewhere else to take the strays. she called me a selfish pendejo & got up in my face. we were bickering, you know, going back & forth, and suddenly she just ... grabbed my face & planted one on me ! i was so shocked i didn't even react. she ran off & i went on with my day, & she avoided me for the rest of the summer. we didn't talk about it until we were older — she doesn't know why she did it, either. she's got a wife & four beautiful kids, now. good friend of mine. "

🥵 ... a sexual experience.

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐑 : " i - i've never done anything like that. or, well ... " ( he glances off to the side, thinking, before shaking his head quickly, his face bright red. ) " nevermind. that's all. "

⚖️ ... a time where they judged another person ( correctly or incorrectly ).

𝐘𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐎 : " the only time i ever make incorrect judgments is when i overestimate my opponents. i've got to stop doing that, honestly. i'm too kind. "

💔 ... a time where they experienced heartbreak.

𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐍 : " oh, well ... there was this girl, last summer. we were exchanging letters back & forth. i was always so excited to read hers, & she always wrote back so quickly, so i thought we were ... i don't know, honestly, what i was thinking. she stopped replying after a few months, & then i found out she'd gone & gotten married. she'd been betrothed the whole time. " ( he smiles, albeit a bit sadly. ) " not a big deal. "

✈️ ... a time where they traveled to a foreign place.

𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐑 : " well, after i got booted from boarding school — unjustly, might i add — i went to france for a bit to study. some little all-boys school down in nice. lovely city, right on the water. the people there were kinder than the fucking assholes i was at school with in england. i spent most of my nights sneaking out to go to the beach — don't tell rhysand i said that. "

🦁 ... a time where they felt truly proud of themselves.

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐙𝐙𝐈 : " i went out with a hunting party a couple of weeks ago & took down this absolute beast of a stag with one arrow. kept the hide, but i had my men deliver the rest to a butcher in a village nearby. had it been smaller i might've had it preserved, but with this one ... it would've been a waste of resources. & god knows i'm not hurting for food. it's only right. "

🩰 ... a hobby / passion.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐀 : " well, i haven't got a lot of time for hobbies ... but when i do have a rare evening to myself, i quite like making things. leatherwork, metalsmithing, woodworking. sometimes, when i'm on patrol, i'll pick up a branch if i see one that looks like it's got something interesting going on under the bark. that's not always the case, but sometimes i get a real gem of a thing, sturdy & strong. i'll whittle them into walking sticks or staffs, or i'll cut it into pieces and use the wood for knife handles. i make the blades, too. the general before me insisted i learn how to make the weapons i use to be able to fully appreciate them. he was right — i've taught theo the same thing. i've got a few blades i'm quite proud of. i don't use them in battle. couldn't bear to lose them. "

🚨 ... a time they got in big trouble.

𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐈𝐍 : " yeah, yeah. everybody always wants to know about the times i've gotten caught. hate to break it to you, but it's all confidential information & i am not legally allowed to share. " ( he rolls his eyes. ) " it's always because some fucking snitch got caught & squeaked because they thought it'd make them go easy. it never fucking works. "

😈 ... a time where they did something devious.

𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 : ( he smiles coyly. ) " i am a god-fearing man who's never done anything devious in his life. have some faith in me. "

🚫 ... a time where they experienced rejection.

𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐐𝐀𝐉𝐀𝐑 : " i cannot think of a single time anybody has ever dared to tell me no. except my wife, perhaps. "

#x — ask memes.#i need 2 be detained

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

Text

Saturday 26 October 1833

7 55

12 ¾

very fine morning F61° at 9 ¼ am grieved to miss my walk, but today is post-day so sat down to answer M-‘s letter at 9 20 - had Thomas up and talked to him ½ hour about whether he would like to go back to England or not - said I would give him an excellent character and take care that Mrs. Lawton found no fault about his returning - I think the man’s inclination is evidently for returning if he was not afraid of what M- would say - told him to consider about it - I could send him back in the spring from Hamburg - breakfast at 10 ½ - afterwards had a little nap - M. and Madame de Billé, née Bulow, called in person and left cards at 1 ¼ as I was not at home - I will receive in a morning sometimes - at 2 ¾ had finished my letter to M- 3 pages and ends and under the seal (ends etc very small and close) - Miss Ferrall came before 3 and staid till 3 ½ - then read over my letter to M- ‘I congratulate you on Mr Lawton’s so perfect recovery - I grieve

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over the sentence ‘I try not to disquiet myself in vain, tho’ my mind is sometimes rebellious’ nothing is wanted but a little energy and determination to set your mind to rights - Go straight forward had in hand with that stout-siding champion Conscience, and happiness is within reach of us all. Take plenty of air and exercise - ride - amuse yourself - do as much good as you have been accustomed to do - do not get fat like the Norcliffes, but do not minim and bring yourself low by dwelling upon anything disagreeable - the letter from which you give me a little quotation, is clean as the day’ - then glad she left ‘poor Nantz’ better etc etc - she was quite right to go to church at Lawton - ‘surely surely your mind will be more tranquil on this melancholy subject by and by’ - conclude they will winter at Leamington - ‘do tell me if Miss Cholmley will be there’ and if she M- will have Emma Strickland in the winter - ask after Mrs. Best etc congratulations to Mrs. Miller on being supposed in a family way - ‘I read Thomas your paragraph concerning him - I do not fancy he particularly likes being abroad - Do pray tell me what you and Grantham told him his wages were to be - I gave poor George £20 and never thought of offering or giving Thomas more and considered this understood, but he says you and Grantham told him 20 guineas - I have underlined this sentence, that it may catch your eye, and that you may be sure not to forget to give me an answer in your next - I really go on very well, and am very comfortable’ - Eugenie making me a white satin for the Queen’s birthday ball on Wednesday - impossible to go to a birthday in black - merely throw it off for the night - ‘I was presented last Wednesday - I am indeed fortunate in point of society’ - few people in town, yet know 40 so not likely to be dull - ‘I fear you would think me as much spoilt here as elsewhere - Indeed, indeed, Mary, everybody is so civil, and several so very kind and attentive, that I am already as much at home here, as if I had been domiciliated for years - I shall not even have the pother of going in the line of carriages on Wednesday , or perhaps afterwards, as I have 2 offers from friends who have the entrée, the right to couper la ligne’ - the great gaieties do not begin till January but there will be plenty of lesser things from the end of next month, and now there is a most agreeable sociable kind of sociable visiting I enjoy very much. In fact I am seldom an evening at home’......... spent 2 days in the country - one night with a charming friend of Lady Harriet’s - shall be quiet till moving-time next year - find no fault with the climate yet - uncertain - like England - East wind and humid and said to give rheumatism - have not felt so incommoded as at Hastings - East winds not so bad as at Scarbro’ - agrees in the spring - shall be off before them tho’ may delay on account of being so well received and comfortable - 4 lines from the bottom of page 3 ‘But I reserve this remaining scrap of this page to say that I shall hear nothing from Hammersleys till the end of the year - they will, of course, acknowledge the receipt of the £200 to you immediately this and £100 more will make you have £500 in my hands at 4p.c. dating from the 1st of January next - we will arrange about the payment of the interest when I see you again - this present memorandum will be enough till I send you a more regular account and acknowledgment, which I will do, before leaving here - but I am in very good health so far - I am in very good health so far - should anything happen to you before me, and without your leaving any directions to the contrary, I shall consider myself as holding the principal sum of five hundred pounds and all accumulations of simple interest there upon due in trust for your niece Mariana, her heirs, executors and assigns - I have inadvertently written the above (i.e. 5 lines) on the wrong end of my paper - you had better therefore keep the whole page - then speaking of Copenhagen ‘I shall really leave here with regret whenever the time comes - it is not I hope, in my nature to be ungrateful, and indeed I am so kindly received here, owing to my very good friends, the de H-s and de B-s, that as far as society is concerned, I could not be more comfortable - Besides, it is really like being in a capital - I am always au courant des affaires - I see the corps diplomatique, and heading people, and the business of nations has always interested me more than village scandal - Excuse the expression, but my mind seems as if it had room to stir in, and this is in some sort of necessity to those from whom Providence, for some wise, and doubtfulness, merciful reason, has withheld the kindred charities of domestic life - But, Mary, you would be pleased to see me so well and happy as I really am - I find, I need not sigh in hopeless despair for a compagnon de voyage - at least, I have more than once had the vanity to imagine, it would be my own fault if I left here alone - But single blessedness has, at least, some conveniences and if I am not persuaded out of my present ideas, I shall take a ramble by myself - Cheer up your friend Miss Cholmley - it is folly to have vapours about anything - God bless you, Mary! I have always said I would never be unhappy if you were happy - I can keep my word, and will - very especially and entirely yours AL’ - had just finished the above extract from my letter at 4 ¼ - dressed - at 4 55 off to dine with Lady Harriet - and left for the post my letter to ‘Mrs Lawton, Claremont house, Leamington, Warwickshire England’ - tête-à-tête till 9 (were to have gone to baron Nicolay’s together but they were not at home) - when the 2 minister of Spain and Austria came and Major Vinniky? and a M. and Madame....... she Comte Blucher’s cousin and he head of the dounaes here and in full gold embroidered dark blue coat with star and very fine - Lady H- did not introduce me - so talked the Spanish minster all the 4 or perhaps as much as 5 minutes they lady stayed, who must have thought Lady H-‘s not presenting me odd enough - she looked shy and uncomfortable and glad when the lady went for she does not like ladies I fancied her not presenting me was accident or a thoughtless omission but no she said the lady gave no parties it would be useless to present me besides countess Blucher was intimate with her being count B-‘s cousin and would do it better oh oh thought I but took no notice I begin to smoke farther than to say slightly as I had done before I did not mind people’s giving parties but it was comfortable to know them if I met them she said now she had three visits more to pay but said not a word of taking me I see clearly now what I only suspected before that she means to present me no more? and take me nowhere in future by and by I asked her advice about calling on the maids of honour it now seems that as she does not go to court herself she is not the person to advise declined giving advice countess Blucher would do it better I see the feeling my lady had about my going with the Countess to the Dutch and Swedish ambassadors has ripened I to a regular jealousy I laughed and said she was my natural

