#i haven’t taken chemistry since

[sxcretricciardo]

when music meets speed pt.1

—> in which the reader is a singer and a big fan of Daniel Ricciardo and stalks him into getting to do a music video with her

•

danielricciardo enjoying the last days of summer break, excited to be behind the wheel in a few days 🏎️

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username1 GOD IM-

username2 let’s go DANNY 🤩

visacashapprb ready to get some points 👊

↳ danielricciardo let’s go!

yourusername day 95 of commenting until you say yes to record a music video with me

↳ visacashapprb would love to help, dm us 🤩

↳ username3 we love one admin

↳ username4 YASSS GO Y/N

↳ username5 can’t wait, I REALY HOPE THIS HAPPENS

-

yourusername posted a story

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visacashapprb all smiles and giggles between this weekend’s guest yourusername and our driver danielricciardo ☺️

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username1 IS THE VIDEO COMING OR WHAT

username2 DID HE ACCEPT???? don’t leave us hanging GIRL

username3 i feel like the video is coming, I can feel the chemistry between them already

username4 Danny ric in a music video?? I HOPE SO

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yourusername 1. had such a blast at the visacashapprb garage this weekend 2. look at my paddock pass picture, I look like a happy kid 3. did I hug THE Daniel Ricciardo??? Still not believing it 😭

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visacashapprb we hope you got what you wanted girl 😉

↳ yourusername you know it, thanks admin 🫶🏻

↳ username1 GIRL IS THIS A CONFIRMATION??? WHEN IS IT DROPPING

username2 OMG they look so cuteee

username3 the third picture, I SHIP IT ALREADY

danielricciardo 😄

↳ username4 HIM COMMENTING

↳ username5 don’t be shy Danny, tell us more

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ynlnfans guys a girl just messaged us with this picture saying that she was at the private concert of Y/N tonight in New York and Daniel Ricciardo was there and he waved at her and she waved him back and this was taken right in that moment LOOK HOW CUTE AHHHH

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username1 are they a couple? Because they should

username2 she’s a cutie look at her she’s so happy 😭

username3 haven’t seen her smile so much since the whole scandal with her ex, she deserves so much happiness 💕

username4 PARENTS

username5 ugh they haven’t announced anything yet BUT THEY SHOULD

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danielricciardo this cowboy is a guitar player 🤠

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username1 if this is him soft launching a collab with Y/N I’m all here for it

username2 YASS

visacashapprb DR3 is in his musical era

username3 sing for us Danny 😔

↳ yourusername I’ve been tying to convince him to sing too, let’s see 🙂‍↕️

username4 with Charles on the piano and Danny on the guitar, the band is ON BABY

•

Part 2 coming soon 💕

[waitimcomingtoo]

Come See About Me

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Synopsis: Tom realizes he got you all wrong and slowly falls as he learns more about you during the press tour

Masterlist

“Oh shoot. I’m press with Y/n all week.” Tom said as he read an email from his team.

“Is that a bad thing?” Harry asked him.

“Not necessarily. I just don’t really know her that well. She was super reserved on set for the few days I shot with her. I wonder why they paired me with her.”

“Well, you’re the same age, right? The movie team probably just want to start romance rumors for publicity.”

“I don’t think that will happen. I barely got to know her during filming. I doubt anyone will see chemistry between us.” Tom replied. He started pacing around his hotel room and felt uncharacteristically nervous for the day ahead.

“Well for your sake, let’s hope you don’t see chemistry between you either.” Harry snorted.

“How do you mean?” Tom frowned.

“You know how messy relationships in the public eye can be. Just don’t go falling in love with this girl, okay? I do not want to watch you pine after your dark and mysterious costar.” Harry warned him.

“Psh. I won’t fall in love with her. That would never happen.” Tom scoffed and continued scrolling through his phone. He ended up on Instagram and saw that you had recently posted a photo. It was just a simple selfie in your hotel room which was probably just a few doors down from Tom’s. He found himself smiling and gave the photo a like. He may not have gotten to know you on set, but there’s no reason he couldn’t get to know you now.

“But if I did, why would that be bad?” Tom asked as he deep stalked your Instagram.

“The way I see it, there are two outcomes if you choose to pursue her. Option one is you get swept up in the excitement of promoting the movie and start reading into every little interaction between the two of you because that’s what the public is doing. So you convince yourself you’re in love with her and maybe she’ll even convince herself of the same thing. But once the press tour is over and you get to be with each other without any reason or purpose, you realize you never actually liked each other. And that’ll just end up breaking both your hearts. Even worse if only one of you realizes you never actually liked the other. God. That would be a nightmare.” Harry shivered.

“Okay.” Tom said slowly. “That was oddly specific. So what’s the other outcome?”

“You fall in love with her on this press tour and then it ends before you get a chance to tell her. So she flies off to film another movie and you’re stuck kicking yourself for not being honest with her sooner. And I’m stuck watching you whine about it.” Harry said simply.

“Or, hear me out, secret third option.” Tom proposed. “I fall for her and she falls for me and we have a great relationship. And maybe it lasts and maybe it doesn’t. But at least we gave it a shot. That could happen, right?”

“Maybe. But either way, she’s getting on a plane at the end of this press tour. And you can’t fall in love with someone who’s worlds away. Remember that.” Harry reminded him.

“I’m not gonna fall in love with her.” Tom insisted.

“Promise?” Harry asked skeptically.

“Yeah. Promise.” Tom said weakly. He looked at your picture one more time before shutting his phone off.

The next morning, Tom got into a black van that was going to take the cast to the building where the interviews were taking place. You got into the car shortly after with a huge smile on your face that Tom had never seen before. You were in a nice dress and full glam already, unintentionally earning yourself Tom’s full attention.

“Good morning.” You said enthusiastically as you sat in the seat beside him. He was slightly taken aback by how friendly you were being since he had only ever seen you being quiet and reserved.

“Oh, hello.” He smiled in surprise. “Good morning to you too, darling. How are you doing?”

“I’m really excited for today.” You admitted. “I haven’t done a big press tour like this before. I know they can be a little boring and repetitive but I can’t wait.”

“Yeah. These tours are pretty crazy. You get to see a lot of amazing places which is really cool. But you also get to answer the same question 100 times a day for a month straight. You’ll learn the highs and the lows pretty soon.”

“I’m ready for it all. But thanks for the warning. I appreciate any tips I can get.” You chuckled.

“You’re welcome. And don’t worry. You’ll get used to waking up at the crack of dawn and having a bunch of people you’ve never met poke you with makeup and hair stuff.”

“When?” You asked through a yawn. “Because I have a full face of makeup on before my brain is fully awake and it feels so very, very wrong.”

“Not soon enough.” He sighed. “I’ve learned to stay half asleep while the nice ladies apply my concealer.”

“Oh, so this complexion isn’t natural?” You teased and pointed to his face.

“Nope. You’re not the only one in full glam right now, darling.” He humored you, making you laugh.

“Careful. You don’t know if you can’t trust me yet. I might sell that piece of bad boy information to a news site and get you exposed.” You warned. It was Tom’s turn to laugh and he felt amazed that he had never seen this side of your personality before.

“I hope you don’t. I was just about to say that I’m glad I can share your first big press tour with you but now I feel we may have begun an enemies arch.”

“No. We can’t be enemies.” You whined playfully. “Because I was gonna say that I’m glad you’re here too. You always seem so relaxed and funny in interviews. I’m really hoping I don’t come off as nervous as I feel today.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t. It’ll feel just like a conversation.” He assured you. He was pleased to know you were a watcher of his interviews and wondered what else he’d uncover about you that day.

“Thank. I really appreciate you helping me with all this.”You said sincerely.

“It’s no trouble. If you have any other questions, just ask. I’ll help wherever I can.” He told you.

“Thanks, Tom.” You smiled at him. He smiled back and suddenly remembered what Harry had said the night before about not falling in love with you. Tom was just one conversation in and already struggling to keep his promise.

Once the van arrived at the building, you and Tom had makeup touch ups and were then sent into the junket room.

“Wow. I haven’t seen the poster yet.” You gasped and touched the poster with gentle fingertips. Tom watched you admiring it and smiled when he saw how proud you looked.

“You look good up there. I hope to see you on more posters.” He said and nudged you slightly.

“Like in Playboy?” You asked and looked insulted.

“What?” Tom gulped. “No, no, no. I didn’t-“

“I’m just messing with you.” You cut him off and nudged him back. He felt his hearts too racing and cracked a smile.

“You really had me for a second there, darling. I didn’t realize you had such a sense of humor. I guess I never heard you say much on set.”

“Thats because I found it hard to shake my character after filming all day. I guess I’m not used to separating that yet. I loved my character and all but I’m so glad to be done shooting her. She’s so dark and dramatic. It really affected my mood on set.” You told him as you both sat down in your chairs.

“Oh, wow. So you’re not quiet? You were just in character?”

“Quiet? I’ve never been described as quiet.” You laughed. “I was just in my emo phase on set because the material I was shooting was so dark. It bummed me out all day.”

“But you’re not bummed out today?” He asked with a coy smile.

“Fuck no. I’m ready to party.” You whispered to him just as the journalist came in. He burst out laughing at the unexpected expletive and earned himself a look from the journalist.

“Well alright then.” He chuckled.

That was the first of many times you made Tom laugh that day. The more interviews you did together, the more he learned about you and your personality. He paid attention to every anecdote and personal story you shared and was more and more fascinated each time.

When it came time for day two of the press tour, he could not wait to get back in there with you. The interviews were in the hotel that day and Tom got to the junket room first. When you got there, you handed him a hot cup of tea.

“For you.” You smiled and sat beside him. Tom looked at you curiously and you gestured for him to sip it. He took a sip and widened his eyes when he tasted it.

“This is exactly how I take my tea.” He said incredulous.

“I know. I was listening when you ordered at breakfast yesterday.” You said proudly.

“Thank you, darling. I really appreciate that.” He smiled fondly at you before taking another sip.

“Well I wanted to thank you for all your help yesterday.” You smiled shyly. “I was really nervous yesterday until we talked in the car. You made my first press day really memorable. So I did the normal courtesy of eavesdropping on you and brought you your favorite tea.”

“That was very kind of you. And you made my day yesterday a lot better than I was expecting so I should be thanking you too.”

“Then I’ll loudly tell someone else my favorite way to drink tea so that you can eavesdrop and surprise me.” You joked as the journalist walked in.

“How are you guys doing today?” The journalist asked to start the interview.

“I’m doing really well now that Y/n brought me tea.” Tom answered and took another sip.

“I’m also doing really well but because Tom didn’t bring me tea.” You said and looked at Tom to see if he found it funny.

“Why would that make you happy?” He laughed.

“Because I hate tea.” You shrugged.

“What? Don’t you know that is the worst thing you can say to an English person? And you just told me you had a favorite tea.”

“That was a joke. I actually hate tea.” You admitted.

“How can anyone hate tea?” Tom asked in exasperation.

“It’s just like hot, flavored water. I don’t understand what’s good about it. I hate soup too.“

“Soup too?” Tom gasped and pretended to clutch his petals.

“I think soup is so nasty. Why would I ever want to eat hot blended food?”

“If you hate soup and you hate tea, then what do you do when you’re sick?”

“I watch Fantastic Mr. Fox under my covers like a normal person.” You answered, making him laugh.

“This is very disturbing information to learn so early in the morning. You’ve surprised me, darling.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this.” You shrugged with a laugh.

The next day, Tom was pleased to see you already waiting in your chair for the interview to start. You were texting on your phone but looked up when he came into the room. Your makeup artists was touching up your lipstick so you couldn’t smile at him and opted for a wink. He found himself blushing at the wink and sat beside you.

“Morning, darling.”

“Good morning. No tea today?” You teased.

“I’ve already had my tea, for your information. I chugged it while I got my makeup done.”

You laughed but he wasn’t actually kidding about getting his makeup done. He was just happy that it made you laugh. Your makeup artists finished up and you checked your makeup in your phone camera.

“You look pretty.” Tom said before he could stop himself. You looked over at him in surprise before smiling.

“Why, thanks. So do you.” You said and shot him another wink. He blushed and looked down at his lap at the compliment.

“God, I’m gonna be thinking about lunch this entire interview.” You whispered to him.

“You didn’t eat at the craft service table?”

“I can’t eat that early in the morning.” You waved your hand. “It makes me nauseous. Now I’m wishing I did though. My kingdom for a cheese stick.”

“I hate cheese.” Tom grimaced.

“What? Even in stick form?” You asked him.

“Even in stick form.” He humored you. “And you can’t judge me because you hate the two most comforting foods on earth.”

“I’m judging you so hard right now.” You mumbled. Tom laughed as an idea came to him.

Before your next interview, Tom made a quick stop at the bakery across the street. You were already in the room waiting to start by the time he got back. He quickly fixed his hair before holding out a little brown paper bag.

“For you.” He said with a bashful smile.

“What is this?” You asked as you took the bag.

“Open it.” He said as he sat beside you. You gave him a curious look before opening the bag.

“Scone?” You gasped and looked up at him.

“Scone!” He smiled proudly.

“You got me a scone? Why?” You wondered and took the stone out of the bag.

“Because it was easier to find than a cheese stick.” He chuckled.

“I love you.” You cupped his chin before taking a bite of the scone. Tom froze and felt his face turn bright red at your words. You realized he had gone quiet and looked over at him.

“Sorry. Was it too soon to say that?” You asked with a mouthful of scone.

“I think so. Aren’t you supposed to wait three months?” He chuckled and touched a cold hand to his burning face.

“Too bad. The introduction of the scone sped up our relationship and now we’re in love.” You shrugged and took another bite. Tom laughed again and looked down at his laugh.

“So, uh, speaking of our relationship. Have you seen the way fans have been shipping us since our last few interviews hit the Internet? How weird is that?” He said and forced a laugh. He didn’t actually find it weird, he just wanted it see how you felt about the possibility of a relationship.

“I was actually deep into the fan edits last night to be perfectly honest with you.” You said through a laugh.

“Were you?” He asked in surprise.

“I was. And I heard that we’ve been secretly dating since May. Did you know that?”

“I did. I forgot to tell you. I’m sorry, darling. It must’ve slipped my mind.” He played along.

“That’s okay. I can’t be mad at you since you blessed me with a scone.”

The journalist came in once you had finished your scone and the interview began. Tom was barely paying attention to the questions and only focused on hearing your answers. He loved that he wasn’t getting to learn new things about you that he was too shy to ask.

“Unpopular opinion?” The journalist asked.

“A lot of people think cats are girls and dogs are boys but the real take here is that all seagulls are boys.”

“Woah, what? What makes all seagulls boys?” Tom asked you.

“A girl would never act like that.” You said simply, making Tom laugh.

“My unpopular opinion is that Y/n’s best movie is Look Mom, No Hands.” Tom said, making you burst out laughing.

“I know you did not just bring up my Disney Chanel original movie from when I was 11.”

“Yes I did. Because I watched it last night and I cried when you made the winning goal even after your glasses broke from the soccer ball hitting you in the face.”

“Oh my God.” You laughed. “The drama.”

“It was! The opposing team totally kicked it into your face on purpose because they knew you were the underdog. But nevertheless, she persisted. You made the winning goal and your team won the championship.”

“Wow. Way to spoil my movie from 15 years ago. And why were you even watching that?”

“Because I needed to know who I was working with everyday. It’s a part of your lore. Now that I know you’ve starred in a DCOM, I know I can trust you.”

“I was not the star. Bridget Mendler was the star. I was just the quirky best friend.” You reminded him, making Tom laugh.

“Well you were the only one I was looking at, okay darling? You were the star for me.” He said as he looked over at you. You smiled at his answer and nodded your head.

“Good answer. Favorite snack?” The journalist asked.

“Oh no. You’re gonna think I’m weird.” You smiled sheepishly.

“What? I could never, darling. What is it?” Tom asked and turned in his chair to face you.

“I put mustard on popcorn.” You grimaced.

“What the hell?” Tom’s nose scrunched in disgust.

“See! I knew you’d think I was a little freak.”

“Mustard? On popcorn? Why would anyone do that?”

“You’re thinking it’s worse than it is. Yellow mustard on lightly salted popcorn is really good, okay? Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“You’re gonna have to make it for me. Because I cannot imagine it’s good.” Tom shook his head.

“If I can get my hands on some mustard during this press tour, I will be at your door in a heartbeat.”

“It’s a date.”Tom replied, making you smile.

“It better be.” You answered, and he returned the smile.

Tom was fully in it now. Every second that he wasn’t with you, you were the only thing on his mind. You started spending your evenings together and grabbed dinner every night after your interviews. He was falling fast and getting worse and worse at hiding it. He posted a photo of the two of you that the paparazzi had taken while you were out to dinner and captioned it “I’d wait out in the cold all night just to take pictures of her too”. He tagged you and it wasn’t long before you were in his comments saying “he’s so obsessed with me it’s honestly embarrassing”. He smiled at the comment and wrote back “yes, and?” before going to bed.

The press tour was coming to an end and on the last day, Tom walked into the junket room to find only one chair in the room.

“Oh. No Y/n?” Tom asked his manager.

“Nope. Solo interviews today.” They replied. Tom faked a smile and sat in his chair. He hoped his disappointment wasn’t as obvious as it felt as he gave the interview alone. He did a few more solo interviews throughout the day and eventually got to his last one. It wasn’t long before the door opened up and you walked into the room with Tom’s water bottle.

“Hi. I’m crashing. Sorry.” You smiled sheepishly and walked into the room.

“That’s quite all right. Do you want a chair?” The journalist asked you.

“I’m good.” You smiled politely and sat on Tom’s knee. He immediately blushed and looked up at you.

“What are you doing here, darling?” Tom grinned.

“I finished early so I brought you juice.” You said and handed him the water bottle.

“What? No way.” He smiled in appreciation and opened up the water bottle to see apple juice inside.

“Juice!” You cheered.

“Juice!” He echoed. “Thank you, darling. What a nice surprise.”

“Well I had to get you back for the scone.“ You told him.

“So Tom, I have to ask about your Instagram post from yesterday. You tagged Y/n in an interesting place, Tom. Care to comment on that?” The journalist asked now that you had joined the interview.

“He tagged me there because it’s where you can usually find me.” You chuckled.

“Wait, I’m lost? Where did I tag her?” Tom asked. You and the journalist exchanged a look before you pulled out your phone to show Tom his own post from the night before. He had accidentally tagged you right on his crotch, making him turn red when he saw his mistake. And when he pieced together what you meant by what you had just said, he turned even redder.

“Oh my God. I swear, I’m just Instagram stupid. I didn’t mean to tag her there.” Tom explained.

“Yes he did. He tagged me in my location. Because that’s where I am.” You kept up the joke just to tease him.

“Where?” The journalist laughed.

“On Tom’s dick.” You shrugged. Tom covered his red face with his hands as you and the journalist laughed.

“People know that about me. If they can’t find me, they don’t ask “hey where’s Y/n?” because they already know where I am. It’s my happy place. My sanctuary. My home away from home.” You continued.

“No. No more. My mum watched these.” He playfully scolded you.

“Hey, you started this.” You reminded him.

“And I’m ending it.”

“Actually, I’m the one who has to end it. That’s all the time we have. Thanks guys.” The journalist said. The last interview was done, meaning the press tour was officially over. You stood up and adjusted your skirt before looking at Tom. He smiled softly but felt his disappointment return. The tour was over which meant today was his last day with you. He knew you’d keep in touch, but it would never be like this again, and that’s made him sad.

Instead of wallowing in his sadness, Tom did something about it. He stopped by the corner store before making his way to your hotel room. In his way there, he ran into his brother Harry. Harry took one look at the bag of popcorn in his hands and knew what was happening.

“You fell in love with her, didn’t you?” Harry snorted.

“Shut up.” Tom groaned. “I can still fire you.”

“You did the one thing you said you wouldn’t do. Now look at you. One your way to eat the most American combination of foods I have ever seen. You’re a disgrace to your homeland.”

“I couldn’t help it, okay? She made me fall for her. It’s all her fault, really. Now leave me alone. I have a girl to surprise with a disgusting snack.” Tom said and went on his way. He took a deep breath before knocking on your door. You opened your door for him and he held up his bag of supplies.

“Hey, you. What’s this?”You raised an eyebrow.

“Mustard and popcorn. You little freak.” He said with a teasing smile. Your lips curved into a smile as you stared at him.

“Get in here.” You instructed.

He went into your room and shut the door behind him as you poured the bag popcorn into two bowls. He did his best to hide his disgust as you squirt mustard over them both.

“Here. You’re gonna love this.” You said as you handed him his bowl.

“It smells like mustard.” He grimaced.

“Well, that’s 50% of the ingredients.”

“Okay. I’m doing it. I’m eating one.” He said and popped a mustard covered piece of popcorn into his mouth. You watched him as he chewed it and could tell he hated it.

“Well?” You asked.

“I’m gonna throw up.” He answered.

“Spit it out.” You laughed.

“No. You like this so I’m gonna force myself to like it too.” He said a begrudgingly swallowed the popcorn. You laughed at him but your smile slowly faded and you looked a little upset.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked you.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling kinda down tonight.” You told him.

“You are? What’s bothering you?”

“I guess I’m just sad the tours over. I don’t like when things end.” You admitted with a sad smile.

“I’m sad it’s over too. They usually exhaust me but I don’t know. I particularly enjoyed this one.” Tom replied sheepishly without meeting your eyes.

“You did?” You asked as you ate your popcorn.

“I did. Mostly because I enjoyed getting to know you.” He admitted and finally looked up at you. You smiled in surprise and scooted closer to him. Tom gulped and looked down at his lap. The tour was officially over so if he didn’t want you to get on a plane without ever knowing how he felt, he was gonna have to speak now.

