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cannibalcoyote · 1 year

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Rockstar: Your Story(Interview)

You're a famous rock star being interviewed about the beginning of your career to the current (includes mentions of Mick Ronson, David Bowie, and Mick Jagger):

"Ma'am, can you tell us a little bit about when you first met David Bowie?" The question was so sudden that I could only scrunch my eyebrows at it. I expected David to be brought up sometime, but I didn't expect the first question to be about him.

"Sure, let's see.... I can't remember the exact date, but my dear friend - Mick Ronson - had called me up saying some band was interested in having us as guitar players. I was hesitant because I enjoyed my job as an architect, but something pushed me to go with him; we hopped on the next train to London and did the audition." I explain, tilting my head up at the memories resurfacing. Ronno had been unsure as well, but I'm glad we went.

"We heard it wasn't a pleasant experience? What happened?" They emphasize 'wasn't', clearly looking for some juicy gossip on Bowie, and who am I to disappoint.

"Well, David had accepted Mick but rejected me, and Ronno originally turned down the offer because of that. He didn't even tell me the truth, just grabbed me by the arm and lugged me as well as the guitars out of the building. I knew it hadn't gone well because he had this angry glare in his eyes, which is strange, because if you've ever met him, then you'd know he's rather sweet, and has a very discerning disposition.

I asked what was wrong and he just said that they didn't want us. I knew he was lying, but I didn't want to argue with him. We spent the rest of the time wandering around London sightseeing." I state, folding my hands up in my lap as I look at the interviewer. I don't like looking back to the '70s, a lot of stuff happened, and I fear what they will bring up.

"What happened after that?" The interviewer continues hastily digging, wanting more information. I guess this person isn't going to quit until they get the full story.

"We had stopped by a restaurant and were having lunch. Ronno was saying we should catch the train home after, but we were interrupted by David. I don't know how he found us, I just remember being shocked when he started begging Ronno to join his band. I was also a little confused, and I remember saying, 'I thought you didn't want us?'

To which David responded, 'No, I want him, I just don't want you.' That line had run through my head the following 3 years until I realized how lucky I was David didn't want me." I say the last few sentences in a softer voice, not liking to relive that particular memory.

"He said what?!" The interviewer over exaggerates their movements, getting the audience laughing just as they had hoped. I laugh a little too, David saying something so rude does seem rather uncharacteristic.

"Yah, I was rather astonished as well because the words left him in such a casual way, as if choosing what bread to buy at the market." I say, gently chuckling at the visual of David buying bread in such a critical way.

"What- How, how did Mick react to that." Their eyes widen, the crowd quiets down as they await my answer.

"Oh, he almost punched David! But I grabbed him and pulled him aside, asking why he lied and all that stuff." I respond, remembering the beautiful anger that he so desperately wanted to act on.

"I bet the last thing you wanted was for him to join David's band, right?" The interviewer asks the question humorously.

"That's... Wrong actually. He was vehemently against playing in a band without me, this is mainly due to the fact that ever since we were 12, we've always played together. But, I wanted him to take the opportunity, to show the world his ability, and to be able to be a confident player without me." I explain in a gentle voice, vaguely thinking of how self-conscious he was at the time when it came to him playing guitar.

"You seem to be a really supportive friend, (Y/N)." The tone of their voice turns genuine, the whole conversation losing the humorous quality that had been sustained.

"I try to be, the last thing I want is for people's failings or regrets to be because of me." I smile, my relieved guilt ebbing away as I think of where he and I are now.

"As well as being supportive, you also seem to be fairly protective, at least, that's what I got when Mick told us the story of you traumatizing his high school bully! With that in mind, how did you feel when you learned he was earning next to nothing during the tour?" The beginning of the sentence sent the interviewer and audience into a bit of a laugh, I laugh as well at the memory of scaring off Ronno's bully.

The laughter lightly quiets down to a more serious tone at the end discussion.

"I was appalled! I hated myself for a while because of that, because I pushed him into this situation where he was barely getting paid. Which was the opposite of what I thought would happen, especially after their popularity went through the roof!"I exclaimed, my eyes widening as I relived the shock; the ebbing guilt rushing forward tenfold.

"I heard you went to some extreme measures in order to help him out, what exactly did you do?" The interviewer goes on, the questions digging into lesser known information.

"Well, I joined any band I could, I would try and get hired by restaurants for live music during nights, and then during the day I had a job as a waitress as well as working part time as a lyricist." I explain, just saying that makes me remember how tiring my schedule was back then.

"Now that's a lot to juggle, and I'm sure you have some great stories from those days, but we have a specific story. What happened during one of your many tiring nights of live music?" They ask, this question is sort of a bore to me, one I'm frequently asked to retell.

"I had been band hopping at the time, and was hired for a gig when I didn't have a supportive group, so I improvised. I played my guitar and was singing live, but before that I had recorded the drums and rhythm guitar parts for the songs I was scheduled to play, so when I got up there I just started the recording and played along.

This was for a club where they wanted rock, so it was heavier playing. It was during my guitar solo I noticed someone in the crowd." I divulged, deciding to add in some information I had never shared before.

"Ooh, is this when you met the Rolling Stones?!" Someone screams out, the crowd and interviewer looking in shock before they all burst out laughing at the person's eagerness.

"Yes... but I technically only met Mick Jagger that night. I wasn't a big fan of the Rolling Stones at the time, but I did have an appreciation for their music. I was actually playing one of their songs at the time. Either way, it just surprised me to see him." I continued after we had all calmed down.

"I know you joined their band after that, but can you tell us what exactly went down?" I squint slightly at my interviewer's vernacular before deciding to just answer them.

"I don't think I can tell you all the details, I worry J might get embarrassed! But, I can tell you that he met me backstage after I was done and asked me if I was available tomorrow to meet him at a recording studio. It was the weekend the next day, so I said yes, he wrote down the address and time on a piece of paper, handed it to me, then said goodbye and walked away." I state in a jovial tone, Jagger is one of my favorite people to talk about, because he loves to call immediately after the interview and schedule a meet up. He's strange like that.

"Sounds strange? How did you feel after that?" They looked intrigued, clearly wanting me to divulge the information that I withheld.

"I was shocked. The next day I went and met him and his band mates, then they started playing a song together and asked me to improv. I had never heard the song before, so I just started watching their movements and playing off of that; by the end they asked if I was interested in joining their band, which I clearly said yes to." I exclaim, the interviewer's face looking shocked by what I just said.

"Wow, that all sounds like it went really fast?"

"Oh it was, we had only been playing for 20 minutes when they all stopped and asked me to join. I was going to say no because I needed to make enough money to send to Ronno, but when they mentioned how much I would make weekly I immediately accepted." I reply, chuckling as I remember my astonishment.

"I know after joining the Stones, your career skyrocketed, your solo albums have done well, and you write all your own songs?" They continue, motioning to my newest album sitting on their desk.

"Yes, my solo albums have done surprisingly well, and I write my own songs. I do accept and sing other songs sometimes, but I usually have a story told throughout my albums, and throwing in a random song messes that up." I explained.

"Did you and Mick Ronson keep in contact during this?" They question, looking at me in interest.

"Of course! In the beginning, Ronno and I called every week at the least, and we would send letters sometimes too!" I state ecstatically before calming myself down.

"How did that work? He was touring at the time right?" They ask in a befuddled way.

"Yes he was, but he would tell me the places he would be as well as the dates that he would be there, and I would do the same with him. It was a little complicated, but it was worth it." I reply, my hands waving as I mimic us writing letters.

"Honestly though, what would you send him that couldn't be said over the phone?" They ask after a few moments, laughing as their mind runs.

"Photos, drawings, songs, food-"

"Photos?" I can hear what they're implying, and I can't help but squint my face in disgust. The crowd's laughter magnified at my reaction.

"Stop thinking like that, you all have dirty minds! I would take pictures of me and the band, as well as the places around me. I loved drawing as well, so I would send him some, as well as some songs that I thought he would enjoy playing. Lastly, I knew he was getting food, but I knew it wasn't food he was used to, so I would bake him something, or buy him local snacks and ship them off to the correct address." I explain, describing the different things I would send him.

"Did he ask you to do any of this?"

"No, Ronno was never a complainer, he hated telling people his issues. I was usually the exception, but he prefers telling me in person as compared to over the phone or in a letter. He did enjoy them though, and he would send me songs and pictures as well. I remember him snapping a picture of his drummer scarfing down some cookies I made!" I jubilantly state, smirking as I remember that the picture is still hanging on my fridge.

"You sent him all these lovely things, what did he send you?"

"I never asked for anything more than a letter or a phone call, but he would send me these extravagant songs, asking me how I thought they sounded and if I liked them. He would also send me drawings - he's not really an artist, but he knows I love the little doodles he does randomly, so he started sending them to me." I grin, knowing Ronni will be embarrassed by me sharing this information.

"Was this an easier time in your life or would you consider it one of the more stressful?" Ah, here it comes, the questions I am most dreading.

"The fame and fortune made my financial issues about none, but socially I felt isolated. I had played in popular bands before, but never like this, I was only consistently around my band mates and the people that worked for them. I only really talked with Jagger and Keith, and then Keith randomly started hating me, so I was down to only talking to Jagger." I reply almost subconsciously, my mind wanting to distance itself from these memories.

"What about Ronson? I thought you said you had weekly phone calls and sent letters?" They ask in confusion.

"We did, but about 3 months into that, David started complaining to Ronno that he spent too much time talking to me, and that he was ignoring his band mates for someone he might never see again." The answer in a short tone, clearly still holding resentment for David's decision.

"David said that?" They say in shock.

"Yah, he said it straight to Ronno's face. We obviously didn't stop talking, we kept calling and messaging each other, but it lessened after that to about 1 call every 2 weeks. They became much longer phone calls though, he said that David was limiting his amount of calls, but stated that David couldn't limit his time, so we would end up talking through the entire night!" I smile on glee, our weak form of rebellion still makes my heart warm.

"We've talked about Ronson and his band mates reactions, but how did your bandmates react?" They continue, going down a different avenue.

"Well, everyone basically made fun of me and said we were in love. They told me to stop being so desperate because I was probably annoying Ronno, that remark actually made me start to overthink a lot. I started worrying that I was annoying him, and that he didn't like talking to me anymore. I think that's around the time I began to develop anxiety, I was already depressed, so that just added on to my plate." I responded before realizing I was over sharing on live TV.

"Did you tell Ronson about that? How did he react?" They gratefully kept moving right along, not leaving an awkward silence.

"Well, I never actually told him about that, I think this is the first time he's hearing this." I smile in discomfort, and an uncertain smile on my face.

"Really? You never spoke to him about any of this?" They ask in surprise, slightly taken aback.

"My anxiety had me thinking that saying a single word to him was annoying him, so no, I didn't just start talking about this to him. It was a really dark spot for me, the person to pull me through was Jagger actually. He noticed my extensive isolation, how I stopped eating around others, how I stopped talking. He really pulled through for me, which is probably why I'm still friends with him." I voice solemnly, deciding that I might as well be honest about the situation since there is no going back now.

"I know this is a heavy topic for you, I have some more questions, but if you're uncomfortable we can move on." Wish you had said that earlier, but oh well.

"Ask away, we can just skip the ones I'm uncomfortable with." I smile in response.

"Alright, what did Mick do? Did he just pull you aside and talk to you?"

"No actually, he wrote a song and asked if I would listen to it." I responded.

"What?" Perhaps I should rephrase my vague response.

"That's honestly what he did. But he wrote a song with true meaning, it was rather dark, and it actually made me cry and begin to hyperventilate. We were alone, so he just rushed over and helped calm me down; he didn't ask me any questions until I had completely relaxed." I explained honestly.

"What did he say exactly?" They continue.

"He just apologized, asking if I wanted to talk. I said no at first, but then he asked why I've been distancing myself from him and the band, why all the songs I was writing were either dark or sad.

I told him the truth, that I was depressed, that I felt so intensely alone, and that I could no longer talk to Ronno because I was probably annoying him." An uncomfortable shiver ran up my spine, reliving those memories makes me feel nauseous.

"How did he react to that? I can't really picture him being the best at giving advice and comfort." She smiles in a joking way, attempting to lighten the conversation.

"He was lovely, he hugged me like a giant teddy bear and told me that he would help me through this. We talked for a while, he asked me why I thought I was annoying Ronno, and I told him what the band had said to me." I answer, feeling a small smile appear at the memory of Mick comforting me.

"What did he say to that?"

"He told me that they were a bunch of single idiots who were jealous, and that I shouldn't ruin a meaningful relationship with my best friend by believing the words of immature drug addicts." I respond, barely withholding my laughter as I watch everyone's reaction.

"He said that?!" They nearly yell, everyone laughing at my answer.

"Yes, and the next day he told them all off for belittling me. During our talk he spoke to me about my isolation, I explained that I did that when I was sad or feeling out of place, and he asked what he could do to make me feel like a part of the team. He honestly made me cry a couple of times from how caring he was. Then he started talking about heavier subjects, such as why I wasn't eating during lunch breaks, why I never accepted snacks, and why I was noticeably losing weight." I state, realizing that I was now broaching the subject of my eating disorder.

"That must've been tough." They state seriously.

"It was, I realized at that moment, how much I missed Ronno. I asked Jagger if he wanted me to leave the band since I was such a problem, but he told me to stop being an idiot. The next day I was given a few sheepish apologies from my band mates, and Jagger became a very prominent person in my life from that day on." I explained.

"That's good. So Mick Jagger stepping up to help you must've put him pretty high on your list of friends right?"

"Yes, I only realized how much he was doing for me when he barged into my room during a depressive episode and all but shoved the phone into my hand. I distinctly remember him telling me not to come out until tomorrow morning. When I held the phone up, he had actually dialed up Ronno, who sounded very tired and confused, as well as concerned." I smile, these are the memories that I hold onto dearly.

"Really? How did he know what number to call?"