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adviser but as she gave me up I must do the best I could we had talked on well enough during the evening but from two or three expressions I gather up her feeling? I had said something about receiving she took fright said it would do me good I could not at an Inn she should be miserable at my doing so ssingle people never did unless they were very rich she did not see how I could do it must then trouble myself and think of a thousand things how to occupy people etc how was it I never thought of all this in Paris I quietly said it was impossible with my aunt but that I might be different in future speaking of Vere and Hastings but said she Vere did not always agree with you? said I did not know that we differed much in opinion we had got on very well together in the early part of the evening we had joked about her lady H- always looking on the dark side and I always on the bright she has a bad temper or rather an unhappy one and would put anyone into the vapours and set them against all the people countess B- was right Lady H- is out of sorts with her and me too but she will not plainly shew it against me I must joke no more with or about her she had said it was very right not to receive the Billes this morning but why thought I I see I must mind what I am about I will ask the de H-‘s advice no more and be very cautious but nothing different shall appear she had said ladies did not go about every night I shall profit by her let-slips I shall be able to judge by the civility or not of the people how far I have done right or wrong I shall tread my ground cautiously with the Brownes neither they nor others like the de H-s I see they are vexed at my having gone to court and would gladly have kept me away what can be their reason she thought I had been very often at the Bluchers no I thought not three or four evenings there is jealousy at the bottom well she may make herself unhappy but not me – very fine day – F62 ½�� now at 12 10 tonight – she said the Russian secrétar[ie] Dashnoff had wondered he had never met me there at the moment this did not strike me and Mr. de H- said some evenings back I might find it stupid to go there every evening now enough of all this care not seem perfectly innocent of having even observed it

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rsfannan2 · 2 years

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Day Two: First Leg, Bristol to Keynsham

Diane and Carol seemed to dodge any effects from jet lag. Bob, not so much. Perhaps it was a combo of jet lag and thinking about the stupid lost phone, but I slept only 2 or 3 hours right before it was time to get up. Oh well, these things happen.

Breakfast was quite good and what rain had been predicted never materialized. Weather in the mid 60’s and mostly sunny had us in a great mood as we commenced our adventure. 9 miles to Keynsham along the Avon River; a cakewalk for experienced ramblers like the three of us.

We spent the bulk of the first hour trying to find the correct path along the River Avon , having to backtrack several times before we were confident that we were on the right path. But in due time we were well on our way to a delightful walk in the English countryside. This is the third trek in England for Diane and me, and we soon were immersed in the glory of this kind of travel. For those of you who have not had a glimpse of the UK outside of the cities, you must try one of these walking adventures.

In the United Kingdom, walking through private property is not only allowed, but promoted. Gates for ramblers at the perimeters of fields and pastures are constructed specifically for these activities. Small stickers on fences, gates, and “stiles” (step ladder constructions for climbing over fences) are posted somewhat regularly to help you stay on your intended way. There is a bit of excitement when you haven’t seen one of these in a while and you are wondering if you have made the wrong turn and then you see the sticker assuring you that you are not lost. However, it must be said that some paths are better marked than others, so you can expect to get lost at least once a day. But, with maps and a little GPS, you always will get to where you want to go.

We didn’t meet a whole lot of folks on the trail, but those that we did meet were delightful, eager to chat it up, and ready to help with directions if needed. As one point, a birder pointed out a nest of fledgling grey herons perched atop several trees along the river poised to take their first flight. We had a spirited conversation with a Scotsman about Robert Louis Stevenson and his trips to America. A bloke with a really cute dog and I talked about golf in Californian and Arizona. He really enjoyed Torrey Pines in San Diego. When you slow it down and open up to others, magical things happen.

Upon a recommendation from a fellow rambler, we stopped at the Lock & Weir Inn for lunch. Good pub fare outside overlooking the River hit the spot perfectly. The idea that English food stinks is passé. Pubs take pride in their food, and it is delicious!

Back on the road again, and it was not long before we arrived in Keynsham where we stayed for the night. Modest accommodations and friendly hosts. I can’t say enough about the service that Let’s Go Walking offers the walking traveller. When you get to your daily destination, your luggage is in your room, everything is paid for, and you are treated like family. Simply delightful! (For those of you who have not had the experience of reading my travel musings, I use the word “delightful” a lot).

Before I go any farther, I must say that although the terrain is mostly flat (we are walking beside a river), walking ten miles a day can be quite tiring, especially for one, like me, who is a bit long in the tooth. However, a short rest revived our aged bodies and we went to dinner at the Haywards Guest House where we were staying the night. Not particularly hungry, we had a small dinner and a drink before turning in for the night. Again, the food is locally grown and produced and you could tell that the staff took enormous pride in the quality and presentation.

A grand first day on the trail.

More to come……..

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mountswhore · 3 years

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𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 — mason mount

if you guys have any requests, just ask and you shall receive ! <3

aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Mason knows you enjoy your time to breathe, and relax after god knows how long of fun. He presses a small kiss to your cheek, thanks you, and helps you put your clothes back on. You’d be on the balcony of his bedroom, letting the wind hit your face, feeling a pair of arms wrap around you and a drink of water appear in front of you. Mason always takes the best care of you, by letting you relax and softly assisting you in whatever you needed.

body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

Mason feels as if it’s a bit shallow to have a favourite body part, but if he had to choose, it’d he his arms. He knows you love them, so he loves them too. They hold you down during sex, wrap around your body with ease, making you drool as the veins appear. You get a great view of them holding your legs as he goes down on you.

If he could choose everything about you, he would. But his absolute favourite body part would be your lips. He’d watch you talk to him about whatever, and see how they curve, how bite-able they were. Seeing them wrapped around his cock does a number on him, it’s a sight he wish he could see at any point of the day.

cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Mason knows you enjoy it when he cums inside you, but he loves seeing it all over your face. Seeing those pretty lips at work, then minutes later covered in his cum. What a sight. Or in your mouth. It’s pleasure within itself to watch your eyes roll to the back of your head, as he fills your mouth up and forces you to swallow.

dirty secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Mason is dominant as fuck. He loves the whole ‘daddy’ thing, it really gets him going. Just seeing you so soft and innocent underneath him was a sight for sore eyes. It wasn’t an every-time-you-have-sex thing, more of a long-awaited session thing. There are times Mason wants to be soft with you, but this is what turns him on the most.

experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

You and Mason met when you were pretty young and inexperienced, which made an awkward first time. But now you look back on it and laugh, because Mason knows exactly how to get you there, and you know how to get him there too.

favourite position (This goes without saying)

During one of your rougher sessions, he’d prefer doggy all the way. It’s the perfect position to hit the spot for you and him. And the view is incredible. But in general, you being on top is his favourite. He gets to see it all, and doesn’t have to move his head. He can see your boobs bouncing as you ride him, your face contort as you moan from the pleasure, and the feeling was immaculate.

goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

When you’d both been on a night out, getting home and all over each other, it’d be a lot of giggly sex. Mason tripping on his trouser leg as he tried to walk and take them off, it was hilarious to drunk you. But you’d be hushed very quickly as his lips met back with yours, pushing you onto the bed before the pair of you were laughing again.

But in moments of missing him for a few weeks at a time, or if Mason is sexually frustrated from being on a sex ban because of football, he’s stone cold. He wants you, he needs you. And you let him. He gets down to business immediately and knows exactly what he’s doing, he wants to hear you moan and feel you around him.

hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Mason likes to keep it clean, not hairless, but trimmed. To you, it didn’t matter. But for him, it’s his personal preference.

intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Making you feel good, getting you to your high, that was all that mattered to Mason. He knows you like to be wooed, not just get straight into it. So he always rubs you down gently, his fingers gently drifting to places he couldn’t wait to get to. All while telling you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you. Kissing every inch of your body, moving your hair from your face and complimenting you. Every beautiful thing you could say to your lover, is said.

jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

He doesn’t do it a lot. When training for a game, he’s put on a two-week sex ban. So there are times when he gets home and needs to see you in one of your nice lingerie, touching himself to the look of you. But whenever he can spend his time fucking you over and over, it’s time we’ll spent.

kink (One or more of their kinks)

Aside from the daddy kink, he has a corruption kink. Knowing he was your first, he’d slowly plagued your innocent mind with dirty thoughts. Taught you what he liked, learnt what you liked. Seeing you become more confident sexually, because of him, it turned him on.

location (Favorite places to do the do)

Mason has a few favourite places:

The kitchen counter; seeing you bent over and begging for more of him, bruises most likely forming from the constant drilling into the counter. In a house as big as his, you could be as loud as you wanted. And he loved hearing the nice echoes of your moans.