“You know, before the tour started, my brother made me promise that I wasn’t gonna fall for you.” Tom admitted.

“What?” You laughed softly. “Why would he make you promise that?”

“I don’t know. He said it would only end in two ways.” Tom said and looked into your eyes with a sheepish smile.

“Which were?” You wondered.

“We get caught up in the excitement of the movie so we start a fling and then breakup when the tour ends.”

“Well that didn’t happen. So what was the other option?”

“I fall for you and never tell you. And the tour ends and you get on a plane and I regret it for the rest of my life. But I guess that option didn’t happen either since I told you.” He said as he never dropped your gaze. You stared into his eyes for a moment as you processed what he had just admitted.

“Well, what if there was a secret third option?”

“Secret third option?” Tom asked with intrigue.

“I mean, just because the tour is ending that doesn’t mean it has to be the end of you and me, does it?” You said and leaned in even closer.

“It doesn’t?” He gulped at your close proximity.

“I don’t think so. And look. You bought me food. That makes this is our first date.” You explained as you held up your bowl of popcorn.

“Well I’m happy to hear that but don’t expect a kiss with your mustard breath.” Tom mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

“What was that?” You played along.

“I said you’re so pretty and I have a giant crush on you and want us to be together.” He said quickly.

“Much better.” You smiled and popped some popcorn into your mouth.

Tag List 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@tom-hollands-wifey

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave​ ​

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom

@pandaxnienke

 @officialsimppage @peterbenjiparker @itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @leilanixx

@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep @white-wolf1940

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison  

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy

[oph3liatlou]

Heyy,

I‘d love to request a Haymitch x reader fic! Just something wholesome. Some bullet points for the context:

-age gap

-she falls first he falls harder

-enemies to friends with benefits to lovers

-maybe a tiny bit of spice

The rest is totally up to you!!!

— PAST EMOTIONS

@mariechristine00

pairing(s) - soft!haymitch x recovering!fem reader

word count - 801

warnings - mentions of sex (past tense), light bickering, age gap (haymitch is 42 & reader is 27), implied situations.

proofread? - yes.

note from author - why did his flirting make me giggle 🤭 ???

summary - you were rescued from the capitol along with other victors - haymitch is your first visitor and you're happy to see him.

“You don’t happen to have any alcohol on you, do you?” Haymitch asked. He was your very first visitor since you had been brought to District 13 - along with Peeta, Johanna, and Annie. You considered Haymitch as a friend, of sorts…though you two didn’t get along when you first met.

I smile gently when you saw Haymitch was your first visitor. you were definitely happy to see a friendly face. “You think I’d be able to smuggle something like that in?”

“You’d be surprised.” He said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “How’d your visit with Coin go?” He asked, now stepping into your room.

“Haven’t gone yet.” You shook your head. “She thought I’d be in the same shape as Peeta.” And this was true, Coin had said that you should get your rest.

Haymitch seemed to find your words amusing, chuckling slightly before sitting in a nearby chair. "How are you feeling?" He asked, in a much kinder tone than that of how he spoke to you before. He didn't seem like the type to care about other victors' welfare - but he was much more attentive to you since your rescue.

This out-of-character nature seemed to confuse you when you pointed that out to him. "Since when have you started being so nice?"

He shrugged, raising an eyebrow as if he just found your question amusing. "You're not in a condition to be picking fights, are you?"

You scoffed. You two always had this banter going on with eachother but - the tension was released the few times you had slept together.

His grey-blue eyes met yours. "Besides..." He continued. "I've always been nice. To you."

You chuckled at his comment. "No, you haven't. We hated eachother when we first met."

His smirk grew at the mention of your first meeting. He looked as if he had remembered something that amused him greatly - though he kept it to himself. "Maybe, but even then...couldn't deny the chemistry, could we?" He asked.

You gave him a side glance with a soft chuckle. "I wanted to smack you in the face the first time we met - if you wanna call that chemistry..."

"And I would've loved every second of it," He said, his smirk growing. "You have to admit, the physical tension..." He trailed off, hoping you'd finish the sentence.

You smiled looking up from your eyebrows. You had been tracing designs on the blankets of your rather uncomfortable - recovery bed. "I know." You mumbled like a child would have.

"And the times - when we acted on it..." He let his sentence linger again, trying to get you to look over at him - which you eventually did. The playful smile on his expression seemed to indicate that he really did remember - quite clearly - the intimate times you two had spent together.

You met his eyes again and shook your head gently. This wasn't something you wanted to talk about now - especially since boundaries had been set beforehand.

"C'mon. You're telling me you don't remember? I certainly do..." He teased, getting up from his chair and sitting beside you on your bed. "We might've decided not to take it any further, but we both enjoyed every second of it, didn't we?"

You found yourself sighing. "Maybe we should've taken it further." You realized why you had agreed with him on the initial arrangement - you knew there was a chance that you could've been killed since you were helping the rebels. But now you were safe and recovering in the underground of District 13.

His smile grew again at this - it seemed that he had been secretly hoping the same thing this entire time. "I couldn't agree more." He admitted, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into a small side hug. "It's not too late..." He murmured, brushing your hair off your cheek and leaning closer to you.

You looked at him softly. "I'm not too young for you?" You joked gently. You were much younger than him, maybe by 15 years or so.

Haymitch smirked in response to your question. He mimicked your joking tone. "I think you're old enough to make your own decisions. Wouldn't you?" He whispered, his voice tinged with arousal as he moved his head closer to yours. His warm breath lightly brushed against the side of your face - as a chill seemed to travel up your spine.

You nodded with a gentle smile. "The age difference doesn't bother me..."

His lips met yours softly, before he pulled you even closer to him. You felt his warm body pressed against yours as his hand started to softly caress you hair. He broke away from the kiss with a soft laugh. "God, I've missed you."

You smirked gently. "Show me how much you've missed me-" You paused. "I'll close the door."

read my merged works here!

[mariaofdoranelle]

Of Rumors and Bodyguards

CO-WRITTEN WITH @leiawritesstories

Written for Rowaelin Month’s Forbidden Love day; @rowaelinscourt

We’re just two writers sharing little evil giggles and big plans, that’s all.

Warnings: swearing

Words: 1,2k

AELIN GALATHYNIUS CHEATING SCANDAL: SPOTTED IN INTIMATE MOMENT WITH BODYGUARD!!!

“QUEEN OF GLASS” STAR SHARED EMBRACE WITH SECURITY GUARD! DORIAN HAVILLIARD IN TEARS!

Aelin Galathynius caught cheating on Dorian Havilliard with bodyguard! Hollywood’s Darling Has How Many Darlings??? See New Photos

After the third ridiculous headline, Aelin dropped both the stack of magazines and her phone and flopped backwards on the hotel bed with a groan. Her publicist had woken her up with coffee and the tabloids, and she wished she had time to wake up before she had to look at the absolutely crazy stories that the gossiping tabloids spread. Even though she had been acting for years, she still wasn’t used to their prying and the constant cameras clicking in her face, even when she wasn’t trying to be noticed.

Besides, that garbage about her and her bodyguard? It was pure nonsense.

Well, mostly nonsense.

The photos they had taken were true enough, because Aelin had hugged her bodyguard last night. However, there was absolutely no romance involved—Whitethorn had been physically supporting her, keeping her on her feet.

Because he’s her bodyguard. He was guarding her body, that’s all—and a lot less than she would like.

She had been about to collapse after she had received a very brief, very shocking call on the phone she rarely used. The voice on the other end had been low, curt, and to the point. There was an accident during a job. We haven’t heard anything from them. That was two weeks ago.

The implication—they could be dead—made Aelin’s whole body go weak, and her security guard’s rapid reflexes were the only thing that had kept her upright. For a moment, she let him hold her, let him stabilize her, leaned into the solid strength of his Kevlar-covered chest. And then she pulled herself together, put away her burner phone, and stepped away from Whitethorn’s hug. She’d given him a nod of thanks, and he nodded back in quiet understanding.

Simple support, and not even an emotional one. That was all that had happened.

Leave it to the tabloids to take that moment out of context and start rumors that spread like wildfire across the Internet.

And Dorian—he was probably too busy with the boyfriend he was definitely hiding from the tabloids to notice the Rumor of the Day, but his publicist would surely give Aelin a piece of her mind soon.

Elide stuck her head into Aelin’s hotel room, rolled her eyes when she saw the magazines discarded on the floor. “You know they’re a load of crap,” the publicist said as she walked over and picked them up. “Also, I need you to read this one.” She flipped one of the magazines open and laid it across Aelin’s lap.

“Why?” Aelin glanced quickly down at the pages, scoffing at the grainy, zoomed-in photos splashed onto the glossy paper. “Gossip pisses me off, Ells.”

“Yeah, I know, but you need to read the actual words so you know how to respond when the people today ask you about it.” As usual, Elide had a good point.

“Fine.” Aelin frowned, but she began to read.

Is Aelin Galathynius Taken By Someone Else?!?!?

The “Queen of Glass” star was spotted last night in an intimate embrace with a man who sources say is her current bodyguard, Rowan Whitethorn, who has been on her security team since March, when Galathynius began this press tour for the newest season of the Netflix hit series.

Sources report that Aelin and her co-star Dorian Havilliard are often seen getting cozy together outside of press appearances, and an exchange in a recent interview confirmed that the pair’s wild, explosive chemistry on-screen has spilled off the screen too. Fans all over the world were overjoyed to hear of the star’s new romance.

But the photos from last night tell an entirely different story. Could it be that the actress has more than one man after her heart? Or could she be keeping something secret?

Last night, sources say that Galathynius was walking back to her hotel with Whitethorn as her escort when she stopped briefly in a nearby park. Only minutes later, she was spotted in her bodyguard’s arms! Looks like a romance is brewing, or even already in progress! After all, her incredibly popular character in “Queen of Glass” spent the whole first season secretly in love with Dorian’s character until they finally brought their romance to light. Is life imitating art?

According to an eyewitness, the embrace lasted for several minutes before the actress moved away from her bodyguard and began walking to her hotel again. At this time, we do not know any additional details, but with the ongoing press tour, we are certain that she will make an announcement soon. Keep your eyes on our social media for the latest, hottest updates!!

“They’re such vultures.” Disgusted, Aelin threw the magazine at Elide, who caught it before it could smack her in the stomach.

Elide huffed. “It’s their job to stir up the people. Be prepared for at least half the interviewers today to ask you about this.” She launched into her daily spiel about what Aelin should expect during the press that she, Dorian and a few of their castmates were filming. “And above all, don’t you dare let Dorian answer any of the questions they’re going to ask about the plot of this season. You know better than anyone how much of a spoiler machine he is. He gets one spoiler this time. One.”

“I might have to tape his big mouth shut,” Aelin joked. “Bet the press would eat that up.”

“Honestly, it might give them something else to yap about.” Elide straightened, one finger up as she recalled something. “Pap walk! We’re doing a round of pap walks to get their attention somewhere else. I’ll text the details, but so far…”

Elide flipped through her notes, and Aelin was about to ask a few follow-up questions when there was a rapid, firm knock on the door.

“What?”

Rowan Whitethorn cracked open the door and stepped into the room. “They’re ready for her in hair and makeup.” He scanned the room, his gaze sharp, alert. “Morning, Miss Galathynius.”

His face was perfectly neutral like it always was, making it impossible to tell if he knew anything about the new rumors. He probably did, but Rowan was so professional, it got unnerving sometimes.

“Morning, Sergeant Whitethorn.” He’d never been in the military, but she called him “Sergeant” anyway. Mostly because it made him delightfully grumpy.

True to form, he frowned, but instead of his usual snarky retort, he just held the door open for her and walked her across the hall to another room, this one full of stylists. She was swept into their whirlwind, and by the time she turned around, her bodyguard was once again outside the door, on watch for any potential mishaps. Rowan really was an excellent security guard.

Too bad he was also a highly wanted criminal.

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[atlafan]

The Arrangement - Prologue + Part 1

a/n: hiiiiii posting this here and the rest on patreon! in fact, parts 2 and 3 are already live on patreon 🤭 This is heavily influenced by Ali Hazelwood's Bride, but it's not supernatural or anything like that. But we do have the arranged marriage, enemies to lovers trope which are always so fun. Also, if you couldn't tell, I'm obsessed with Bridgerton, so there's some influence of that in there as well. The yearning and pining is strong in this. warnings: a shit ton of backstory and angst :D TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of suicide and minor character deaths words: 11.3K (that's the prologue + part 1)

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Prologue

Margaret

Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon. They’re the norm, actually. Most heads of households make deals with other heads of households and trade their children like cattle. Since I’m a bit more upper class, I never had to worry about being sold to some forty-year-old man in exchange for three of his best cows or pigs.

No, the arrangements in my society are much more about big business, if you can even call it that. We aren’t traded for items, we’re traded for money. Dowries are like nuclei, they’re the powerhouse of our entire economy. It works both ways: a poor man with a title will often try to find a girl with a large dowry. A girl who may not have much of a dowry to offer can still get married, but she needs to marry well. That rules out a lot of men. Then you’re forced to manipulate some foul soul into courting you. It’s rarely a love match.

It’s all business. Not personal.

Dowries make sense in that it ensures that putting a new household together isn’t solely on the husband’s (or his family’s) shoulders. A man of modest means can’t be expected to buy a home, new furniture, or wardrobe all on his own. I certainly would never expect my husband to do all of that on his own.

My husband could, though, if he wanted to.

I have just married a viscount. Below an earl and above a baron, a viscount is a nobleman that holds a lot of power within society. If done right, a viscount can remain quite wealthy. A viscount owns multiple estates that can include fields, pastures, hunting grounds, streams, etcetera. Middle-and lower-class peoples tend to work this land or pay to have access to this land. To put it simply, you’d be a very lucky lady to marry a viscount.

But I don’t feel lucky. I hate to complain because I recognize my privilege. It’s just that I really thought I would be able to choose my own husband. My parents never gave me any indication that I wouldn’t be able to do so. Hell, I’ve turned down three marriage proposals! I suppose it wouldn’t so bad if I actually liked my new husband.

The fact of the matter is, if I had any choice or say in the matter, I never would have chosen to marry Viscount Harry Styles.

“Viscountess?” My lady’s maid, Agnes, peeps into the women’s parlor that I’ve been hiding in. Clearly, I haven’t been hiding well enough. “You and the viscount will need to make your entrance in a moment.”

“Thank you, Agnes. I just need one more second to myself.”

“Of course.” She nods and curtsies before closing the door.

I look in the mirror and sigh. It’s a shame, I look beautiful. I’m not being vain either. I never thought I could look this beautiful. It’s a shame because I would rather be radiating this beauty for a man I love, or, at least, a man I actually like. Some spouses grow to like each other, even love each other if they’re lucky. Many of my friends have married. Some have enjoyed it, and others detest it. Some seem to be good friends with their husbands, but there’s no sexual chemistry. (I’m a married lady, I can say things like that now.)

If the Queen herself wasn’t making an appearance, I would have fled. Oh well, this is my life now.

I take a deep breath and paint a fake smile on my face before leaving the parlor. No tears. No crying. Tonight, when I’m getting ready for bed, after my husband has taken me, then I will give myself the gift of a good cry.

**

Chapter 1

Twenty Years Prior to the Wedding

Harry

Something very strange is happening today. Mother’s told me that a girl will be joining me in the nursery for my schooling. I asked if it would be just for today, but she told me it was for the foreseeable future. I don’t think I would have minded, but I’ve gotten so used to having the governess to myself since Brother went off to school. This girl is a few years younger than me, so she’ll be learning different lessons than I, but she’ll be in the nursery with me. Playing with my old toys, getting attention from Nanny.

I asked Mother if this girl was coming to live with us, if that was why she’d be in the nursery with me, but Mother said no, that the girl and her parents would be moving into one of our family homes close by. When we’d go to the country estate, we’d all be under the same roof, but in London, we’d be in separate homes. But since Mother and the girl’s mother are dear friends, she joked and said it will be like they’re living with us all the time.

“Master Styles.” One of the valet’s comes into the upstairs drawing room where I had been playing the piano. “Your mother has requested your presence downstairs. The Abernathy Family has arrived.”

“Thank you, Carver.” I get up and follow him downstairs. My mother smiles at me and waves me over, putting her hands on my shoulders as I stand in front of her.

“Harry, you were about two the last time you met the Abernathy’s.” She tells me. “So, let’s have a fresh introduction, shall we? This is Lord and Lady Abernathy, and their daughter Miss Margaret Abernathy. She’s three, only three years younger than you.”

“Hello, it is nice to meet all of you.” I bow my head respectfully. The other adults smile warmly. I look at Margaret who is sucking her thumb and cuddling a blanket to her chest. She has absolutely no idea what is going on. I almost envy her.

“What a polite young man.” Lady Abernathy crouches to my level. “You may call me Aunt Catharine if you like. And Lord Abernathy gives you his permission to call him Uncle John.”

“What do you say, Harry?” My mother squeezes my shoulders.

“Thank you.” I bow my head again and receive a pat to the top of my head.

“He looks so different from his brother. Looks more like you, Edith.” Lord Abernathy, er, Uncle John, says to Mother. They know Brother?

“You think so? What a compliment.” She smiles. “Margaret, would you like Harry to show you to the nursery? He has a lot of toys to show you. Nanny will be here to meet you shortly. She’s a lovely woman, Harry adores her.”

Margaret continues to suck her thumb, but her eyes lock on my face. Her blanket hangs on the crook of her used arm. Her free hand reaches out to me. I’m not sure what to do.

“Margaret isn’t, ehm, as verbal as most toddlers.” Aunt Catherine explains. “She talks, she’s not dumb, but when she’s shy, she goes quiet. She wants you to take her hand so you can lead her upstairs.”

I nod and take Margaret’s hand. I grimace when I feel how wet her palm is. She must have been sucking the thumb on this hand before. Brother used to tell me he begged Mother and Father for a younger sibling. He wanted someone to play with. We are far apart in age, so it clearly took some time. I never felt the way he did. I like being the youngest, so I will not treat Miss Margaret as if she were my little sister. As a cousin, maybe, if she is lucky.

She gasps when we walk into the nursery, immediately running to get on the wooden rocking horse. She giggles as she rocks herself back and forth, then gasps when she sees my old blocks. She trips over her blanket on her way, but she doesn’t cry. Just shakes it off and gets back up to get to the blocks. She looks over at me, smiling.

“Wanna pway?” She asks me, and I raise an eyebrow at her.

“I need to get back to my piano lessons.” I mutter. It wasn’t a lie, I genuinely needed to practice to show my governess I was working hard.

“Nooooo.” She whines. “Pway wiff me, pwease?”

“Why are you talking like that?” I cock my head to the side. “Your teeth are in, pronounce things properly. You sound like a commoner.”

She blinks at me, scrunches her face, then says, “You’re mean”, before stacking the blocks on her own.

I am not happy about this girl one bit.

**

Fifteen Years Prior to the Wedding

Margaret

Many of the house workers have children my age, so I play with them a lot. If Harry isn’t with our governess, he usually plays with me. I’m dreading for when he goes off to Eton. He has two more years until then, but still, it will go by quickly. He helps with my Latin and has secretly been teaching me arithmetic. “Girls should know these things too”, he tells me. He’s so smart. He could be a great scholar someday.

George, Harry’s older brother, is back from university. He went to Cambridge a boy and has come back a man. At least, that’s what our mothers say when they gossip. Harry and I usually sneak around the drawing room when people are over. We like to listen in. I do find George to be terribly handsome, but I hardly get to see him. He spends most of his time as his father’s apprentice, learning everything that’s needed to one day become the viscount. When I do get to see George, he pays me a ton of attention, and will play games with Harry and I. If I’m lucky, I will get to marry a man like him someday, and if I’m really lucky, I might even get to marry him. Sure, he would have to wait another ten years or so for me to come out, but I think we would make an extraordinary pair.

When balls are held at Styles House, Harry and I sneak around upstairs and watch everyone dance and drink. I always feel a pang in my chest when I see George dancing with multiple young ladies. Sometimes I wonder if he hasn’t married yet because perhaps Father has made a deal with Uncle Michael to have me married off to George for when I’m older. That would be the greatest thing my father could ever do for me.

One morning, while Harry and I are having breakfast in the informal dining room, as we were so often banished to when we were at Styles Estate in the country, I look at him until he looks at me.

“May I help you?” He asks.

“Are you looking forward to Eton?”

“That is two years away.” He sighs.

“I know, but I am curious. I do not get to go off to school like you. I will remain here with our governess.”

“Your parents could send you to finishing school.”

“Your mother wouldn’t allow that. I overheard her saying finishing school was for the middle class.”

“She’s right.”

“But I am not middle class.” I furrow my eyebrows.

“You are, actually.” He tells me as he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “You just don’t know it because it is hidden from you. Why do you think you stay here with us when we come to the country, and not at a separate home? Why do you think you live in one of my family homes in London? Your family doesn’t even pay mine rent. We pay for all of the servants and maids and cooks, and we pay for the governess. You have what you have because your father has no pride. No Lord would ever accept pity like this unless he were desperate.”

“You’re…you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie to you? What would I have to gain from that?”

“You like to be mean to me.” I grumble.

“Margaret, I am forced to spend all day, every day with you. Unless we have callers that have children, I am forced to be with you. All I want to do is read or go help in the gardens, but I cannot because I am meant to watch after you.”

“Nanny watches after me.”

“Be that as it may, I do not wish to constantly be around a child.”

“You’re still a child.”

“Barely.” He scoffs. “You’re still in leading strings.”

“So?”

“So, you’re a child, a baby. I want to be with children, boys, my own age. I cannot wait to go to Eton.”

“You woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. You are not usually this nasty.” I start grinning. “Have you gotten your mences early?”