"I assume he went snooping around my desk, in one of my drawers was a paper with dates, addresses, and numbers. It was one of the sweetest things anybody had ever done for me." The look on my face was genuine, that was honestly one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me.

"I know you two are still good friends, but was there ever the possibility of anything more?" Oh boy, I hate it when they try to talk about this subject.

"I did find him to be attractive if that's what you're asking, but I was never in love with him. He did ask me out on a date and I had said yes, the date was lovely, but we got caught in a crowd of fans and he was like how he normally is. It made me remember how many groupies I'd seen leaving his room, and how many women I've seen smothered over him at all times, and it scared me away from ever allowing myself to love him." I reply sincerely.

"Could there have been something? If you hadn't cut it off?" They continue to push the topic.

"There could've been something eventually - from the despondent look on his face when I said I didn't want a relationship, I think he wanted us to become something more. I don't regret what I did, I like the friendship I have with him, the last thing I wanted to do was ruin it with his promiscuity and my need for loyalty. We've moved on though, I kind of see him as the older brother I never had." I reply, explaining my reasoning and the aftermath.

"Well, since that ship has definitely sunk, what about Ronson? Was there ever anything there?" They just won't give up will they?

"No... Well, there was one time in high school when we thought we should try dating, but that was spurred on by our teenage inability to understand that we loved each other, but not in that way. We realized that that wasn't us when we tried to act like a couple and both noticed that it felt forced. Ever since then we've been best friends." I state.

"Gosh, you're shooting down all of the fan favorites. Are you interested in anyone? Anyone at all?" They sound slightly exasperated, maybe I should throw them a bone.

"Hmmm... Maybe." I smile, a mischievous glint surely in my eye.

"What do you mean maybe? You can't leave the fans hanging like that!" I can tell that I have their genuine attention now.

"Well, ever since David and I have become friends, I've been... slightly interested in him." I say, jumping straight into the deep end.

"..." The silence could almost be described as palpable, it almost makes me want to laugh at how everyone is stunned into silence.

"Well, don't just stare at me." I laugh lightly.

"... I'm sorry, just processing. Does David know this?" They ask in hurried confusion.

"Well, if he's watching like he said he would, then he knows now." I laughed once again, but this time it had an air of uncertainty to it.

"Don't tell me you just confessed over live TV, in an interview no less!" They say in shock, looking at me with wide eyes.

"What if he doesn't reciprocate!" Their response makes me shiver in discomfort at that possibility, but I respond in humor.

"Then I die of embarrassment, cut all ties, and become a hermit!" I state loudly.

"Oh don't do that Y/N! Only healthy reactions are allowed on this show." The crowd laughs lightly at our convo.

I'm about to respond, but my Motorola starts ringing in my bag. I look to the interviewer before quickly digging through my bag and pulling out the phone. I sheepishly glance at it, the audience having fallen silent at the interruption.

"Is it alright if I answer this? It might be important." I state, I know this sounds bad, but it could actually be important since I left my home and animals under the care of my neighbor.

"Of course, but you owe us one more question before you leave then." They respond, holding out their hand.

"Deal!" I agree, shaking their hand quickly.

"Hello, this is Y/N." I state in a professional tone, getting a funny look from the interviewer at my seriousness.

"Y/N darling!" I am thrown off by the happy and familiar tone.

"...David?!" I state in slight confusion, everyone seeming to lean in closer.

"...Yes?" He responds in the same tone, making fun of the way I responded.

"Why are you calling me? I'm in an interview." I explain, swiftly going back to my professional tone.

"Yes well, when someone confesses they are interested in dating you, I thought the first thing one should do is accept." He responds in a joking yet serious tone.

I'm silent for a few moments in surprise, did David just say he wants to date me too?

"Well, don't leave me without a response darling... Will you go on a date with me?" His serious and self assured tone dwindled slightly, I can hear his uncertainty.

"Yes." My response was short, it was rushed and all I could muster with my amount of shock.

"Good, I'll pick you up after the interview, so I'll see you in a few minutes." He stated before hanging up.

I can't contain the overjoyed smile that spreads across my face, most certainly accompanied by a warm blush. The audience snickers as I clumsily put my phone away, then they start laughing as the interviewer stares at me with a smug grin.

"Who was that?" They ask tauntingly.

"Ohhh... no one." I try to brush it off, but I know no one is believing.

"Really! Does this no one happen to be named David Bowie?" They continue.

I avert my eyes in embarrassment, the audience laughing even louder as I sheepishly nod my head.

#david bowie fanfic #david bowie x reader #david bowie imagine #david bowie fluff #david bowie #david bowie one shot #female insert #female reader #female writers #female author #famous reader #celebrity reader #interview #mick jagger #mick ronson #ziggy stardust #the rolling stones

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anne-chloe · 9 months

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Trust me | Three |

Jareth/Goblin King x F! Reader

Summary : As Sarah's next door neighbour, you're often Mrs Williams' last resort as a babysitter. Sarah had never liked this, but she can be extremely unreliable at times. One stormy night, Sarah grows frustrated with her baby brother and babysitter, resulting in saying a phrase that she later wants to take back. Now, you are stuck in The Goblin Kings realm with little hope to returning home again, unless Sarah can reach the castle and defeat Jareth in time.

The smell of flowers and greenery happened to be thick in the air. The scent wafted towards you from the only open doorway, enticing you forwards and into the unknown.

You were aware that everything was some sort of trick set up by Jareth, so you reminded yourself to remain cautious while heading forwards.

Inside the room lay a lot of flowers. You were fascinated to see that the ceiling was made entirely of glass, and that this room appeared to be a greenhouse. You wandered further in, sticking to the main path and refusing to stray, but you allowed yourself the opportunity to gaze at the gorgeous bundles and bunches in the room. Flowers of all sorts, roses, daisies, hydrangeas, peony's... thousands of flowers and all a rainbow of colours.

You paused in delight when you came across a patch of sunflowers. Sunflowers happened to be your favourite flower, and just the very sight of them brought comfort and joy. Your parents had planted them in the garden a few years ago to bring some colour to the house. In your eyes, it did more than just being colour to the house—it brought bee's, sunshine, happiness and an overall warmth that made you skip everywhere.

You reached your hand out the touch the sunflower, to assure it was real and not another trick that Jareth was playing on you. Sure enough, as the tips of your fingers brushed against the petals, you smiled truthfully at its realness.

But you couldn't linger over flowers for too long.

You pulled your hand back and turned on your heel, continuing onwards to the other side of the room, where you were starting to see the entrance to another room. You willed yourself to pick up the pace, wanting to find Tobey and leave as quickly as you could.

Your thoughts drifted to Sarah. Had she noticed yours and Tobey's absence at all? It seemed as though The Goblin King had made it so that she couldn't hear your yelling through the door. You didn't want to think of the possibility that Sarah had simply gone back to sleep, enjoying the quietness of the house.

What would happen when Mr and Mrs Williams returned home to find you and Tobey missing? Would Sarah explain that she had wished you both away? Would she feel even an ounce of guilt that she had condemned you to The Goblin Kings twisted games?

You didn't want to doubt that Sarah would have a change of heart. You wanted to believe that she'd make a wish for you and Tobey to come back. But that seemed extremely far fetched and unlikely as you navigated the castle deeper and deeper, finding yourself no closer to Tobey or an exit.

A stray sunflower caused you to stop before reaching the doorway. It lay on the ground, completely out of place. You stepped up to it, reaching down to pick it up by the stem, but something in your mind suddenly warned you against it.

You retracted your arm immediately and stood up straight, frowning down at the lonesome sunflower. As much as you desired to hold it and twirl it between your fingers, you felt as though something might befall you by doing so. It was obvious that Jareth had placed this for you to pick up; but why had he done so? It must be another trick.

You inhaled deeply and stepped over the flower before continuing through the doorway. If you had looked back, you would have seen the way the petals withered and curled into themselves.

You don't know what trick could have come from picking up the flower, but you didn't want to find out. For all you knew, another trap door was underneath it, and picking it up would only trigger the trap. You didn't want to risk being stuck in a hole again, where you might have no other choice but to ask for Jareth's help.

You decided that if you could withhold from asking for his help for as long as possible, then your chances of escaping would be much greater. You didn't trust Jareth, and asking for his help meant that you did.

Coming into an empty room, you paused directly in the centre. You looked at all four corners, your heart sinking into your stomach when you realised the doorway you had come from had now disappeared. But there was nothing inside the room. However, looking up, you saw a doorway higher than you could reach on your own.

Your brows furrowed together in focus, a frown deep on your face as you scanned the room again. And again. But nothing was there that could possibly help you. How were you supposed to reach the top?

Your answer came in the form of rumbling. The ground shook for a moment as stairs started to rise from the floor. You blinked rapidly at the appearance, and immediately you made a start for the stairs.

Just as you reached the top, where the doorway was, it suddenly closed off and reappeared in the ceiling above you. You gaped at the trickery, feeling betrayed at your hope being snatched so fast from you. Is this The Goblin King's game? To dangle hope in front of you and then snatch it away last second?

You steadied yourself against the wall and stretched your hand upwards, trying to touch the doorway. You were too short. So you jumped to try and grab the side, so you could attempt at pulling yourself up, but again that was a futile attempt.

Jareth then appeared standing normally in the doorway. You squinted as he came into view, wondering how he had somehow altered gravity in a way that made it possible for him to stand like that. He crouched down and leaned his hand through, offering for you to take it.

You stared at his hand for a beat, your own hand beginning to rise to take it. Just as your own fingers brushed against his, rumbling caught your attention as several more staircases started to rise from the floor, the walls and the ceiling. None of them directed to where you wanted to go, which was up, so you ignored them and continued to stand on tip-toes to grab Jareth's hand.

Then, like the doorway had done, at the last second, the stair case underneath you turned into a slope. You immediately lost your footing. A gasp left your throat as you felt yourself falling, then sliding down to the bottom of the staircase.

You rolled across the floor. Sitting up, you hissed at the throbbing in your bottom and your hands, which had taken the brunt of the fall. Then, you accusingly looked back to Jareth, who remained crouched in the doorway, his smirk wider than ever and a devious glint in his eyes.

You pushed yourself to stand and clenched your fists by your sides. "What was that for? I was accepting your help!" You whined, feeling deeply betrayed that he had, again, snatched away your hope at the very last second.

"You rejected my gift," Jareth pointed out smoothly.

His gift? Did he mean the sunflower?

Your bottom lip trembled slightly. "I thought it was another one of your tricks, so I ignored it," you explained, now feeling rather silly for thinking that a flower could set you back. But you couldn't cross it off as a possibility when everything was so incredibly odd.

Jareth shrugged. "And I decided to not help you here."

You couldn't believe how sensitive The Goblin King was. He was seriously offended that you'd ignored his flower, and because of that he was punishing you for it. It was clear that Jareth did not take being rejected very well.

You tried not to stamp your foot out of throwing a temper tantrum. This entire situation was incredibly against you. It was like Jareth was deliberately keeping you away from Tobey.

"Maybe if you had given me the sunflower yourself, I might have actually accepted it," you quipped back, growing frustrated with this entire conversation.

"Maybe if you trusted me, you wouldn't be stuck all the way down there," Jareth countered in a teasing voice.

Trust him? You felt like screaming at the implications. How could you possibly trust him when all he had done was tease and trick you? He had stolen you from your world and forced you into some sort of game, which you didn't want to play, and was now keeping Tobey away from you. You wanted to blame Sarah for all of this, but how could she have possibly known her wish would come true?

Jareth stood up, tapping his cane against the doorframe, a sinister smile playing his lips. "Oh, [Name]. My dear, we could be so great together, if only you'd open your heart and trust me."

Then, he swished his cloak and disappeared, leaving you to stew in your emotions. You wanted to scream loudly in frustration, but that would do no good and would probably give Jareth the amusement he wanted.

Instead, you huffed and tried to reassess the situation. Lots of stairs leading to nowhere, some of them upside down, others protruding from the walls... how would you even begin to go about climbing the staircases on the ceiling?

Then, as if answering your question, new doorways appeared at the top of each staircase. You gasped and made your way to the nearest one, peering in and being confused when it only lead back to the same room. However, you noticed that you were now standing on the staircase that came from the wall.

You didn't feel unsafe. It was like gravity had shifted and made it so you could stand there. If it weren't for the actual situation, you would have found it to be extremely cool, and you would have complimented The Goblin King for his creativity.

So you began rushing up the steps and entered another doorway, now finding yourself on the opposite side of the room, across from the actual doorway you wanted to be in. You frowned and stepped to the side, eyeing the staircase that had attached to this one. It would mean you'd have to somehow be upside down, and you couldn't see how you could make that happen.

Trust me.

Isn't that what Jareth had said?

Sure, he played lots of tricks on you to throw you off your course, but he'd never actually put you in danger. When you fell through that trap door, you had landed so softly that you wouldn't have even believed that you'd actually fallen. And when the staircase turned into a slope, the fall down hadn't hurt as much as it should have done, considering it was made of stone.

You peered over the side, eyeing the upside down staircase with great skeptism. You decided to sit down and dangle your legs over the sides, and you took a deep breath in, squeezing your eyes shut as you pushed yourself off the edge.

You expected a falling sensation to take over, but instead your feet came into immediate contact with something firm. You gulped, opening your eyes, now aware that you were standing upside down on the staircase.

So, if you now flipped the room, you could get to the bottom of the staircase and run to the other side, and all you'd have to do is slip into the doorway that was now on the floor.

You took cautious steps down, but once you assured yourself that you wouldn't suddenly fall up, you darted to the other side. You reached the doorway and stepped inside, watching as the walls shifted and altered to match your gravity.

You breathed a sigh of relief. You had taken a chance and decided to trust The Goblin King, which is exactly what he said you should do. In a way, didn't that mean he had helped you? Would that mean that you had accepted his help, or had you just taken his advice?