Sun beds; when you were both on holiday, mason was taking advantage of the time he was allowed to have sex. He wanted to enjoy the sun, and you. So in the comfort of your private Villa, you were all his in front of the sweltering sun and gorgeous view.

Car; it was a tight squeeze, sure, but it was all the more sexy. Mase had a legal amount of tint to his windows, meaning nobody was seeing into his car. So he could have you going down on him as he waited in traffic, making all kinds of faces and noises for only you to see and hear.

motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

After your massive shopping sprees, you’d arrive home with a myriad of bags and clothes. You’d make Mason sit on the couch, parading your body around in front of him, with all kinds of complimenting clothing. It wasn’t long before you were both tangled together on the couch, Mason hitting you from behind.

Or when he gets home from training, all sweaty and grunting from moving around for hours, and he’d see you bent over the counter casually scrolling your phone. Mason would be bringing you up to the shower with him.

no (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He wasn’t big on tying you up, even if you tell him it doesn’t hurt, he wouldn’t dare do it in case he actually did hurt you. Or spitting in your mouth, it just didn’t turn him on like it did other people.

As far as turn offs go, there’s nothing you do that turns him off.

oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Mason was god-like at giving head, he does it for his own pleasure. But he prefers receiving. Call him selfish, sure. But the look on your face as you’re taking all of him, it’s a sight he wouldn’t exchange for the world.

pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Mason likes to do it rough, he knows it turns you on more than anything, and it ties in perfectly with his kinks. But for more romantic evenings, like your anniversary, he’s holding you gently and slowly thrusting into you, your lips connected the whole time.

quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You only have quickies when you have events to attend to. One of your families barbecues? Quickie either in the car or their bathroom. A wedding party? Quickie in the toilets or he’d be fingering you under on of the tables. Let’s just say Mason lives on quickies.

risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

I wouldn’t call it risky, more experimentation. But when you suggested buying whipped cream, ice, and chocolate sauce. He thought you were making ice creams, not having experimental sex with food. But he bought in nonetheless and tried it, rubbing your nipples with ice cubes. Seeing your back arch and hearing your moans erupt from your mouth, it was enough to know he was going to enjoy you bringing a bag of ice home.

stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Being an athlete, you’d think Mason can last a while. And you’d be right. But sometimes, when he’s had a long few months of training, as well as the god-awful sex ban, just seeing you in a bra would make him cum.

toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Anything that pleasures you, he has it. Vibrators, beads, gag, whip, paddle. You name it. In the bottom of his bedside table, that’s where you’ll find the goodies. After learning how many tools there were to help you reach a good orgasm, Mason was feeling a few hundred quid lighter.

unfair (How much they like to tease)

If football doesn’t work out, Mason could have a career in teasing. He does it in places he knows you can’t do anything about it. At a barbecue, he’ll ‘excuse himself’ past you and grab at your hips tightly, feeling his dick against your ass. Looking back at you with a smirk, you know what he’s in for later.

volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Mason had mastered the art of silence, when he’d be sharing a room with another England teammate, and you’d be sending him nudes nonstop. He had a gallery full, and yet here you were, adding a few more and making him hard. But he loved to be loud, knowing it was only you two in the house, he could do as he pleased, grunting as he slammed into you.

wild card (A random headcanon)

He loves being in a cocky mood with you, not to piss you off, but to sexually frustrate you. As you hoover under his feet, he’d whisper a few dirty thoughts into your ear as he got up. Or if you hand him a drink whilst he’s playing on his pc, he rewards you with a slap on the ass.

x-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Mason is hung. The men who don’t brag about their size are the biggest. He knows he doesn’t have a completely chiselled body like other men do, but you never fail to remind him that none of them have ever made you cum like he has. It made him more confident about his fingers, his arms, his legs his chest. It was him that you chose, and it’s him that gets to make you cum every night if he wanted to.

yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Too high for the career he has. He’d quite happily be buried between your legs all day if he could choose to be, or have you gagging on him every night. He just wanted you all day every day, and his job wouldn’t allow it. But it made your sex sessions much better, with all the pent up sexual frustration.

zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Not as quickly as you. Whilst you’re dozing off on his chest, he’s stroking your hair with one hand and dragging his other hand from your cheek all the way down to your hips and back. It’s not long after you’re completely out for him to cuddle into you and drift off himself.

if you guys have any requests, do let me know ! <3

#mason mount x reader #mason mount smut #mason mount imagine #mason mount blurb #mason mount

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caravelmp3 · 3 years

Text

UNDER THE CANYON MOON

pairing: josh kiszka x female!reader warning(s): mostly fluff, just brief mentions of alcohol and sex word(s): 2k note: hi hi hi !! this is just a little something i wrote up the last couple of days with the inspiration of light my love, canyon moon by harry styles, and the interview where josh talked about road-tripping the u.s. last summer <3 i don’t write one shots often but let me know what you all think bc i might shuffle some more out soon lol. hope you all enjoy !! :)

The Los Angeles sun was hot, beating down onto the city basking in its late-summer hues. You parked your car on the street in Silver Lake and carried a bag of food and drink tray to the door of a recording studio, more than prepared to be swarmed by hungry boys who had been cooped up in the studio since five a.m. on the dot that morning. They had a breakthrough the night before with a new song, and after getting home and going to bed for a few hours, the creative juices started flowing again and they were back in the booth.

A windchime on the door sang as you pulled the door open and walked inside, greeting their manager who was at a table by the door.

“The boys here?”

“Down the hall,” he nodded, pointing a finger in the direction of the hallway. “They’re more rowdy than usual so be prepared,”

You laughed and turned down the hall, walking towards the studio. The walls were decorated with memorabilia of rock and roll greats and record plaques, and among them, you spotted a picture of the four boys with their Grammy award. It seemed like time had passed so quickly. They won the award for the first album and they were already working on their third, shooting them further into stardom.

“Coffee’s here!” You shouted in a really bad New England accent when you noticed the recording light was flipped off above the door.

You stepped into the room to a chorus of cheers and “thank god you're here”’s that made you laugh while sitting the food and drinks down on the table and they all rushed over. You handed out the specific orders and pointed to which drinks was theirs when they got handsy and tried to grab everything from her out of both excitement and some desperation for caffeine.

“Our savior,” Jake said, reaching out and grabbing your shoulders to give them a gentle shake before taking the coffee you were holding out to him, and then you handed Danny’s to him, too.

“Just the coffee girl here,”

“Well, you’re a little bit more than that,” Josh said, walking over to the table to grab his full cup.

You pressed a hand against the table, leaning over to him. “Just a little?”

“A little bit,” he shot you a wink before swiftly pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You were more than just a “little more” than the coffee girl, you were typically their designated drunk driver, the one who took all of their candid photos, the mediator in times of need, and well, the girlfriend of the lead singer, too.

Everyone in the studio took their food and drinks and scattered among the seating area in a break from recording. Instead of one tiny room with all of them cramped together, they had a wide open space with booths for the different instruments and bean bag chairs and big comfy, velvet sofas, and there was dim lighting with deep toned rugs that gave off the vibe of a more relaxed feel rather than the fluorescent-light, tiled-floor feeling that made them feel rushed and confined by rules they didn’t set themselves.

You liked the studio, too, and often took naps on the sofa while listening to them play instruments individually in the recording booths and while they were writing. One night they had found you at two a.m., bundled up with a blanket on the bean bag chair after they spent the night writing in the front room on the piano, but it wasn’t the first time as you often napped in their Nashville recording offices, too.

“You guys been busy today?” You asked jokingly while lowering onto the sofa armrest, receiving nothing but glares shot in your direction. “Okay, okay, touchy subject,”

With a mouthful of bread, Sam pointed to Josh, “Josh finished a song, didn’t you?” He was grinning.

You hummed in joy and surprise, grabbing Josh’s knee as he sat next to you. “Really?”

It had been a rough few days for all of them as they tried to shuffle out a few more additions to the new album. It felt incomplete with something missing, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on what it was exactly, so they attempted to bring back and revamp old songs, write and record new ones, but nothing seemed to stick, until now.

“Yeah, wanted to wait and show you later, but someone can’t keep his trap shut.” Josh said, pretending to be serious before cracking a smile and taking a sip of his coffee. “Just wanted it to be a surprise,”

“Well it can still be a surprise, I’m surprised now,” you said. “Can I hear it? Or read what you got?”