“Margaret?!” He nearly chokes on his juice. “How…you…where did you learn such a word?”

“Unlike you, I do not have my nose constantly in the air. When you do not feel like playing with me, I play with the other children in the house, the servants’ children. They know all sorts of things. For example, teasing boys when they have an attitude and blaming it on mences is quite fun, because you cannot have mences.”

“Stop saying mences.” He seethes. “And do not repeat that word again. That word is…not for men’s ears.”

“You are not a man. You are a boy.”

“And you are a girl.” He moves from his seat and stands. “I am meant to see my father today. I will return for supper, and afterwards, I will help you with your schoolwork if you need it.”

“Okay.” I smile. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Margaret. Enjoy the day.” He bows his head before leaving the room.

Harry and I tease each other a lot. It’s all in good fun. I know he likes me. I’m his Margaret and he’s my Harry. George told me that Harry is starting to go through boyhood changes, so his mood can change quite rapidly. He told me not to take it personally, so I do not. I think I will venture out into the yard today, find a large bug, squish it, and press it into one of Harry’s books. Yes, I think George and I will have a wonderful laugh over that.

**

Ten Years Prior to the Wedding

Harry

Summer is my favorite season. It’s when I get to come home from Eton and spend time with my family. Many of my friend’s families are in the country, which means they can take their carriages to our estate, and we can go shooting. We can do whatever we like. Being sixteen, I am almost seen as a man. I have some authority now. Brother, who is now, twenty-five, is home for a while too. I do not get along with Brother. We are very different people. Luckily, he will be leaving soon to travel India. Why he would ever want to go there, I will never understand, but he’s desperate to go where he can while he can. Apparently, after he eventually marries, he doesn’t see himself traveling much. I suppose it makes sense. He’ll be viscount someday; he will need to remain local.

I’m heading outside when I see Margaret all done up, sitting by the windows in the downstairs drawing room. Out of curiosity, I walk in and sit across from her.

“How come you’re all dressed up?” I ask.

“Mama wants a new portrait painted.” She smiles. “She and Father bought me this new dress to wear for it.”

“When is the painter getting here?”

“I think in two hours, but I was so excited, I wanted to get dressed early. The ruffles are rather in fashion, don’t you think?”

“You certainly look like a young lady.” I smile. “How has the new governess been?”

“She’s dreadful.” She grimaces. “She’s nice, but so boring. I like it better when you teach me things.”

“Are you struggling with any subjects?”

“No, my marks are good.”

“Good.” I nod. “I discovered my new favorite subject at school this year.”

“Oh?”

“Botany. I love plants, Margaret, I simply love them. I am focusing my studies on how to best work land without overworking it. It’s quite fascinating, I must say.”

“It’s good you are enjoying your studies. George tells me all the time about how much he disliked school.”

“He’s a dunderhead.” I mutter, making her gasp.

“Bite your tongue.”

“I will do no such thing.” I see through the windows that a few of my mates are outside. “Ah, I need to be going. I’m going riding with my friends. Have fun sitting for your painting later.” I bow my head before heading outside to greet my mates. “Are we ready?”

We head to the stables and dress our horses before heading out. We talk about what dormitories we will be in next semester. We talk about alcohol. Then, not surprisingly, we talk about women. At first, we were discussing brothels. I have yet to go to one, but I know that it’s inevitable. The one thing I heeded George’s warning on was sewing my wild oats. Even though there is less pressure for me to marry and have children, I know it is still important for me to know what I am doing. I know love matches are rare, but the sex should still be passionate. I do not think I could be one of those men that does not care about his wife’s pleasure.

“When do you think your father will tell you you’ve been promised to Lady Margaret?” Simon teases.

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “She’s a child.”

“Children get promised to people all the time.” Timothy points out.

“Be that as it may, I am not going to think about even hypothetically marrying her. She’s only ten and three.”

“I don’t know, Harry, we saw you speaking with her before.” Simon grins. “You seemed awfully happy to be home.”

“She’s a child.” I repeat. “And trust me, I’m not the Styles boy she wants to marry. She has a crush on George, she always has.” We bring the horses back to the stables and walk up to the house to go have refreshments. Margaret is now outside playing hopscotch. “Child.” I mutter under my breath.

“Harry, if you do not wish for us to tease you about Margaret anymore, then you need to do something to prove you don’t have a tiny crush on the girl.” Timothy says.

“What are you proposing?”

“Offer to play with her, and then trip her so she falls into the dirt.”

“I can’t do that. That’s a new dress that she needs to wear for a family portrait. Name something else.”

“Sorry.” Timothy shrugs. “Actually…let’s play tag.”

“Timothy, do not go near her.”

It’s too late, he’s already by her side, bowing his head.

“Lady Margaret, would you care for a game of tag?” Timothy asks her.

“Really?” She smiles up at him.

“Sure. We haven’t played with you in ages. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay!”

“Harry’s it!” Simon yells, nudging my shoulder before running off.

“Bastards.” I curse under my breath before running after them. It would be so easy to trip Margaret, to push her down, but I would feel terrible. On the other hand, I don’t want them teasing me about her. I don’t like them saying things about her like she’s out in society already. It’s disrespectful. She’s a child. She’s giggling and running, and I catch up to her. I sigh heavily, then I push her, a little too hard, and she falls into the dirt and grass.

“Ah!” She gasps, having not expected me to push her so roughly. She gets up on her hands and knees before standing all the way up. She looks down at her dress, now covered in grass stains, then looks up at me. Her bottom lip is quivering and her eyes are watering. Damn. “You did that on purpose!”

“Don’t be such a baby, Margaret. It was an accident.”

“No, it wasn’t! You and your friends are always pulling things like this! I told you this dress was new. Mama is going to be so upset with me!” She stamps her foot. “You need to go inside and tell her what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything. You should have known better than to run around outside in a new dress.” Timothy and Simon gather around, both of them smirking. I could kill them. “You need to take responsibility for your actions.”

“But I-“

“Margaret Leigh Abernathy!” Aunt Catherine shrieks and comes storming outside. “Look at your dress!”

“Mama, Harry and his friends-“

“I do not want to hear your excuses, get inside now. The painter is here, and now I have to clean you up. Hopefully he won’t mind waiting with your father.”

“But, Mama-“

“Margaret.”

Margaret glares at me, then goes inside. She doesn’t curtsy, so Aunt Catherine apologies on her behalf before following her daughter. I turn to my friends and cross my arms over my chest.

“Happy now? You’re not tease me about her ever again.”

**

Eight Years Prior to the Wedding

Margaret

I hate Harry with a burning passion. He has just come home from his first year at Cambridge. I have been dreading it. Since he’s been gone, my family moved into Styles House. The viscount said that he wanted to be able to give the home to George so he could live comfortably out of the house. A very upscale home for his bachelor’s lodgings. I do not mind living in Styles House. I’ve spent most of my life in this house. We have our own wing to ourselves.

I knew there were rumors about my family, but no one would dare scandalize the Styles family. They were far too respected in our society. So, it wasn’t a big deal that Harry and I would be living in the same place. Out in the country in the larger estates, the rules are a bit laxer. But in London…well, people like to blow things out of proportion.

I’m sitting out in the backyard reading, enjoying the breeze under the shade when Harry plops down onto the seat next to me and snatches my bowl of grapes. I sigh heavily but ignore him. I essentially stopped speaking to him after he purposefully ruined my dress. We only speak in mixed company as to not embarrass our families. When he continues to bite into the grapes, obnoxiously loud, I put my book down and look at him.

“What do you want?” I snatch the bowl back from him.

“Is that any way to greet me? I’ve just returned from my first year at Cambridge. You could at least fake it.”

“I imagine you say that to a lot of women.” I smirk.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.” He rolls his eyes.

“I know plenty.”

“How?”

“I hear things.” I shrug. “I’m still friendly with the children of the servants. I ask questions and they happily answer.”

“For how much money?”

“They do not ask for money. This may surprise you, but some people enjoy the pleasure of my company.”

“There is nothing pleasurable about being in your company.”

“And yet, you sat down here without an invitation.”

“I’m already bored, I thought bugging you would relieve me from that.” He leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. “None of my friends are home. Many of them are traveling. I wanted to come home for a bit. I might participate during the season, dance with some people.”

“Are you going to marry?”

“No, but George is looking for a wife this season, and I want a front row seat to that trainwreck.”

“What do you mean George is looking for a wife this season?” I sit up a bit, frowning.

“I overheard him telling my parents. He’s of age, he’s had plenty of time to enjoy being a bachelor. He probably wants a wife now so that she can learn everything she’ll need to know about being a viscountess. Also, he needs to select someone who is alright with a family of freeloaders living with us.” He looks at me, probably thinking he just got a good jab in, but I stare off into space. “Come on, Margaret, it’s no fun to bash you if you don’t bash back.”

“George is going to marry this season…” I say more so to myself. “But I’m only fifteen…I’m not out yet…how…how could he do this to me?” I look at Harry now. “I thought he was waiting until I came out.”

“To marry you?” His eyebrows fly up. “I do not want to be cruel, but Margaret, George was never going to marry you. He sees you as a little sister.”

“I thought maybe my father made a deal with yours…”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “No deals. I would have told you, I know you like George.”

“What do you mean you know? I’ve never said a word to you about my feelings.”

“You’re not exactly subtle. The way you look at him…ever since you were a kid. I mean, it’s painfully obvious.” He swings his legs over to sit on the edge of the lounger, facing me. “Are you terribly heartbroken? I could take you into town for ice cream.”

“You’re mean.” I stand up with a huff and Harry stands.

“I just offered to take you for ice cream.”

“Like a child!”

“You are a child!”

“And you’re mean!” I do something bold and push on his chest. “I am so sick you, I hate you!” I push him again, causing him to take a few steps back.

“Do not push me again.” He says lowly.

“Or what?”

“I’ll really treat you like a child and push your face into the dirt and make you eat worms.”

“I’d like to see you try. I’m not afraid of you.” I push him again. “In fact, I’d love to wallop you.”

“You should go inside. The heat and sun must be affecting you.”

“I’m perfectly fine in this heat.”

“You sure?” He leans forward, getting in my face. “Perhaps you have your mences, then?”

He’s barely finished smirking when I tackle him to the ground. I’ve clearly taken him by surprise, but it doesn’t take him long to fight back. We roll around in the grass, both of us holding our own, but at the end of the day, Harry is a man, and he is much stronger than me, so I end up with my arms pinned down on either side of my head and him hovering over me, straddling me. We’re both breathing heavily, and our eyes are locked.

“Get off of me.” I say through gritted teeth.

“Not until you’ve calmed down.”

“Harry!” I struggle under him and let out a frustrated sigh.

“I’m sorry that I had to be the bearer of bad news, but it was never going to happen with you and George, ever.”

“Stop it!”

“You need to accept it.” He presses harder on my arms. “Margaret, in a few years, you’ll enter society, and you’ll go to balls and you’ll be courted and the eligible men in this city will be beating down the door, desperate to come inside and call on you. You just need to be patient.”

I take in his words and nod. His grip loosens, but he doesn’t get off of me. He lingers, and for whatever reason, I’m not mad about it. I’m feeling sort of strange, actually. Harry and I haven’t wrestled since we were children. And that was fun wrestling, back when we used to get along. Now I’m all too aware that he, a man, is straddling me. And he’s not moving.

I clear my throat and that seems to get him to snap back into reality, remembering where we are. He gets off of me and lays down next to me in the grass, sighing.

“We should do this at night. Laying in the grass, I mean, not the fighting. I could point out the constellations to you. Have you read any of the books on astronomy I sent to you?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think so far?” He turns his head to look at me.

“I think it’s all very fascinating.”

“Good.” He smiles, then faces up at the sky again. “Still hate me?”

“Yes.”

“For telling you about George?”

“For pushing me into the dirt while wearing a new dress and purposefully getting me in trouble with my mother.”

“Perfect.” He grabs my hand and kisses the back of it before standing up. “Just the way I like it. At least that’s a valid reason for hating me. I respect it, actually. I’m off to the tailor. I have to pick up some new suits for the season. See you at dinner?”

“Yes.” I grumble, and off he goes.

I fucking hate him.

**

Four Years Before the Wedding

Harry

Margaret is coming out today. She will attend her first ball tonight. It’s a long day for a new debutante. She will present herself to the Queen, then come home and prepare for the ball. I’ve been wrestling with all of this. Now that I’ve been a part of multiple seasons, I know about the seedy underbelly.

I’m part of it. I have quite the reputation as a rake, but not the kind that would repulse people. In fact, the mothers can’t wait to flock to me at events to talk up their daughters. I’m a gentleman rake, meaning, the women I bed never leave unsatisfied. Whether I have paid for a French prostitute, or I’ve seduced a middle-class lady, they always leave happy. I’m also quite charming. I can talk myself out of any situation. It pisses my mother off to no end. My father just winks at me.

And George…he still hasn’t married. But I’m not surprised. He’s never going to meet a woman he wants to marry because he doesn’t want a woman. He wants a man. He doesn’t know that I know his little secret. I don’t personally care that he’s a dandy. It’s not something that can be helped, he was born like this. What person would ever choose to be burned at the stake by their society? A masochist, I suppose. But George is no masochist.

So, I’m the Styles son that the women flock to. I don’t mind the attention, I revel in it. But I have a feeling that this season is going to be far different from any other.

I head out to the stables to go for a ride. I don’t care to be around while Margaret gets ready for tonight’s ball. However, when I get to the stables, I hear her voice. I hear her laugh. And I hear another man’s voice. I approach cautiously, the expert eavesdropper that I am.

“And what if you get a marriage proposal tomorrow?” The man says, grinning, and awfully close to Margaret.

“I doubt it will happen that fast.” She smiles up at him, leaning back against the wooden wall. The man places a hand next to her head, slightly caging her in. “Will you be jealous?”

“Terribly.” He twirls his finger into one of her loose curls. “We will have to get more creative with our rendezvous.”

“Perhaps, you should switch chores and start tending to the fires in my bedchamber.”

“You know that’s not allowed.”

“Pretend to be attending to my father’s, then come to me instead.”

“That could work.” He grips her chin and leans in. That’s when I step in and snatch her wrist, pulling her away.

“Harry!” She gasps. “What…what….”

“Be quiet.” I tell her, keeping my grip tight on her. I look at the man, a stableboy who I’ve known for years. “Whatever this is, it is over. If you want to keep your job, which I think you do, you will not speak to Lady Margaret again. And if I hear of anything, I will have you fired and shipped off to mucking shit out of the streets. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy nods, shaking where he stands.

“Good.” I tug Margaret along, and once we have enough distance, I let her go. I place my hands on my hips and tap my foot. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“An explanation.”

“I do not owe you one.”

“You do if you wish for me to keep this a secret.”

“Please, don’t have him fired.”

“I won’t if he heeds my warning.” I take a step closer to her, inspecting her. “Has he compromised you?”

“It’s really unfair. You men get to go off and fuck random women all you want, and get praised for it, but if I do anything, I’m a whore.”

“I’m sorry about the double standard, but I have less to lose. I don’t have to worry about becoming pregnant. Now, answer my question. Has he compromised you?” I get right in her face.

“No.”

“That includes kissing. Has he kissed you?”

“No.”

“It looked like he was about to a moment ago.”

“He was going to kiss my nose. Or my forehead. Or me cheek. It’s all I’ve allowed.”

“Are you telling me the full truth?”

“Yes.” She pushes me away. “I’m not an idiot. I know better than to compromise myself. Everyone in the house thinks he and I are friends. Men and women can be friends, you know.”

“I’m aware of that, but you can’t…you can’t sneak around with a stableboy.”

“You’ve had sex with a ton of the servants!”

“It’s different!”

“How?!”

“Because I am not a beautiful, naïve young lady who has barely been out in society for three hours! I am a man, Margaret.” I place my hands on her shoulders, drawing her nearer. “I know what goes through a man’s head when they see a young lady like you. Stableboy or nobleman, they will do anything to trap someone like you into marriage. Is that what you want? To marry someone because you couldn’t control yourself until your wedding night?”

“Are you going to tell me that you’ve never slept with one of the debutantes?”

“I never have. I’ve slept with widows, I’ve even slept with married women, but I have never slept with an innocent girl that’s trying to find a husband. The risk is too high. I also don’t want to get trapped into marriage. Please, you need to…fucking hell.” I let her go and groan. “I’m going to have to attend every bloody ball this season.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to need to chaperone you. Lord knows your mother will be trying to get you to dance with every moron in the place. I love Aunt Catherine, but she’s still a desperate mama.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Apparently, I do.”

“You always said you’d never treat me like your little sister…why are you starting to now?”

“Margaret, let me make something very clear: I am not looking out for you because I see you as my baby sister. I have never looked at you and felt brotherly fondness. I am looking out for you because it’s the right thing to do. George can be your big brother, but I certainly will not be.”

“Okay, okay.” She blushes. Wait, what? I’m making her blush? I step back another foot and clear my throat.

“You should go inside. You need to get ready for tonight, and apparently, so do I.”

**

Margaret

My first ball as a woman of society. I have never been so excited. I’m on my father’s arm, and my mother is on my other side. I’m really happy with the dress I’m wearing. The modiste tailored my bust perfectly. My mother says the bosom is the first thing a man looks at when speaking to a woman. I was put off at first, but she kept explaining. Men want to see a healthy bust and wide hips. I have both. I am perfect for child baring. I didn’t want that to be my only worth, but at the end of the day, all girls are married off, forced to leave the comforts of home, and grow their own family.

When I see some friends, my father lets me go speak with them. We’re all sipping on lemonade, talking about how excited we are about being here. I look around and raise an eyebrow when I see a gaggle of women surrounding someone.

“Who are they flocking to?” I ask the group.

“As someone who was out last year,” Alice says, “it can only be Harry Styles.”

“You can’t be serious.” I respond flatly. “The rumors are true?”

“Truer than true.” Alice nods. “The mamas surround him first, introducing and pointing out their daughters. Once they fan out, the widows and the lonely wives try their luck. I wonder who the lucky lady of the evening will be.”

“God help whoever it is.” I sip my lemonade, then see Mildred’s jaw drop. “Millie, what is it?”

“He…Lord Styles is coming this way.”

“He is?!” Alice chokes on her drink.

I roll my eyes just as he’s approaching us.

“Ladies.” He bows his head. “Having a nice time thus far?”

“Oh, yes, Lord Styles.” Alice smiles, clearly nervous.

“You all look lovely.” He turns to me. “Even you, Miss Abernathy.” His eyes roam up and down my body. “Turquoise suits you.”

“Mhm.” I grunt and finish off my drink. I catch him looking at my dance card that’s dangling on my wrist. He takes it between his fingers.

“Ah.” He takes a pencil out of his jacket pocket and writes his name in the first slot, then draws a line down through the rest.”

“Harry!” I shriek. “Erase that, this instant.”

“No can do.”

“It’s improper for us to dance more than twice. You just filled up all five of my slots!”

“I am aware of what I have done.” He takes one of my hands and brings his mouth to my ear. “I said I’d be keeping an eye on you tonight, and I am a man of my word.” He pulls back and looks at Alice and Mildred. “Ladies.” He bows his head, then tugs me to the dance floor.

“Mean.” I mutter as he begins to lead me.

“Do you remember when our governess would let us practice dancing together? You liked it when I’d let you step up on my feet and dance you around.”

“Yes, I remember. It was one of the few times you and I got along.”

“I’ve always gotten along with you. I’ve just created boundaries over the years.”

“Right because it would have been horrible to treat me like a member of your family.” I scoff.

“It would be. I’ll never look at you or treat you like someone I’m related to.” He twirls me around, then continues our waltz.

“Mean.”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

“Because you think I, and my parents, are freeloaders.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. You’ve said so several times throughout the years.” I look around. “Where’s your brother? I’d rather dance with him.”

“He’s at the gentleman’s club tonight, having brandy with some mates.”

“You didn’t want to join him?”

“No, I needed to be here.”

“You didn’t need to do anything. Now no one else will be able to dance with me. Everyone is going to think I belong to you.”

“You do.”

“Harry.” I suck my teeth. It’s very undignified, but there’s no need for us to be formal with one another. The rules don’t always necessarily apply to us.

“Margaret, I am the son of a viscount. Do you have any idea how many callers you’ll have tomorrow? Everyone will see us dancing, and then-“

“I didn’t need help.” The music stops and we bow at each other. “Erase your name. If we dance more than two times together, people will think we’re courting.”

“No.”

“Harry.”

“Margaret.”

“Why do you care so much?! Are you out to ruin my life?! I have to take this seriously. This is my future that I’m trying to secure.”

“You’re not getting married this season.”

“Whether it happens or not, I get to decide for myself.” The music picks back up, and he starts leading me again. “I’m going to put a dead fish under your pillow.” I threaten him.

“If you want to come into my bedchamber so badly, you could just ask.”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you like me anymore? You used to adore me.”

“You were mean to me one too many times. Now I hate you.”

“This isn’t hate.” He chuckles lowly, shaking his head.

“What is it, then?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

I huff with frustration at him. I’m silent for the rest of the song, then I excuse myself. I head to the women’s parlor room and stop when I see my mother and Aunt Edith chatting. They both see me and smile, so I approach.

“Having fun, dear?” My mother turns my dance card over and gasps.

“What?” Aunt Edith says. Then a gasp leaves her. “Why did he do this?”

“I don’t know.” I frown. “But I’ve already danced with him twice, and I do not wish to flaunt a third.”

“He’s probably using you to avoid the flock of desperate women.” Aunt Edith rolls her eyes. “Luckily, I have a pencil.” She reaches into her bust and pulls out a pencil, then erases the line Harry drew. “There, you’ve just freed up three more spaces.”