Either way, you had escaped that room at last, and now you could move on to the next, to face whatever the next obstacle may be.

And as you left the room behind, Jareth watched with great interest, his smile wider than ever at the fact that you had listened to him. And wasn't obedience always rewarded?

#fan fiction #labyrinth #the labyrinth #Jareth #the goblin king #goblin king #goblins #magical creatures #maze #x reader #reader insert #female reader #ballroom dancing #ballrooms #fantasy world #fantasy land #the underground #David Bowie

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 1 year

Text

The Prettiest Star

i started writing this last night but finished it today so it’s kind of both Song-fic Saturday and Smutty Sunday for my 250 Followers Writing Event

Song-fic Saturday 🎶 song: The Prettiest Star by David Bowie

pairing: Sirius Black x plus size! reader

tags / warnings: NSFW (minors do not interact!), smut, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, oral, p in v (unprotected — use condoms y’all, this is fantasy), fem!reader, plus size! reader, reader insecurities about her weight, body positivity, non-magical au (couldn’t have them just apparating out of the rain, right?)

notes: i’m a huge music fan and love Bowie and have been listening to Aladdin Sane a lot because it’s just had its 50th anniversary, so hence the song inspiration (“The Prettiest Star”)

word count: 8.1k (yike, please enjoy)

“Does this look too tight?” you ask Lily as you look at your reflection in your favourite jumper, tugging it down repeatedly. You’ve never been particularly thin, but you’d gained a noticeable amount recently, and it was increasingly making getting dressed the worst part of your day. “It looks fine, Y/N,” she says, a bit dismissively, then catches herself (and the look on your face), and adds, “Really. You look beautiful. Don’t ever let the scale tell you different,” giving you a warm smile. It was the “right” thing to say, perhaps, and you were grateful for what a sweet friend she always was to you, truly, but it didn’t make you feel any better. And… if you were brutally honest, it kind of annoyed you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, and the feeling made you feel guilty on top of everything else. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong; in fact, she was just genuinely trying to help, or perhaps even just genuine in what she said. But somehow, when it came to any comments on your body — especially specifically about your weight, negative or positive, you grew irritable even more than uncomfortable. You felt as if no one understood the mix of self-consciousness and self-confidence that you felt. As if everyone projected either how they felt about themselves or how they assumed all fat people felt onto you. Worse, you felt that you could never express your true feelings to anyone. Even when you tried, things came out muddled, or things you said were directly contradictory — yet equally true. It couldn’t possibly be that no one else felt contradictory things about themselves, about their bodies, could it? Were you just shit at articulating your feelings, or were your feelings that atypical?

You opt to keep the jumper on even though it hugged your chest a bit more tightly than usual. A twinge of regret went through you at the thought that usually winter was your favourite time in terms of fashion in general and your wardrobe specifically. You loved your winter clothes and winter aesthetics overall. You really didn’t want to let a little weight gain get in the way of that, but it had a way of making itself known no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

On cue, it whispers in your head, “You probably only like winter clothes more because they cover more of you. None of those pretty sundresses Lily, Marlene, Mary, or Dorcas wear ever fit you. Not to mention any summer outfit that involves no bra or a visible bralette - not a chance.” You shake your head at yourself, trying to convince yourself that comfort was a complicated thing, that you didn’t have to overanalyze everything in such an accusatory way.

You finish getting ready and head to the pub with Lily to meet the others. Remus and James greet you, and James can’t say enough times how lovely Lily looks. It makes you happy for them, two of your best friends so in love, but you can’t help but feel a little funny, a little longing at the lack of those comments ever made about you.

The thing is, you didn’t dislike yourself. In fact, there were many times you genuinely thought you were beautiful, or that you wouldn’t trade yourself for anyone else. But those thoughts came more easily when you were alone, and not wanting to be anyone else did not include not wanting to be yourself, minus a bit here or there.

You feel a pair of arms come around your middle from behind you, and there’s no time to be freaked out because you immediately know who it is. It’s like a sixth sense. Sure, you recognize his intoxicating smell, can feel and hear the texture of his characteristic leather jacket, but there’s more to it. Before you even consciously register these things or hear him whisper in your ear, you know it’s him. Sirius. Your best friend in the entire world. “Hello, darling girl,” he greets. “How is my finest friend on this finest of evenings?”

“Hi, Siri,” you smile, leaning back into him. “I’m alright; you?” You turn your head up to look at him. “Just alright? Oh, we need to remedy that, love. Urgently.” He looks around a bit, registering your other friends, sharing greetings here and there. “D’you have a drink yet? Let’s go get one, yeah?” he asks, unwinding his arms from his hug but leaving one around your shoulders, where it stays as you walk over to the bar together.

“You’re good then?” you ask again, giggling a bit - sometimes it was as if you couldn’t help it; his presence made you giddy. “Me? Oh, I’m wonderful. I’ve been having the greatest hair day, which is truly saying something, and now I’m with you,” he squeezes your shoulder a bit, “What else could I possibly ask for?”

You roll your eyes, your smile never fading, wrap your arm around his waist, and say, “Two rum and cokes, maybe?” You nod toward the bartender. “You always have better luck getting their attention than I do. It’s like they only see the attractive girls, honestly.”

Comments like these came easily to you when you were around people you trusted. It was strange; they weren’t really intended as self-deprecating. And you weren’t fishing for compliments either, especially not with your closest friends. Part of you wanted to be able to make comments like that freely, to not have to censor your thoughts and feelings when it came to your appearance, thinking that such things really shouldn’t be taboo in the first place, and especially not with people you loved. The other part, well, you weren’t so sure what the other part wanted.

“You’re attractive,” Sirius responds, matter-of-factly, your heart rushing a little at the sound of it. You knew you had feelings for him, had for ages and had no use in denying it, but there was also the lack of pity in his comment. He never treated you as fragile; his voice never took on the tone of a motivational poster. “Maybe not to everyone,” he adds candidly, “but no one is attractive to everyone. And,” he pauses, looking down at you conspiratorially, “a lot of people have shit taste anyway.” He pauses again, considering you intently. Then something shifts in his expression, and he adds, speaking more quickly than before, “I mean, not everyone likes Bowie, for example. Bowie, Y/N, Bowie. Why should we ever put stock in what other people think if some of those people can’t see - or hear or whatever - beauty when it’s right in front of them?”

You grin but shoot back, “You’re attractive to everyone.”

Raising his eyebrows, looking straight into your eyes, he responds, “Does that include you then?” A careless group of girls bumping into you saves you from having to decide how much of a joking tone to put on your response. You didn’t find Sirius attractive. You found Sirius the most beautiful person you’d ever met, in senses that went far beyond his impeccable hair, his striking grey eyes, his pronounced cheekbones.

He holds you closer protectively at the jostling crowd, turns to ask for your drinks, and begins absentmindedly stroking your shoulder as he does so.

“No wonder you always wear this,” he says, pinching your jumper, “It’s so bloody soft.”

You had no idea he ever remembered or even noticed what you wore. Marlene, sure. Marlene was making a statement every time she stepped out of the house. And her face and body punctuated that statement with a big exclamation mark. But you? You hardly ever got that kind of attention. Maybe a “nice shirt” when you wore a particularly fun pattern, but that was about it.

You notice him looking at your torso as he says this and swear his eyes linger on your chest. You’re worrying he can tell it’s tighter than usual, so you tug at the hem, but when he looks quickly away, you try not to make too much of it.

You’re having loads of fun with your friends, swapping stories, sharing shots, occasionally shouting the lyrics to the good songs that come on. You and Sirius — who’s standing next you, his arm perpetually around you, much to the dismay of the many girls and few guys who come flirting — have a habit of turning to each other every time a new song comes on, deciding in unison whether it’s a good or bad one. The very occasional disagreement yields the most fun arguments, always along the lines of “You think this isn’t rubbish? You’re making me question our entire friendship here, love. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.” (Sirius) or “Oh, come on. This sounds exactly like every other song in the genre but mediocre. Not everything has to be original, but it’d be nice if it weren’t typical and trash.” (You)

Then some new Bowie comes on. And Sirius looks as though he’s just received the greatest news of his life.

Cold fire, you’ve got everything but cold fire / You will be my rest and peace child, rings out Bowie’s electric voice. “Come dance with me!” Sirius bursts at you, hardly asking, dragging you by the hand to where a few (mostly quite drunk) people were dancing. He’s holding both your hands, and you’re moving together organically, falling into a languid rhythm with each other and the song. By the next line, Sirius is singing along, and as he sings with Bowie, “I moved up to take a place… Near you,” he shuffles closer to you seductively, looking nowhere but into your eyes as he places your hand on his shoulder and moves his own to your hip.

He’s theatrical with every lyric, each of which he knows by heart; “So tired,” he swoons; “It’s the sky that makes you feel tried,” he belts looking up toward the ceiling; “It’s a trick to make you see wide,” his eyes come back to yours, open wide and full of mirth; “It can all but break your heart…,” he steps closer to you again; “… In pieces,” he swoons again, this time onto your shoulder, leaning on you and holding you close. You’re too busy laughing both with and at him to be able to sing along yourself.

“Staying back in your memory… Are the movies in the past,” he continues, acting less and dancing smoothly with you, spinning you around and catching you close afterward.

He’s staring into your eyes, his face very close to yours as he sings, much more softly now, swaying slowly more than dancing, “How you moved is all it takes… to sing a song of when I loved… the prettiest star.” His hands squeeze you as he says those last three words.

He gives you another playful spin and goes on, “One day… though it might as well be someday… you and I will rise up all the way… all because of what you are…” Then, for the first time in the whole song, he and Bowie don’t synchronize. As Bowie finishes the line over the speakers, “the prettiest star,” you distinctly hear — and see, since his lips are so close to you after all — Sirius finish, “my prettiest star.”

The rest of the world has all melted away by this point; all that’s left is Sirius; all you can hear is the song, his voice, your frantic heartbeat in your ears. His hand comes to your face, caressing your cheek then resting there.

You have no idea how to react. Sirius flirted with you often. But Sirius flirted with everyone often. It was just a quirk of his personality. And Sirius touched you often. But it was never this gentle, this intimate. You don’t want to get your hopes up. Because as much as — or perhaps because of how much — you love him, you can’t really believe he’d see you that way. You’ve let yourself entertain the idea many times, sure, even suspected from time to time over the years of your friendship that maybe just maybe your desire was mutual, but ultimately, your fears and doubts — doubled every time a girl half your size who could so easily be on any billboard flirted with Sirius — would win out and push those thoughts and feelings down.

Your rhythmic swaying, your prolonged eye contact, your bursting heart and muddled mind continued through the end of the song. Though you knew it must have been about a minute and a half, it had felt like hours, time expanded by both bliss and trepidation, by the time the music changed and you broke apart. As you do, Sirius just watches you, as if searching for something.

You’re fidgeting with the sleeves of your jumper when you whisper, “That was fun,” and give him a quick hug, not letting yourself linger and pulling back before his arms were comfortably around you.

You have plans with Sirius the next day, and as you’re getting ready, you can’t help but remember back to his comment on your jumper last night, more worried at your appearance now that you think he noticed it more than you did before. You’re standing in your room in just your underwear stressing out over what to wear. You’ve put on your best bra, the one that does the most to help your figure without being too uncomfortable, and you’ve made a mess of your knickers drawer looking for a clean pair of high-waisted ones.

There was a time you would’ve avoided looking in the mirror at this stage, but now, you stand in front of it and give yourself a serious look. You suck your stomach in, and pull a bit with your hands on your hips, then let it all go, contemplating the difference. You turn to your profile, admiring the curves of your chest and your arse, but wishing there was less of your thighs immediately after. Arching your back and grabbing your arse, you wonder whether anyone — you close your eyes and admit to yourself: no, not anyone, Sirius — whether Sirius would find this, would find you attractive. As you take a deep breath, you lament how thinking of others’ opinions always made it so much harder to look at yourself with loving eyes. You didn’t hate your body, but your frequent worries that others would brought you down on more days than you wanted to admit.

You put on your favorite jeans, but as you go to choose a top, you remember one you’d borrowed from Lily a few months ago that had looked good. It was quite loose on her and a bit tight on you, but you each pulled it off differently. You ask her for it, and she happily obliges, but when you put it on, a knot turns in your stomach. It’s way too tight. The pattern is stretched; your boobs look huge; it somehow brings out rather than covers the fat on your sides. Taking it off in a hurry, you have to take another long, calming breath to keep tears of frustration at bay.

After finally finding something of yours that worked, giving the top back to Lily with a quick “Thanks, but it didn’t look as good as last time,” and giving yourself too many “final” glances in the mirror, you bundle up as you head into the windy afternoon.

You meet Sirius at the record shop near his flat. You see him before he sees you. He’s browsing the racks, and per usual, he looks effortlessly cool and unreasonably attractive. His long fingers are accentuated by his several silver rings as he flips through the records. He pushes his long hair out of his eyes in a careless gesture, and you’re almost angry at how it falls so perfectly he might as well have just spent an hour in front of a mirror.

You’re approaching him when a cute girl in a hot crop top walks up to him. She steps closer to him than any normal interaction would warrant. “Anything I can help you find, handsome?” she asks, and you wonder whether you’re imagining the twinge of a double meaning in the question. Maybe she’s just a flirty person doing her job. “We have a few special ones in the stock room I could show you…” Nope, not just doing her job. “Thanks, sweetheart, but I’m waiting for someone.” As he looks away from her back toward the records, he catches you in his peripherals. He smiles a beaming smile at you and gestures you over.

“You’re not going to believe what I found,” he begins enthusiastically. You hug; it lingers, and he squeezes you lovingly. “Mm, you smell nice,” he adds, as if it’s a normal thing to say. Is it a normal thing to say? Maybe it is. Maybe you’re overthinking, especially after the moment you shared last night.

“Thanks, new shampoo. What’d you find?” You look toward the records to ease the tension you were probably creating.