Josh nodded and stood, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him. There was a little recording room fit with a piano inside, his writing journal placed on the music stand where he had scribbled notes and keys and melodies in pen. He picked it up and handed it to you.

“Nothing seemed to click until last night, when I started putting it together.” He said.

“Is that why you wouldn’t tell me what it was when you all got back to the house?”

Josh shrugged, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, yeah, I wanted it to be special when you first heard it.”

You sat the coffee cup down onto the floor while lowering into the small chair in the corner, holding the journal like it was the most delicate piece of art in the world. In silence, while Josh watched on anxiously, you read the words he had splayed across the blank page.

Can you light my love? Flames glowing bright as the sun Deeper than oceans you run Watch as our world has begun

Your mind is a stream of colors Extending beyond our sky A land of infinite wonders A billion lightyears from here now

You felt your throat tighten, tears tempted your eyes.

It was a love song.

“Josh-”

“Oh god you hate it don’t you, you dread it, despise it,”

“Oh shut up, I’m in tears right now, you know I love it.” You looked up at him with a smile and a sniffle.

His words across the page were sloppy, some cursive, written in different pens of different colors, some lines crossed and scribbled out, others underlined.

“Your mind is something I will never fully understand.” You told him as he sat down on the chair next to you. “How the fuck did you come up with this-”

“I was thinking about our trip out here, the week we spent driving out and all of the stuff we did… and how I think I fell more in love with you.” His voice softened.

You reached out, placing your arm on his shoulder, fingers playing with his curls. “I can’t put it into words how much I love it, how much I love you,” you said, “and you make me sound so lovely when in reality I know I was a pain in the ass that entire trip.”

“Yeah, but my pain in the ass,” he kissed the inside of your arm.

Two weeks before the boys left Nashville to head to Los Angeles, Josh called you at midnight with an idea in mind – the two of you renting a camper to drive out to L.A., falling into all of the tourist traps along the way and stopping in random small towns to sleep while exploring the in between, which would definitely beat the boring four-hour flight. And you, half asleep and across the country, agreed.

It would be fun. Right?

And it was. Every time someone asked how it went, you called it “the most magical week of my life.”

While the others waited behind for their flights the next week, you and Josh set off from Nashville, heading west with only the destination in mind and a trusty map in hand. Everything else just came to you both.

The first stop was three hours in the trip, in Memphis. You and Josh roamed Graceland on Elvis Presley Boulevard and had lunch near Sun Studio before taking in the mementos and relics at the Blues Hall of Fame where Josh talked your ear off, rattling off more details about each band and singer than was on the info-cards on the wall.

Then it was two hours to Little Rock, falling asleep in the back of the camper after a take-out dinner outside of a random supermarket. Sitting in lawn chairs in the middle of a parking lot, you held Josh’s hand under a blanket and watched the pink sunrise over the hills, and then it was back on the road again.

From Oklahoma City to Amarillo, you fiddled with the map when Josh got lost after a wrong turn in a small town where he insisted on seeing the giant 66-foot LED soda bottle sculpture, and in the middle of northern Texas, he made it up to you by cooking your favorite dinner. You thanked him in a quiet whisper as you crawled into the bed with him that night, sliding under the covers where he greeted you with warm hands and kisses against your neck that made you squeal with the tickle of his mustache and he grinned against your lips.

Josh got to choose the music all the way through New Mexico – Neil Young and Crazy Horse to John Denver’s Thank God I’m A Country Boy, and you were only able to squeeze in Joan Baez every hour when you stopped to stretch your legs on the side of the road, belting the words to him while he laughed at your voice cracks.

And after you both pitched the tent in the Petrified Forest in Arizona, Josh hummed the tune to some new song while you two sat under the midnight stars in the canyon with a roaring fire, his arm around you, his sweatshirt draped over your shoulders. When he tried to start telling you a scary story after you heard a weird noise outside the tent, you blindly hit him in the dark and accidentally hit his nose, causing you both to burst into laughter after the initial panic left. He laughed loudly into your shoulder as you held his face in shock, catching the scent of your lavender lotion, and his body relaxed when the laughter died down, feeling so at peace in his life with you there.

It was the tail end of the trip, but the excitement hadn’t died down yet. After showers in the camper in the middle-of-nowhere-Arizona and five hours west, you and Josh found a bar outside of Las Vegas that resembled Coyote Ugly, so you both had a round of tequila sodas and margaritas before walking around the small town that evening and sleeping off the tipsy-headaches in the air conditioning. On top of the covers, you looked at Josh napping in the sunshine, cheeks flushed red, curls poofy from the wind, and you felt your heart grow in your chest before falling asleep next to him.

And then came Los Angeles, the final stop, the dreaded one. But you and Josh didn’t tell anyone that either of you were sad to be back with them in L.A. when they asked, and instead, you two smiled and hugged everyone after piling out of the camper in the drive-way of the Silver Lake house.

Cleaning out the camper, tossing cheesy novelty t-shirts at each other and laughing at how many socks you two managed to lose along the way and how many bug bites were added, watching the developed clips Josh had filmed of scenes in the desert and you asleep in the passenger seat, you both were nostalgic about a trip that just ended.

It was so easy, so freeing to just be together on the road, with only the destination in mind. It revealed a part of them that the other didn’t see often, like your tendencies to get your lefts and rights mixed up while giving directions, and Josh’s equally awful sense of direction didn’t exactly pair with the fact that he was a maniac while driving in the first place.

But those parts were just added to the long list of why you and him loved each other in the first place. So you became the designated driver after Amarillo and Josh stuck to telling you “left or right” for the rest of the time. It was a compromise, another reason why you two worked so well together.

It was a form of love in itself.

“We’ll have to drive all the way back to Nashville then, so you can write more songs about me.” You teased.

Josh rolled his eyes but cracked into a grin a second later. “Let’s not get too carried away,” but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t always mentally reliving the night under the canyon moon.

#gvf imagine #greta van fleet imagine #gvf #gvf one shot #greta van fleet one shot #gvf fanfic #greta van fleet fanfic #josh kiszka imagine #josh kiszka one shot #josh kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet

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emerald-chaos · 3 years

Text

Touchdown

*gif not mine, credit goes to the owner*

I just want to take a moment to say thank you for the love on my last fic! It made my lil ole heart swell to see that peopled enjoyed it enough to leave a like or reblog.

This is just something special I had in my arsenal that I wrote for a friend a few months ago. I touched it up a bit and added a few things here and there. It all started when we were talking about how much we loved when Chris' accent got heavier after he'd been drinking, and well, I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you enjoy the fluff! xoxo

I apologize for any grammatical errors, I tried to proof-read but am also a little exhausted lol.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings: I don't think there's anyway? Mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol, cursing, and illusions to sexy times, but that's about it.

You hadn’t noticed how furiously your knee was bouncing up and down until the person sitting next to you on the subway got up to move seats once the train squealed to a stop. You sighed and ran your hands down the front of your thighs. Normally being a little late didn’t bother you as much, but tonight you were meeting him.

You flipped your wrist over to check your watch. 8:30pm. In all honesty, it had probably been only thirty seconds later than when you checked it the last time. Another deep sigh escaped from your lips as you started to become hyper aware of the train remaining still at the current stop. What could possibly be taking so long? You knew he wouldn’t care if you were running late, but the time the two of you had together already felt so minuscule. You wanted to capitalize on every second you could.

The train began moving again and you slumped back into your seat, feeling only a small amount of relief. It was becoming painfully apparent that you needed to try and relax. You could feel the sweat building up on your body, the sting on your palms from where your fingernails were pressing in with a vengeance moments ago, and you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Your hand dug around in your purse for a few moments before finding the small case you were looking for. Opening it, you slipped your headphones into your ears and let your head rest on the window behind you as music intertwined with your thoughts.

Once upon a time, you made fun of people who decided to go to grad school. What kind of a clown would spend thousands of MORE dollars and go BACK to school?? Not to mention the stress of the assignments, the due dates - it was not for you...or so you thought.

Now here you are, a regular booboo the fool.

NYU’s graduate program for design and merchandising wasn’t necessarily part of your 5-year plan, but when the opportunity landed in front of you it was difficult to pass up. NYU was a school you had only dreamt of attending back in high school. When you were a senior in high school you were able to tour the campus and fell in love immediately. Hours upon hours were spent researching grants, scholarships, and all sorts of ways to try to make it happen. However, the dream ended as most teenage dreams do - crushed. There was no way you or your parents could afford the loans that it would surely wrack up to attend the out of state university, and there was no way you could ask your parents take on that kind of debt just so you could go to college. UMass was the way to go - close to home and familiar. Not to mention you were able to obtain several scholarships and grants that helped bring down the cost tremendously. Little did you know, boring ole UMass would bring you one of the most important things in your life.

Applying for graduate school wasn’t an easy decision and one you couldn’t really take all the credit for. A smile crept across your face as you reminisced on the night you nervously brought up the idea to your long-term boyfriend.

“I think you should do it,”

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “it’s insane, why would I do something so stup...wait, what? You do?”

“Of course I do. This is something you love and that you’re passionate about. Do you know how many hours of my life were spent listening to you ramble about NYU?” he questioned with a grin.