“I think there was a young man your father wanted you to meet.” Mother says. “Come, I’ll lead you to him.”

“I’m going to speak with my son.” Aunt Edith says.

Later on, I see Aunt Edith having a few words with Harry. Serves him right.

I end up dancing with three other, very charming, young men. I’m walking on clouds as I make my way up to my bed chamber later that night. Agnes helps me undress, and then I send her on her way. I wanted to write in my diary for a bit before getting into bed. Just as I’m getting into my nightgown, I hear a knock on my door.

“Mama, is that you?” I open it and see Harry. He puts a finger up to his lips before forcing his way inside and closing the door. He paces around my room. He stops to look at me, then blushes. He looks around and tosses my dressing gown at me. Wait…he was blushing because of me? “What do you want?” I whisper. “We haven’t been allowed in each other’s bedchambers since we were old enough to leave the nursery.”

“I’m aware of the rules.” He continues pacing. “Names. I want names.”

“Of whom?”

“The other men you danced with tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because I will need to speak to them about how to be respectful. Some of these men are vultures. Some of them are much older than you. You’re still a child, Margaret. I will not have a forty-year-old man asking for your hand.”

“I’m nineteen, I’m out, I am no child.”

“You’re naïve and innocent and immature. Now, the names.”

“You’ll find out tomorrow when they come to call on me.”

“Margaret, I am not asking.”

“Harry, I am not telling.” I cross my arms over my chest, he plants his hands on his hips. We’re having a classic standoff. He usually wins. “Ugh, fine. Lord Blythe-“

“A rake.”

“It takes one to know one, I suppose.” I shrug. “Lord Howard.”

“Too old for you.”

“And Lord Fairchild.”

“No money.” He shakes his head. “None of them will do.”

“Harry, I think my father and mother will take care of all of this. I am not your ward. It is not your responsibility to make sure I’m married off.”

“You have to marry someone you like, Margaret. You won’t like any of those men.”

“Alright, what about Simon or Timothy?”

“What about them?”

“They’re your friends, you must trust them.”

“Not with you.”

“Tell me who you would have me marry, then?”

“I’m going to bed.” He shakes his head.

“Oh, so I have to answer your questions, but you won’t answer mine?”

“Exactly.” He smirks. “Even you aren’t a match for my charm.”

“Mean.”

“Too bad.”

“Get out of my room.”

“I already said I was going to bed.” He brushes by me. “I will be dancing with you at every ball you attend. I don’t care what my mother says. Your father is a nincompoop. He won’t make sure you’re cared for. My father is too busy focusing on George and pressuring him to settle down. That leaves me, the only other man in your life, to look after you. I will be chaperoning any callers tomorrow.”

“No, you’ll intimidate them.”

“Good. Whoever you marry will have to deal with me. Best for them to learn that now.” He opens the door and looks back at me. “You looked really…pretty tonight.” Then he leaves.

I hate him.

**

Three Years Before the Wedding

Harry

There is nothing more cliché than rain at a funeral. I’m just glad we’re in the country, otherwise all of London would have fought tooth and nail to be at this service. I knew this day would come, I just didn’t think it be before my father could be a grandfather.

It was sudden. I wasn’t there, but I was told that he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. The doctors suspected it was some sort of heart attack.

George is currently giving a eulogy, my mother is sobbing, and I am as frozen as a statue. I feel more angry than sad. I haven’t cried yet. I tried to, but nothing would come. I hear a sniffle beside me and see Margaret dabbing at her eyes. Unexpectedly, I feel a warm hand in mine. It’s hers. I look down in shock. She’s squeezing it and rubbing her thumb along my knuckles. She looks up at me and gives me the most somber smile. That’s when I feel tears streak down my cheeks. I squeeze her hand back, and face forward again.

That’s the thing about Margaret. She can’t always find the words, but somehow, she’s able to say so much without saying anything at all. She’ll never know how much her holding my hand helped me through my father’s death.

**

Two and a Half Years Before the Wedding

Harry

“Sir, we must start making the necessary arrangements.” Peters, my valet, says to me. “How would you like to proceed?” I look at him, then I look back down at my brother’s lifeless body.

“Do what you think is best, Peters. I have more important things to worry about. I’m the viscount now, and I don’t know a single thing about being a viscount. I have a lot of studying to do, I have ledgers to read, I have deeds to go over. I’ll be very busy. You know how to put a funeral together. Send for the coroner, get him embalmed, and get the carriages ready to bring us to the country. He will be buried in a plot by my father. Oh, and have someone collect all of the contents of George’s study. I’ll need to look over any contracts or anything he may have signed off on.”

“My lord…” Peters places his hand on my shoulder, not something most people would allow, but I allow it. “Your brother is dead.”

“I didn’t know him. He never let me know who he really was. That isn’t my brother. That’s just…that’s just a man named George Edward Styles. And he was nothing more than a coward.”

“Do you not even want to read the note?” Peters holds it up.

“No. Burn it.”

**

Margaret

It seems like I’ve been wearing nothing but mourning attire these days. I’m devastated over the loss of George. Styles Estate House isn’t the same without him. I haven’t had romantic feelings for him for years, but George and I grew to be wonderful friends. I miss him dearly.

And Harry…Harry has grown cold. He’s as cold as he was when I first met him. I’d never met a more adult child than him. It fascinated me. I forced him to warm up. Now, I’m not sure what I can do. Aunt Edith is catatonic, I do not blame her. My own mother spends her days doing her best to console my aunt. She even moved her bedroom to Edith’s wing of the home. I’m not sure how my father feels about that.

Harry spends a lot of his time in the study. The good student that he is, he has learned how to be a proper viscount in no time flat. I feel bad he can no longer focus on his agriculture studies or his astronomy studies.

Things with him have been weird even since before George died. Right before we left for the country, I had been proposed to. It was rather awkward because I had been courting with multiple men. When the man proposed, he did it in front of my mother and Harry, my usual chaperones. I looked at Harry, and that was all it took.

“No.” He said. “She doesn’t accept. Please leave now before you embarrass yourself further.”

He wasn’t even viscount yet, but he held so much power in that room that the man who proposed scurried away. Even though Harry is my mortal enemy, I took comfort in knowing that he and I can still communicate nonverbally like we did when we were children.

I come down to the study one evening. He did not come to dinner, so I had Cook plate something up for him and I offered to carry it. The country is much laxer, I love it.

“Harry?” I knock on the door and open it. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“I’m not.” He says, not looking up at me, scribbling in a ledger.

“You need to eat.”

He puts his quill down and slowly and looks up at me. His eyes are red, bloodshot. He’s either been drinking or crying…or both. I set the covered plate down on his desk.

“Why did you bring this to me?”

“You weren’t at dinner.”

“Why would you care?”

“Harry, your-“

“I’m not Harry anymore. I’m the viscount. I own all of this.” He stands up and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you know how fucking terrifying this is? This was never supposed to be me. My father never trained me on any of this because he didn’t think he’d need to! And now my brother is gone! He left on purpose! He didn’t care about what he’d be leaving me with.”

“What do you mean he left on purpose? I thought he died in his sleep.”

“He did, after he poisoned himself.”

“Why…why would he do that?” My eyes water.

“It’s not for your ears. You should go get ready for bed.”

“Harry, can I help with anything? I’m good at arithmetic because of you, I could-“

“You can help me by leaving me be. I just want to be alone. I have a lot to do.”

“Okay.” I nod. “When you feel like not being alone, I’m here.”

“You’re a distraction. I don’t need any distractions right now.”

“Sometimes you need a distraction to-“

“Margaret!” He slams his hands down on the desk. “What are you even doing in here alone with me? You shouldn’t be alone with me. Not now, not ever.”

“This is absurd. You’ve come to my bedchamber before.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you! Get out!”

“Mean!”

“You’re damn right I’m mean. Now get the fuck out of here before I show you just how mean I can be.”

I fled after that, tears running down my face. I took a reprieve from hating him. I won’t be doing that ever again.

**

One Year Before the Wedding

Margaret

It appears as though every time I receive a marriage proposal, someone dies. I turned down another, and then three days later, my father died. He had been rather ill, he caught a flu a few months ago and never recovered. It was so slow and painful.

Being in mourning means that we can’t attend any functions. We can’t even leave the house. I’m a bit worried about what is to happen to our own estate. Even though we have no land, my father was still a lord. That should count for something. Some distant male cousin may come and tell us we need to live with him now. I’m petrified of that happening. My mother doesn’t seem worried about anything, though. If she isn’t worried, then I suppose I won’t be either.

**

Harry

Lord Abernathy’s funeral was rather well attended. He was buried in London, but since we’ll be in mourning, we have gone out to the country a month or so earlier than we intended. It’s fine by me. I much prefer the solitude of the country.

“Harry?” My mother knocks on my study door, Aunt Catherine is beside her. This conversation was inevitable. “Do you have a moment, there is something we must speak with you about.”

“I know.” I sigh. “Come in, and please close the door.”

“Darling, ehm, years ago, your father, George, and Lord Abernathy wrote up a marriage contract for Margaret.” Mother says.

“I know.” I round my desk and open one of the drawers, pulling out a file. “It was amongst George’s things.”

“You’ve known about this since your brother died and you did not bring it up?” Catherine asks.

“Neither of you brought it up, and Lord Abernathy certainly didn’t bring it up to me. I thought maybe he had secured a different marriage contract for Margaret. In all honesty, I was rather disappointed in all of you. George was much too old for Margaret.”

“He would have made Margaret happy.” Catherine says.

“And George needed to settle down before he got too old. Your father made him a deal: if he could not find a woman to marry, then he would marry Margaret when she was at a more appropriate age. It worked out for everyone. She would make a perfect viscountess, it would secure her family’s finances…”

“Did Lord Abernathy secure a new marriage contract for Margaret or not?” I cut to the chase.

“No.” Catherine answers, her eyes watering. “I do not know what to do now. I do not have any male relatives to turn to for help. My ladyship hangs in the balance, which means Margaret’s ladyship hangs in the balance. My husband does not have any male relatives close to here. Someone I do not even know could come claim Margaret and I…and I’m terrified that she will be taken advantage of.”

“Someone from parliament will be by to discuss the Abernathy lordship.” Mother says. “I know of a few men who might-“

“I will marry Margaret.” I say. They both go silent and wide eyed. “It is the quickest way to write up a new contract. I can forge George’s signature. Aunt Catherine, you must be able to forge Uncle John’s. We can write up a new marriage contract stating that George knew he was sick and wanted to secure a proper match for myself and Margaret. It would honor the original Abernathy agreement, and it would explain why a young lady would be promised to a second son. This would also ensure that you and Margaret will not be taken away by some male cousin. Everything that’s left of your estate will go to me, that will be Margaret’s dowry.”

“We have money set aside for that.”

“I do not want your money. Save it for clothing and jewelry.” I grab a fresh sheet of paper and dip my quill into some ink. “We have to do this quickly. This will need time to dry and I will need to dunk it in some tea and dry it again so it looks older.”

“Harry…Margaret was never told about her arrangement with George. I am worried she will not take this news well.” Catherine says as she forges her husband’s signature.

“She is not ready for marriage yet. Wait for her to actually consider a proposal from a suitor, and then you can tell her of the arrangement.”

“What if she’s in love with the suitor?” Mother asks.

“She won’t be. I know Margaret Leigh very well, like the back of my hand. Believe me when I tell you, she will not fall in love with any man who tries to court her.”

“Harry, are you certain you are alright with this?” Mother asks, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“It is how Father would have handled things. Besides, at least with me, Margaret will actually be able to produce an heir.”

“Why would she not have with George?” Catherine asks. My mother and I make eyes, then look at her. “What?”

“George was a dandy. He may have bedded Margaret on their wedding night, but probably not again after that. And sometimes, an heir is not made during the first go at things.” I explain.

“Oh, goodness. I suppose George wouldn’t have made Margaret happy, then.”

“No, he would have. They were good friends, and that’s how they would have remained. She would have just needed to seek out nightly comfort from someone else.”

“Enough, this is not appropriate.” Mother says. “Do what you need to do to the document. Speak with the representative from Parliament, let them know that there is a plan in place for Margaret. She will be informed of everything when the time is right.”

**

Seven Months Before the Wedding

Margaret

“Give me one good reason that I had to turn down Lord Chesterfield?! It was a perfectly acceptable proposal!” I shout at my mother as we enter the upstairs drawing room.

“Because! Because you have a marriage contract already!”

“What?! Why did you never tell me? When did this happen?”

“Your father arranged for it well before he died. We were just waiting to tell you until you became a bit older, a bit readier for marriage. The man we originally planned for you to marry was much older than you.”

“Why are you speaking of this man in the past tense?”

“Because he is no longer alive.”

“Who was it?”

“George.”

“As in George Styles?”

“Yes.”

“Why wasn’t I ever told about this?!” I’m about ready to rip all my hair out.

“It would take too long to explain.”

“I think I deserve an explanation.”

“I honestly do not have one. Your father kept me in the dark about most of it. I was just happy that he secured a good match for you. He did his job.”

“And now? Who am I to wed now?”

“Harry.”

“Very funny.”

“I am not kidding.”

“Mother.”

“You have been promised to him.”

“I’m not marrying Harry. I refuse!”

“You can’t.”

“What will he be getting out of this?”

“Aunt Catherine, may I have a private word with my betrothed?” Harry stands in the doorway, smirking. He’s like the villain in a children’s story. “I think I will be better able to answer her questions.”

“Of course.” My mother stands up and leaves the room.

Harry closes and locks the door. We stare at each other for a few moments.

“Not excited?” He finally asks.

“Why would I be?”

“You could do worse.” He shrugs.

“Why would you…you just agreed to this so easily?”

“There are many factors at play. You no longer have a male close to you to look out for you. We haven’t heard a thing about any relatives. I think my mother would off herself if you and Catherine were taken from here.”

“That would have happened when I eventually married.”

“No, just you would be taken away. Catherine would have remained here.”

“So, you’re doing this for your mother?”

“And for you. I don’t require a dowry, I have plenty of money and plenty of homes. You’ll be taken care of. You won’t even have to move. You can go on existing as you do now.”

“You don’t want to be married!”

“No, but I need to. I need to produce an heir at some point.”

“You could choose any other woman to marry. Why me?”

“Well, you’re the most suitable option. You can carry on an intelligent conversation. So many of these girls…they just say what they think you want to hear, what their mothers have told them to say to a man like me. I can speak candidly with you. It would take years for me to forge a relationship like that with another woman. You already know how an estate such as mine needs to be run. You’ve been watching my mother be a viscountess for ages. You’ll slip into the role flawlessly, Margaret. You’ll take your place in society. And she’s still here to keep showing you the ropes. You also know every single person who works for us and they all like you. That’s a big deal. Why should I bring a new woman in here? What if none of them like her? Some of these women are witches in disguise. This is convenient for both of us.”

“But…Harry…I hate you.”

“So?”

“So?! So?! I want to marry for love!”

“Margaret, grow up!” His voice booms, and he stalks toward me. I back up until my back hits a bookshelf. “You are an over-privileged little brat who has never been told no. You’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted throughout your entire life! People like us? We don’t get to choose what happens to us! I was never supposed to be viscount, and yet, here I am! I have to produce an heir. I need a wife. I can’t keep going to these events, pretending to care about anything any of these girls have to say! Don’t you think I’d want you to marry for love? That’s typically the exception, not the rule. Most people like us don’t marry for love. They marry for money and stability. Your mother will be well taken care of into her old age now. She and my mother will move into the other family home, the one you grew up in. We will have Styles House to ourselves. You can make it your own.” He takes a step back from me. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair! I lost my father and my brother within a year of each other. I had to grow up in the blink of an eye. I had to put all of my interests and dreams aside to come home and take care of my family. And if you think for a second that I wouldn’t see to it that you weren’t also well taken care of, then you’re a lot dumber than I thought.”

“In order for me to produce an heir for you, that means we will need to…share a bed.”

“I’m aware of how babies are made.” He rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean…you would really…bed me?”

His face is, well, I can’t read it. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. His hands come up and they look like they’re about to cup my face, but he just grips the bookshelf on either side of my head, caging me in.

“For the last four years, I have had to endure you being out in this society. I have had to watch you be called on, courted, and proposed to. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to wring the neck of every man that thought they were good enough for you? None of those men could have you. None of those men would even know what to do with you.” He’s so close. I can smell the mint on his breath. I can see the sweat forming on his face. My heart is racing.

“Why would you care about any of that? It’s not like…it’s not like…you agreed to push me down into the dirt just so your friends wouldn’t tease you about me, so don’t stand there and tell me you’re more than willing to marry me.”

“You need to let that go.” He growls. “I’m not a boy anymore, and you’re not a girl. I’m a man, and you are a lady.”

“I’m not marrying you.”

“Yes, you are.” He steps back from me. “The contracts have been signed. I went to the bishop to apply for a marriage license. We will marry at the beginning of next season. That leaves you plenty of time to plan the wedding of your dreams. Make it as lavish and extravagant as you like.”

“None of this makes any sense.”

“Let me make it make sense, then. If you don’t marry me, you will be forced to marry someone out of absolute necessity. You know who doesn’t care about dowries? Disgusting old men who will force you to give them an heir.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything with your body that you don’t want to do. But if you want some shit-stained, yellow-teethed, drunken old fuck with lots of cash, be my guest.”

“There are plenty of other gentlemen-“

“You don’t have the time to find one. You and Catherine have been given a grace period, one that I asked Parliament for. That’s why you haven’t been taken by a male relative yet. No one has been contacted. But that grace period is almost up. I looked into who would end up taking over your estate. Would you like to live in the Scottish countryside? Because that’s where you’re going if we don’t get married. This is about survival, on both of our ends.”

“Mean.” Is all I can say, just above a whisper as tears burn at my eyes.

“This is all business, Margaret, try not to take it too personally. I’m not doing anything to you on purpose. I learned my lesson when I did that to you the first time.” My eyes snap to his. “I have a ring for you. I picked out something I think you will like quite a lot.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the small box. He kneels before me on one knee and takes me left hand. I’m shaking. “Miss Margaret Leigh Abernathy, would you do me the great honor of becoming Viscountess Styles and being my wife?”

“Why are you asking if I don’t even have a choice?”

“Because even you deserve a proper proposal.”

I nod and he slips the ring on. It is quite beautiful. Damn him for knowing my taste in jewelry. He stands back up and brushes himself off.

“Good. Now the moving can begin.”

“Moving?”

“Yes, you and Catherine will be moved back to the other London house during our engagement. It wouldn’t be proper for us to live in the same home. People would talk. People don’t talk about my family often, but this is something that would be talked about, and I will not have your reputation ruined. This works out well since Catherine will end up living there after we’re married anyways. Gives her time to become reacquainted.” He places his hands on my shoulders. “Buck up, princess, you’re marrying a viscount.”

**

[silencesscreams]

high infidelity

peter parker x f!reader

you know there’s many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough.

warnings: college!, cheating?, toxic relationships, drinking, kissing, making out, SMUT, dirty talk, a bit of degradation, teeny tiny bit of angst, choking, oral ( f. receiving), no use of protection (please be careful and use protection irl), nicknames like princess or baby, cuddles, aftercare??

an: this happens after the whole nwh incident, so they are both 18+ AND I ABSOLUTELY LOVE COLLEGE! + PETER

it was 6 in the morning, you were brushing your teeth as your phone started to ring.

‘chris <3’ was written on the screen, along with a picture of him sticking his tongue out, that goddamn photo, it mocked you. you eyed your phone for a while before picking up, you had a fight last night, you didn’t remember the reason though. probably something you said, you hadn’t been seeing him in person for a few days now, you had been spending the winter break at your grandmothers. going back to uni on that same day you fought. chris studied there too, but he was on another level. he had come from dozens of private schools, uniforms and everything else in the deal, his acceptance was guaranteed on his last name. maybe it all was just a game for him.

“hey, did i wake you up?” he questioned, once you put the phone on speaker.

“hi chris. you didn’t, is everything alright?”

“yeah, just wanted to check in. you haven’t texted me since that talk we had” it wasn’t a talk. it was him screaming on the phone with you, like you had killed his entire family and burnt down his house, when you had just told him you felt sorry about not getting accepted on the internship at the stark industries, and talking about how peter parker, a guy in your hall that had gotten accepted when he was in high school.

“yeah… sorry about what i said, i know how you feel about me being friends with guys and all. and we never even really talked babe, he was just my biochemistry partner last semester.” you apologized, not wanting to discuss this at the time, maybe you’d just let it go. it was no use anyways. the relationship had been falling apart for a while now.

“it alright. just don’t do it again. ‘gonna get breakfast at the diner with lucas and the boys, so ill talk to you later, alright? text you when i get there.”

“sure” you replied as he hung up. maybe you should break up, just rip the band aid off, you know? it was clear that it would happen sooner or later. it was stupid to keep it like that, all the fighting was just idiotic.

when you got to the chemistry lecture, you got to your usual seat, middle row third seat. you spent a few minutes biting the inside of your cheeks while checking your phone from minute to minute. you hated when he did that. you couldn’t quite find a way to finish your relationship and not end up being crucified, you felt in high school again. all the parties, homework, relationship issues. you could feel so impotent around him, like everything you say is wrong and he’ll always know better than you because he went to ivy-

“hey, y/n, right?” you heard a male voice say, turning around to face yourself with peter parker.

“y-yeah. peter?” you replied, looking at him smiling.

“that’s me. is this seat taken? its always nice to be around a familiar face so…” he asked, pointing to the seat on your left, that was occupied by your backpack.

“oh, right, no its not taken!” you answer quickly removing your things from the chair so he can sit down, trying to be as nice as possible. he quickly sat down, eyeing you in awkwardness.