“Check this out.” If he noticed any awkwardness, he definitely doesn’t show it. He pulls out a record you had recently had a long conversation about.

“Brilliant!” you react, snatching it from him and turning it over in your hands, reading its contents eagerly.

He chuckles at you, and if you’d been looking at him instead of the record, you might have seen the accompanying adoring look.

“I know. It’s our lucky day.”

You browse around the shop together, chatting easily, both about music and all sorts of random things that came to mind. Talking to Sirius is always easy, always gives you more than the contents of the conversation to hold onto, to fill you up.

You go to pay, and the girl from earlier is working the till. Sirius goes to the loo, so it’s just you and her when you hand her a couple of records to ring up.

“Cool choices.” “Thanks.” “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks, nodding behind her toward the toilets.

“Oh, um,” you stutter. You’re not exactly sure why “no” doesn’t just easily come to your mouth. “I don’t know how you managed it. Lucky bitch,” she half laughs. You’re mortified; you can’t tell for sure, but you think she is trying to be friendly, just in a very strange record-shop-employee, rock and roll kind of way.

Sirius comes back around, and you hope to hell he hasn’t heard anything.

“All good, darling?” he asks, putting his arm around you. This wasn’t unusual for him, the nickname, the contact. But you’re already in an uncomfortable headspace, and your first thought is that you hope he isn’t doing it as an act for her benefit. You don’t even know if he’d heard, and your anxiety is taking over anyway. You keep running the woman’s words over in your head. How had she meant it? Did she mean she couldn’t believe you had managed it? As in specific, chubby, you? Or was she just making girly conversation? Would she have said the same to any woman, no matter how attractive, who had come into the shop with Sirius?

“You alright?” Sirius’s voice breaks you out of your spiraling. You look over at him, and his gaze is gentle but concerned.

“Yeah, fine, sorry,” you reply quickly. “It’s all good,” he smiles comfortingly at you.

Once outside the shop, you debate your next move. Normally on weekends when you’d get records, you’d then go eat, then go to his and listen to some of them, sometimes sharing a blunt, sometimes just getting high on the music.

You’re both looking up into the newly drizzling sky when Sirius says, “How about, we get take-away somewhere close, then just eat at mine? It looks like it’ll get worse soon, but I reckon we can make it before it really starts up.”

“Yeah, great.”

You’ve made it only a few blocks, though, when the rain pours down in sudden torrents.

“Oh, shit!” he laughingly yells, protecting the records, taking your hand, and sprinting to the nearest protective awning. By the time you make it, you’re both already extremely wet, and the weather is so windy the cover hardly helps in keeping it from getting even worse.

You’re squeezing as close to the wall as possible, standing chest to chest, the records between you, his arm around your waist, your faces close enough for you to see each individual drop as it travels down his face. His eyes match the sky behind him, and you silently marvel at his beauty. He looks up for a second then is overtaken by heartfelt laughter.

“Didn’t quite gauge that one right, I guess,” he chuckles. You’re laughing with him when a particularly strong gust blows freezing water forcefully at you, making you gasp and stiffen.

“Shit,” he laughs. “Let’s make a run for it.” He takes your hand again, and you both jog the few blocks to his flat.

You’re both still giggly when you step inside, leaving a puddle in the doorway where you stand. You take off your shoes and outer layers, but you’re drenched all the way through.

“Bloody hell, it’s freezing,” he amusedly complains, stripping down to only his jeans, leaving his clothes in a pile by the door. He hugs himself and rubs his arms, trying to warm up, and you’re glad your soaked demeanour is already such a mess he probably can’t tell how flustered you are by how attractive — and bare — he is. He reaches over to you and rubs your arms like he had been doing his. “Fuck, you’re freezing too. Come to my room, and I’ll lend you something to wear.” Your giddy mood dissipates immediately. There was no way in hell his clothes would fit you. He was obviously leaner than you, and your hips and thighs hadn’t gotten along well with men’s clothes even in your thinnest of states. He’s halfway to his room already, and you’re frozen by the door. “Y/N?”

You look over. You hope he doesn’t notice your eyes quickly travel his bare torso. “You coming or what?” he keeps on casually. When you get to his room, he’s bringing some towels out of the bathroom and throws you one. You start drying your hair as he rummages in his drawers. “Um,” you start. You sound more nervous than you mean to. He clearly notices because he immediately turns back to look at you to see what’s going on. “What is it?”

You hate worrying him like this, especially over something so stupid. Why did you always have to make things uncomfortable? Or better yet, why couldn’t you just be a girl who would fit in his clothes. “Hey, what is it?” he repeats, gentler this time, coming over to rest his hands on your shoulders. Your self-deprecating, cruel inner monologue is clearly showing more than you’d hope. “You alright, love?” “Yeah, no, I’m fine, sorry,” you try to laugh it off. “Don’t apologise.” It’s gentle, not scolding. “Just talk to me.” His hands continue rubbing your shoulders lovingly. “Just that I think I’m fine like this is all. Don’t worry about finding stuff for me,” you try. “Don’t be ridiculous; you’ll freeze to death. It’s fine; I don’t mind.” He goes back toward his dresser.

Ugh, how do you say “It’s not about your minding, actually. It’s about my stretching and ruining anything you could possibly lend me” without sounding weird and embarrassing?

“Thanks. Um, I’m not quite sure anything of yours would fit me though.” “We’ll find something,” he says relaxedly, opening another drawer. “Here, this one is really warm and comfy, and it’ll definitely fit,” he says, tossing you a sweatshirt. You recognize it, have seen him wearing it before. He only ever wore it while lounging at home, and it was quite big on him, so maybe it would be okay.

“And… uh,” he rummages, “try these. They’re a bit small, but they’re stretchy.” He hands you a pair of sweatpants. You’ve never seen him wear these. They would probably be too big on him. He grabs his towel and some clothes for himself.

“I’ll go change in the living room. Just come out when you’re ready. Grab whatever you want.” His tone is friendly, at ease. Unlike your feelings. You are freaking out. As soon as he closes the door, you strip down to your knickers, which thankfully aren’t very wet, at top speed, thinking you should hurry in case it takes you time to figure out the clothes. You don’t want to take too long and make things awkward. You towel yourself off and slip on the sweatshirt. It fits fine. It isn’t loose like it is on him, but it doesn’t look too weird. And it is indeed warm and comfy. Now for the more concerning part: you try pulling the pants on, a repeating “please, please, please” playing in your head. Fuck. No luck. They stop a bit above your mid-thigh, and there is no way you’d be able to pull them all the way up. You think of putting your jeans back on, but they are drenched, and it would’ve been like trying to get back into a heavy straight-jacket. You start panicking, unsure what to do, already worrying you are taking too long to come out. You look through his drawers, but all his other bottoms look even smaller. You try just wrapping the towel around your hips, but you look quite strange in the mirror.

You’re pacing in his room when he knocks. “Y/N? You alright? No rush, really, just making sure everything’s okay?”

You brace yourself, go to the door, and crack it open, hiding your body behind it, just popping your head around. He’s standing there, his wet hair half tied up, a dry t-shirt and sweats on.

“Um… the sweatpants don’t fit,” you whisper, embarrassed.

“Oh. Uh, that’s okay. Um, how about…,” he looks around, as if bigger pants would magically materialise somewhere in his living room. “Oh, perfect.” What could possibly be perfect right now? “Your favourite blanket is already on the sofa. How about I turn around, and you can just go get under it, and I’ll hang your trousers on my heater.”

You nod timidly, the warmth in your cheeks from your embarrassment blazing even hotter at the thought of how sweet he always is to you.

“Great. Uh, ok,” he chuckles, awkwardly turning around. You scamper to his sofa in your underwear, quickly covering your legs with his big cosy blanket.

“Ok,” you let out softly. He turns around and looks you over. You can’t tell what’s in his eyes as he does so, but there is an intensity there that you’re not used to. He blinks quickly and gives you a strange, strained smile. He disappears into his room, and you hear him sorting your clothes out to dry.

You’re fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt when he returns.

“You alright? Comfortable?” he asks, seemingly back to normal.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I didn’t meat to, uh, well, sorry I’m a bit difficult,” you reply a bit awkwardly, not knowing what exactly to apologise for but feeling the need to. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. You have nothing to be sorry for. Really. If you’re okay like this, then we’re all good, right?” You can’t help but worry what will happen as soon as you have to get up. Would you wrap the blanket around yourself like a weirdo? As if reading your thoughts, Sirius goes on playfully, “I’ll wait on you like royalty so you don’t even have to get up.” You make an odd half laugh, half relieved exhale sound in response, and he just chuckles. “Starting with…” he fast walks over to the door, grabs the bag of records and brings it back over to the sofa, sitting next to you but not getting under the same blanket like he usually does. “Which do you want to listen to first?” he asks, bringing them all out to look at together.

As soon as you started discussing it, it’s like waking up from a nightmare, realising all is well and returning to a calm normality. You debate and joke, decide on a record, and he gets up to put it on and make some tea, still chatting casually to you throughout.

When he’s back on the sofa with you, he looks down, smiles, and says, “Looks better on you than on me.” You tug on the sweatshirt self-consciously, smiling shyly at him. You fall into your easy rhythm, listening, talking, laughing, and before you knew it, the whole record’s played. Sirius gets up, walking toward his collection rather than the small stack of new records on the table. He picks one easily, and puts it on. The quirky piano of Bowie’s “Time” begins, and your heart speeds up. You love this album. So does Sirius. But this isn’t the first track. It’s the first track on the B-side, and the next song after this, you remember, is “The Prettiest Star,” the song you and Sirius danced to just last night. He doesn’t say anything until he’s seated next to you again. “I know we usually listen from the beginning, but the B-side is better on this one, and I didn’t feel like being patient.” His tone is playful, but there’s a heaviness to it. He glances away from you and leans toward the table to take a sip of his tea.

“What’s your favourite track?” you ask, smiling. You’ve asked him this question innumerable times over the years, but you’ve never been as excited for his answer as this time, and you have a feeling you know what it’ll be.

“‘The Prettiest Star,’” he replies immediately, looking toward you again. As quickly as he had, he looks away again as he adds, “Because it reminds me of you… even before last night…” After a beat, he ventures a glance toward you, that same searching look from last night taking over his beautiful features.

Unlike last night, you don’t feel panicked — nervous, sure, but more than that, loved. “Last night felt pretty special,” you say. “Yeah?” He seems hopeful. “Yeah, it was.” His voice is serene, like he’s contemplating something utterly peaceful. “It’s funny, though,” you say, and he looks at you, his eyebrow quirked. “It’s really about you, isn’t it? Not me.” You laugh. He looks like he wants to laugh with you, a twinkle in his eye, clearly happy that you are happy, but confusion holds his expression. You explain, “Well, you’re ‘the prettiest star,’ aren’t you? You’re obviously prettier, the prettiest… and the brightest in the night sky in fact… ‘Sirius.’” You say his name with all the love you feel for him.

He leans toward you, taking your hand. He’s smiling, but there’s a sadness to it.

“You might not be named for a star, but you’re my prettiest star, Y/N.” He looks into your eyes. “You’re so beautiful.” His eyes scan your face. “It’s almost too bright to bear sometimes, to be honest, your beauty,” he adds, smiling more vividly now. He brings his other hand to your face, just as he did last night. But this time, his fingertips begin by taking their time tracing your features: your eyebrow first, your nose, your cheekbone, down to your jaw. His thumb grazes your lip, barely touching it but lingering there, before moving to caress you cheek. “You’re so beautiful, my prettiest star,” he repeats, as the song begins in the background.

“Sirius,” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

“Darling girl,” he responds, moving closer to you until your foreheads meet. Your nose nuzzles his, and you stay like this for several seconds. You bring your hand to the crook of his neck, and holding him, you lean forward. The song goes silent, the intro ending, the anticipation built, and right as Bowie’s voice comes in, your lips meet.

Sirius’s hand slips from the side of your face to the back of your head, holding you firmly, leaning into you hungrily. His hand holding yours goes to your waist, pulling you close to him until your chest is flush with his. You wrap your arms around his neck and slip your fingers into his hair.

He moans into your mouth, and you deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue with yours, breaching into his mouth. He lets you, and as you explore him, he pulls your body until you find yourself kneeling on the sofa in front of him, the blanket fallen to the floor.

You pull back momentarily, and he stills his movements, watching you, waiting for your cue for what to do next. His eyes are lidded, his pupils blown, his lips parted, but you know that if you sat back down and told him you just wanted to listen to the record, that’s exactly what he’d do. But that’s not what you want. So, you lean forward and pick up your exploration right where you left it. He groans appreciatively and sucks on your tongue in his mouth, before pulling you on top of him.

You’re straddling him, and you’re so attracted to him you’re drowning in it, but even still, your nerves are there. You feel heavy. Too heavy to be sitting on top of him like this. He keeps his hands on your waist and strokes your back, not venturing any further down, pulling back to look at you. You shift clumsily, trying to put more of your weight on your knees on the sofa, but not being able to without spreading awkwardly wider or ending up lopsided. He holds you firmly, centering you again, hugging you close. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you whisper, trying to explain what he’s already figured out.

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him before he says, “Trust me, darling, I’m about as far form uncomfortable as a person can be right now.” He squeezes you lovingly, clearly careful to squeeze all of you and not just any specific place, which might make you uncomfortable. “I’ve been going absolutely mental this whole time just knowing you weren’t wearing anything but your knickers under that blanket.”

“You have?” you ask, surprised, your eyes wide, your voice soft. He giggles again, always adoring, never mocking. “Fuck, how can someone be so adorable and so sexy at the same time?” It baffles you how someone can say the word “sexy” so seriously and not sound silly at all, give it so much confidence that it just sounds so, well, so sexy. He pecks your lips. “You’re going to kill me, woman.” Now you laugh.