“It will open up so many doors for you. We can make things work,” a chuckle escaped from those beautiful lips as he saw your dumbfounded expression. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and pulled you close, “What? Did you expect me to forbid it? Cmon, baby, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

You didn’t have a lot of wins in your life, but you did have Chris.

When you got accepted, he took off a week from work to drive you 3 and a half hours south to help get you settled and moved into your temporary new home. The two of you ate a disgusting amount of pizza, moved a ridiculous amount of heavy furniture in the middle of a summer heat wave, and enjoyed each other’s company before the long-distance thing would set in. Chris spent that week encouraging you every step of the way, talking you off the ledge when you were convinced you had made the wrong decision, and made sure to help you christen every possible surface of your new place in the most deliciously sinful way.

You bit your lip slightly at the thought and a warm feeling spread across your face. Chris was one of the most incredible people you had met in this world. Kind, caring, funny, intelligent, passionate, and god was he sexy. The connection the two of you had was scary at first, but now you just couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The robotic voice came over the loud-speaker in the subway car and you were rudely ripped back to reality as it pulled into your stop. You hurriedly scooped up your bag and jogged off the train.

It had been a promise between the two of you when you moved that there would be equal effort when it came to visiting and keeping in contact while having good, open communication. Long distance was hard but the two of you were determined to make it work. FaceTime calls, hours upon hours of texting, and even as far as writing the occasional letter back and forth (because your boyfriend was a hopeless romantic and you loved it so much). This weekend was your turn to come home to visit, and of course your last class had to go longer than anticipated. Fuckin’ Tiffany and her stupid ass questions.

The muscles of your calves burned as you kept up your hurried pace, weaving through the crowds of people gathered on sidewalks outside of various clubs and restaurants. It was a weekend night and the Patriots were playing, which meant the city was more alive than usual. New York was it's own beast, but it was a different type of hustle and bustle. Nights like these made your heart ache for home - the thick Massachusetts accents, the rowdy voices of bar patrons arguing about the game, the hugs shared between family members as they parted after dinner, and the faint smell of nicotine and alcohol that hung in the air.

As the neon sign that hung in the pub window came in to view you felt your heart dip down into your stomach. Last weekend’s visit had to be cancelled due to some stuff coming up with Chris’ work and a surprise assignment for you, so you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in 2 weeks. With a deep breath you swung open the door and scanned the crowd for him. He told you that he would be there promptly at 7:15pm for pregame shenanigans with his friends - which actually translated to how many pitchers of beer could they suck down before kick off.

“Aw, come ON! That is such a bullshit call!”

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. A grin spread across your lips as you shook your head. The thought of leaving to avoid secondhand embarrassment crossed your mind briefly before you picked up your feet and made your way through the crowd toward the sound. A room full of people from New England and you would still recognize that voice anywhere.

Everyone else seemed to fade away as you saw the outline of the tall, dark haired man standing at the bar. The slight freckles that spattered the back of his neck, the Brady jersey that he spent WAY too much money customizing, and the signature backward ball cap were ingrained in your subconscious memory. Not to mention if you didn’t recognize his outline or his voice, you would definitely recognize that ass anywhere.

You loved how passionate he got about sports and the way his Boston accent seemed to get thicker with each beer he consumed. Growing up in the area, you wouldn't think the accent would send a tingle down your spine the way it does, but it was different - it was Chris. Not to mention the sparkle in his eye when he would watch his favorite team or the way he would get in to arguments whenever someone tried to say something negative about them. You loved your big, handsome, over-sized toddler man so damn much.

A light tap on his shoulder made him whip around, his slightly opened mouth from his interrupted conversation curved upwards into a wicked grin as he made the connection of who was finally standing in front of him.

“Hey there, handsome. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You single?” You grinned, feeling your entire body fill with warmth as Chris leaned back and grabbed his chest as he erupted in laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah, unfortunately for you I am taken” he responded as he snaked his arms around your waist, sliding his hands into your back pockets as he pulled you into his figure.

“That is too bad,” you tsk'd, running a finger down his toned bicep, “she’s one lucky girl.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he grinned. He leaned down to meet your lips in a kiss. You sighed into it, allowing your body to mold itself so perfectly into his. The taste of beer on his lips and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating - it was home. You immediately allowed him entrance as you felt his tongue glide along your bottom lip. Your body felt small in his strong grip and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he gave your ass a firm squeeze. Normally, this type of bold, public display of affection would make you cringe away but at this point you were lost in Chris that you had absolutely no shame. Each time the two of you embraced had always felt like the first. Your heart still fluttered and your knees still got weak, like you were a 16 year old being kissed for the first time.

In the middle of your reunion moment, however, something happened in the game that made the entire bar erupt in boo’s and curses. Chris lifted his lips from yours to look over his shoulder and inspect what he had missed. You laughed and shook your head as you pushed him back towards his friends and took a seat in the bar stool he had been standing behind initially. His large hands found a natural place on your shoulders. While his eyes remained glued on the TV he began applying a moderate amount of pressure to your neck and shoulders. You didn’t realize how much your body craved that touch, his touch, until you immediately melted back into him.

The bartender slid a beer in front of you with a wink and you mouthed your thanks. You felt a twinge in your heart as you looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. This was a typical weekend night for the two of you whenever you were living together. Football, drinks, pub food, and friends. If it wasn’t this pub it was your living room, just a couple blocks away. You didn’t even mind that it was your first night back and you weren’t alone, spending it immediately wrapped up in your satin sheets. The atmosphere, the people - it was so warm and familiar that you really wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Plus, being wrapped up together in the sheets was sure to follow.

“I missed you,” hummed a pair of lips as they placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. A shiver shot down your spine at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over your neck. You reached up a hand and connected it to the nape of his neck.

“I missed you too,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

His arms changed position as he wrapped them in front of your shoulders and crossed them, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed his forearms as you nursed your beer and placed your focus onto the game for the first time tonight.

The laughter seemed to escape from your chest naturally and effortlessly the entire night, as it always had a habit of doing when Chris was around. The camaraderie between him and his buddies during a game was something you’d grown to enjoy over the years. Chris’ competitive nature and the way his jaw clenched when something wasn’t going the way he wanted was always kinda...hot. All of his friends were huge assholes, but in the best way. It was always entertaining to hear them jab at each other and do what they could to rile someone up. They were the life of every party you had ever attended and they had a way of making a boring night a lot more interesting.

Thankfully (for the integrity of the bar) the Pats won the game with a surprise touchdown in the last 30 seconds of the game. Chris, being the guy he is, bought a final round for his friends and a nearby group they had been going back and forth with all night. You couldn’t help but laugh as he drunkenly leaned across the counter and slurred his order to the bartender.

“I need a round for m’friends and for these assholes over here who thought Tom Brady was anything but a winner!” the group started yelling in protest and he simply waved them off and started sliding beers down the bar.

The group eventually moved to a bigger round top so everyone could shoot the shit and banter about the outcome of the game. You were tucked into Chris’ side, hands intertwined as he was passionately discussing the importance of Brady’s legacy with a stranger who made the mistake of stopping to talk to him. Your eyes followed the motion of your thumb as it traced small circles onto the back of his. Your other hand under your chin, holding up the weight of your head as your exhaustion started to catch up with you. Chris, although slightly drunk, picked up on your body language and raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Alright, fellas,” he said as he stood up from his seat, pulling you up with him, “the lady and I are gonna call it a night. See you boys next weekend”.

“Chris, we don’t have to go,” you began to protest as he tucked his jacket around your shoulders.

“Mm, ‘course we do,” he replied with a soft smile, “you’re so tired, baby. I can see it in those beautiful eyes”.

You could feel your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you rolled your eyes at his attempt at laying it on thick. After what felt like a proper 10 minute goodbye session, the group said their final goodbyes, hugs included, and you walked out of the pub hand in hand.

The walk home was filled with the sounds of cars passing by and conversation of what each other had missed in the week prior. Small talk typically felt like such a chore, but with Chris every conversation came naturally. Even when he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, he would listen intently and ask all the questions as if it was the most interesting conversation in the world.

The lock on the apartment door clicked as you pushed it open and entered. You smiled as you stopped into the middle of the living room, taking in the home you missed so dearly. A soft tapping of toenails against the hardwood made your heart soar as you met the eyes of your sweet pup, Dodger. A squeal left your lips as you squatted down to give love to the sweet boy. Chris always made fun of you when you came home, saying that you always seemed to miss Dodger more than you did him and I mean, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that statement.

Once again lost in your own world, you didn’t even notice Chris leaned up against the wall watching you with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you gushed, standing up, “do you like...like me or something?”

Chris grinned as he crossed the room and caught your belt loop with his finger, pulling you into him slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice had dropped down an octave, “you could say that”.

“Mm,” your tongue swiped across your lower lip and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “care to show me how much?”

The look in his eyes made your core burn. The tension building between you two became too much to handle as you crashed your lips into his. The kisses were messy and you could feel the sense of urgency between you two. His beard scratched against the column of your throat with a delicious burn as he left wet kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Chris’ hands found their way back into the ass pockets of your jeans as he started walking you back towards the direction of the bedroom.

Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and you felt very sorry for your neighbors. It had been a long time, but Chris always had a way of welcoming you home.

#eeeeeeee #i love soft drunk boston frat chris so much it pains me #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans headcanons #chris evans imagines #chris evans fic #chris evans fluff #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans/reader #chris evans/you #fluff #imagines #headcanons

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stephspurs · 3 years

Text

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Life is beautiful and life is cruel. This is a window into the souls of the victorious and the vanquished. In a way, football did come home during the summer of 2021. Follow along Amelia’s journey, navigating the football world as a tactical analyst for the Italian football team, with a brother and father part of the three lions. Will Amelia leave Italy and come back to England? Will she leave the Serie A for the Prem? Will she set aside the bianconeri stripes for new colours, leaving behind friendship for love? Maybe she can have both...

Wow - the response i received in a little under 24 hours since i posted the first taste of part 1 has truly bowled me over! I wasn't expecting that reaction & tbh i would have been happy if 2 people wanted to read this story hahaha! So, i've been writing in the background & the first few parts have already been proofed and are ready to go. HOWEVER! I am open to your suggestions so please please let me know what you think and how you want to see Amelia's story play out. As far as i'm concerned, this fic is as much yours as it is mine! So please enjoy this first part, in its entirety, and let me know your thoughts! Love always,

Steph xx

UPDATE as of 31/07: I've made some additional editing changes due to some feedback about the confusion between ben white (her brother) and ben chilwell (not her brother LOL). Nothing has been added to the story, just the addition of either surname has been added where i think it could be more straightforward - for future readers!

Part 1 | prima parte

warnings; none - maybe a bit of angst? (what sibling rivalry doesn't have a bit of angst)

word count; 1978 words

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Sunday 25/07 5pm AEST. Updates will be twice weekly at this stage. Probably Wednesday’s and Sundays from next week!!

link to fic masterlist here

The world of football, no matter how big it may seem, is as tight as a close-knit family. Whether its management staff, senior players, scouts, academy players, business developers, medical team, groundskeeper - everyone knows someone who knows someone else involved in the sport. For Amelia White, it was a family affair.

Having grown up with her father as a senior tactical analyst for many different clubs throughout his career, and an older brother currently playing for Brighton in the Premier League, there was no opportunity for her to escape the fanaticism of the sport. It was what her household lived and breathed, football. Most would think that, with her brother being as successful as he is now, her childhood was shadowed by her brother's success but that's not the case. She capitalised on her ability to think both logically and creatively, and absorbed all of the information her father could give her as if she was a sponge, to establish a name of her own in the sport and advance her career in the sport. At the age of 21 she upped and left the comforts of her home in West London, accepted a position at Juventus within their graduate program & worked her way up the ranks to be their youngest tactical analyst by the age of 24.

So far in her career, the support of her mother, father & brother were unmatched by any. They were all so proud of her for making her own name, proving herself and succeeding in one of the most competitive football leagues in the world. She was smart, tactful, both meticulous and ruthless in her approach to her career and the success of her players. Because after all, they were her players. She worked day in and day out, studying them and their opponents, drafting performance plans and set pieces for every possible outcome of the play, so that they could perform at their best. They had her trust and faith, and she had theirs. This is probably what her family was most proud of, and wished her every success, until she was appointed as a tactical analyst for the Italian National Team for the upcoming Euro 2020 tournament. Which happened to be the same tournament that her brother had received his call up to the Three Lions. Which was the current level at which her father was a senior tactical analyst for the English National Team. The Euro 2020 Tournament was about to be a real family affair...

10 July 2021

It had been 2 months since she last had any contact with her family. 3 months ago, Amelia signed a contract with the Federcalcio, the governing body of football in Italy, to become the Azzurri’s tactical analyst for the foreseeable European Football Championship. In turn, her silky signature at the bottom of the agreement, also constituted a digital and physical contact ban with members of her family that were also involved with the tournament...her father and her brother.

At the time of the contract, and against her better judgement, Amelia hadn’t told her family of her opportunity. She knew her father would be proud, but her brother would be bitter. Her mother was switzerland, completely neutral and rooting for both of her children - but that's not how football works. No matter your role you have a job to do, and you do everything you can to make sure it is your team that lifts the trophy at the end of the tournament. So, on May 23rd her family congratulated her for another successful season at Juventus, and unbeknownst to them, said goodbye for the next 2 months. Until the day before the final match of the tournament, Italy v. England.

Her heart dropped when England won their semi final match against Denmark. She wanted nothing more than for her brother to be happy and for her father to succeed, but she didn’t want to have to go up against them in the final. Ultimately, she knew they were good, but she also knew that she could hold her own and compete with the best. Having a close relationship with her brother, up until this period, meant that she often paid attention to the premier league. This was a major benefit to her as she had already started analysing the azzurri’s opponents. It was her job to know what foot Raheem Sterling preferred to pass with, what direction Declan Rice preferred to take the ball up the field, what direction of receiving the ball did Harry Maguire struggle the most with. So that's how she spent the three days between matches, solidifying her knowledge of her opponents & predicting the plays her dad would be instructing the English team to complete, to attempt to outperform the Italians. However nothing would prepare her for the knock on her suite door, or for what was on the other side…

_____________________________________________________________

“Ciao Amelia, vieni con me per favore. abbiamo organizzato una visita supervisionata con tuo fratello prima della finale di domani sera. sorpresa!” (hi amelia, come with me please. we have arranged a supervised visit with your brother prior to the final tomorrow night. surprise!). I stood there in shock staring at one of my players & closest friends, Federico Bernardeschi. I was a person who didn't enjoy spontaneity, who thrived off of preparation and organisation. I needed the opportunity to overthink every situation so that I could prepare for every possible outcome. This was not my idea of a good time. Of course I missed my brother, but I know just how volatile he can be. Nevertheless, I grabbed my jacket and shoved my sneakers on before following Fede down the hall and into a blacked out van that was waiting to take me to St. George’s Park for my family reunion.

Upon arriving, and after a stern pep talk from Fede (who was my appointed supervisor for the visit - not sure I would say he was the most responsible choice but he did talk some sense into me) I walked into the main entrance and saw my father leaning against the reception desk waiting for me.

“Papa!!” I called as I walked over to him, ready to smother him with my love and affection. My father, Dean White, and I had as good of a relationship as possible, being that he was always heavily involved with my brother Ben’s footballing career as well as his own. I think when I came along, my father didn't know how to be a girl dad, so he took my mothers advice and just involved me like he would Ben. I was glad that I would be seeing him first, and he would be taking me to see my no-doubt pissed off brother.

“Dad, this is Fede, one of my players”

“Ciao Dean, it’s very nice to meet you but i am also her bodyguard for this evening” Fede introduced himself to my father and they exchanged pleasantries. I had a look around the foyer of the facility until I heard my name brought up in conversation.

“Amelia, come on. The boys are just over here. I don’t think you have long before heading back to your camp” My dad called to me. Boys? As in...more than just my brother?

“Hahaha that's funny dad, just show me to his room and we can have our screaming match there. Should only be about 20 or so minutes”

“Ben’s not in his room, we have a recreation room for the players and staff to lounge about and relax in. Pretty sure he’ll be in there. Come on, you’ve never been scared of your brother before. Why start now?” Before I knew it, Dad was leading us through some doors and into a large common area with bean bags, pool tables and couches - all occupied by current first team members of the English National Football team.

“Dean mate, don’t normally see you down here after 7pm. Oh look at that, someone let the trash in.” A loud mouthed player, that I used to adore as if he was my own brother, calls out as he notices us enter the room. And just like that, I shake off my nerves, stand in front of my taller & more argumentative bodyguard, relax my shoulders and stare into the eyes of Kyle Walker - daring him to challenge me and push me further.

“Relax Kyle, Benjamin White - your sister is here to see you.” Dad cut Kyle off. I didn’t need him to defend me against Kyle’s harsh comments, I could defend myself.

“Wow, I thought hell would freeze over before I got the opportunity to speak to you. Of course, I didn't realise hell would look quite like seeing you in that shade of blue.” My brother, Ben, spoke bitterly at me as he approached me from the other side of the room. This, coupled with Walker’s exclamation earlier, got the attention of the majority of the players scattered about.

“Ben, if you let me explain in private I'm sure you will be able to understand why things had to be this way” I tried to reason with him. Letting go of my always-defensive guard and pleading with my big brother to open his mind to see my side of the story.

“As if I would even talk to you right now, the night before the final, you’re probably here to try and get some insider information. Boys make sure you don’t say anything to her, she’s as sly as they come” Ben’s words were as sharp as a knife - but I knew what I had to say would cut him deeper.

“Ok that's enough! You are ridiculous! What did you expect me to do? Not take the job because you’re my brother? This is my career we are talking about here” I challenged him. “If you think for one second i stopped supporting you then you must be even more stupid than i thought. Of course this isn't the ideal situation, I'm proud of you for reaching a final but I'm just as proud of myself for doing the same thing.” I got progressively closer to my brother, who stood there with his hands beside himself, unable to get a word in.