“hear you applied for the stark memorial thing, that’s nice of you!” he smiles, taking out his notebook. “sorry, uhm, i forgot my pencil… so could you maybe…?”

“oh sure! absolutely!” you had gotten lost in your own sea of thoughts smiling at him. ever since you’ve met peter you’ve felt something about him. maybe now your relationship is almost over you could maybe have a shot, you don’t know at what, but you could.

mid presentation, peter slips you a note. something he was afraid to say, but felt the urge.

‘wanna go to a party next week?’

you look at him, right next to you with an intrigued smile.

‘where?’

you write, and quickly give it back to him.

‘john’s, first floor of your dorms building. it’ll be around nine, i can bring you as an extra if you’d like.’ when he gives it back, you immediately feel bad, having to turn him down like this.

‘sorry peter, just remembered i’m going out with my boyfriend that night. its our anniversary, so sorry. would love to go, though!’ you give the note back with an empathetic smile. you can see that he feels a bit embarrassed, you hate it.

for the rest of the lecture he’s absolutely quiet, you can feel him eyeing you, some sort of feeling you couldn’t quite decipher.

as the teacher started to close up, he gave you a piece of paper.

“my number, if you ever need it. feel free to text.” he smiles at you, picking up his bag and leaving. maybe you should text, just maybe.

it was around half past eight when you realized something, your boyfriend wasn’t coming. in fact, he stood you up.

‘fuck you chris. this is it.’

well, you needed to text him something, maybe it was the heat of the moment, or just an impulsive thing. you only realized what you were doing when peter picked up.

“hello?” he said over the phone.

“hi peter, its y/n, is that invite still up?” in the past week, the two of you had been talking a lot, mostly texting. you met up in a starbucks twice to work on homework, but that was mostly it. sure, you’d developed a small crush, but you still had a boyfriend. but maybe that wasn’t the situation anymore.

“y-yeah, can i pick you up? is everything alright?”

“sure. ill be ready in five, see you soon.” you hang up, deciding it is go time, no matter what was going to happen after, this was your shot at it. maybe you could have some fun. he was always fun.

a few minutes later, you were locking you door as he waited for you to go with him.

“hope you didn’t have to cancel with anyone for this, sorry for the mast minute call.” you apologize, putting your keys in your purse.

“oh its fine dont worry, i wasn’t planning on bringin anyone else.” he smiled at you, while walking. you could tell he’d sprayed on some perfume and that his hair was still damp, you found it sweet he put effort in to getting ready for the night out. “what happened to your date with chris?” he questioned, almost puking the words out, he seemed nervous about it.

“oh, hm, i guess i got stood up. sorry, that makes you seem like a second option, but i truly wanted to go so i remembered and i dont want you to-“

“its alright, y/n. i get it, hes an asshole for standing you up like that.” he interrupted your blabbering.

“yeah, i guess he is.”

“what do you want? on me, please!” he says loudly, ao you could hear him through the music, he took a sip out of his beer, staring at you.

“just a shot! i hate the taste of beer, no offense though!”

“nome taken, sweetie.” he looks over your shoulder, and you can see a frown forming on his face. “you wanna go somewhere else? i dont feel like this’ll go well.” he says, his voice a bit lower now.

“what do you mean?” you say, so you turn around and you see him. chris. casually smoking, with a girl by his side and his free hand on her thigh. “seriously? fuck him.” you mutter, looking over at peter.

“no, its fine, dont worry about me.” you smile, the shots are delivered and you quickly take one. the taste of vodka and a bit of lemon going down your throat, burning hot. you can see through glances they have started to make out, he probably didnt notice you yet, so he’d come up with some excuse later.

but peter needed to make sure he did.

“hey, wanna go dance? fuck chris, lets have some fun, alright?” he said, taking you by the hand to the dance floor, with a dozen bodies moving to some song you didnt quite recognize. his breath hitched over your neck as you moved with him, your arms over his neck and your hips swaying to the beat. if you ever had a doubt he was into you, that was quickly offset by the way his eyes roamed your body. focused on every inch of you. god, he loved that dress.

“your boyfriends staring…” he whispered into your ear, nipping at it.

“oh, im sure hes not my boyfriend anymore. besides, we should put on a show for him, shouldn’t we?” you smile at him, turning around and starting to grind against him. you could hear him whisper curses, and you knew you both were in for one hell of a night. you could feel him grow through your dress, eager for more, but tonight, you were having the urge to tease him (more than you already were).

you never did that to piss off chris, you did it because you wanted peter. because peter parker was just perfect for you. maybe that was how you knew this wouldn’t ever be a one time thing. as the music was fading to its end, you turned to him, looking him in the eye.

for a moment there, you got lost in him. you forgot what you were about to say. his eyes had a bit of green in them, you had never realized that, maybe because you should’ve let yourself get lost in him before.

“y/n” he calls, pulling you from your thoughts.

“yeah?” and then you realize. he was staring back, and he was close. god, was he close.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” you are both quickly interrupted by chris, trying to push peter away from you, but he was faster, dodging him.

“id ask you the same, christian. you bailed on me, what’d you want me to do, huh? stay at the restaurant? waiting patiently for you to finish fucking some other girl, and eating appetizers? because that’s the ideal night! we’re over and you know it, leave me alone.”

“and so you cheat on me with this dick because i bailed on you once? really? fuck you y/n!” he says, screaming at you, his voice was louder than the music.

“i’m cheating on you?! I cheated on YOU? chris, for the past four months you’ve ditched 15 dates, a total of 5 dinners, two breakfast occasions and 8 lunches in the dining hall, honestly, where were you? why couldn’t you just send a fucking text? what? were you just too busy in bed with some other girl? because you sure as hell are missing tons of classes, there’s gotta be an answer right? fuck you chris. just leave me alone.” you scream back, if this was the last time he screamed at you, you sure as hell wouldn’t take it all in. he makes his usual, but more extreme, i want you to die face and walks away, slamming on to you purposefully as he walks.

in a matter of seconds you see peter punching chris, and you’re instantly shocked because you never saw peter as a guy who fights, and you were two times more shocked once you se chris falling to the ground.

god, was peter hot in that moment. he ran his hand through his hair.

“come on, lets get out of here.” he says, his eyes a bit darker now. and you were in, you were in for all of it.

“sorry, i know punching exes is more of a 5th date kind of thing.” he says, hissing as you put his dominant hand in a bucket of ice.

“i’m okay with it.” you said, leaning against the cold tiles of peter’s bathroom wall. after the ‘fight’ you needed to take care of him, and so you decided to kill two birds with one stone, going back to his place.

“just to clarify, i don’t usually get in to fights. ever. but i don’t know, him slamming in to you like that? god, y/n, he’s such an asshole.” peter said looking at the door to his room, seeing it quickly open and close, it was his roommate.

“can i talk to him for like 5 minutes tops?” he asks, his brows furrowed. you nod, smiling at him.

he leaves the bathroom, closing the door after him. you could hear him whisper to his friend.

“please, steven just leave for a few hours just do me a favor, man!”

“who do you have here? please don’t tell me its chris’s girl because he’ll kick your ass” there was a pause. “you are so dead.”

“they broke up, please let me try please!”

“i’ll sleep at carson’s, but i swear to god, if it goes bad for you i’m not covering for your ass.”

“fair enough! thank you thank you thank you!” you giggle at his excitement, so you hike your dress up, and continue sat on the bathroom floor, making sure he could see a glimpse of your underwear once he walked in.

peter was sweet and perfect for you, but you never imagined yourself in that situation, and to be fully honest, you were loving it.

when he walks in to the bathroom again, you try your hardest to not blush because damn it, all he said was “hi” and you’re 3 seconds away from taking off all of your clothes and kissing him.

he sits next to you, eyeing your thighs. he wonders if you were dressed up like that once you called him, or if you had changed to see him. he surely hoped that dress was for him, because he was so jealous of chris in that moment. every day he was jealous of chris, not because he felt inferior, because chris could see you like that. because chris could hear you moan his name. peter never wanted someone so bad in his entire life.

“it was just steven, you remember him right? from biochem?” you nod, staring at him for a while now.

“do you, uhm, need any more ice?” you ask, looking at his red knuckles, trying to focus on something else (which obviously doesn’t work).

“why’d you call me?” he asks abruptly.

“what?”

“why did you call me ?”

“because i could trust you, i guess, i don’t know.” you answer, feeling a bit ashamed.

“why’d you leave him? i mean, after all this time? you knew about all his bullshit didn’t you?”

“peter, once you just appeared back into my life i took it as a sign, i mean, staying with him was killing me. you know him, right? you went to school with him”

“yeah i did, but it just doesn’t make sense to me, what are we? i’m not just someone you can call when your boyfriend’s not around, i’m sorry to be rude but i’m not that guy, y/n, and if that’s what you’re looking for, i don’t want it.” “peter. i want you okay? you’re the only person i want, the only person i’ve wanted for a while now. he never loved me enough, hell, he never loved me. i don’t want him, i want you. please, just believe me in me, please.” you say quickly, trying to get all your feelings out, though they could never be translated to words, he stares at you, wondering what to do next. and so he kisses you.

it starts off as a soft thing, a delicate and sweet kiss. you part your lips, waiting for him to reciprocate. and so it turns into a passionate and messy kiss, your tongues intertwining and you could taste him, you could taste his minty breath. you could taste peter fucking parker. and with that, you don’t waste any time.

your hands drift off to his hair, tugging on it, kissing him desperately. you feel his hands roaming your waist, he starts kissing your neck, nipping at it, whispering onto your skin.

“you have no idea for how long i’ve wanted you, fuck…” he whispers, helping you up and bringing you towards his bed, hands on your ass and not stopping his kisses on your neck, he sits you on bed, his knee aiming towards the inside of your thighs, he takes his shirt off and his jeans had already fell to the carpet, you couldn’t help but smile, he was so pretty.

“i saw what you did there, don’t think i didn’t notice.” he says, referring to the was you looked in the bathroom.

“i have no idea what you’re talking about” you whisper through a moan, as he starts kissing your chest, pulling your dress down and unclipping your bra.

“don’t lie to me, you know better then that…” he says, looking at you with those eyes, he quickly starts sucking onto your left nipple.

while he works on your tits with his mouth, his right hand is headed towards your lace panties, only playing with the hem of it.

“that alright, princess?” you nod a yes in answer. “i wanna hear you say it.” “fuck, yes, its great, peter… please.” you answer in the midst of moans.

“good. do you like this? did you get what you wanted, huh?” he asks, kissing your thighs, everywhere but not where you most needed him, he was teasing you.

“y-yeah, i wanted you so bad, please.” you say, hands trailing off to his hair again, you could feel your panties getting wetter by the second, and he knew that too.

he takes them off slowly, teasing you more and more.

“so wet, all for me, baby?” peter asks, kissing the inside of your thighs, making sure to leave marks.

“ yes, pete, all for you, please…” you nod, desperately, needing him more and more.

“what’d you want, huh? tell me, y/n.” he asks, looking at you with doe eyes, spreading your legs for him to see more. he was loving to see you like this, he needed it again and again every day and it was only just beginning.

“i… i need you to touch me, please, taste me, please” you ask, feeling your face getting hotter, his hands roaming your waist, you can feel your stomach sink with need.

“that was all you needed to say, smart girl” he answers, licking a broad stripe from top to bottom, he tasted all he could. “you’re so pretty honey, so fucking pretty"

peter inserts a finger in, causing you to moan, you could feel his grin over your clit. sucking on to your bud, you couldn’t believe you’d spent all this time without this side of him. as he stretches you out, inserting another finger, you feel as if you touched heaven and came back. you had never felt this way, with anyone. it was him.

“fuck!” you moan as he brings a third finger into the equation, his mouth and hands working together, just for you.

“peter i’m so close please” and just with that, he stops, leaving you empty and eager for more. and just like that he’s on top of you again, kissing you eagerly, making you get a taste of yourself. his dominant hand on your neck, squeezing it softly, just enough.

“you’re so fucking hot” he whispers against your lips, you can feel his grin on your skin as he kisses your neck again, nipping and leaving marks all over. your pussy aching for him, you needed him inside you so so so bad.

“peter” you whisper, trying to get his attention, though he seems very entertained by your neck and how mane hickeys he could leave.

“yeah?” he immediately stops, looking at you, his brows furrowed.

“i need you inside me. i need your dick.” you say, getting more red, his lips swollen and pink, he looks beautiful. his hair messy, you wanted him so bad.

“yeah? you need my dick?” he asks, teasing you, a smirk forming itself on his face.

“please, peter. i need you so much” you say, nodding with your words. he looks at you with his eyes shiny. he takes himself out of his underwear, you’d already seen his bulge but you still were surprised. he starts aligning himself to your hole, tapping his tip on your clit, teasing you.

“so pretty like this, all for me” he says, slowly pushing in, “fuck…” he sighs, you moan trying to adjust to his size. he feels like heaven inside you. he starts thrusting lightly into you.

“harder… please i need you so bad, please, peter.” you say, looking at him over you with doe eyes, a smirk forms on his face, hearing you say those words.

“thats all you needed to say, princess.” he says, slamming into you quickly. You moan out unrecognizable words, a mix of “fuck” with “ohmygod” and “peter”. he was so fucking good, slamming into you, whispering curses, using his free hand to stimulate your clit. you were almost there, reaching your high, as you started to clench around him.

“no, don’t. not yet.” he says firmly, still pounding into you.

“please…” you ask, looking at him with those doe eyes again.

“no.” he answers again. “i want to cum with you.” he slams into you again, harder this time. picking up his pace, when suddenly his right hand is on your neck, squeezing it slightly.

“this okay?” he asks, you nod a yes. he’s pounding into you, you’re loving it. he has the power over you and you have to admit, you’re more turned on now than you ever were in your relationship with chris. you weren’t going to be able to hold back any longer, scratching his back with your nails, leaving marks all over.

“please, peter, i need to cum so bad please!” you beg, he looks at you with green eyes, brows furrowed.

"please princess, please cum for me." he says, his thumb not stopping at your clit, as you’re moving your hip with his. it takes no more than a few seconds until you're reaching your peak and moaning loudly. it's different from anything you've ever felt and you're trembling, moaning into peter's shoulder and leaving little crescent marks on his back from your nails. you could feel him twitch as you clench around him, his cum leaking inside you, carrying you through your high.

“fuck, so good all for me. my little slut.” he whispers while grunting and squeezing your neck more and mora tightly. your mouth forming an ‘O’ shape. God, was he good.

as soon as he finished, he dropped over you, his sweaty body coverings yours. you feel incredibly empty when he pulls out and lays beside you.

“you were so good.” he says, getting himself together and snuggling himself beside you. “i’ll clean you up in a bit, can we just stay like this a little?”

“sure.” you say, smiling, knowing it wouldn’t be a one time thing.

[vodika-vibes]

Hi!!! I was wondering if you could write a steamy imperial tech x rebel fem reader? If that’s ok with you. I really love your writing! ❤️

Simple Chemistry

Summary: You and Tech have been playing a game of cat and mouse for what seems like months. It was only a matter of time before things came to a head.

Pairing: Imperial! Tech x Rebel F!Reader

Word Count: 1668

Warnings: Some smut

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So. This is based in an AU type setting where Crosshair's chip never activated, but the rest of the Batchers did. So Crosshair was raising Omega alone, and they ended up joining the Rebellion because it's just him. I hope this is close to what you wanted!

“Well, well, well,” A small grin plays on your painted lips as you saunter over to the tall man leaning against the wall, “Look at what the tooka dragged in. I never expected to see you, of all people, in a place like this.”

This was a club.

One of your favorite clubs, for that matter. With dimmed lights interspersed with blinding strobe lights of different colors and loud, thrumming music that you can feel down to your bones.

This is a regular haunt of yours. You’ve recruited more than one young, hot-blooded young person for the Rebellion here. And you have no intention of stopping.

Even if the Empire found it.

Of course, Tech isn’t dressed like an Imp right now. Clever, he never would have been allowed in if he had been wearing the stark gray uniform of the Imperial Army. 

His dark eyes remain locked on your face, and your smile doesn’t waver.

“Well?” You prod as you lean into his personal space, “What brings you to my domain, darling?”

“I am not your darling.” Tech finally says, his lips twisting as he says the pet name that you bequeathed to him months ago.

“So you keep claiming, darling. And yet, you’re here. And you haven’t taken your eyes off me since I got here.” Your voice is light and conversational as if you’re not talking to someone who’s been hunting you for months.

This isn’t the first time you and Tech have met face to face. You’re both very talented at what you do, and you’ve been playing a game of cat and mouse with him, leading him on a wild chase across the galaxy…leading him away from the other rebels.

He almost caught you several months ago, but you managed to escape with the timely assistance of his own twin brother and younger sister. Though, you’re willing to bet that Tech doesn’t know that.

His eyes narrow at you, “I should take you in for questioning.” He says curtly.

“Oh? For what?”

“You are a member of the Rebel Alliance.” He snaps, his eyes flashing, “And you are a criminal.”

You laugh, “Prove it.”

He scowls at you, “I do not have to prove it.”

“Aww, sweetling,” You splay your hand on his chest, and you feel his breathing stutter, “We both know that the word of a clone is next to worthless to the Imps.”

He stiffens, and glowers at you. Likely because he knows you’re right. 

You grin at him, and hook your fingers in the material of his blacks, “Let’s dance, darling.”

“I did not come here to dance.” Tech says, “I came to arrest you.”

“Oh? That’s too bad. Because I came here to dance. And if you won’t dance with me, I’m sure I can find someone to keep me company.” You say lightly as you turn away from him and scan the crowd for someone else to keep you company.

A strong hand wraps around your thin wrist, and you glance at Tech over your shoulder. It would be so easy for him to hurt you, he’s so much stronger than you are, but his touch is gentle.

“Changed your mind, have you?” You ask with a sly smile.

“I am not letting you out of my sight.” Tech says.

“Lovely!” You twist your wrist and take his hand, pulling him onto the crowded dance floor, and then you press your body against his, your arms sliding around his neck. “There,” You say, your lips brushing against his ear, “Isn’t this better.”

He’s tense against you, but slowly his hands settle on your waist.

You grin at him and you lazily start to move against him, and his grip tightens on your waist. 

“Relax, darling.” You coo against his ear, “It’s just dancing.”

Slowly, very slowly, the tension drains out of his body, as he starts dancing with you. And even more slowly, one of his hands slides down until it’s resting against your ass and his other hand slides up to rest on the back of your neck.

It’s a very possessive hold, and you can’t help but wonder if he realizes he’s doing it.

Not that you mind one way or the other. If you had a problem with being felt up by the man you’re pressed against, you wouldn’t have dragged him to the dance floor.

You consider him for a moment. It’s going to be a bitch to extricate yourself from him at the end of the night, you know. And if you want to be smart, you’d put an end to this now.

But if you were smart, you wouldn’t have become a Rebel in the first place.

Lazily, almost carelessly, you press your lips below his ear in a light kiss. And Tech curses, a low groan falling from his lips. 

Score. One point for the Rebel Scum.

You grin against his skin at his reaction and lightly nibble on the same spot.

This time his groan is a little louder and his hips jerk against yours. 

“Ooh, you like that then,” You murmur in his ear.

Tellingly, Tech doesn’t reply to you, but you didn’t expect him to, not really.

“That’s okay,” You whisper soothingly, “It’s a very normal reaction, Tech. No judgment. And no teasing. Not from me.”

He doesn’t react for a moment, but then his grip tightens. His fingers bite into the skin on the back of your neck and of your ass, and you know you’ll have bruises. 

Tech pulls you back slightly, his gaze dark as he scans your face, and then there’s a flash of something soft, gone so quickly that you think you must have imagined it. 

Then his lips are on yours. 

The kiss is hot and desperate, as if he’s trying to replace everything that you are with himself.

He’s a surprisingly good kisser, his teeth and tongue working in unison to leave you breathless and clinging to him. 

Even with all of that, you’re surprised when he tugs you off of the dance floor and down a narrow hall. And you’re even more surprised when he leads you into a small storage room, and he locks the door behind him with a rough hit of the door panel.

And then you’re pressed against the door, surprisingly gently, and his lips are against yours again. His hands, rough and calloused, dip under the hem of your shirt, and drag against your stomach pleasantly. 

“Not in here to kill me, I take it?” You breathe against his lips.

“Annoying.” Tech replies, as he grips the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head, and then he pauses, his gaze lingering on your bare breasts. “...you are not wearing a bra.”

“Nope.” He blinks at you, adorably flustered, and you grin, “I’m not wearing underwear either.”

A myriad of emotions cross his face, “Why?”

“Why am I not wearing any undergarments?” You ask, “Because I came here to get laid, Tech.”

The emotions finally settle on stark jealousy, “Did you?”

You laugh, your head falling back against the door, “Oh, darling, I’m in a locked storage room, half naked, with you. You silly, jealous man.”

He looks slightly sheepish for a moment, and then he glances at the miniskirt you’re wearing, “How often do you go bare-?”

“More often than not.” You say with a shrug.

Tech stares at you for a long moment, and then he releases a curse in another language, and crashes his lips against yours again, his hands burning a path across your breasts, and over your ribs, “I want you.” He gasps against your lips, “Need you.”

“You have me, Tech.” You whisper as you slide your hands under his shirt, tracing his muscles eagerly, “I’m right here.”

He fumbles with your skirt for a moment, before just shoving it up and out of the way. His long fingers slide across your thighs, taking his time to memorize the feel of your skin against him.

“Come back to the Empire with me,” He breathes as he slides his fingers a little further up your thigh, “I will protect you. No one will hurt you-” He’s pleading with you, half begging you, and you smile at him gently.