“Oh?” “Mm,” he groans affirmatively as he runs his hands up your sides and back and kisses you ardently. He moves to your jaw, kissing languidly down to your ear, where he nips playfully and sucks on your neck another moment before looking into your eyes again and saying, “Fuck, Y/N, tell me you want this too.” A kiss. “I’m desperate for you.” Another kiss. “But only if you want me too.” Another kiss, longer this time. “I want to make you feel good, darling. Fuck, I can make you feel so so good.” Your hips grind down on his at his words, and he throws his head back in a lustful groan, and his hands squeeze you tightly where they hold you. He recovers, stroking your back again and resting his forehead on yours as he asks, “Can I touch you, Y/N? I’ll stop anytime you say so, but I’m dying to worship you.” You kiss him deeply, holding him close, grinding your hips down again. “I want you to touch me, Siri.” At this, his mouth immediately devours yours, and his hands come down to squeeze your arse. He kneads it roughly, pulling you into him with each motion, inadvertently pushing his hips up a bit each time to meet yours. You feel the hard, evident bulge in his pants underneath you, and it turns you on even more to feel wanted in such a visceral way. There is no missing how much his body wants yours, and that surprises but arouses you to no end.

His hands come down to your thighs, and you gasp and stiffen a bit. He stops but leaves his hand there, stroking you cautiously.

“Y/N?” He bumps your nose with his. “I…” You peck his lips. “You really don’t mind my body?” you ask, your voice small.

“Darling,” he breaks a little. “Mind it? I adore it. Can’t you feel what you do to me?” he half jokes, thrusting up into you. You close your eyes and bite your lower lip at the addictive friction. “Y/N. Look at me, love,” he whispers. You do. “I think you are the most gorgeous, sexiest woman in the world. Of course it’s all intertwined with how much I love you, but that just makes it even better. God, you have no idea how much you turn me on.” He kisses you short but hard. “I never want to tell you how to feel, love, but I just wish you knew how beautiful you are, how you are the most beautiful to me.” You kiss him again and become immersed in it fully. Your tongues are dancing with each other, your hips, your hands, moving in tandem with each other, melting into each other in a perfect push and pull.

His hands slip under his sweatshirt, and he whispers, “Can I?” You don’t hesitate, entrusting yourself to him, and detaching yourself from him only enough for him to slip it over your head. His hands come to your breasts, and you hear him say “fuck” again as he kneads them and keeps kissing you. His hands keep massaging as his mouth moves down your jaw wetly. He takes his time moving down your body, sucking your neck, licking across your sternum, kissing delicately down to between your breasts. He buries his face there and moans, and it’s so hot you pull him to you and scratch his scalp where you’re holding him by his hair. He kisses there again then his fingers move to pinch your nipples. He mixes pulling it with massaging your whole breast with one hand, but the other just grips your tit as his mouth wraps around your nipple. His tongue licks around it a few times before he sucks on it, and his groan is drowned out by your pleasured yell.

“Fuck, Sirius,” you say, your voice a rasp.

“Mmm,” he responds, not letting up, switching breasts after sucking a bit harder. Once he’s satisfied (for now) and your nipples are hard and sore, he grips your tits again with his hands and licks into your mouth.

“Fuck, baby, you have the most incredible tits.” He squeezes them. “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of taking your shirt off and touching you.” He goes back down and gives each a quick but delicious suck. “Let’s go to my bed, yeah?” You nod heatedly.

You’re a bit self-conscious as you move to get off of him, more aware of your body beyond the pleasure again though you had been so lost in it just a moment ago you’d forgotten about everything else. Sirius helps you off and up, his hands on your hips, and he pulls you into him as you both stand, making out with you before squeezing your arse as he pulls away to walk to his bedroom. You wrap your arms around yourself as you walk with him, but when you’re standing in front of the bed, he takes each of your hands in his and kisses you while holding them, bringing his body flush with yours. You break the contact to pull on his shirt, and he eagerly obliges, removing it and tossing it aside.

He guides you onto the bed, his body following on top of yours, your mouths connected the whole time. You shuffle up the bed then tug his sweats down when you’re settled. He helps you, shimmying out of them. They get caught on one of his ankles, and you both laugh as he curses and contorts awkwardly to pull them all the way off.

You’re both left only in your underwear as he starts kissing you again, slowly making his way down your body. He spends a lingering amount of time on your tits again as he goes down then keeps kissing down your stomach to the waistband of your knickers. He looks up at you for any hesitation, but you just bite your lip and lift your hips. He smirks in excitement as he pulls your panties off of you. He does it slowly, teasingly, and he licks down your thigh tracing where the fabric passes. Once they’re off, he pushes your knees a bit further apart and starts kissing and licking his way back up. He sucks at the top of your thigh, and it makes a pop as he separates from you.

Kneeling between your legs, massaging your thighs on either side of him, he says, “You drive me mad, Y/N. You’re so fucking delicious, I could spend eternity between these thighs.” You squirm at his graphic words, already exceptionally strung out. He chuckles lowly down at you and kisses you quickly before adjusting himself with his head between your thighs.

“Today really is my lucky day,” he says, face lined up with your cunt. “This is the second time I see you drenched today, and I fucking love being the cause of it this time.” Without further ado, he licks a sopping stripe from your entrance up to your clit. Even this first motion sounds wet. You’re sure you’ve never been so wet in your life.

Sirius buries his face in your cunt, groaning as he licks into you then sucks on your lips. He goes back and forth between sucking on you and fucking you with his tongue. He keeps playing with you until you’re squirming before bringing his mouth directly to your clit. He’d grazed it as he licked you before now, bumped you with his nose, teasing you, but now he gives it his full attention. He’s licking and sucking, moaning all the while like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten, moving his whole body with the passion of it, and it takes very little more for you to start cumming on his mouth. You make a yelping sound you’ve never made before in your ecstasy, and with your eyes closed, you feel as if the world is a million miles away; all you feel is your body and where it is connected to Sirius’s. He keeps up his motions and fervor until your pleasured squirming turns into overstimulation squirming. He gives you one last lick and suck then shuffles up your body, kissing it intermittently as he does, until he’s face to face with you, smiling a smile you’ve never seen before.

“Hello, darling,” he says, clearly satisfied with himself, kissing you.

“Hi,” you sigh, sounding completely fucked out. He giggles at you and kisses you again.

“Feel good?”

“Mmhhmm.” You stretch underneath him and languidly wrap your arms around him, licking his lips slowly before kissing him again.

“Fuck,” he responds.

“Yes, please.” Your voice is high, blissful. You rut up into him. He chuckles at you and strokes your hairline, kissing your forehead.

“You want to? You’re alright?” “Of course, Siri. I’m brilliant.” “That you are, my love,” he beams at you then pushes his pants off. “My prettiest star,” he says, as he pecks your lips then your nose then lines himself up with your entrance.

His eyes penetrate yours as he pushes into you. You moan in unison, and his mouth lingers just above yours, grazing your lips, your foreheads touching, as he slowly pushes deeper and deeper. When he bottoms out, he kisses you eagerly, stroking his tongue into your mouth as his cock ruts deep inside you. Your hands grip his back. His hands come down to your thighs one at a time, squeezing passionately before pushing your legs up and out, wrapping them around his waist.

Normally, you’d feel self-conscious in this position. Almost bent in half, your stomach protrudes between the two of you. Your thighs are thick at his sides. But the look on his face, the feel of the movements of his body is all love and adoration and ardor.

He kisses you as he thrusts a bit harder, keeping it slow at first but vigorously punctuating each thrust. One of his hands rests beside you, holding him up, but the other stayed on your leg, stroking your thigh and gripping your arse or hip bruisingly with each forceful motion of his hips.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, “You’re fucking perfect.” He thrusts hard, a gentle kiss on your forehead contrasting it seductively, then begins picking up his pace. He rests his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking on it as he pounds repeatedly into you.

You’re gripping him tightly to stay in position, your arms and legs tense around him. You can’t move much, but his movements are enough for the both of you, especially as he brings his knees up a bit to get a new angle. He’s hitting your spot with almost every thrust, and you’re whining in pleasure in time with each. You squeeze hard around him, not just your arms and legs but the soft walls around his cock as well, and he groans animalistically into your skin. His hips stutter in response, but a moment later he’s pounding rhythmically again.

His breathing gets heavier, his muscles tighter, and with a broken gasp, he shifts sideways a bit to snake his hand between you to where you’re connected. He rubs harshly on your clit, not bothering to start slow, clearly aware he doesn’t have time for that. His hips piston even faster; his hand presses harder, and a few seconds later, you feel fit to burst. You let out a yell as you release around him, the most intense orgasm of your life making you see white stars.

“Sirius,” you half yell, half sigh. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Fuck, fuck. Where do you want me to?” he rushes out, his hips still moving fast in and out of you. You tighten your legs around him, and clench your cunt, pulling him into you. “Inside, Siri. Cum in me.” His immediate groan sounds strangled as you feel the warmth of him inside you. The words “cold fire” play in your mind. He thrusts a few more times then goes limp on top of you, panting loudly, kissing your neck and cheek between heavy breaths.

He rolls off but stays close, never fully breaking contact with you, and he wraps his arm around your waist, lightly stroking your back, as you both lie on your sides facing each other. You feel the urge to cover yourself up but resist it, trying to melt into the vulnerability. The utter adoration in his eyes when you look into them helps.

“I love you,” you whisper. He smiles a smile that makes his stormy eyes shine, leans in, and kisses you tenderly.

“And I love you,” he says matter-of-factly, his voice smooth and sappy.

You pause, contemplating, reveling in the joy of the moment but unable to ignore a tug in your stomach. “I’m sorry I was too… I don’t know, scared? to really show you before.”

“Don’t be, darling. I’m sorry I waited so long to really show you too, but I’m even more sorry if I ever made you doubt how much I do, how loved you are.” “You didn’t.” You shake your head then nuzzle his nose with yours. “I just sometimes didn’t understand. It’s confusing, how someone like you can love someone like me so much.” “Darling. It’s the least confusing thing in the world. You’re the most beautiful person I know. In all kinds of ways. And I’ll show you every day you’ll have me; you’ll see it clearly too; I’m sure of it. I’m just worried when you do, you’ll realise the real wonder is you loving me.” He laughs a bit, but you can hear the truth to his concern, his own insecurities surfacing.

You stroke his cheek, kiss him, and say, “We’ll both keep showing each other then. For always.” His smile is subtle, full of love.

He nods, kisses you again, pulls you into his body, and, hugging you close, repeats, “For always.”

P.S. notes: I try to keep my reader character inclusive, and this is a bit more specific than I usually do. I just want to acknowledge that everyone relates to their bodies, especially if they’re bigger, in different ways, and I in no way think of anything I write as a generalized take on being plus sized (or any other experience really). These are just things that I have felt in my life, and it has always meant a lot to me to see and hear stories about bigger characters, both when attention is brought to that specific aspect about them and when it isn’t. So, this is my way of adding to that and to write something for myself in that vein.

#marauders #marauder x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black one shot #smut #fluff #angst #friends to lovers #plus size!reader #fem!reader #reader insert #david bowie #ria250 #fanfiction

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fizzyxcustard · 2 years

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Drabble nugget:

You suddenly wake up to a foreign place. In terror, you jump out of the bed, look around the room and see you’re in a castle. The bed you’ve been sleeping in was the most comfortable you’ve ever felt, but where the hell are you?

“Let’s hope for your sake that they can solve the labyrinth in 13 hours.” The voice was silky and wrapped around you.

A man stood by the door. He must have literally appeared out of thin air, as he was not there when you initially looked. Blonde, spiky hair. Flamboyant robes. Glitter swishing around him. This could only be one person: the Goblin King.

Who the fuck had wished you away?

#labyrinth #Jareth the Goblin King #David Bowie #Drabble #The Goblin King #Reader insert

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matchasilver · 5 months

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A Birthday gift for a good friend~

First-person POV hair kiss with Lucio~

Mediums: ink, copic, waterolor, silver and gold gel pen

#lucio #the arcana #lucio morgasson #lucio the arcana #otome #dating games #otoge #my art #multi media #mixed media #traditional art #artists on tumblr #david bowie #looking man #self insert #lucio x reader #ink #watercolor #copic

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discordsmuse · 1 year

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#fanfic #pirates of the carribean #dead by daylight #hector barbossa #halloween #horror #labyrinth #david bowie #reader insert

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livefastdrivefaster · 9 months

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I Love You! | LN4

Pairing: Lando x Fem!Reader

Summary: The early stages of your relationship with Lando. Meeting his friends and saying "I love you" for the first time! Fluff (also a bit of suggestive language).

Word count: 1.2k words

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You had been dating Lando officially for nearly a month and a half now, and he had decided it was the right time to introduce you to his friend group. One of Lando’s friends were hosting a birthday dinner at their flat in Monaco, and he had spent a week convincing you that you needed to come. You felt uncomfortable at the thought of inserting yourself into his group, but you were new to Monaco, and would appreciate meeting more people your age there. You had met through a mutual friend, who would be at dinner tonight, but you had never gotten to know their extended circle.

You didn’t live in the same apartment, but you lived close enough where you decided to finish getting ready at your boyfriend’s penthouse and travel to his friend’s party together. You were in Lando’s bathroom, struggling to put your earrings on when you heard him call your name from the kitchen.

“Y/N, are you almost ready to go love?” He calls.

“Yeah!” You respond enthusiastically, cautiously treading out of the bathroom, still trying to put your earring on.

The backing finally clicks when you come into Lando’s line of sight, and you feel a blush creeping up on your cheeks as he unashamedly looks you up and down.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he says with a low voice, pulling you into him “Maybe we should just show up a little later?” He asks suggestively, placing a gentle kiss on your collarbone. You seriously didn’t mind the idea, considering how good he looked himself right now.

“I can’t let us be late to the first time I’m meeting your friends, Lando.” You laugh, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Why do you have to be so sensible.” He sighs into your neck.

