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kiwi-stan · 4 years

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Crave

Description: AU Harry’s a struggling songwriter until a song about being in lofe with his best friend puts him on the map. My contribution to the pick your poison challenge that @oh-honey-styles @for-fucks-sake-h and @andwhenshesays organized. I haven’t written in so long but this has been a fun way to get back into it now that I have more downtime!

Warnings: None aside from me taking liberties with the process of how writing a song actually works

Harry’s family had thought he was insane for dropping out of university and moving to LA to try songwriting professionally. And a few years in, he was starting to think that they were right. He hadn’t expected to start working with big names right away, but after two years, he had been hoping to move beyond indie artists who had about a thousand monthly listeners on Spotify. Songwriting was his dream. He loved music, loved creating it, but didn’t want the fame. The inability to step outside without being recognized, the scrutiny, the media attention. He wanted to stay behind the scenes. But he was beginning to think about packing it up, moving back home, and finishing his college degree and getting some boring office job. Until you called and announced that you had found a job in LA after graduating and would be moving.

You’d been Harry’s best friend since you were both small, when some little boy knocked you off the monkey bars at the park and Harry’s protective instincts-already sharp even back then-had rushed over to check if you were okay. There had been a few awkward years in middle school, when he’d been teased by friends for having a girl friend who wasn’t a girlfriend, but that had resolved itself during a very awkward party where you’d played seven minutes together and had mutually agreed that kissing each other was too weird. Aside from that, your friendship had been solid all throughout school, and had even weathered Harry moving to LA. In fact, you were one of the few people from his hometown that he’d kept in contact with. His parents had cut off contact (and financial support) when he’d dropped out of school without warning, and his emails with his sister were infrequent as she was trying to keep up a positive relationship with their parents. He didn’t really have any LA friends either, a few casual acquaintances but no one who he felt like he could really talk to.

On the day that you arrived, Harry drove to the airport to pick you up. By the time he navigated traffic and dealt with the nightmare of parking at LAX, it was nearly an hour after your flight had landed and half an hour after you’d sent a text saying that you’d claimed your bags. As he entered the terminal, he was worried that you would be angry about him being late. You never were the type to get annoyed about little things like that and from your video chats you didn’t seem to have changed all that much, but two years was a long time and it could bring about a lot of change in a person. He glanced around the room, full of happy reunions and stressed out men in suits setting out on business trips, when he finally spotted you, nestled in a corner and perched on your suitcase. It was like something out of a movie, how you looked up from your phone just as he spotted you, the two of you locked eyes, and you sprang to your feet and ran toward him, throwing your arms around him in an enthusiastic hug and squealing “Harry”.

“Sorry I’m late.” There were so many things he wanted to say to you, how much he missed you, how happy he was that you were moving, stories he hadn’t wanted to tell over FaceTime. But for some reason, an apology was the first thing that popped out of his mouth. “Traffic was horrible then I had to park…”

You pulled away from him to wave a hand, dismissing his apology and Harry got his first real look at you. He’d noticed from your Facetime chats that you’d changed your hair to a shorter style and that you’d started wearing more makeup, both choices that were probably seen as “more professional”. Otherwise, you looked about the same, but seeing you in person he noticed that there was a difference in the way you carried yourself. You seemed older, more mature, with the kind of confidence that he assumed came from graduating college and moving across the country on your own. He wondered if he had the same aura around him. “I missed you.” You said, picking up your suitcase and dragging Harry away from his thoughts. “And I cannot thank you enough for letting me stay with you.” You’d explained over FaceTime that the job you’d been offered had wanted you to start right away, not even considering that you would need time to deal with the logistics of moving or finding a place to live. Lucky for you, Harry had stepped in.

“I missed you too,” Harry took your suitcase from you, dragging it behind him and tugging it toward the exit. “And don’t say that until you see my place.”

*******

You’d been worried that things with Harry would have changed in the two years that he’d been gone. But as he took the long drive back to his apartment, you slipped right back into your old friendship, joking and swapping stories. You updated him about what all of your old high school friends were up to and he told you stories about all the weird LA types that he’d met. You’d never admit this, but you’d been worried that he might have turned into one of them since he left, burning sage and displaying an unhealthy obsession posting to Instagram. He seemed like his old self in texts and on your video chats, but you had thought he might be hiding that part of him. You were relieved to see that Harry was still his old self. However, a new set of worries about Harry sprouted as he turned into his neighborhood.