“No.” You pull him into a deep kiss as his fingers lightly glide across your clit and you release a gasping moan, before you control yourself again. He needs to hear this. “All it takes for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,” You shudder as he eases his finger inside you and curls it, “Kriff, Tech-”

“You will not be safe.” Tech whispers, “Let me protect you.”

“No.” You repeat, through breathless moans, and you press your hands against his cheeks, “Freedom is worth fighting for.”

He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against yours, “I want you to be mine.”

“I will not sacrifice my freedom for safety.”

He crashes his lips against yours, his tongue sliding against yours, and he slides his fingers out of you, pulling a whine from your throat. 

Tech tugs you away from the door and sits you on a crate, settling himself between your thighs, “Was only a matter of time,” He mutters against your lips.

“What was?” You gasp out the words as he trails his fingers over your bare body. 

“This. Us.”

You laugh breathlessly, “Too much chemistry?”

“Something like that.” He agrees, and he flashes you a slightly lopsided smile, before he kisses you again. 

And, for now, you lose yourself in him. In his lips and his touch. It’ll be twice as hard to pull yourself from him after this, he’ll hunt you to the ends of the galaxy.

But you have a pretty good feeling that, given enough time, you can get Tech to flip.

That’s a problem for later. For now, you have an attractive man wholly dedicated to bringing you pleasure, and that’s more important than anything to you.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Sickles, Snowflakes, & Sharks

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x Reader

Description: When you find yourself in the hospital fretting over a friend, the last thing you expect is a chance at love. One handsome doctor, some shitty hospital coffee, sickles, snowflakes, and a shark is apparently all you need.

Warnings: Hospitals, Doctors, Mentioned injury to the arm, Mentions of blood

Word Count: 3712

Author Note: Hiya everyone! This is from a request submitted by @emma8895eb. They sent in a gorgeous picture set of Lewis Pullman from Lessons in Chemistry and requested an AU of Bob being a doctor. The gifs of the scene were indeed soft and fluffy, so of course, I had to write a soft and fluffy little fic to accompany them!

Thanks to @horseshoegirl for beta-reading this fic for me!

My Masterlist

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

You haven’t been in a hospital since you were very young. So, it figures your return is due to the fact one of your friends decided to be completely idiotic and stupid in the middle of the night. Who in the world thought it was a good idea to drink in the middle of a snowstorm in a barn? 

It's a rhetorical question, of course. Only your friends, your roommates, would choose to do that. As if that wasn't stupid enough, they also decided to jump from the hayloft into the colossal pile of fragrant hay. One of them, Jake, because of course it was him, ended up impaling himself on a still sharp sickle. You were the only sober member of the party, so the consequences had been up to you to handle.

At least you managed to keep him from yanking the blade out of his forearm. You'd run out to the main house in the snow, swathed his arm in towels, and loaded him into your truck. The next step involved booking it to the hospital, of course, but that is easier said than done when it feels like an entire glacier was raining down over your head. The temperature on the dash was edging towards -15°F, and even with the heat blasting, you could hear Jake’s teeth chatter. Something told you he's going into shock. e His eyes were fever-bright, and he hadn't spoken in nearly twenty minutes. If you knew anything about Jake Seresin, the man couldn't shut up if he tried.

So your face is pinched, and it feels like you've got an elephant sitting on your chest when you roar into the Emergency Room drop-off loop with a squeal of brakes and rocket yourself out of the vehicle. You slam the driver's door shut and call for a couple of the nurses in scrubs nearby to help you get Jake out of the truck. Unsurprisingly, maneuvering Jake out of his seat, all six feet of him, is far harder than you think. Also unsurprising is how Jake is laid on a gurney and taken straight away to get some painkillers and X-rays done. Shortly after, while you're pacing the hallway outside the waiting room, a very nice ER Doctor comes out to tell you Jake needs surgery and is being carted away to the OR at that very moment. You can't help but feel a little like a marionette with its strings cut at the news.

When you slump, finally, into a hard-backed chair outside of a surgical suite, you're so tired you could cry. With adrenaline coursing through your system, your hands shake, and you're shivering, too. Of course, given your panic, you also completely forgot to grab a coat or gloves. So you’re sitting in the hospital with snow melting into your hair and soaking into the hem of your jeans. Your feet feel like ice, and you’re so worried you can’t sit still.

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

You blink, and all of a sudden, someone is crouching in front of you. He’s wearing scrubs and a white doctor’s coat. There are wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and his blue eyes seem to twinkle in the sterile lights.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft but warm.

When you look at your shaking hands, they are coated in rust, the color staining your skin in streaks.

“I, I don’t know.” Your voice sounds strangled as you choke the words out.

“Do you want to get cleaned up a little?” You nod, a little jerky bobble of your head up and down. His hands are warm as they cover yours, stalling the shivers as they pull you up.

“Truth be told,” He ducks in closer, murmuring into your ear in a way that should not be as sexy as it is, “I'm not supposed to be doing this.”

“But,” His voice makes sparks light up in your chest as he leads you into an elevator and up two floors. He keeps his hand hovering at the small of your back, close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin through your thin t-shirt. “What are the rules for if you can't break them every once in a while?”

The door he opens leads you to a locker room. You’re tongue-tied standing in such close quarters with this beautiful stranger. He turns, and the look of concentration on his face as he tugs out a spare set of scrubs takes your breath away.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd think you made a habit of doing this to unsuspecting girls covered in blood.”

“I, uh… I don't.”

“So why me? You don't even know my name. Nor do I know yours, for that matter.”

“Oh!” His laugh feels like champagne bubbles bursting across your tongue. “I’m Bob. Bob Floyd, I'm a trauma surgeon here at the hospital.”

“Well, Dr. Floyd.” You smile at the slight blush on the apples of his cheeks and introduce yourself. “You seem awfully familiar with breaking the rules for a man of your stature.”

“A man of my stature?”

“Yeah, sweet and kind. Bespectacled.”

“Bespectacled?” 

“Yeah.”

His eyes crinkle with the force of his laugh as he tips his head back. A curl hangs over his forehead, and if your hands weren’t covered in blood you’d push it off his forehead for him.

“C’mon, silly girl. Get cleaned up. I’d love to continue this conversation when you don’t look like Carrie.”

Is it wrong to lay the moves on the hot trauma surgeon when one of your friends is in surgery? Your conscious mind is telling you it’s probably not the most moral of things to do. But the other part of you, the part routinely indulging in romances and squealing at the thought of a meet-cute, is begging you to hold onto the opportunity with both hands. You'd truly be stupid not to, you rationalize as you soap up your skin using the bottle of ginger and orange soap Doctor Bob gave you. It smells amazingly, mouth-wateringly delicious, and a part of you wonders if it smells as good on his skin as it does on yours. But you derail the thought before it goes any further and step out of the shower, shivering a little in the cold hospital air.

Goosebumps rise on your arms as you pull on the scrubs before bunching up your soiled clothes. What’s the likelihood Bob’s still out there? He’s probably gotten a call or something and needs to prep for surgery, right? There are probably a million better things he could be doing. You should return to the surgical suites and see if you can coax some information about Jake from a nice-looking nurse.

When you peek around the door, you're surprised to find Dr. Floyd is still there, arms crossed against the broad expanse of his chest, blue eyes narrowed in thought. Your eyes widen, taking in just how handsome this man is. With long legs, made even longer by the slim-fitting scrubs, muscular arms, broad chest, and slim waist, it feels like you're on a roller coaster ride because a flirty stranger shouldn't be this alluring. Of course, your favorite part of him has to be his eyes, navy blue and mercurial, the color seeming to shift depending on his mood and the atmosphere around him. They sparkle in the sterile lights when you step through the door, absolutely dwarfed by the scrubs on your body.

“Thank you for this, truly.” The words trip off your tongue in a futile attempt to stop the awkwardly shy way you've been staring at him.

“I was happy to.” Your breath catches as he steps forward, handing you soft, dark fabric. “Wear this, you look cold.”

Looking at the fine hairs rising on your arms and how your skin textures from the drafty, antiseptic-smelling breeze, it’s an offer you’re only too glad to accept from this sweet doctor.

“Would you, um…” When he drags his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair, dislodging a curl that falls across his brow, you itch to push it back into place. “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m sure you’d rather check on your friend.”

He’s babbling, and you feel bad as you toe at the pristine tile, murmuring, “I should probably check on Jake.”

It’s his turn to toe at the tile. A part of you is tickled to see he has a charm on his crocs in the shape of the blue shark from that Korean baby shark song.

“What would you say, sweetheart, if I told you I set it up so my colleagues would page me when your friend’s procedure is done?”

You’ve got bubbles crawling up your esophagus, popping blithely in your mind as you look up at this tall, broad man with the countenance of a puppy.

“I'd ask if the coffee in the cafeteria was any better than the cups dispensed out of the machine down the hall.”

“It's a little bit better than the machine, yeah.” There's something like a smile on his face as he looks down at you, blue eyes crinkling in joy.

“Then lead the way, Dr. Floyd.” Your cocked eyebrow and broad grin make him smile more, the curve of his lips growing as he tugs you in the other direction when you start walking the wrong way.

He makes you feel a little giddy as he walks you down to the cafeteria with his hand against the small of your back. When there are two cups of coffee in front of you, your confidence falls completely flat. It’s like you’re no longer sure what to say anymore. Dr. Floyd seems to be just as stymied for words as you are. 

You sip on the bitter coffee because your hands are fidgeting and restless. He’s right about the coffee. It’s better than the machine coffee, but not by much. You fish for something to say because it’s awkward sitting in silence while staring at your coffee. If you’re not looking at your cup, you’re staring at your fingers, with nails clipped short and calloused with your work around the ranch. You can’t bring yourself to look your fill at Dr. Floyd, so you sneak looks at him as you fidget.

“So,” you smile, the gesture feeling awkward as your muscles contort. “How’d you get the baby shark charm on your Crocs, Dr. Floyd?”

He chuckles, eyes flashing behind his glasses as he sips his coffee. 

“Would you believe it if I told you I’ve only been at this hospital for a few months now?”

You grin softly at him. It looks like he’s thinking about how to describe the shark charm best, brow furrowed and lips pursed. All you want is to know what’s going on in his head. So you’re content to sit in silence.

“My first rotation here was in the pediatric surgery ward. This adorable little girl was going in for open heart surgery. She was heart-breakingly beautiful, with the prettiest smile, despite how sick she was.”

“Is she okay now?” The words trip out of your mouth without your permission.

“Yeah, she’s perfect.” He’s smiling. “I kept her calm before she went under and greeted her when she woke up with a big stuffed shark from the toy store.” He grins conspiratorially at you. “They didn’t have any sharks in the hospital gift shop. She was so happy to see me that it nearly made me cry. She begged her mom and dad to get me a shark charm for my Crocs before she was released to go home. I’ve been wearing it ever since.”

You’re smiling now in total, and when you shyly glance up at him, he’s smiling a smile that mirrors yours. “You sound like you love what you do, Doctor.”

“Call me Bob. Please.” He grins, and you shudder when you feel his feet tangle with yours beneath the plastic table. “Dr. Floyd is my dad. I still recoil and fight this urge to turn around to see if he’s behind me when I hear that name.”

“Bob, it is.” You giggle a little as you sip on your coffee. “So, you don’t swoop in like a knight in shining armor for any old catatonic girl covered in blood sitting in the waiting area?”

“I don’t.” He cards his fingers through his hair, “You’re special, believe it or not.”

You giggle a little uncomfortably. “How so?”

“You looked like you could use some help. It’s true what I said earlier. I rarely find pretty girls in the waiting room and show them places to get cleaned up. That seems to be something I only do for you.”

His smile fades a little then, brow furrowing again. If you were bolder you’d reach out to brush the wrinkled skin smooth again.

“You looked so lost. It’s weird because I didn’t even know your name.” When he says it, it feels like he’s tasting it on his tongue - and it looks like he likes your name in his mouth, too.

“I just wanted to make you smile and flirt a little bit, too.” When he lifts his eyes back up to meet yours, he’s smiling shyly. “So, is it working?”

You grin back and slide your hand out until you can take his hand. If anything, it stops his fidgeting.

“What’s the likelihood of a girl getting a nice piece of cake here?

 “I hate to break it to you, Sugar, but we’re in a hospital. The only dessert we’ve got in Jello.”

“Sugar?” 

He smiles. “Yeah, you’re sweet like sugar, especially when you smile at me like that. Give me a second. Let me see what I can get for you.”

When Bob stands up from the chair and strides over to the long counter, he gives you a little bit of room to breathe. It shouldn’t be this easy to fall for a man you barely know. There’s a reason why you were goofing around with your friends in an abandoned barn in the middle of a snowstorm, after all. You don’t have a lot of time for fun anymore.

You haven’t since inheriting the ranch from your great-aunt three years ago. There just hadn’t been enough time. In between getting the ranch running again and taking care of all of the animals, you’ve barely been sleeping. There was always something you needed to take care of, whether it was patrolling around the herds to make sure the coyotes hadn’t gotten them or spending hours going over the accounts to make sure there was enough money for food and medicine - for the humans and the animals.

The first calving season had brought you Jake and Natasha in the middle of a rainstorm. They’d originally stayed just to help with a breech calf, and you’d asked them to stay permanently when you saw how the herd responded to Jake’s soft Texan burr and how at home Natasha had been on horseback under the cornflower blue sky, the wind teasing her hair out from its ponytail. Since then, it’s been the three of you and more animals than each of you know how to handle.

You don’t know for sure, but sometimes you think there’s something between your two friends. It’s easy to notice when you spend most of your day only with the two of them or with the animals on the farm. Maybe you should have let Nat drive Jake to the hospital. But with Betsie foaling soon and Nat one of the only people she trusted, you had no choice. You fumble for your phone, digging it out of your bag, and make sure you haven’t missed any calls or messages from your friend.

Betsie’s in labor. I’ve called Doc McCoy. I don’t know if he’ll make it out to the ranch in time, but don’t worry. You take care of Jake. I’ve got Betsie. Let me know when he’s okay.

She sounds angry or maybe stressed; her words sound clipped even over the phone. Either you’ll have to do a lot of groveling or plan to get her some time alone with Jake.

“Is everything okay?”

Your smile feels like it’s disappeared into thin air - like you couldn’t find it if you tried. Your light, easy demeanor is gone, and the burdens of your day-to-day life are back. But you still try to curve your lips up in Bob’s direction.

“Yeah, yeah.” You accept the plate of jiggling multi-colored Jello from him. “One of our mares is foaling back on the ranch. When it rains, it pours, I guess.”

“Is everything alright? Do you need to run back there?” 

You poke lacklusterly at the jiggling sweet as you ponder how to respond to his earnest query. “No. Nat’s the only person the mare in question, Betsie, trusts.”

He blinks gently at you before nudging the Jello closer. “C’mon. You’ll feel better if you eat something.” His tone is quietly wheedling, and his blue eyes sear into you as you scoop a bite of the jiggling sweet into your mouth.

For several moments, it’s quiet. You can taste the artificial fruit as the Jello melts on your tongue. Inexplicably, it calms you as the sugar hits your stomach and dissipates the shadows brought on by stress.

“How long have you had the ranch?” Bob’s gently warm voice feels like being wrapped in blankets.

It feels like you’re wrapped in a dream, you and this handsome doctor, as you let the story spill into the quiet midnight atmosphere. There’s nobody else in the cafeteria with you, and it feels like there’s nobody else in the world. Maybe you shouldn’t share your struggles, things you haven’t told another soul, with a man you’ve only just met. But the stories spill off your tongue sweetly.

“The ranch is beautiful on winter mornings,” your voice is quiet as you intermittently sip your coffee. “It almost feels like a completely different universe.”

“What’s your favorite part of those winter mornings?”

 Before you can respond, his phone rings. In an instant, it’s like the man you’ve been talking to for so long is a completely different person. His face shutters, his smiling mouth going flat as he listens to the voice spilling down the line. He hums and nods, all those little noises people make when they’re listening, spilling out in his rich, lush voice. You find yourself liking this side of Bob too - the doctor side.

When he hangs up the call and stands up, you scramble to join him in collecting the mugs of long-cold coffee and empty plates.

“Your friend, Jake?” Your head snaps up so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. “He’s coming out of surgery now. They’re moving him into one of the Post-Anesthesia Care Units. My colleagues on the surgical team say he’s going to be fine. He’ll have to stay at the hospital for another couple of days. He’ll also have to be careful of his arm and not lift anything heavy for the next little while. But he’s going to heal up perfectly.”

You nearly crumple with relief as you follow Bob to the recovery rooms and take your spot next to Jake. The first thing you do when you see Jake again is text Natasha. Between phone calls with Natasha and talking to Jake’s doctors, you lose sight of Bob. As the days pass in trips between the ranch and the hospital, in talking to Natasha, in crying when you see your best friend finally open his eyes when the anesthesia wears away, you’re not sure you’ll ever see Dr. Floyd again. 

Was he just a figment of your imagination in the dark hours of night?

You’re signing the last discharge forms two days later when you finally see him again.

“Hey.” He looks sheepish, a small grin curling the corners of his mouth up as he tries valiantly to ignore Jake and Natasha, bickering off to the side.

“Hey.”

“They’re discharging him today, huh?”

You grin at him. “Yeah. I’m glad he’s alright.”

“W-would you maybe want to have coffee sometime, again? Or maybe dinner?” Your heart stutters in its steady beat as you process the words. There’s something like hope growing in your chest before reality rears its ugly head.

“I’d love to. But with the ranch, I’m not sure how feasible it would be to drive an hour into town to have coffee.”

The light in his beautiful blue eyes dims. “Oh.”

“Maybe I can come down to the ranch, then?”

You smile and nod. Jake and Natasha have stopped talking in the background, which means they’ve noticed your conversation with this all too handsome doctor who is wholly out of your league.

“I’d love that.”

“Here,” He hands you his phone. “Put your number in, Sugar.”

When you hand the phone back with clammy palms, he wraps his arms around you in a gentle embrace. You think you can feel the brush of his lips across your forehead.

You’ve got a giddy smile on your face all the way home. Nat and Jake are anything but silent, taking turns asking you what happened in the hospital the night you tore into the Emergency Room drop off. Nat’s a little bolder than Jake is, asking,“So, who’s the cute doctor?” as soon as you’re on the road.

You barely manage to avoid their insistent attempts at wheedling the story out of you until you’ve gotten Jake settled into his room with Nat fluttering about fussing over him. You pull your phone out again in the confines of your bedroom, far away from prying eyes and people who know you too well and can read your every facial expression. There’s a message waiting for you.

Hey, this is Bob. I’d love to come by the ranch when I’m free. Just let me know, Sugar. Hopefully, the winter view you told me about is better than my dreams. I think it will be because it’s got you in it. You have to give me my sweater and scrubs back anyway, doll. So I’ll see you soon.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @chaoticassidy @shanimallina87

[magicfootballstuff]

Strictly Unprofessional - part 4 (alexia putellas x reader)

Summary: You’ve just landed your dream job as a photographer at FC Barcelona Femení. The only problem? You hooked up with the captain five years ago and haven’t seen her since.

Part 4/9

Read other parts here.

It feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders now that you’ve properly reconnected with Alexia.

No more walking on eggshells around her, Alexia is no longer the intimidating captain who could ruin your life with a single rumour. If anything, sharing this secret between you has bonded you. You speak more, hang out with her sometimes on away trips when you’re not working, and you’re reminded exactly why you clicked with her so easily all those years ago.

On a mild day in October, you’re outside taking pictures of the players during training when they stop for a water break and Alexia approaches you standing on the sidelines.

“Can I have a go?” she asks, gesturing to your camera.

You’re normally very protective over your equipment, especially in the hands of amateurs, but Alexia’s hopeful smile as she asks has you weak and passing across your camera almost immediately.

“Point and click, right?” Alexia asks, examining the camera, before aiming the lens at some of her teammates, who are passing a ball around as they wait for training to resume.

“You’re a natural.”

You have a second smaller camera on hand and you take it out of its bag, switch it on and point it at Alexia to capture some pictures of her with the camera. She’s so engrossed in what she’s doing that she doesn’t notice you at first, not until she turns to seek your approval and spots you aiming the second camera at her.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” she protests. “I’m supposed to be behind the camera for once, not in front of it.”

“It’s my job to take pictures that the fans will love and they’re gonna love seeing a different side to their captain.”

Alexia lifts the camera again, but instead of pointing it towards her fellow players, she aims it at you and takes a photo.

“Fine, but I get to take pictures of you too.”

You really should have seen that coming.

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“Do you know how I remembered where I’d met you before?”

You quickly check that nobody else is close enough to hear your conversation. Though you’ve been getting closer, it’s very rare that either of you actually brings up what happened in Ibiza, and you’re still a little wary of what might happen if anybody else found out.

“How?” you ask.

“You made a comment at the dinner table in Tenerife about how you liked taking pictures of people living their lives and it reminded me of something I’d heard before,” Alexia explains. “You said something similar when we first met in Ibiza.”

“It’s my favourite part of the job,” you admit with a nod.

“Isn’t it time somebody caught you in your element? Just do your thing. Pretend I’m not here.”

If it was anybody else you’d protest. But you’ve got a soft spot for Alexia and her argument is a good one. A small part of you is excited to see how Alexia will capture you, even with her inexperience she has a connection and a chemistry with you that none of the other players have.

You turn back to the training field and point your camera at the players, ignoring the clicks of your other camera in Alexia’s hands as you get some shots of Lucy and Mapi passing a ball between each other without letting it touch the ground. After a couple of minutes, you’re so engrossed in your own work that you forget about Alexia completely until she comes to stand next to you.

“What do you think?” Alexia asks, tilting the screen of the camera in your direction so you can see the photos she’s taken.