“One of us needs to be. Come on, the Uber is outside.” You say, tentatively pulling away from him. He takes your hand in his and dramatically marches forward, guiding you out the door.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The two of you were stood outside the address, bickering about who should knock on the door. You desperately didn’t want to, but Lando thought it would be good to build your confidence before meeting his friends.

“Please Lando, just do it for me.” You plead, giving him a laughable attempt at puppy eyes.

“Be a brave girl.” Lando says, lightly pushing you towards the door. You sigh loudly, raising your arm to the door.

“I am so getting payback for this.” You say threateningly, which is only met with laughter from Lando. Disappointed he saw right through your empty threat, you knock twice at the door.

“Coming!” A voice calls from the inside, and you hear footsteps approaching the door. You take a step back, letting Lando’s arm circle around your waist.

Suddenly, the door swings open and you are greeted with the face of the birthday girl.

“Y/N!” she exclaims excitedly, “You are even more gorgeous in person, come on in.” She says, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I’m here too.” Lando says sarcastically.

“This isn’t about you.” She quips back, leading you inside the flat. Lando rolls his eyes, following the two of you into the main party area.

Your arrival brings about cheers from the group, as about five people offer you a drink at once, desperate to get to know Lando’s new and elusive girl. Eventually, the energy of the party shifted into a low-key vibe, with people congregating on the couches discussing their favourite movies.

“I’ve heard enough about the Wolf of Wall Street,” a girl, whose name you find out later to be Ria, exclaims, “what about your favourite movie scenes in particular?”

“Jordan Belfort’s big party in the Wolf of Wall Street.” A guy calls out jokingly. A few groans go around the room.

“That scene in ‘Perks of Being a Wallflower’ where Emma Watson hangs out of the car in the tunnel, listening to David Bowie” You cut in, followed by awkward fumbling with your drink.

A symphony of agreement rises around the room, particularly from the girls in the group. You settle back into your seat, trying to fight a proud smile from growing on your face, happy that your comment went down well. Lando squeezed your side lightly, giving you a silent congratulations.

The conversation flowed well through the rest of the evening, and you involved yourself more, easily fitting into the lively group dynamic. Eventually, the party wrapped up, and you and Lando decided to Uber back to his, potentially to fulfil his request from earlier.

“How did that go, do you think?” You asked him, placing your head on his shoulder.

“They loved you.” He said simply.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I think you’re pretty great. And they trust my judgement.” You smiled softly at this, nestling your head deeper into the crook of his neck.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You and Lando had just finished celebrating your six-month anniversary at one of Monaco’s nicest restaurants, when you both climbed into his convertible McLaren to drive home.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, Lando’s free hand placed on your thigh. Suddenly, Lando takes an unexpected turn, leading you away from your apartment.

“Lando this isn’t the way back to mine.” You say, looking at him confused. His eyes remained focused on the road ahead, but his mouth widened into a cheeky grin.

“I know, I thought we would go the scenic route tonight.” He said casually, as if it was such an obvious thing he was doing. He takes his hand off your thigh to press a button on his centre console, causing the roof above you to open, revealing the midnight blue sky above the city.

“Let’s hope I timed this right.” Lando says to himself, and you again look at him confusedly. The song playing through the car’s sound system ends, and you hear the familiar opening notes to “Heroes” by David Bowie coming through the speakers. Your eyes flick to the road ahead of you, and you realise you’re heading towards the Monaco tunnels.

“Lando…” Your voice trails off, touched at the thoughtfulness of his gesture.

“Save the thanks for when we get home. Hop up baby, we are nearly at the tunnel.” He smiles, patting the area of the car behind your head.

You perch yourself on the flat top behind your seat, enjoying the cool air wrapping around your body.

“Are you sure this is okay?” You ask Lando cautiously.

“Of course, love. There aren’t cameras through here, and you know I will drive carefully.” You feel like a rebel, testing the law a bit. As the music swells into the chorus, you raise your arms to your side, recreating the iconic scene you talked about so long ago.

Your eyes flicker between being open and shut, wanting to take in the most of the moment, but also not daring to look away from Lando for too long. Watching his curls being tousled by the wind, you instinctively lean down to him.

“I love you!” You yell, the words leaving your mouth before you had time to stop them. Lando looks at you through the rear-view mirror, beaming a wide smile.

“I love you more!”

#ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando4 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris f1

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cosmo-craftin · 4 months

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Hey Night at Museum fandom you still alive?

If so do any of you read reader fics?

Cause I’m thinking of dropping an insert reader crack taken seriously, shenanigan story. Not gonna have a lot of romance but definitely adventures of an average over anxious night guard absolutely BSing their way through securing a paycheck.

Here’s a sneak peak,

———————————-

You lowered your mug from of tea from your face and turned around. Watching as the neat craftsmanship historical miniatures suddenly move before your very eyes and functioning like a small town. Moving hauntingly in way that could only be described as…well nothing, nothing at all.

Clearly there was something wrong with the amount of sleep you were getting, maybe one to many all-nighters. To much studying and not enough self care. You know what, Cristy was right those brownies were not quite so cosmic brownies. That Thomas the sketchy, suspicious, homie, who lingered in the alleyway behind the J building probably was a drug dealer. That his brownies were laced with malicious intent, suspicious powder sugar and cosmic anomalies not joy. Because clearly this was all one fever dream, clearly you were smelling colors and seeing stars. Because clearly there was no way the itty bitty little cowboy in front of you just started walking towards you.

“Oh hey! You’re the newbie Gigantor told us bout” Glass shattered.

It was going to be a loooong night.

——————

“Larry, come get me I’m scared” you said screaming in absolute despair into the phone, from your spot underneath the desk. “The miniatures are scrambling everywhere, Theodore Rosevelvet is making out with Sacagawea, there a civil brawl in the bathroom and I swear I just a lion shredding up the trash cans. And now there’s a T. rex! A FREAKING REXSOURES MONSTROSITY!”

“Calm down just throw the bone to Rexy, you’ll be fine. I know you’re scared right now, I was to my first time too but everything will be fine. I’ll be there in five minutes if you’re really truly struggling. You don’t have anything to worry about anyways, she don’t bite.”

Rexy? the two ton bone bodied dinosaur above the desk, the fudge muffin about to diy some ripped jeans onto your uniform, HAH, “Yes it do!”

——————-

“Sooo? I know what happened last night was a little odd. But I’ve read the manual properly now, yaknow terms, conditions, and everything. I’m pretty sure I can figure this out now.”

“Ahkmenrah said you hid in the bathroom stall, crying and listening to David Bowie for the rest of the shift.”

“Listen buddy, between you me. You know damn well you would be in tears, if you had to fight off a pack of wild animals simply to be get that of minimum wage.”

“I was not in fact in tears.”

“Well fuck you Larry.”

#night at the museum #natm #natm fandom #natm jedediah #natm larry #ahkmenrah x reader #natm sacagawea #natm teddy roosevelt #natm fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #y/n #writing #writing help

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harksness · 2 days

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Agatha Reader Insert Blurb (SFW)

Ok idk how many ppl are gonna read this but pls I would love for this to be a bit of a discussion for how people would apply this to themselves/their little pleasures.

Agatha is really good at staying up to date with things as the times change. She needs to make sure she fits in so she doesn't rouse any suspicion, right? So she has to, for survival. Fashion trends, politics, current events, and so on she's on top of.. But she's not good at staying up to date with music. She's horrible about it. You needed to explain everyone from Nirvana to Britney Spears to Billie Eilish to her.

When the 70s hit, she fell in love with that era and hasn't left it. The Cure, Elton John, David Bowie, Fleetwood Mac, (heavy on Fleetwood Mac), and she just hasn't really kept up since. She's listened to Rumors on repeat since it was released. (Just from vibes alone I feel like she'd love Dreams and probably crushed on Stevie Nicks.)

When you two start dating and you realize this, you think it's so cute. You listen to all of her favorite albums and songs, and love to listen to her stories from the concerts she's gone to. She ends up being a bit of a music dork, she loved going to concerts back in the day but as her favorite artists grew older and slowed down with touring she stopped going to shows.

So you introduce her to more music to bring that love back out of her. (Going off of my favorite musicians) she loves Weezer (Only in Dreams!!), Green Day (LAST NIGHT ON EARTH??), Bastille (Icarus, The Anchor, Warmth??) Chappell Roan, and unexpectedly, Britney Spears!! Also specifically Dragula by Rob Zombie. ("Dig through the ditches and burn through the witches" it should be her badass theme song lmao) (Feel free to add on in the comments w your favorite artists + songs you think she'd like!!)

She'll always go back to her old music taste, but you do notice her peppering in some songs you introduced to her and humming Pink Pony Club to herself.

You bought general admissions tickets to see your favorite artist and surprised her with them. And she's so excited, a wide smile on her face and eyes scrunched up in the cutest way. She looks up the set list to make sure she knows every song.

Because even though she's really good at staying up to date with most things, some stuff slips through the cracks. Or she doesn't have time for all of it. But it's easy for you to see just how much she enjoys discovering things she's missed out on, curiosity seeping through her voice as her wondering eyes light up with interest and it just really tugs on your heart. So you're always trying to find little things she doesn't know about yet.

Poptarts? She's like tf are those let me try them now. She loves the cookies and cream flavor but can only eat one because she thinks they're too sugary. You show her your old DS from when you were young? She gets addicted to Animal Crossing, Agnes is her favorite villager and she loves having you sit and watch her play. Tik Tok? She gets weirdly into Reddit stories. She tries to deny it and calls them stupid while she goes to find part two. Then continues to gossip about the story with you. Then points out everything that makes it obviously fake. (Add any more in the comments that relate to you or you'd just see from her!)

I just feel like Agatha has devoted over three hundred years to magic and big, huge things and adventures that she never gets to really indulge in the little pleasures in life. She has a lot of them to catch up on. While she tries to deny having any interest in it, she really does love when you show her the fun, pointless little things she's missed out on and just a sweet way the two of you really bond.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness/reader #agatha harkness reader insert #agatha harkness #agatha all along #kathryn hahn #harksness #wlw fanfiction

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creepycrawliesanonymous · 1 year

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a/n this is way too long, it started as a blurb and then the spirit of the reader-insert goddess possessed me and this is what I have to show for it, totally could've been longer but I restrained myself, so if the masses want a part two just shoot the message my way

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You had a feeling most people your age would be more excited about the prospect of sharing a house with an up-and-coming rock band in Los Angeles. Perhaps you yourself were more excited leading up to your move, packing up your bare essentials and your typewriter, sipping a cocktail in the smoking section of the plane, listening to David Bowie in the taxi over to the house. And what a house it was! You were given the run-down over the phone by the woman who put the listing out, Camila Something (never great with the last names, you were), not put off by the alleged haunted-ness of the house. If anything, the various ghosts and ghouls would serve as inspiration for your screenplay. There was not much that could dampen your spirits at this point, lugging your bags towards the front door and rapping your knuckles on the wood.

Except, of course, the obvious.

Moving from your parents' house to a college dorm had been, as you recall, a bit of a shock to the system. If that was the case then, it was nothing compared to moving into the closet-like space that was the remaining bedroom. You had gotten an apologetic smile from Camila... Alv- shit, Alvaro? It was leaving your head already. You felt bad, she had been nice enough to welcome you into the house and shown you to your shoebox of a living space.

"None of the boys wanted this room, so you should be left alone most of the time. Warren swears it's the epicenter for all the ghosts...," she nervously chuckled, "and whatnot." You took a nibble of the chocolate-chip cookie she gave you. "So just, take all the time you need to settle in, the group is out rehearsing for a gig tonight so you'll be on your own for dinner." She paused. "Unless you'd like to come see them, which would be more than fine! They're all so excited to meet you, especially Karen I think. She's been dying for some more estrogen in the house, me as well."

You swallowed. "I think I'll just stay in tonight, thank you." You cringed at yourself as she visibly faltered.

"No problem, uh, there's some leftover beer and pizza in the fridge if you get hungry, just help yourself to whatever you need." She was a saint, you thought, taking whatever awkwardness you possessed in stride. She even helped carry in your bag, setting it carefully on your twin bed. You insisted on taking in your typewriter yourself. It now lived on one of the cardboard boxes in the corner of your room, presumably left over from the group's initial move. "I'll get Billy to move those."

"It's fine." You had no desk. This was actually preferable to writing on the floor.

Camila gave you one last warm smile before returning back to the living room. You waited until she was out of earshot, stood up, and closed the door behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were on your own late into the night, into the small hours of the morning. Camila had left the house at around 8:30, after which you snuck out of your room to rummage through the fridge. True to her word, there was a box of pizza within the fridge, with two slices remaining. Considering you were now sharing a place with four boys, this seemed like a small miracle to you. You ate both of them cold, sitting at the dining room table. While you ate, you took the time to take in your surroundings.

The kitchen, frankly, was not in the best shape. Pots and dishes piled up in the sink and the counters looked like they needed a serious scrubbing. The living room had beer bottles littering the floor, and the couch looked distinctly tread on.

You took another bite of your frozen pizza. This would do just nicely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tired from your day of travel (and the handful of plane cocktails you had ingested) you retired to your bed relatively early. It would seem in this house, early meant any time before 2 a.m., and on-time would be closer to 4, which was around the time you were startled awake by a car pulling up and a small crowd of people piling through the backdoor into the kitchen.

"I swear there was pizza left over this morning."

"Eddie, we have a new roommate." That was Camila. "She needs to eat, too."

"Yeah, where is she?" A British voice piped up, moving from the kitchen roughly towards the living room. "Don't tell me she's in bed already."

"Just because you rock-and-rollers like to stay up doesn't mean everybody does," Camila laughed out. "Speaking of which, I'm beat. I'll see you all tomorrow."

"Right behind you." A deeper voice sounded, and two sets of footsteps walked off presumably to their bedroom. You suspected that was Billy.

"Should we go find her?" You felt as if your spine had been doused in cold water.