“I came tonight to wish you good luck, to tell you I loved you, to give you a hug and tell you to stay safe and play smart. Whilst I still wish all of this for you, I now want you to know that I want you to play your best so I can be better than you. I can show you exactly how good at my job I am. I want you to know that no matter what way you play the ball, I'll be right there waiting for you. I am prepared for this, I hope you are too - so that it will feel that much more sweet when we beat you” I sneered at my older brother, who at this point, is quite visibly feeling a mixture of shock and embarrassment.

I take a step back, let out a breath and shake the tension from my shoulders. Breaking eye contact with my brother, I look briefly - yet confidently - at the other players in the room and take a step back. I turned to my dad, who was looking at me solemnly, as though he wasn’t happy with my outburst but understood it came from a place of frustration with my sibling. Walking up, giving him a kiss on the cheek and wishing him luck, I turned to look at Fede and began to walk to the door. This interaction with my brother, although supposed to be a nice moment shared between siblings, has only gone and motivated me to be at my best tomorrow, to prepare my players to go to war and to come out the other side victorious.

Part 2 | seconda parte

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squishneedsahero · 3 years

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Maybe It Isn’t all Bad

Awesomest of Them All 2.0

Part 2 of 13

Word Count: 1714

Batman x Batmom!Reader

You know what the bat family needs? Someone to pull them together and give them all the love they deserve. Who better to do that than you? An author rising to stardom in Gotham who catches the eye of a billionaire with your standoffish attitude at a huge social gathering. You are yourself and never pretend to be more or less than that. Plus you're the most stubborn person in the world, refusing to let good things go without reason.

This is a rewrite of my story Awesomest of Them All, I wanted to see how much I've improved over 3 years.

It had been two months since you published your book, and it had taken off. Tons of people loved it and even more had read it. Because of this you were suddenly a popular public figure of Gotham, and of course like all other public figures you were invited to one of the many galas that happen in this city. You hated it. You, y/n l/n the nobody who lived in a shabby apartment and just happened to get lucky with your book. What you wouldn't give to go back to being a nobody so you could spend your Friday night watching Netflix alone on your couch.

Unfortunately you weren't sure how the snobby rich people,who thought they were better than everyone else, would take you rejecting their invitation the first of probably many. But this was a charity gala hosted by Bruce Wayne: play boy, billionaire, and one of the few people present that seems somewhat genuine even if you didn't think he had a single thought behind his eyes. So maybe it wasn't all bad cause all the rich people were donating to charity and Bruce usually made sure the money went somewhere good.

You had worn an elegant gown, preferring it to the ones that let your ass hang out the bottom. The dress was fabulously elegant and made you feel like a queen. You had paired it with your your highest high heels, stilettos that you could stab someone with if it came down to it. So far the night had been filled with pointless conversations and lots and lots of introductions, all while dancing a waltz.

Lets be honest you won't remember most of the new people you had met, you could've met the Queen of England and not have known it. You didn't remember not because you had been drinking, even if you had thought about it many times, but because there were so many people that wanted to get you and your new found popularity under their thumb and gain through you.

You had finally gotten a break by standing by the buffet table and eating the food they seemed to be letting go to waste. If nothing else you would singlehandedly make sure the food didn't get wasted. You kept trying to think of an excuse to go home, but so far couldn't think of anything. Your planning was interrupted when yet another person came up to you, except his face is somewhat familiar. "Hi," you say after you hurriedly swallow a bite of food.

"Hello, Miss (y/n) (l/n)," he begins, knowing your name but you not knowing his, "may I have this dance?" He asks, great another dance luckily you were used to being on your feet thanks to waitressing otherwise you'd be worried about them falling off with all this meaningless dancing. Why couldn't rich people be more fun with their dancing, most of them were white, playing some pop songs, and the Cupid Shuffle could only make things better.

"Yes, Mister..." you pause as you try to place him, you know you know him but you'd seen so many faces like that tonight that it was a blur.

"Wayne," He finishes for you.

"I'd love to dance with you Mr.Wayne," you lie through that smile that was plastered to your face. You offer your hand and wish desperately you had taken your chance to escape when you'd had it only moments before.

He takes the hand you offer to him and leads you out to the dance floor, waltzing yet again, at least you didn't have to lead cause you had no idea what you were doing. "My son read your book," he begins, trying to start up a friendly conversation, "he's keeps trying to convince me to read it."

"That's nice," you respond awkwardly, what were you supposed to do? Try to convince him to read it too? Hell no, you are not going to act like an airhead and promote yourself.

"He doesn't know that I've already read it," Bruce says. You laugh before you can stop yourself, you almost apologize but he laughs as well. "I enjoyed reading it, it was very well written." Maybe he did actually have real thoughts in his head unlike how the media portrayed him.

"Thank you," you say a slight blush making is way onto your cheeks. He was quite attractive after all and here he was complimenting you. The smile on your lips becomes more genuine as the two of you continue dancing, making light conversation, and surprisingly it was quite enjoyable.

Before you know it the party is over. And you'd spent almost half of it dancing with one man. "Thank you for the dance."

"It was my pleasure," he says, and you find yourself blushing for the millionth time that night. Maybe these parties weren't all bad, you'd found a friend you could have intelligent conversations with after all.

You find yourself invited to almost every gala that happens in the city over the next few months and every time Bruce is there the two of you spend most of the time dancing and talking with each other. The conversations between the two of you are pleasant, covering many topics, and most importantly they aren't meaningless like all the other conversations you were forced into at galas.

Bruce would get your opinion on things such as how the money he got for charity should be spent since you had been more recently living among the people he was trying to help. Like you weren't bad off by any means but you hadn't owned a car, relying on bus routes to get around the city and working 40+ hours a week to keep your head above water. You had been better off than many in Gotham but you had been closer to the poverty than Bruce had, even considering his night job. The fact that he genuinely cared and wanted your opinion amazed you. He was the first and probably only friend you made among the one percent at those parties.

Of course the two of you didn't only talk business, other more casual subjects came up. The two of you bonding over having dead parents, even if he was more traumatized and your wounds more recent. Then talking about school and how you had decided to skip college in order to pursue writing while he had been homeschooled then traveled the world instead of college, not that either of you were too old for college though. He was was 23-24, still young despite having adopted an 8 almost 9 year old and you were close to the same age as him.

The both of you being young, and single, did lead the two of you to have more than a friendship but that was after nearly a year of just talking at galas. Okay a year of just talking was a lie. It was probably only six months before the two of you found yourselves out in a garden and shared your first kiss. But it was an entire year before he finally asked you out, claiming it was a dare from Dick and to ease the pressure of the press.

You of course called him on those lies and pointed out the fact that there had not been a single other woman in his life since the two of you met. And said the only way you'd go out with him was if he'd, "just admit you like me." Needless to say he did.

That was part of the reason that he was so attracted to you. Despite what he knew about you from the one day he saved you from Joker, you were just unafraid to be yourself. You had never pretended or tried to pretend to fit in at the galas. You'd never been afraid to call him on his shit, even if it had risked your one friendship that made those galas bearable.

To your surprise when you had called him a dumbass for thinking it was acceptable to give a 9 year old unlimited access to the internet he laughed and said you were probably right. Then for some reason he thought it was a good idea to ask you for parenting advice and you told him that was a worse idea. You had less of an idea how to be a parent than he did, the only reason a 9 year old shouldn't have unlimited internet access was because he was a bit young to already get unrealistic expectations from porn. Mainly you had no idea, it just felt weird to turn a kid loose on the internet but then again you'd been a kid who ate mud and called it fun.

So, all the talking and asking opinions and just spending a ton of time together leads to Bruce asking you out. The press saw this coming from miles away and caught you both on your date, not that they didn't have pictures of the two of you hiding from people on a balcony. But an actual date?!? Amazing! All the internet fans were happy for you, the paparazzi loved you and would do anything to get pictures of the two of you.

The two of you became Gotham's it couple overnight but the best thing about it was that it was real. Both of you were blatantly honest, calling each other out when needed and defending each other at other moments. There were no secrets between the both of you and you wouldn't trade that for anything. It was amazing to you that you had finally found a man who saw you as his equal and if anything he was a man known for being a womanizer.

So that's how it all started, in the space of a year the two of you fell in love and were head over heels for each other. Dick played match maker every chance he got, since he adored you for some odd reason. And of course, when you finally met him Alfred approved of you and Bruce being together, the one person able to call him on his shit and have him listen. It was a miracle that Alfred had thought he'd never love to see.

#Batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #batman x you #batmom #batmom reader #batfam x batmom #dick grayson #damian wayne

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

Weight on My Shoulders

A very self-indulgent prequel to my not so kinky soulmate AU (Tumblr/AO3).

Any references to events or messages involving my own darling soulmate @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde is purely coincidental. I promise we are much more needy than this.