You let your smaller camera hang around your neck and take the one that Alexia has been using so you can see her photos. You’ve never seen pictures of yourself with a camera before and it’s weird to see yourself working, but Alexia has caught a selection of photos of you, some of you with the camera held up as you take pictures, some of you frowning at the camera as you check out your own work.

“Do I really stick my tongue out like that?” you ask, when you reach a picture where you’ve got the camera held up and your tongue caught between your teeth as you try to find the perfect shot. 

“Sometimes,” Alexia grins. “I think it’s cute though.”

“This is a really nice one,” you say, as you reach one photo in particular that stands out.

Alexia has photographed you from behind, at enough of an angle that you can still see the camera in your hands, but also the blurred figures of the players you’re taking a picture of in the background. Whether the composition is intentional or purely a beginner’s fluke, she’s captured you doing your job perfectly.

A whistle blows somewhere in the distance signaling that it’s time for the players to regroup and resume training but Alexia makes no move.

“So do you think I’ve got a career in photography after football?” Alexia teases you.

“With a bit of practice, maybe.”

“Well if you ever need an apprentice…”

“I’ll keep you in mind,” you promise her, reaching out to touch her arm affectionately.

Your hand makes contact with her skin just as Alexia’s eyes meet your gaze and it’s like time stands still. You feel warmth running through your veins, her skin electric beneath your fingertips and you’re taken right back to Ibiza, dancing and flirting and touching until you were leading her away to the privacy of your hotel room.

The moment is interrupted by a shout from Mapi, who jogs over to where the two of you stand, a grin on her face as she teases Alexia.

“Ale, just because you’re the captain, doesn’t mean you can skip training!” 

“I’ve decided to swap football for photography,” Alexia announces to Mapi.

“No you haven’t,” counters Mapi. “As if you’d give up football. Is she any good?”

Mapi addresses this last part to you.

“I’ve seen worse,” you tease Alexia, as you put your spare camera away.

“I thought you said I was good!”

“I said you weren’t bad for a beginner.” You gesture at the pitch, where the rest of the team are gathering to continue training, and say, “Go. Mapi’s right, aren’t you supposed to be setting an example?”

“I don’t think I like you two ganging up on me,” Alexia says with a pout. “I expect this from her,” she points a finger at Mapi, “but not from you.”

Alexia jogs away, leaving you alone with Mapi, who grins at you instead of following her captain back to training.

“Is it just me or were you two flirting?” she asks.

Your cheeks burn at getting caught out and you pretend to be busy with your camera to avoid having to look at Mapi.

“I don’t know what you think you're seeing but that would be unprofessional.”

“Okay,” Mapi says, starting to walk backwards towards the rest of her teammates. “If you say so.”

———

A picture of Alexia with the camera finds its way onto the Barcelona social media channels later that day.

You post one of the photos she took of you on your personal Instagram, giving Alexia credit in the caption. She reposts it to her stories and you get an influx of notifications from her fans.

——— 

Champions League nights might be your favourite nights.

It shouldn’t make a difference - a football match is a football match and your job remains pretty much exactly the same whether the team is playing in front of two hundred fans on an artificial turf or tens of thousands in a huge stadium. But there’s a buzz around the entire team in the build up to each Champions League game that spreads from the pitch into the back offices too. 

Tonight the team is playing at Camp Nou. You can tell the occasion means so much to all the players, even the ones who have played here several times before. The stadium is huge, stands stretching up almost infinitely towards the sky and even you, who hasn’t grown up dreaming of playing football in front of massive crowds, feel like you’ve stepped onto holy ground as you walk out of the tunnel with your camera hanging around your neck.

“This place is special, isn’t it?” Alexia says, draping an arm around your shoulders as you walk across the Camp Nou turf before the game. “Just wait until it’s full of fans.”

The players are checking out the pitch and you’re taking photos. Alexia seems to have realised that if she stays by your side while you’re working, you’re actually less likely to take pictures of her than her other teammates and you’re not going to complain about getting to spend more time in her company.

“My dad brought me here once when I was about twelve,” you tell Alexia. “He’s got three daughters and I was the most tomboyish so he took me. I wasn’t even that interested in football but we were up near the top and I remember being amazed at seeing so many people in one place all cheering for the same team.”

“My dad used to bring me here too,” Alexia says. “Maybe that’s why I love this place so much. Sometimes I wish he could have had the chance to see me play here.”

“I bet he’d be incredibly proud of you.”

Alexia’s hand tightens on your shoulder.

“I hope so.”

[a-court-of-lust-and-stardust]

Love on Ice Chapter 7: The Bakery

Thank y’all for all the support on this fic ❤️ Please check out my masterlist for prior chapters and artwork!

39 Days before Competition

“Now, I’m no expert, but do skating practices typically end with almost fucking your partner on the ice?” 

The plate of raspberry tarts almost slipped out of Elain’s grasp. She recovered, thankfully, placing them inside the display case before shooting Nuala an incredulous look. “What?” 

From the other side of the bakery, Cerridwen chuckled softly, shaking her head at her twin sister’s antics as she filled the shelves with fresh bread loaves. 

It’s been two years since Elain set foot in Sweet Sensations Bakery after noticing the Help Wanted sign on the window. It was a bold move on her part. Not only had she been discouraged from working when Mama was alive, every shift deprived Elain of precious ice time she could’ve used to rehearse a routine.

But Mama had passed away and Elain thought she should at least figure out how to support herself in the event she never stood atop the podium, even if Mama would be disappointed in the decision to work at a place she viewed as ‘lesser’. Disheartened to know she was working at all. 

That’s all it was, though. A way to accumulate income. Wake up, clock in, do your job, clock out. It wasn’t much different than skating. She was professional and efficient, keeping the twins at arm’s length. A job she could manage–maybe–but friendships were off the table. No matter how persistent Nuala and Cerridwen were. She’d already declined the invitation to their 30th birthday celebration two times. 

“Well, with the way you just described the last week of practices, color me shocked that none of them ended with your clothes off,” Nuala said, restocking the peanut butter brownies in the display with a shrug. “I haven’t found a kinder way to say it, but you will be a fool if you do not let that man take you to bed and–.” 

Elain gaped, half shocked she didn’t end up giving herself whiplash from the speed she turned her neck. The older twin was the more brazen of the two. Elain still hadn’t got used to it, even living with Nesta all those years. “Nuala!” 

She licked peanut butter from her fingers, poorly suppressing a dimpled grin. 

“He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” Cerridwen muttered to no one in particular. While Nuala was shameless, Cerridwen was more reserved. She mostly spoke only when spoken to. Elain supposed this conversation was the exception. 

“That is…horribly inappropriate,” Elain scolded, emerging from the kitchen with a small fudge cake. And also entirely too close to what would be considered friendship talk. “Us having chemistry is important. It means our performances will be more emotional and believable.” 

It was incredible what they had been able to accomplish in a little more than a week of practices. They were tough and long and she walked away sweating half the time, but she never felt mentally exhausted by the end. She took them seriously, but also allowed herself to giggle at all of Azriel’s terrible jokes and weird dance moves. Sometimes she joined him, and impromptu dance breakouts were slowly becoming a crucial part of their practices. That, and documenting their skating journey with photos and videos in her phone’s camera roll. 

Their chemistry was most impressive and had only grown stronger in a minimal amount of time. She wouldn’t say friendship, not yet, but it was slowly starting to feel that way. Azriel shamelessly shared some of his most embarrassing teenage memories, and Elain offered a few happy ones from her childhood back in the Village. Azriel insisted on spending time together outside of the rink, and she normally shut him down. Her compromise, however, was that they could exchange numbers and message each other throughout the week. He’d taken full advantage of the opportunity, always making sure to send her a message before bed and a kind greeting when she woke up. More than once, she caught herself smiling at her phone. 

Everything was natural. Nothing was forced or fake or awkward. Having him in her life was refreshing. He wasn’t afraid to grip her hips or hold her in his arms or playfully pinch her cheeks. And she wasn’t as hesitant to clutch his shoulders or stroke his face or jokingly bump her hip against his. The past few days were proof enough that their chemistry was alive and burning. And also strictly professional. At least, that's what she was still telling herself. 

“You’re saying if the opportunity presented itself to you, you’d decline?” Nuala scoffed, but it was easily wiped off her face when she noticed how quiet Elain had become. How rosy her cheeks were. How her eyes looked everywhere and nowhere. It clicked. “Oh shoot. You haven’t slept with anyone, have you?” 

Elain rolled her eyes, occupying herself with counting the money in the register. “Would you like to scream that to the entirety of Prythian, while we’re at it?” A long pause, followed by a dispirited sigh. “No, I haven’t. I didn’t exactly have boys lining up to date me, not when Mama scared them away. Not to mention, practice kept me busy. It still does. Sex is the least of my concerns.” But damn, wouldn’t she like to experience it just once. To give herself to someone she trusted. To let someone make her feel good. To make someone else feel good…

“Speaking of sex…” Cerridwen whispered, and not even a second later the bell over the door dinged, signaling the first customer of the day. Elain glanced up from the register, hands gripping the wad of cash. 

“Azriel,” She breathed, kicking Nuala’s ankle when her shoulders shook with laughter. The older twin made herself useful by checking on the batch of blueberry muffins currently in the oven. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he greeted, flashing her a smile before dipping his head toward Cerridwen. 

“Where are you headed this morning?” Easy and light. Not too eager or curious. 

“A friendly scrimmage game against the Adriata Rays,” he explained, readjusting the backward cap on his head. Waves of black hair curled over his ears and down the back of his neck. 

“Why are you playing a scrimmage in the middle of the playoffs?” Elain snickered, sliding the bills into their allocated slots in the register. 

“You can never play too much hockey,” He cleared his throat, asking, “Ever been to a playoff game before?” She shook her head. “I have not, but–.” 

“If you ask me, I think she’d love to go to one sometime,” Nuala chirped, emerging from the kitchen with warm, toasted muffins. Her brown eyes sparkled wickedly. 

“Well, no one did ask you, Nuala,” Elain huffed, turning her attention back to Azriel. His grin stretched wider, amused by the exchange. “But no, I've never been to one. Skating prevents me from doing anything else.” “Maybe it shouldn't,” Azriel suggested lowly, knuckle rapping against the glass display. “The best seats are right up on the boards, and the energy in the building is unlike anything you’ll experience. You might even get lucky and see Cassian fuck someone up in a fight.”

Elain chuckled, fingers delicately brushing over the keys on the register. “Tempting, although he really can’t afford to lose any more teeth.” 

“Or I could flip you a puck,” Another attempt at convincing. “I’ll even sign it for you,” He winked playfully. 

She rolled her eyes, not fighting against the upward tilt of her mouth. “I will…consider it for the future. I make no promises, though.” 

“Good luck,” Nuala snorted, biting into an extra muffin. “She won’t even attend our birthday celebration at Rita’s.”

Elain huffed. “I will consider attending that, too.” 

The twins’ eyes sparkled in delight. 

Azriel’s efforts had hit a brick wall, it seemed. Another time, he’d try again. “What’s your favorite thing here?” He asked curiously, one arm leaned casually against the display. It took every ounce of willpower for her eyes to remain politely on his face and not track the swirling ink on his arms and neck. 

His neck. 

She blinked, eyes the size of saucers at the discolored bruise. It wasn’t too large, but big enough for her to spot it without really trying. A hickey. There was a damn hickey proudly displayed on his tanned skin. 

Elain’s mind spiraled before she could stop it. Did he have a girlfriend? That would have been imperative to know, lest she be uncomfortable with their proximity on the ice. She didn’t want to appear disrespectful by intimately touching another woman's man. 

Or maybe it was a fling, someone he’d met at a bar and taken home for a drunken fuck.

Elain didn’t know which scenario was worse. 

Or why her teeth ground together.

Or why her skin felt hot. 

Or why she even cared. 

Realizing he was still waiting for an answer, she choked out, “Raspberry tarts for breakfast, oatmeal cookies when I’m upset, and strawberry shortcake for a late night treat.” 

She mentally slapped herself at the unnecessary word vomit. What the fuck, Elain? Luckily, he didn’t appear phased, head dipping toward the treats.

“Then I’ll take a tart. Oh, and two slices of fudge cake for Rhys and Cassian, even though it’s nine in the morning. I don't feel like hearing them run their mouths for not bringing them anything.” With a curt nod, she packaged away a fresh tart and generous pieces of cake, sliding it toward him. Up close, Azriel beamed at the sweets. “These look incredible, Elain.”

“I dabbled in a few recipes when I was young before I really started to take skating seriously,” she shrugged off the compliment, ringing up the order. “Croissants, breads, cakes, you name it. I sometimes made dinner for my family too, though Mama wasn’t thrilled about it. My beef stew was a hit and Nesta always liked when I cooked–.” 

She caught herself, shaking the rest of the thought from her brain. Why in the world would he even care about this stuff? He didn’t need to hear more of her life story. 

Azriel frowned, urging her to continue, but the bakery door had opened five more times since his arrival and she couldn’t hold up the new customers. 

“Well, I hope you gentlemen enjoy the treats,” Elain said, handing him his change. Her eyes fell to the chocolate frosting on his finger that had transferred from the cake container. 

“Oops, sorry,” Elain gestured to the frosting. “Before you go, let me grab you a napkin.” 

He didn’t need a napkin–apparently–because his tongue did the job quite well. In one fluid motion, Azriel sucked the chocolate off his finger, holding her gaze as he did so. 

Cerridwen gawked. 

Nuala whistled lowly. 

And with the way his soft, satisfied moan shot straight to her core, Elain knew she was in so much trouble. 

ARTWORK FOR THE CHAPTER BY @chachachai17: Here

DIVIDER BY: @saradika-graphics

[crappymixtape]

my heart in your hands

REQUEST → anonymous, 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION ❝ angst prompt: “do you regret it?” – this gives eddie insecure about his relationship with reader after some shit hit the fan vibes | ( 2.2k – a sprinkle of angst, a sprinkle of fluff, all the feelings, established relationship, eddie x reader )

M Y H E A R T I N Y O U R H A N D S 🎶 loner, joan

Eddie was swimming in a sea of bodies, two beers raised safely over his head as he tried to find you in the crowd, music so loud he could barely hear himself think.

When you’d asked him to come with you he couldn’t say no. He never could. Not to you. And even though he didn’t really know anyone at the party he stood by your side smiling and nodding, quietly greeting your friends. Friends of friends. Letting you take the lead and chatting everyone up.

It was what had drawn him to you when you first met. The way your eyes lit up when you were joking and making everyone laugh. All animated and full of energy and exuding this bright feeling. The little group of people around you waiting for the next funny quip, hanging on your words and you loved it. Loved the conversation, the way you made at least two new friends at every single party and Eddie was so happy to just be there along for the ride.

Usually. But tonight felt different.

He expected to run the usual circuit. Walk in, grab a beer, find your friends, laugh all night until things grew a little fuzzy around the edges and go home, but not tonight.

No. Tonight you ran into Remmy.

“Remmy?” your voice had taken on a different sound, so surprised and so happy. Eyes lit up like Eddie hadn’t seen before, big smile pulling at your lips and when he followed your line of sight there was a boy at the other end.

A good looking boy.

Tall. All lean muscle and sharp lines. A shock of black hair and enough of a presence to command the room. Nothing like Eddie. The antithesis of Eddie. Everything he wasn’t and he tried to not let his mind run away with it. Tried to stay grounded. Squeezed your hand in his and followed along.

“Holy shit!” Remmy had yelled back, the grin on his face somehow making him even more handsome and Eddie’s stomach twisted at the thought of the other boy’s hands on your waist. Trailing up your back. Pulling in the scent of your shampoo as your hair fell over your shoulders and holding you close.

Holding his girl close.

“How are you?” you asked, shoving Remmy playfully with a hand pressed to his chest and he laughed. A deeply warm sound that made Eddie burn all the way up to his ears and when your hand fell from his he had to stop himself from grabbing it again.

“I’m great, how are you? I haven’t seen you since graduation,” Remmy hadn’t even looked at Eddie yet, eyes only for you.

“So good. I’m just over at the gallery helping with sales and setting up installations and–”

Eddie cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back, trying so hard not to cut in and when you heard it your eyes widened.

“Oh! Rem. This is my boyfriend, Eddie,” turning you grabbed hold of Eddie’s leather jacket and pulled him forward, bringing him between the two of you and Remmy smiled his big smile.

“Ed. Lucky man,” Remmy gave him a wink and all Eddie could do was laugh. A small huff of air he had to force out and he hoped neither of you had noticed.

“Hah, yeah. Don’t I know it,” Eddie tried to joke, but it fell short and you caught the shift in his tone, the one that screamed I’m uncomfortable and you thought he needed a break. An excuse to get away.

“Babe, wanna grab us some beer?” you asked, thinking you were throwing him a lifeline and Eddie’s stomach lurched. Grab beer. Away from you. Leaving you alone with this other guy, this other guy you had chemistry with.

“Uh. Y–yeah. Course. Be right back,” he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead and turned to walk to the kitchen, a peal of laughter falling from your lips as soon as you started talking to Remmy again and the thoughts running through Eddie’s mind started to take hold.

He had to have been an ex. Maybe even the one right before him. The one that drove the bright red Ford Bronco out front with the shiny new paint and rack up top. The one who played ball in college. Parents had a house in the Hamptons. The one who could buy you nice things and take you nice places and treat you real nice. All the things Eddie couldn’t do and as he wove back through all the people with your beers he caught you back by the stereo where he’d left you.

Still laughing.

Still talking.

Still Remmy and he pushed and shoved to get through the crowd.

“Hey, sweetheart. D’you have a minute?” Eddie walked up emphasizing his nickname for you, beer bottle necks held fast in one hand and the other grabbing onto yours.

“Oh?” your brows pinched together, furrowed in concern, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s okay. Just need you in the other room,” Eddie lied and he could feel Remmy’s eyes on him.

“Okay, yeah. Sorry, Rem. Catch you later?” you asked and the other boy shrugged indifferently, so casual, definition of cool.

“Definitely. Real good to see you,” Remmy leaned down to give you another hug and then glanced over at Eddie, “You too, Ed.”

“Yeah. Real good,” Eddie repeated, but he didn’t bother to sugar coat how short it sounded and pulled you away back through the crowd. Down a hallway and through a door and into an empty room.

You watched as Eddie set the beers down on a dresser with a loud, clumsy clink. He roughed his hands over his face and loosed a heavy sigh that groaned low at the end. Upset and frustrated and when he finally looked up at you his eyes were big and sad. Lips pulling down into a frown. His warm smile no where to be found and you felt your heart ache.

“Babe? What’s going on?” worry squeezed in your chest as you watched him, feeling so far from him even though he was only a few steps away.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, voice tight, fingers tangling in his hair as he tried to shove it out of his face. Tried so hard to keep it together and you took a step toward him.

“Wait. Regret? Eddie, regret what?” your heart was hammering now, beating hard against your ribs as you held your breath, taking another step toward him and he swallowed hard.

“Regret me. This. Us,” he flipped a hand back and forth in the space between you and you swore your heart stopped.

“What? No. Jesus, Eddie. Why would I–”

“I know I don’t know how to throw a fuckin’ football. M’not big and strong or–or riding around on some white horse with a bunch of armor and shit, but–but you gotta tell me. If it’s not working or–or if you wanna be with someone else–”

You took the last two steps toward him in one and pressed your fingers to his lips. Stopped the words from coming out. Shook your head and took his face in your hands, eyes searching his. Dark and deep like whiskey. Like liquid amber. Like if you looked hard enough you’d be able to tell him how you felt without saying, but it didn't matter because the words came easy.

“Eddie Munson. I don’t care about big and strong. I don’t care about football or stupid horses. I don’t need any of that bullshit. I need you.”

And his face softened, lips parted, leaned into your touch and let out the breath he’d been holding. Lifted his hands to cover yours, wide and warm and grounding.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice low and rough, thick with the feeling swelling in his chest.

“Yeah. Yes. Eddie–” you gave him a small smile, oh babe, “–I love you, Eddie. And everything that makes you, you.”

And then you pulled him in soft and slow, pressed a kiss to his lips, caught him as he fell into you and it was sweet. Full of promises and adoration and affection and god damn you loved that boy.

Pulling away just far enough to speak you smiled at him, “Plus, Remmy doesn’t know shit about rolling a nat 20 and that’s just a real turn off.”

Eddie’s eyes shifted, warmed, the heat blowing his pupils wide. Liquid honey, burnt caramel and he pushed into you, lips brushing against yours as he spoke, “Sweetheart, you can’t say shit like that. Gonna make me do somethin’ about it.”

You grinned, “Yeah? Maybe that’s what I was goin’ for.”

Eddie crowded in over you, arms snaking around your waist, lips pulling up finally into that smile you loved so much and he hummed, “My girl.”

And you hummed right back, “All yours.”

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hello, please don't take it bad because, through the question maybe the tone can be a bit weird also I know you talked about it hundred of times.

But as a Loumand enjoyer and someone who take them for what they were,creepy,toxic, unbalanced but also beautiful because i like good chemistry and no one can deny their good chemistry right? Jacob and Assad were beautiful together.

What i don't understand is why,i keep seeing from most of the fandom the reasons they don't like them is because they were toxic/weird dynamic, aren't all the relationships in the VC romantic or not,toxic/weird?

I promise i didn't make a fanfic in my head,i knew from the start we were watching a divorce but they still had some on-screen good moments?

They will still be important for each other lives in the future right?

I feel like most of the vitriol i see for them (not from you) is because Loumand feels like a ''threat'' (I can't find a better word) to the existence of the two main pairings.

I don't think they were because of the dungeon scene is a proof they were never meant to be but still I'm sure some people felt threatened.There no other reason i can see.

In the future they will be other weird dynamic between other characters and i can see them receiving such a treatment.