"Don't be stupid." British again. Someone moved around the living room, a record needle scratched and the quiet sounds of Credence Clearwater Revival started playing throughout the room.

The house started to mellow out after that; you expected the rest of them went to bed, and the ones that stayed out were smoking. It was at that moment that your bladder started to call for your attention in earnest. Weighing your options, you decided venturing out of your bedroom would be less treacherous than pissing your bed on your first night.

The journey to the bathroom you managed to avoid other people, it was the journey back that you slipped up. There was only one person in the living room, and there was only one of you in the hallway, so there was no mistaking that when he was waving, he was waving at you. To make matters worse, he was strikingly handsome, and you were deeply sleepy. Before you could stop yourself, you waved back. He held up the joint he was smoking in your direction. You shook your head. He gave you an exaggerated pout, wiping an invisible tear off his cheek. Not totally convinced that what was happening to you was real, you quietly slunk off back to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a small window in your room, the sill lined with small potted plants. The morning sun beamed through that window, casting a glowing light onto your bed. You reached your hand around looking for your pillow to throw over your head, prying your eyes open to see it lying on the floor next to your headboard. Groaning, you sat up, resigning yourself to the morning.

The house was quiet. 9 a.m. was evidently too early for anybody except you to be awake. You tiptoed your way into the kitchen, searching for a loaf of bread or an oatmeal pack. What didn't escape your notice, was the man sleeping soundly on the coach in the living room. The same man, you saw, that your had encountered last night. In the morning light you were able to get a better look at him. You were right to see that he was handsome, with his curly brown hair and his strong nose. Taking a bite of your buttered bread, you let yourself stare at him for just a few moments. Too many moments, in fact. You realized this when suddenly the boy on the couch was staring back at you.

"You didn't come smoke with me last night."

At that moment, you felt more empathy for deers in headlights than any other living soul on the planet.

"Good morning."

"Is it?" He looked over to the windows streaming in light. He beamed. "It is."

You hurried back to your room, the piece of bread squished within your clenched fist.

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Your first few weeks you spent writing. It was very clear that you kept a very different schedule from everyone else in the house, except for maybe Camila. By virtue of being the only two in the house for long stretches of the day, she was the one in the house that you became the closest to the fastest. In the afternoons she would encourage you to bring your typewriter out into the dining room to keep her company while she poured over photographs from the night before. You would both slip into a comfortable silence, save for the clacking of your keys.

When you weren't writing you were watching TV. Camila had gotten Billy to drive you downtown along with a list of groceries, where you purchased for yourself the smallest television set you could find. While Billy and you said the equivalent of about three sentences to each other that trip, he had carried it into the house for you and even helped set it up in your room. The tiny screen sat in the corner on top of one of the cardboard boxes, consistently tuned to CBS so you could watch re-runs of Scooby Doo.

There was another television set in the living room. It was slightly bigger than yours, too. Maybe it even got more channels. You didn't use it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Camila greatly appreciated your company. She adored the band that she lived with, and she loved Billy with all her heart, but she couldn't deny that uprooting herself from Pittsburgh and moving across the country wasn’t an easy change. Putting out ads looking for a roommate, while being somewhat financially motivated (only so much pocket toast could be eaten by one household), was, perhaps subconsciously, a yearning for companionship, for a friend to fill the hours where the house would otherwise be empty.

And she adored you. You may have been a tough nut to crack, she slowly but surely got you to open up, got you talking about films coming out that you wanted to see, your childhood dog that would puke all over your room, your favorite classes in high school. The little things that were once guarded under layers of uncertainty and self-isolation. She would ask for your opinions on the photos she took, and you would ask her about your word choice. Before heading out for the night, she would always ask you if you wanted to come with, and she was sure she was getting closer and closer to the day you would say yes.

She was also pretty sure you had a thing for Warren. Like, 99.8% sure.

You never brought him up. She started dropping his name in your daily conversation, and would watch as your fingers would still on the keys of your typewriter. You would stutter for a few seconds before taking a breath and composing yourself, nervously glancing over at her to make sure she didn't notice. She never gave you any indication that she did, but of course she noticed.

She also noticed how Warren would scan the audience every night from behind his drum kit, and how his face would subtly fall when he couldn't spot you. Or how he started nagging the group to go home earlier than usual, and would drag his feet a little more in the early afternoons before leaving for rehearsals. The final straw on the camel's back came when he had bought a tiny ceramic kitten and asked her to give it to you.

"She likes cats, right?" It was close to three in the morning when he had cornered her in the kitchen, holding up the small black cat in the light of the oven lamp. "It seemed like something she'd like."

"You know, you can be asking her these questions yourself."

"I don't wanna spook her." He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Playing the long game, huh?"

"I've got time." He froze, eyes slowly widening. "I mean, I don't know what you're talking about."

She plucked the cat from his hands, patting him on the shoulder. "Go to bed, Rojas."

She slid the cat over to you the next morning while you were eating your cereal.

"What is this?" You gingerly picked it up.

"It's from Warren." You quickly set it back down. "It's for you."

You don't think your face has ever been hotter than it was that day. The cat lived on you windowsill, next to the potted plants. Every time you watered you felt a warmness blooming in your chest, running a finger delicately over its head.

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"Hey, you know what channel M*A*S*H airs on, right?"

On a rare day off, the band had settled in around the television in the living room; Camila and Billy sharing the chair in the corner, Graham and Karen lying over each other on the floor, with Eddie perched on the stool in front of the set, his hand on the dial. Warren had spread himself out on the couch, lying down comfortably smoking a joint.

"Uh, yeah." You paused in the doorway. "Yeah, sorry, uh, it's on CBS."

"Great, thanks." Eddie fiddled around with the set before standing up. "Are you gonna join us? I mean, you can join us if you want to."

"Oh, um," you're eyes wildly scanned the room for any hint of disapproval. They landed on Warren, who was hazily looking at you with an easy smile on his face. "Yeah, sure."

"Warren, move your legs," Camila spoke from across the room. Still looking at you, Warren lifted his legs off the couch, inviting you to sit down. As you took your seat, he lowered his legs back down on your lap. He held out the joint, in a movement reminiscent of your first encounter. Never not one for consistency, you shook your head. He shrugged and stuck the joint back between his lips, turning his attention to Alan Alda on the TV. Unsure of what to do with your hands, you tentatively rested them on his calves. You didn't notice, but right next to you the corners of Warren's mouth ever so subtly turned upwards.

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M*A*S*H, as groundbreaking of a show as it was, was not enough to hold the attention of 7 adults for an extended amount of time. Camila left the group first, but not before dropping you a wink as she left the room. Slowly but surely, the rest of the group left to go putter around in their respective corners of the house, before it was just you and Warren, who had finished his joint and transitioned to laying his head in your lap. His face was looking up towards you, but his eyes were closed, looking so relaxed he reminded you of a cat showing their belly. Not fully aware of yourself, you had rested one of your hands on the side of his waist, while the other was running through his hair. The scene was so intimate you were practically choking on it.

"Will you come to our show this weekend?"

Your hand stilled.

"Hmm?"

"I'd like you to, if you want to." He reached his hand up to yours, nudging it to get you to resume your petting. "I'll buy you dinner afterwards."

"You don't need to do that."

He cracked open his eyes, his face splitting into a grin.

"Girlie, I'll take you to dinner any night that you let me."

You barked out a laugh despite yourself. You felt like you were dreaming. He started giggling, too.

"I will!" His thumb was rubbing the meat of your forearm, drawing small circles on your skin. "I'll get you another little cat, too. My finances aren't robust but I'll find a way." The heart eyes he was sending your way were overwhelming.

"I- okay!"

"Really?" Warren sat up, eyes scanning your face, grinning wildly. Not trusting your voice, you nodded emphatically. Looking slightly awestruck, he reached over and cupped your face. "You won't regret this, honey. I'm gonna treat you so well." Someone called him from another room, and reluctantly he let go of you. Subconsciously you started reaching for him. As he stood up, he leaned over and took your hands in his, kissing your knuckles.

"I'm gonna name a boat after you!"

After he left the room, you breathed out a holy cow, and then another quiet chuckle.

Warren Rojas was gonna be the death of you, and you were counting on it.

#warren rojas #warren rojas x reader #djats x reader #if this gets one note i will write the date fic #i will like this myself if i have to

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cannibalcoyote · 2 years

Text

David Bowie: The Actress

Imagine David Bowie being interviewed, and the conversation suddenly focuses on you:

David Bowie's POV:

"So David, in the newest music video you had a lovely woman beside you. Would you mind telling us about her?" The question caught me off guard, we had previously been talking about advice for younger artists, so this was a drastic change.

I find myself tilting my head in confusion, Y/N was a well kept secret. She is beloved by all of America, yet somehow managed to stay hidden away from all of Europe; but I never thought she was so niche that the British media couldn't find any information on her.

The interviewer noticed my change in mood, deciding to reword her rather blunt question.

"I don't mean that in a rude way, we know that she is the lovely actress Y/N L/N. I was simply wondering how it was that you stumbled upon her... Over here many haven't even heard of her." She leans forward, eagerly awaiting my response.

"Of course, what would you like to know?" I don't really know what to expect, Y/N is quite the spectacular woman, and the questions are sure to be spectacular as well.

"Well... How did you two meet? Did her people contact you? Was it pure chance?" The interviewer clasps her hands together as she awaits my answer. I start thinking about how I got in contact with her, having to stifle a smirk at the memory of her manager's surprise when he learned that David Bowie wanted Y/N in his newest music video.

"I reached out to her." I state calmly as I imagine her serene voice, smiling slightly as I replay her moments of stubbornness during filming. She wasn't a rude sort of stubborn, but she stuck firm to her beliefs, and always knew how to win my approval.

"You did!?" She's clearly taken aback at hearing I specifically wanted such an 'unknown' actress starring with me. I can't help but want to sigh in annoyance, Y/N deserves much more recognition for her amazing skill. Her acting is stunning, and I learned over filming that her musical talent is just as brilliant, if not better. That reminds me, I'll have to ask her about a possible future collaboration.

"Yes... I had seen her in the film 'Poem to a Murderer,' and had subsequently written a song in admiration of her. Then when the song was chosen from my album to get a music video, I simply couldn't pass up on the chance to meet the wonderful actress herself." She was breathtaking in that film, gaining both my admiration and attention in the psychological thriller. The interviewer nods in thought, mulling my answer before opening her mouth to respond.

"Can you tell us anything about her role that caught your attention?" There's so much I could say, so much I want to say, but I don't want to spoil the amazing movie. How do I word this into a short sentence whilst still exclaiming my admiration for Y/N?

"Well, the movie itself was a beautifully written and produced piece of art in itself, disturbingly surreal in a way with the imagery they created. I don't want to spoil too much, but I can tell you that every second of that film keeps you on your toes, and Y/N's character kept me on the edge of my seat every scene she was in." I can't help but praise everything about her. She was exceptional in the film, and started me on a search to find and watch everything that she starred in.

"Ever since the music video, theories about you have been flying all through England. Any chance there might be some truth to them?" She asked the question so bluntly that I'm almost stunned. I'll never get used to interviewers being borderline rude while asking intrusive questions.

"Well it really depends on what's being said. I always have rumors circulating about me." I chuckle slightly, both in humor as well as hidden disdain at the truth of my statement. I am slightly intrigued about what she is talking about specifically, what theories have formed about me this time?

"I have sources who claim to have been on set during filming. They said you two were incredibly flirty with one another. They reckon a romantic fling occurred behind closed doors?" Her question isn't said cruelly, she genuinely seems curious; as does the audience from the looks of it. I hate these questions, why does everyone always have to spread rumors?

"Sorry to disappoint you, but there was no 'romantic fling'. Y/N was a very polite and professional person, so much so that I actually thought she didn't like me at first." I laugh through the latter part of my sentence, but I also cringe faintly at the feeling of dejection I had during that time.

"Really! She didn't like you at all?" This is becoming vaguely annoying, I tell them something, then they restate it wrong.

"That's not what I said, I said I thought she didn't like me. During the beginning of filming she was very closed off and focused, but even when the cameras were off she was professional to the point I thought she didn't like me." I explain with a sigh, remembering those moments where I shyly would try talking to her, only to be met with what I perceived as a closed off response.

"Oh, but... did she like you?"

"Luckily she did. It was funny, I remember the specific moment I realized that she didn't hate me. We were filming the fight scene, and the person I was sparring with, Jeffrey Callos, actually caught me in the jaw." I explained before she burst forward in astonishment.

"You were punched? Bet he got the sack." Her eyes are wide open as she surveys me, the crowd laughing lightly at the second half of her sentence.

"Ha ha, not quite. You see, my crew plotted this because they said I was being daft thinking she hated me. I had bet that she would stay in character and play it off, maybe even laugh. Practically everyone else bet that she might kill Jeff."

"Well! What did she do!"

"Funny enough, she nearly killed Jeff... " The audience burst out laughing at my statement, the interviewer and I were chuckling as well. I waited for everyone to settle before continuing my story.

"No no, she didn't kill him. She did run right over, fretting over me and asking if I was okay before running off IN HEELS to get me an ice pack and towel. I can't tell you the relief I felt at that moment. I was worried that she really hated me, but deep down she was incredibly caring and very sweet." I feel embarrassed in a way, describing how caring this reserved woman became when she saw me topple over from the punch.

"So... Does she know? The truth I mean?" Her question is quick to follow my explanation, so quick I don't understand it completely.

"What's that now?"

"Does she know the truth? Did she find out it was a set up?"

"Ah, yes well, it is kind of hard to miss when everyone is smirking at us as she helped me up. I had to explain the situation, and she got awfully flustered." A warm smile spreads across my face at the memory of her with a deep blush across her cheeks.

"I almost thought she would punch me as well, but she just kissed my cheek before saying she could never hate me."

"Aww." The crowd 'oohs' and 'awwws' at the story, I admit that the memory has me blushing slightly as well.