Ship: Geraskier (pre-romantic)

CW: Far too much pining, mentions of anxiety, long distance friendships

_____

Jaskier pouted as he wrapped himself up in his weighted blanket and duvet. Even with the additional weight he was struggling to sleep properly, but it did help. What would really help was a hug from his soulmate, but that was off the table. Geralt was a bazillion lightyears away, all the way in America, and Jaskier was stuck in miserable, grey England. They’d been talking online for two years, and the distance wasn’t getting any easier. If anything it was getting worse, and Jaskier wasn’t sure how much more he could take of it.

“Jask, you’re falling asleep, love,” Geralt hummed from the too bright screen that was lighting up his room. “Go to bed.”

“I’m in bed,” Jaskier huffed.

“Go to sleep, we can talk more in the morning.”

Jaskier whined, sinking further into his blanket burrito. “But I have work again tomorrow, I don’t want to sleep. I want to talk to you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Geralt sighed, smiling warmly at him through the screen, “But I will be here when you wake, I promise.”

“I’d rather you be here with me.”

It was pathetic. Jaskier knew it was pathetic, but he just felt a warmth in his chest, a ghost of Geralt’s arms around him.

“I’m always here” Geralt hummed in his mind.

Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s mental embrace, letting himself soak in the glow of his soulmate’s warmth. He was struggling to keep his eyes open which didn’t really matter but he only had a few hours each day to video call his soulmate and he hated wasting any of them. It had been worse the last few days. Essi and Pris had announced they were going to honeymoon in New York, and whilst they wouldn’t see Geralt, they would be a whole lot closer than Jaskier had ever been. He’d even considered asking to tag along in their suitcases so he could afford the trip to the States.

He just missed Geralt so fucking much.

“I love you,” he mumbled again, wiping the tears from his eyes that he hadn’t even realised had formed. “I love you more than Dandelion.”

He tried to laugh but it sounded weak to his own ears. Dandelion was a musician, just like he was hoping to be, a beautiful tall elegant man with gorgeous long blond curls, and a laugh that could outshine a thousand suns. He was also Jaskier’s celebrity crush and inspiration. Jaskier had been obsessed since he was sixteen, secretly hoping that Dandelion was his soulmate. Not much had changed since meeting Geralt in his dreams. He was still completely obsessed with the musician, only his daydreams tended to include Geralt as well, a fact that his soulmate thankfully found endearing.

“Wow,” Geralt chuckled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s high praise.”

“It’s true! I would renounce my love of Dandelion for mere seconds in your arms,” Jaskier insisted, “and then I would never let you go and you’d be stuck with me.”

“It would be hard to work with a Jaskier in my arms.”

Jaskier scoffed, rubbing his eyes. “You’ll manage.”

“Sleep, Jask,” Geralt’s words were a low hum, added weight to his blanket and Jaskier could feel himself slipping. He supposed it was only a matter of time really, it was nearly midnight and Jaskier had to get up at an ungodly hour for work. “For me.”

And really that was just unfair. Geralt knew that Jaskier would do anything for him. He was just that desperate for attention, although despite his slightly less dramatic personality, Geralt could be equally needy, if you knew how to read him.

“That’s cheating,” Jaskier whined.

“I never said I play fair.”

“Betrayed by my own soulmate,” Jaskier pouted as Geralt hung up the call and his tiny little bedroom fell into darkness. Without the light of his phone, Jaskier was fighting a losing battle. “I love you, dear heart.”

“I love you too, a lot. Too much.”

Jaskier scoffed, turning to hug his pillow. “Never too much, never enough. Goodnight, my love”

“Night, Jask.”

_______

When he awoke the next morning, Jaskier had a notification on his phone. It wasn’t unusual. Geralt often left him little messages, pictures of Roach, or things that had reminded him of Jaskier throughout the day. Sometimes, if Jaskier was lucky, Geralt would leave him gifs of Dandelion, and on even rarer occasions, awkward selfies that were never flattering despite Geralt’s godlike appearance. Jaskier treasured every single one. But no, that morning he had a more unusual notification.

It was from Lambert.

They’d talked a couple of times, mostly in a group chat whenever Geralt wanted to include Jaskier on family film night or playing games online, which Jaskier was shockingly terrible at, especially the shooting games the boys preferred. Lambert had never DM’d Jaskier before though. There had never been an occasion to, so why bother?

So Jaskier was feeling more than a little anxious about clicking on the message.

“Geralt?” he tested, although he was pretty positive that his soulmate was asleep. Geralt would usually at least say good morning when he was awake, but there had been nothing but silence through their soulbond.

It came as no surprise when Geralt didn’t answer.

His phone buzzed again in his hand, another message from Lambert.

“Bollocks,” Jaskier groaned, sitting up in bed so he could find his glasses. They were buried under his blanket and looking a little bent out of shape but that was nothing new.

L - Guess who’s coming to England on a business trip!

Jaskier’s heart jumped and hope soared through his body, a flutter of wings in his chest as his pulse raced, only to be destroyed in the next second.

L - It’s not Geralt, shit. I should have started with that.

- It’s me.

- I’m coming to England. Found out this morning. All expenses paid. - I’ll be in London for a week, if you want to meet up?

Jaskier stared at his phone. He was excited, of course he was but he couldn’t help the ache in his heart. His friend was coming to England. Geralt’s family was coming to England. That was one step closer to meeting his soulmate in person, but it wasn’t far enough. He felt like shit. Guilt tore through him. Lambert was clearly excited about his news and yet all Jaskier could think of was how he wasn’t Geralt.

Maybe he could give Lambert something to take back to Geralt. They’d sent letters and parcels back and forth but it would be different like this, and he should be excited. He should be over the fucking moon.

And truth be told, if he hadn’t felt so incredibly needy already he probably would have been more excited, but his heart was feeling fragile. Jaskier had spent the last week or so wondering if Geralt loved him back in a romantic way, or whether they would just be the dearest of friends. Whatever it was, Jaskier would be fine. That’s how soulbonds worked. They would be perfect for one another, platonically or romantically but Jaskier fell hard and fast.

Surely Geralt would love him back in the same way, right?

Jaskier was too afraid to ask at this point. He just kept saying “I love you” and hoping that Geralt would hear the truth. Neither of them had spoken about dating other people, but Jaskier knew there was no hope for him. Perhaps the odd fling, but he’d tried that once and without the connection he had with Geralt, he just wasn’t really into it.

He sighed dramatically and picked up his phone.

J - That’s fucking brilliant!!

He added a stream of emojis for good luck.

J - and all expenses paid for?! Drinks are on you, darling x

L - You should be so lucky.

- Pay for your own drink you cheapskate.

Jaskier squinted at the screen, pushing his fringe from his face. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips, and he ignored the dryness in his throat. Logically, he knew he should get up and get some water but his bed was comfy and he didn’t quite want to face the day yet, especially as Geralt was asleep. Things just felt heavier when Geralt was asleep.

He sighed again and tapped out a message.

J - Can you sneak Geralt in your suitcase?

- I’ll pay for the luggage fee <3

Lambert started typing immediately and Jaskier waited with bated breath. It had been a joke but there was always a chance that Lambert would be allowed a plus one… right?

L - I’m afraid not

- I’m sorry. I know you want to meet.

- Geralt is just as upset. The bastard hasn’t spoken to me all day.

Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh at that. He’d sensed something had been bothering his soulmate, especially when Geralt was the one to insist they video-called before Jaskier went to bed, but it was nice to hear that he wasn’t the only one being pathetic and unreasonably grumpy. Sometimes it felt like Jaskier felt everything and Geralt was just putting up with him because he didn’t have much choice. In his heart, Jaskier knew that wasn’t true, that Geralt just showed his love in a more sedate manner.

Opposites really do attract.

He sighed and switched chats, typing out a quick message to his soulmate.

J - I miss you. I love you. I will be unbearably needy today. Sorry!

Flipping his phone to the camera app, Jaskier snapped a quick selfie. He looked like a mess of stubble, glasses and ratty hair… but Geralt never seemed to mind.

J - Isn’t your soulmate the best?

- Love me?

- I love you

- I already said that but it’s true.

Jaskier cursed and threw his phone onto the end of the bed before remembering that he hadn’t answered Lambert yet. He pouted and scrambled to find his phone again, struggling against the weight of his blanket. The blanket did wonders for his ADHD but it could be a pain in the arse to move sometimes. Reluctantly, he switched back to Lambert’s chat.

J - I can’t wait to show you around! Ooh we could go to the natural history museum, I’m sure some of the stuffed animals look just like you! Or maybe a show!

L - Not sure how much I’’ll be able to hang out, but we’ll have to get a photo to show Geralt.

- He’ll probably be jealous.

- But he’ll manage.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. Siblings could be the worst. He’d never really gotten on well with his own sisters but he could imagine having Lambert for a brother would be a hundred times worse. Still, he smiled at his phone. Geralt would be jealous. Geralt wanted to meet him. That was a good thing, no matter how much Jaskier pined to see his soulmate over Lambert.

This was a start.

One day.

They would meet one day, and then Jaskier would never have to let him go. He just had to be patient… for now.

#the witcher #geraskier #soulmates #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #lambert #wolfie's witcher writing

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