Also I know some Loumand enjoyers are the reason we are seen as the annoying part of the fandom including myself.

All good :) (your tone is fine^^)

Tbh I haven’t seen much of what you refer to (I barely make it out of my inbox and DMs right now 🤪) but I think what you witness now is the backlash after almost two years of “Lestat is an abusive racist and we cannot wait to see Louis in a healthy, wholesome romance with a POC character and nothing of Lestat anymore“.

Like, don’t misunderstand me, I‘m not saying you did this. But this definitely happened. The show never promised Loumand to be wholesome, but since it was commented on as healthy and wholesome on the podcast many took that as fact. Pointing out book canon things were met with “anti accusations“ (even by some I would have never expected it from). Suggesting that the “tale“ might not be correct was taken as racist, and abuse apology bc the black man was “made to be a liar“. No matter the cast and writers and crew comments on this. (But I‘ve been over this in my rant, it’s linked in my bio if you want to read it, not rehashing it all now).

And that for over 1,5 years. There’s comments on my fics you wouldn’t believe. And no pointing out discrepancies, nor book canon facts made any dent into these accusations. It was always argued that the show is its own thing - and that is true - and yet they have now circled back MUCH closer to the book canon than I had actually anticipated.

So.

I get that it’s hard right now? I have said before that I see Loumand as totally valid - but for me it is mostly later on, when it’s on equal level. I think it is totally valid to enjoy them now, too, while being aware of the manipulative layers and the fucked-up dynamics:))

Ultimately… there’s not much for you to do except curate your dash. Go and block haters freely, leave those voices that you like or that disagree with you on a respectful level.

Especially for future (also rather toxic) pairings that WILL come up this will be MO. :) Fortunately tumblr has some practical tools there. ^^

[lavampira]

book recommendations

tysm @winedark and @rosenfey for the tag <:

passing it along to @hythlodaes @scionshtola @coldshrugs @likeabirdinflight @lesbianalicent @veeples @narrativefoiltrope @kirnet @disequilibria @jennystahl @elvves @queenofthieves @weird-ecologies @erielake @verbose-vespertine @solarisrenbeth @onceinabluemoony @queerbrujas @oldblood but ofc no pressure!!

1. the last book I read:

GOTH WESTERN by LIVALI WYLE — well. technically, it’s an indie graphic novel. but it’s a western meets magical realism about necromancy, revenge, and the power of love. and lesbians. I burned through it in a couple hours sitting because I was so gripped by it tbh.

2. a book I recommend:

THE HACIENDA by ISABEL CAÑAS — an absolute all time fave book in my heart; I would say one doesn’t even need to necessarily love horror to get invested in this one, since it also involves very interesting critique of spanish colonialism, religion, and class struggles in post-independence mexico only using hauntings as the lens to view it.

3. a book that I couldn’t put down:

THE PRIORY OF THE ORANGE TREE by SAMANTHA SHANNON — I was glued to this book for a solid two weeks despite its length. I have a lot that I would change about the pacing and certain events or qualities of some characters’ outcomes, but it was such a fun fantasy read, and I had a difficult time even moving on from the setting and protagonists once I was done.

4. a book I’ve read twice (or more):

THE SONG OF ACHILLES by MADELINE MILLER — my first time reading this myth retelling was my freshman year of college, so I reread it again ten years later to see if it would still hold up for how much I loved it, and it absolutely did. the perspective of the man standing beside and in love with the hero interwoven with the tragedy of achilles and patroclus takes me right out and the passages that tumblr enjoys to quote from it have so much more impact in the full context of the narrative.

5. a book on my TBR:

OUR WIVES UNDER THE SEA by JULIA ARMFIELD — this poor book keeps getting knocked down on my TBR but I’m determined to read it this year. I’m intrigued by the horror of the protagonist’s wife ‘coming back wrong’ in a sense, and the recommendations based on its similarity to ANNIHILATION, but also the fact it seems to be a wlw scifi horror, too.

6. a book I’ve put down:

AFFINITY by SARAH WATERS — I wanted to like this one so bad, considering how often waters has been hyped up to me as The Author for historical lesbian novels and the fact it delves into victorian spiritualism, but the pacing felt so slow at getting to the point in the plot, and when it finally did, the twist put me off on finishing the end. it’s probably more of a case of ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ but I def had to DNF it.

7. a book on my wishlist:

GHOST STATION by S.A. BARNES — space horror quickly became a fave niche genre that I got into last year, so I’ve been very excited for this release, too. I’m also a fan of how barnes writes atmospheric dread and I have high expectations for it.

8. a favorite book from my childhood:

WUTHERING HEIGHTS by EMILY BRONTË — it altered my brain chemistry as a teenager in high school and I haven’t been the same since I read it. I distinctly remember listening to ‘you said I killed you — haunt me then!’ read aloud and having to pretend like it didn’t make me feel so completely unhinged in the middle of class.

9. a book you would give to a friend:

PIRANESI by SUSANNA CLARKE — I was recommended this one by a friend to begin with, so it feels like an even more perfect book to pass forward. I think it’s one of those books that’s easy to get absorbed into even if it’s not a typical genre one would read, and it’s such a life-altering experience to go through with the protagonist, too. the underlying message that we’re all changed by our own trials and we’re never the same as we were before lingers with me.

10. a book of poetry or lyrics you own:

CRUSH by RICHARD SIKEN — it’s taken me so long to finally track down a physical copy at my bookstore but it was worth it because it remains my fave book of poetry to date. I could quote so many lines, after how hard they’ve hit me, and some of them have influenced my own writing or pairings in some ways.

11. a nonfiction book you own:

HAVANA NOCTURNE by T.J. ENGLISH — back in 2015-2016ish I went through a true crime phase in the prohibition era through the foundation of the US mafia, and this is a very informative book on how the mob became tied to cuba and how the revolution affected it.

12. what are you currently reading:

AN EDUCATION IN MALICE by S.T. GIBSON — I stumbled across this retelling of carmilla set in a late 60s massachusetts women’s college after reading gibson’s A DOWRY OF BLOOD and had to give it a try. I’m enjoying it so far; the prose is full of thick emotional yearning and electric chemistry, and the balance in the narrative of toxic mentorship, historical romantic and sensual attraction between women without shaming them for it, and vampiric elements is really fun.

13. what are you planning on reading next:

WHAT FEASTS AT NIGHT by T. KINGFISHER — I only found out the other day that the sequel to WHAT MOVES THE DEAD was even released but I’m so desperate for the next part of alex easton’s story (and how eerily kingfisher writes horror) that it shot up to my next read.

[becauseimswagman1]

Study Session.

You are an intelligent girl. The second smartest in your class, the first being Mark Lee, so why was he standing outside your door asking for you to tutor him?

“Um, Mark?”

He could only stare at you in your after-school clothes, he’s never seen you in anything other than your uniform.

“Mark? Hello?”, you waved your hand in front of his face, even though you knew he was staring at your exposed legs and braless chest. He coughed and rubbed the back of his neck, face flushing red up to his ears, “Yeah um hi. I was hoping you could help me in advanced chemistry?”

You were confused since he was the first place in the current class rank, but you decided to indulge him anyway, getting a kick out of him staring at you, “Yeah come on in. I would love to help you.”

He stepped in, removed his shoes, and took a look at your house. He honestly didn’t know what to expect from it, but he knew it didn’t matter when he planned to get to your room.

“Are your parents home? I didn’t see either of their cars in the driveway.” “Come on Mark, we both know you didn’t come here on the night my parents weren’t home to get a tutoring session. It’s okay, you can say what you want.”

He could only blush more, “Nah, I really came here to study. I’m not understanding Stoichiometry all too well.”

You only rolled your eyes, “Follow me.” On the walk to your room, you could feel Mark’s eyes staring at your ass. You could only chuckle to yourself.

Mark sat on your bed as you sat in your desk chair in front of him, “Mark, you really came here to study a topic we haven’t even covered in class yet?”

Before he could say something, you continued, “I know what you came here for. Let’s not act like we haven’t been giving each other the eyes or that you weren’t the one that told all your friends you wanted to fuck me,” his eyes grow wide and you chuckle, “Yeah, Hyuck can’t keep a damn secret to save his or your life apparently.”

“So what if I did come over here to have sex?”

“Then strip.”

Mark was taken aback by your straightforwardness but he can only assume that you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you, so he stripped down to his boxer briefs. You bit your lip at his, admittedly unexpected, good body, “I didn’t know you had all that under your endless hoodies.”

He flushed pink and nervously chuckled at you, “I work out with Jeno sometimes. Just to give me something to do whenever I have free time…which is actually often so-”

You cut him off before he could start rambling by standing up and taking off your shorts, “I thought you came here to fuck, not tell me your life outside of school.”

He eyed you in just your underwear and a shirt and bit his lip, his semi-hard-on becoming fully erect, “Uh, right, you’re right. What do you want me to do?”

You wondered if he was a virgin, which wouldn’t be a problem if he was, you’d just want him to tell you straight up, so you asked.

“Are you a virgin?” “No, but I like catering to my partner's needs. Whatever they may be.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his answer. His need to serve his partners matched your need to lead them.

“Lay down then.” You watched as he got comfortable on your bed, a sight you’d love to have more often if tonight went well. Getting on the bed and sitting on this lap, you admitted how good he looked under you, another sight you wanted to cherish. You slid your hand up to his neck, fingers hovering over the pressure points to have him see stars before his actual orgasm, “Can I?”

He nodded his head, but that’s not gonna fly with you, “Use your words before I use your mouth and make you unable to speak.”

You felt his dick jump under you, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? For me to use you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna use you, just in a different way.” you stroked his cheek a little, “Maybe next time I’ll sit on this pretty face.” then moved your hand back to his neck. “Now… can I choke you?”

“Yes.”

You wrapped your hand around his neck firmly and squeezed, just to test how he reacts to it. He lets out a “harder” and it shocks you a bit. Mark being a sub is one thing, but liking choking this much is another. You let your fingers tighten around his neck until you felt his hands gripping your thighs tightly, then you released. He sucks in air and rubs the outside of your thighs with his thumbs, “Fuck. Any longer and I honestly think I would’ve come.”

You got off his lap and got a condom out of your bedroom table drawer. That was all the signal he needed to take his boxers off. He laid back on the bed and watched you take your underwear off. While opening the packet and sliding it on him, his dick twitched in your hands. You thought it was cute that he was sensitive, it made you fantasize about testing just how sensitive he might’ve been.

You slipped your underwear off and got back on top of him positioning yourself so you could slide him inside of you, “You ready?”

When you got no answer, you realized he probably nodded. That just won’t do, you think he would’ve learned by now that you need to hear him, “Words or I get myself off and make you watch.”

“Yeah! Yes, I’m ready.” He gripped your hips to help you balance while you slid down him.

“Shit, if I knew you were packing this then I would’ve made the first move.”

After pausing to adjust, you started to ride him. A little slow at first to find a rhythm, but once you did Mark didn’t know what to do with himself. His small, notable thrusts upward paired with how good he felt inside you had you closer than you’d like to admit.

“You feel so good, Mark.” you rocked your hips faster, chasing the high that approached you. You clenched around him more and more, a sign to him that you were on the edge of release.

“Wait, shit, slow down. I’m gonna come too fast.”

You slowed down enough to just grind against him, “It’s okay Mark,” you leaned down to move his hair off his forehead, “you can come all you want to.”

Sitting back up to resume your pace, Mark could barely handle it. Every time you rose up he could see the way your wetness coated his dick, he could bust at the sight. Every time you dropped back down, the tightness around him felt like he was being suffocated.

He threw his head back, on the verge of losing his mind. “Fuuckk,” his words damn near slurred at how good this felt. His hands gripped your hips tighter as he was about to come, “fuck I’m gonna come.”

“Come on, Mark. Do it.”

The look on his face as he comes is damn near picture-perfect. The muttering of your name, the stuttering of his hips, and the little indents of his fingers against your skin you feel that are gonna bruise has you wanting to see what else you can get out of him.

So you pick up your pace once more, wanting to feel what he feels.

“Oh fuck, I’m too sensitive. Slow down. I’ll come again.”

“You got another in you, don’t you baby? Be a good boy and come again if you want to okay?”

You start to rub your clit at the same speed as your bounces, you’re so close you can taste it.

“I’m close Mark! You’re gonna make me come. Shiiit.”

A few more bounces and you come. Mark also comes again. You almost collapsed on top of him from how surprisingly intense it was. You caught your breath and rolled over next to him. You saw his eyes closed and toes still curled, “Are you okay?” His voice sounded so small when he muttered a “yes”.

You let out a tiny laugh, “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” You went into the bathroom and cleaned yourself up, then wet a washcloth for Mark. You could’ve sworn you weren’t gone for even five minutes, but when you got back he was fast asleep.

Slowly wiping him off, you thought he would’ve slept through the whole thing, but when you got to his tip he woke up and spurted a bit more cum out on your hand. You licked it off and he groaned, “Don’t do that. I don’t have the energy to come again.”

“It’s okay. There’s always next time.”

You finished cleaning him off and sat next to him in bed when he started to sit up, “I should probably get going before your parents get back.” “Nah, not only are they not home tonight, but they won’t be back til next week. Tomorrow is Saturday too, so just stay tonight. It shouldn’t hurt right?”

Mark rolled his eyes, “Yeah cause I have no life right?” You sighed, “Yo, it’s not even like that. I was just hoping this wouldn’t be a one time thing.”

You lay down and held your arms open, “Now, come on. You look wrecked." He blushed at your words, he was also hoping you two would continue to do this, “I am not cuddling. Let’s just lay next to each other like you didn’t fuck the shit outta me, okay?”

“Mark, you’ll get your energy back a lot faster with a cuddle and maybe you can fuck me back in the morning.” He perked up at that and happily got in your arms. “You know I could get used to this.” “Cuddles only happen when my partner falls asleep after we fucked.” You were lying, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You’ve done this before?!” his sudden outburst had you looking at him like he was crazy. “Not like I expected you to be inexperienced or really experienced, but done this before in the sense that somebody has fallen asleep afterward with you before?” So, Mark is used to hooking up then immediately leaving? Yeah, that's gonna change.

“I mean, yeah. I’ve only had three other people fall asleep on me. It freaked me out the first time so cuddles became a regular occurrence.” Okay maybe it wasn’t a total lie, but still.

“Wow. Um, so, do I just go to sleep now?” “Yes, you do.” you rubbed his head to help him sleep and soon enough, he was out once again. Softly snoring against your chest. Eventually, sleep found you too.

Maybe this will become a regular thing between the two of you.

[ari-but-unhinged]

Art for Toritsuka/Hairo fic where I explored what was meant to be a crack ship and is now one of my favourite (??) ships in Saiki k- PLEASE HEAR ME OUT

(A long rant ensues so, if you don’t want that then that’s all good and you don’t have to click, but if you’re interested, then welcome to my rant about a rare pair i love!)

Of course, I started out by simply laughing at the “I hate men” line Toritsuka said about Hairo and thinking writing a crack taken seriously fic would be funny and it would be a nice break before I started this other fic I have planned that is going to be an even bigger endeavour with Saiki k x Danganronpa. What I didn’t see happening was for this Torihai fic to completely take over my brain space and end up with a fic just shy of 20,000 words.

This may not seem like a lot, but I usually only write fics in 1,000-2,000s so this is a lot for me, especially since I’m a slow writer/editor so it takes me a while.

Part of the reason I love these two together is because of the inherent dynamic of Hairo’s inspirational preachiness and how it doesn’t work on Toritsuka, and how it might be refreshing for Hairo to have someone who challenges him (and not in the fake way Teruhashi does, with Toritsuka being very upfront and honest about it). Toritsuka also, because he’s so upfront about his feelings, helps Hairo to express certain emotions like annoyance/sadness that he wouldn’t normally express outwardly. Something else too is that Toritsuka tends to be very physically affectionate, and I don’t know that Hairo is used to that (I haven’t seen any examples of him being physically affectionate in any other way than a bro way) so that could be refreshing as well. Also, also, Toritsuka is Hairo’s gym buddy who was reluctantly dragged along that day Saiki was trying to avoid everyone and no one can change my mind lol (this, in Hairo’s mind, forms a bond between them that can never be broken and he will never stop reminding Toritsuka of this when they hang out).

I just think their dynamic can be playful/fun because they’re both real with each other if that makes sense?

On Toritsuka’s side of things, he doesn’t have a lot of friends and the friends he does have he either doesn’t have any chemistry with or hate him (Saiki lol), so I think it’d be nice for him to have someone who is extremely caring/attentive to his friends and clearly cares deeply about them and shows it often. Because of this, Hairo shows interest in Toritsuka’s life, and for someone who probably hasn’t had many friends, that would mean a lot. Also the fact that Hairo cares so much for Toritsuka sets an example as to how to be a good friend/human would behave and could help him grow as a person (which are always the best friendships/relationships when they grow together rather than staying stagnant and dragging each other down). Being more caring of others and allow him to develop his interpersonal relationships with more than just ghosts, instead with real humans.

Also, I’ve taken to calling them the “errand boys” because it’s a great prompt to force two people who are polar opposites and would never interact to hang out/do an activity together, so I thought it fit them perfectly.

In the fic I changed a few things from canon (sexualities obviously- Tori is bi/queer and Hairo is gay. Although quick side-tangent- I’ve written Tori/Kaidou, Tori/Akechi, and now Tori/Hairo and all three of them either are Asexual or are often headcanonned as ace by the community/me and I just find it very funny that the horniest character is continuously shipped with them. I only realized I did this after I first started writing the fic.)

- Hairo explicitly has psychic powers (it’s something they can bond over and it’s something that plays off of Hairo’s emotions. Cue a lot of blushing not only because of embarrassment but also actual literal heat rushing to his face.)

- Hairo was raised by a single parent (His family is never mentioned so I just made one up)

- Personal headcanon, but I feel like Toritsuka might occasionally pretend to not see spirits in order to avoid getting approached.

- Toritsuka’s backstory has been slightly altered and has a lot more angst to an already pretty sad backstory (it’s played for laughs, but imagine how that would’ve felt for him :( he realized he lost two people he loved in a matter of minutes. Also, he’s a child when this happens so that’s even sadder. I honestly wonder if they died somewhere in the house or he was just there and his guardians didn’t know, like??? How???)

If this made you interested in reading the fic which this is all about, I’ll link it at the end, but if you were just here for the rant, that’s cool too! I’m obsessed with these two because they’re adorable and I must spread the gospel of Torihai.

Link to original fic-

[importantgalaxyrunaway]

Comments- Colby Brock x y/n- part 7-

AUTHORS NOTE: omg guys I am so so sorry just got back into Sam and Colby and decided to finish this in my drafts I had like a paragraph written already. This is my first time back into writing fanfiction since a concussion i had so I’m trying my best sorry it’s so short this is a continuation of my series where y/n got possessed in the last part

warnings: mentions on possession, fluff, slight slight angst,

“Babe” Colby called from his computer “you should come see this”

after me getting possessed I insisted on them posting the video. We were so lucky that we caught it on camera. They were hesitant at first but I said I want people to know what happened. It’s insane that I got possessed but I want people to know what really happened. It was a really scary experience. But I’m still really worried about the video. Would they say I’m just overreacting?. That it was fake and I was just a coward? But I always get some kind of nervous when they post a video with me in it. But this video was special. I still haven’t gotten to watch it yet. I had spent most of the time recovering and spending my time with Colby.

I go over to the computer and see him sitting reading comments. I sit down on his lap, even though he’s just wearing such a simple outfit sweatshirt and comfy pants he still looks hot. I look through the comments and to my surprise they are divided into basically two parts (well maybe 3 with the amount of people commenting “I don’t claim any negative energy from this video”) the first is about how scary it was when I got possessed and how bad they feel for me. The second is how people are talking about how they think me and Colby are dating and that there is so much chemistry between us. Another thing I noticed is that the video went viral. I mean stupid viral, more than most of their videos combined. It had only been out for 5 days and it already reached 50 million views!!! Mostly I think because of my possession from outside viewers who weren’t subscribed but there were plenty of fans. Some of the comments said the following:

Cheriklover333: I feel so bad for y/n she looks so scared I cant imagine how horrible it must feel to be posses like that

kurtwagnerisacinnimonroll: did anyone notice how Colby looked at y/n 😩. I need someone like that and did yall notice her hickeys 😳

Polaris-alt-account: people who think Colby and y/n are dating 👇

that comment had over 500k likes

I groan “shit! Shit! Shit!” I rub my temples “colbs I never wanted this im sorry I dragged you into this—“

“hey hey it’s okay baby” he wraps his arms around me and presses his head on top of mine. The weight of his body on mine feels good. The closeness and warmth feels good. His hands slip into mine and grasp it lightly but firm. He is protective but caring. “You didn’t drag me into anything. I don’t care what people think I just wanna be yours”

I nod but I still have tears in my eyes not much and I feel stupid for crying but I can’t help but think I’m the one that got us into this whole mess. My gaze drifts back to the computer monitor

rosefromtitanic: you guys need to chill yes I see the way he looks at her but they should come out and say it before we jump to conclusions I think they should do a Q and A

a smile on my face appears as a light bulb practically goes off in my brain. My eyes wander to my boyfriend. And again I’m taken aback by just how breathtaking he is…I can see his muscles and I wonder what under his shirt…………snap out of it!! You need to focus.

“colbs how do you feel about about making our relationship public?”

Edit: I TRIED I REALLY DID ITS THE BEST I COULD DO FEEDBACK PLEASE!!! might write a part 8. But x men is currently my hyperfixation and am definitely going to be writing for Peter maximof and young Charles Xavier so if you’re interested send ideas. Going to write for young Coryo snow even though he’s evil he’s hot. Tried my best couldn’t leave you all hanging