"She seems like quite the memorable lady." She smiles at me, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"Oh, she was great... I only wish I could've gotten to know her better, but her manager was getting calls for her every second of filming. She's probably much too busy to even remember me." I drop my smile slightly, I hope she remembers me, because I'll always remember her.

"I wouldn't say that David." Her response caught me off guard, what's she talking about?

"What do you mean?" My tone shows a little confusion, but I try to keep a check on my emotions.

"You know we invited you here to not only talk about this album, but also your future role in the film Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence?" She's grinning widely now, but I just want to know what she's building up to already.

"Yes... But what does that have to do with Y/N?" I squint my eyes slightly as I watch her sit up sharply.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the lovely Y/N L/N, who will be starring alongside David Bowie in Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence." The shock on my face must have been priceless as I turned and watched as Y/N gracefully walked towards us, the crowd's cheers quickly shifting into a mixture of giggles and laughter.

I stand up quickly, wanting to be polite as well as impress her. I may have neglected to tell the interviewer, but I did develop a slight attraction towards Y/N during filming.

"Hello Jonesey." Her sweet voice has me ignoring the name, a wide smile erupting across my face. She leans forward to hug me, kissing my cheek softly in greeting before shaking hands with our interviewer. I wait for her to sit before following suit, nervously glancing sideways to see her smiling at me already.

The crowd cheers for a few more moments, gradually beginning to quiet down.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Jonesey?" I blush at the nickname, remembering when she first started calling me it. I don't even know how it started, but she first called me 'Jonesey' to make me laugh when I was filming a serious scene in the video, and laugh I did. From then on, 'Jonesey' was her go to nickname whenever she saw me.

"It's only been a few weeks, love." I grin, patting her hand gently as it rests on the armrest. Surprise gripping me as she lifts up my hand to her lips, gently kissing it before speaking.

"Too long for me." She smirks playfully to me, and I offer her a warm smile in reply before nervously glancing away.

The crowd has quieted down enough now, hopefully not noticing the intimate moment that passed between us.

"What was that? Seems like a lot more than costars catching up." Of course, the interviewer is sadly never one to miss a possible question. My mind stutters as I try to think of what to say, luckily not having to.

"I just love making Jonesey blush, surely he's told you that."

"What do you mean miss L/N?" Oh no, why do interviewers always manage to dig up embarrassing personal things. I'm usually okay with this, but being so near Y/N just has my mind fried.

"I mean, hasn't David told you of all the times I purposely just tried to make him blush during filming? I have a wonderful amount of memories where he couldn't even get a word out with how flustered he was." She giggles at the end of her sentence, lightly shoving my shoulder humorously as a blush dusts my cheeks again.

"David? You've been holding back on me?" The interviewer looks at me in a jokingly accusing way, crossing her arms as she looks at me.

"Nooooo... I've just been.. Selectively sharing?" My voice is uneven, I couldn't even form a proper sentence when she was near me. I glance to Y/N as I practically ask my sentence, waiting for her to nod in confirmation before shifting back to the interviewer a little more confident.

However, that confidence was a little damaged when the audience laughed at the interaction.

"Well, I think we know who wears the pants in the relationship. Anyways... " The interviewer continues on as I struggle to try and find my words to argue with her, but I'm quickly silenced by Y/N's gentle tug on my sleeve. She pulls me back in my seat, quietly whispering in my ears,

"You can show me who's the boss after... " Her words are delicate, no longer exuding the confidence from earlier, clearly unsure of how I'll respond.

The interviewer continues rambling, but I simply gaze deeply into her eyes, calmly kissing her hand in response before we both turn our attention back to the interviewer. But we aren't really paying attention, our minds wandering to scenarios of what might play out when this interview finishes.

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anne-chloe · 9 months

Text

Trust Me | Four |

Jareth/Goblin King x F! Reader

How much time had passed?

You continued to wander through the castle. Every room you entered posed no trick, no game. You were growing restless and tired of rousing suspicion, but you couldn't help but feel that Jareth was guiding you into a false sense of security.

Though, you tried to remain optimistic and to continue trusting him. If that's what it took to properly navigate the castle and find Tobey, then that's exactly what you forced yourself to do.

The sound of music became louder and louder, until eventually you entered what appeared to be a Throne Room.

It was large, and there were various shaped Goblins in every inch of the room. You peered around nervously, realising that they hadn't yet noticed your presence. Or, if they had, they didn't seem to care much.

A catchy drum beat made the Goblins dance freely, a blessing in disguise as you began slowly backing out of the room. Surely you weren't supposed to be here, and you had taken a wrong turn at some point? You wanted to trust that Jareth was leading you to the correct place, but he left no clues or physical guidance, only tricks and traps to trip you up if you took a wrong turn.

Then, just as you vanished from sight, your eyes caught sight of the colours red and white. You paused, fingers gripping the doorframe as recognition flashed in your eyes.

It was Tobey.

You gasped loudly, relief flooding through you. He was in the very centre of all the Goblins, sitting on the floor and looking very unsettled. He rubbed his eyes furiously, indicating that he wanted to sleep, but the ruckus caused by the Goblins was preventing him from doing so.

You didn't want to be seen by these Goblin creatures, but you couldn't just leave Tobey to suffer like this. As his babysitter, it was your duty to care and protect him while he was under your watch. You'd already failed to protect him from being snatched by The Goblin King, and you refused to fail in this very moment.

With no other choice, you began walking quickly into the room. The music scratched to a stop, and all the Goblins suddenly turned to face you. They seemed to ponder over your appearance, and then as if they shared a single mind, they launched into action and began charging at you with their small might.

You squealed as they started to tug and pull and push at your legs, arms and clothing. You fought to remain upright while they fought to drag you down. You twirled and twisted in their harsh grabs. Weirdly enough, their actions reminded you somewhat of young children trying to gain their mother's attention.

Tobey was abandoned in the middle of the room. He seemed to recognise you though, because from his position he made a grabbing gesture. You blinked through teary eyes at the distress on his little face, now seeing the dried tear streaks on his cheeks.

How long had he cried and wailed without comfort? How could The Goblin King leave him in the company of these Goblins?

You forcefully yanked your arm back and began pushing your way through the swarm, determined to get to Tobey as quick as you possibly could. The Goblins grabbed hold of your legs, attempting to seize you in place. But you were taller, and somewhat stronger. You broke your legs free and, slowly, step by step, you drew closer to the distressed baby.

Finally, you were just in front of Tobey. He reached up and you leaned down, gently lifting him from his underarms and protectively cradling him into your arms. Your fingers traced his face and head, checking for any injuries that he may have sustained while you were apart. But he was fine, safe and back in your arms.

Then, deliberate slow claps sounded from behind you.

You turned around, trying your hardest to ignore the Goblins that continued to cling on to your lower body. You were sure that if they could jump, they'd try and knock Tobey from your arms. You were thankful that they hadn't made any attempts to do that.

Jareth was sitting leisurely on his throne, his leg crossed over the other. His smile grew when your eyes landed on him.

How long had he been sitting there, watching you? He couldn't have been there the entire time, you would have surely noticed him when you first arrived. Then again, you were so focused on Tobey that it was entirely possible.

Jareth slowly moved his cloak to the side, revealing Tobey sitting beside him. You looked down in your arms, now realising that the baby you had been holding was actually a Goblin, and it was dressed in the same clothes as Tobey. You gasped and let go, as if the Goblin had somehow burned you.

You stared accusingly at Jareth, feeling tricked yet again. There was no way that you had mistaken a Goblin for Tobey, this was most definitely a trick that he had played on you. You felt foolish that you had readily fell for it. You questioned that your desperation might have clouded your judgement of reality, but that surely couldn't have been the cause.

"You trusted me," Jareth said.

You nodded slowly. "I did," you confirmed.

But, now that you had made it to where Tobey was, what was to happen next? You hadn't taken into account that Jareth would physically withhold Tobey from you. Surely this is what you deserved after navigating through those tricks of his? Or, was the game not fully over yet, and this was simply another challenge for you to figure out?

Jareth stood from his throne and sauntered over to you. The Goblins dispersed from around you, leaving room for Jareth to make way. He gently grabbed your hands and somehow guided you into a spin. You closed your eyes, the motion making you dizzy, and then he stopped, holding you so your back was pressed into his chest. His arms rested over your chest, holding you securely in place. If you tried to move, he would have the advantage of keeping you still. Trapped.

Jareth leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. You shuddered at his breath, a tint of red rushing to your cheeks at the close proximity.

"You remind me of the babe."

You blinked dumbly at the statement. "What babe?" You asked.

Jareth then spun you around again, so you were now facing him. His face was inches from your own, his nose practically touching yours. You stared, mesmerised into his deep coloured eyes, as if he was now hypnotising you.

"The babe with the power."

He let go of your hands, and you automatically placed them against his chest. Jareth secured you in place with his hands on your waist. Again, you were trapped.

"What power?" You asked.

Jareth leaned in closer, his lips practically touching yours. "The power of voodoo."

You felt a strange sensation within you. His fingers dug into your hips, causing you to gasp lightly at the sudden pain. Jareth smirked at this, that evil, sadistic smirk that you desperately wanted to wipe form his face.

"Who do?"

"You do."

"Do what?"

"Remind me of the babe."

Something within you clicked. You blinked rapidly, and just before Jareth could press his lips fully against your own, you jolted back out of his grasp. He frowned at your movement, disappointment flashing across his face, but he soon recovered and regained his cool composure.

Again, you were reminded that Jareth did not take lightly to rejection.

The Goblins reached up and seized you again, holding you steady as Jareth approached Tobey, who had been sitting quietly on the throne throughout the entire encounter. Jareth reached down and scooped Tobey up, now using his finger to tickle under Tobey's chin.

"I saw my baby, crying hard as babe could cry, what could I do?"

Jareth's words had a lyrical sense to them, making you dizzy as he spoke. He turned to face you, his smirk returning at the rooted confusion on your face. You tugged at your arms and legs, trying to break free from the Goblins, but they had a tight hold on you and seemed to be keeping you in place through someone's order. Jareth's order.

"My baby's love had gone, and left my baby blue, nobody knew."

Then, as if enchanted, the Goblins croaked out at the same time: "what kind of magic spell to use?"

"Slime and snails!" One called from your right. You pulled at your arm, but the Goblin only held you tighter. "Or puppy dog tails!" You cringed at the idea of poor animals being used as some sort of spell; it was completely cruel, but you wouldn't put it past Jareth to be cruel. "Thunder or lightning!"

Jareth eyed you from across the room, then looked down at Tobey. Then, he grinned. "And baby said—" Jareth tossed Tobey into the air, practically throwing him at you.

"Tobey!" you yelled and jolted forwards to catch him, arms outstretched. But, as Tobey fell and landed in your arms, you squirmed in horror as a Goblin appeared there instead. You immediately let go, eyes flashing in betrayal at Jareth, while he merely smirked in satisfaction, revealing Tobey still in his own arms, safe.

You huffed, but had no time to process as the Goblins continued to swarm. You felt yourself be pushed around as Jareth started to dance with Tobey in his arms, making the baby laugh and giggle from the exciting movement.

"Dance, magic dance! Put that baby's spell on me," Jareth's eyes flickered to you as the Goblins continued to repeat phrases from his words. "Jump, magic jump! Put that magic jump on me."

A Goblin managed to pull you down. You gasped as your knees hit the floor. The Goblins grabbed your face, prodding and squeezing your cheeks, tugging at your hair.

"Slap that baby, make him free!"

You cringed at the Goblin's touches. You tried to move your face away, tried to lift your body up again, but they had you trapped in a kneeling position on the floor. You continued to struggle and fight against them, but the more you struggled, the worse they became.

"I saw my baby, trying hard as babe could try, what could I do?" Jareth gestured to you on the floor, frowning at the obvious distress on your face. "My baby's fun had gone, and left my baby blue, nobody knew!"

The Goblins were extremely loud as they chanted a repeated "what kind of magic spell to use?"

You stared up at Jareth as he continued with the various magic spells. Slime and snails, puppy dog tails, thunder and lightning... and through each word that he spoke, you could see his eyes constantly flickering back to you. It felt as though he was genuinely trying to help you, offer out a hand of support.

Was he trying to help you escape the Goblins? But surely he could just tell them to stop?

You thought harder. Trust me.

You blinked in realisation. Trust me.

Jareth wanted you to willingly trust him. Even now, as he flaunted Tobey in front of you, teasing you with lyrical words and had you trapped on the floor by Goblins, he still wanted you to trust him. But how could you show that you were trying to do so?

Then, resolved with an idea, you stopped struggling. The Goblins noticed this and ceased their tugging and pulling. You breathed a sigh of relief, then looked up at Jareth from your kneeling position on the floor. He had placed Tobey on the throne behind him, and your eyes softened as you noticed he had fallen asleep. All that dancing had worn him out.

Jareth reached his hand out to you. "You remind me of the babe."

You slowly placed your hand into his own, feeling a rush of warmth fill your chest as Jareth guided you to your feet. "What babe?"

Jareth smirked, pulling you close. "The babe with the power."

He leaned down, his nose touching yours.

"What power?"

"The power of voodoo."

Your eyes fell half lidded. "Who do?"

Jareth's arms encircled your waist, holding you trapped against his body. Though, this time you didn't feel trapped. Which was strange, because you knew he'd be angry if you rejected him again; but what would happen if you accepted him?

"You do."

"Do what?" You asked, breathless and weak.

Jareth's eyes sparkled. "Remind me of the babe."

And then, his lips pressed against yours, and suddenly your mind went completely blank. You melted into his touch, your surroundings fading away from your mind. The Goblins no longer existed in that very moment, because all that was real was Jareth's lips against your own.

#fan fiction #the labyrinth #labyrinth #labyrinth 1986 #Jareth #David Bowie #magic dance #magic #dancing #goblins #the goblin king #obsessed love #reader insert #fantasy #romance #kidnapping #the underground #magical creatures #mythical creatures

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