Harry had alluded to money troubles while you’d been apart, so you had known that he wasn’t living in Beverly Hills. However, you also weren’t really expecting dark streets, abandoned buildings, and liquor stores with bars over the windows. Harry parked outside a seedy looking building and led you up to his apartment, which was the size of a shoebox and overwhelmed with cardboard boxes full of your things. He’d been nice enough to tell you to ship some of your things to his address, though he hadn’t mentioned how tiny his apartment was. By the time Harry had cleared everything off the futon so you could sleep, you’d seen three roaches scurry across the floor and you’d made your mind up.

“Once I find a place you’re moving in with me.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but you held firm. “Don’t argue. Why didn’t you tell me you were living in a shithole?” You glanced around the small space and another problem occurred to you. “Where exactly are you planning to sleep?”

“The floor I guess,” He said, gesturing to the sliver of space near the lone window that wasn’t occupied by furniture or boxes.

You shook your head, thinking back to the roaches you’d seen and the shag carpet that probably hadn’t been cleaned since the 70s. “No way. You’re sleeping with me. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.” It might feel a little strange after your time apart, but back before he dropped out Harry had slept in your tiny twin bed in your dorm room tons of times, sometimes because he’d had a fight with his roommate, sometimes because he was drunk and your room was closer, and sometimes just because he was lonely. You couldn’t even count the number of times you and Harry had slept together platonically. However, a few hours later, when you finally nestled under the covers together-with Harry’s body pressed up against yours, he was big on cuddling (and the small bed didn’t leave you much room to spread out anyway)-you found yourself wondering why something felt different.

***********

Harry started writing a song that night, about being in love with your best friend. He didn’t have the whole thing right away, which wasn’t usually how he wrote. Usually inspiration came fast, and he could write a whole song in the burst of manic energy he got when it struck. The chorus came that first night when you slept together, about you pressed up against him in a city full of dark alleys.

The rest came to him slowly over the next few months, as you started your job and found a slightly better apartment to live in. With your entry level salary it wasn’t anything fancy, but it was in an area that made you feel safer and had two bedrooms, though Harry found that he slept worse without you near him and spent many nights tossing and turning before finally falling into a fitful sleep around 3 AM.

Though you’d been basically joined at the hip since you were young, you and Harry hadn’t shared space like this before. The apartment was still small, which meant that you and Harry were still constantly tripping over each other. Harry had thought it might be annoying, and had even worried that it would fracture your friendship, but it hadn’t. Living together seemed almost natural for the two of you. It meant that he could hear you singing when you came home from work, which meant that you had a good day and would be in the mood to cook something elaborate for dinner, or when you slammed the front door and he knew that you’d had a bad day and that he should order your favorite take out. He found your bobby pins all over the bathroom floor, he sat and watched The Bachelor with you on Monday nights, and he stole your fuzzy socks as the nights started getting cooler. Harry worked on his song while you were at work when he wasn’t at writing sessions for other people, and by the time he finished he felt that it was the best thing he’d ever written.

Harry knew exactly why the song (currently cryptically titled with an anagram of your name) was the best of anything he’d written so far. Typically he used a lot of creative license when he wrote, writing about things that happened to him long ago, about things that happened to friends of his, about completely made up scenarios, or anything that inspired him really. But he never really wrote about his own life. This was the first time, and it was his first song to really come from the heart.

After finally perfecting the song, Harry recorded a quick demo on his phone, then sent it off to Jeff, a big-name record producer he’d met a few months back. They’d met during a recording session for some pink-haired indie singer. Though Jeff hadn’t really liked the indie girl and her bananies-and-avacadies voice as he’d joked to Harry, he’d liked Harry’s writing style a lot. He’d slipped Harry his phone number and had told him to send along some of his strongest work. Harry had come close to sending a few things before, but had chickened out at the last minute. Nothing he’d done before was his strongest work, and he knew that. The song about you, he felt good enough to send.

Harry finally worked up the courage to press the send button during one of his sleepless nights. He hoped that Jeff hadn’t deleted his number, or if he had that he would be willing to listen to a voice message from a random stranger. Since it was nearly 1 am, he was surprised to get a message back almost immediately. Love it Harry. Let’s talk. Followed by a meeting time and location.

*******

A few weeks later, you arrived home (you had been surprised at how quickly you came to think of your new apartment in a new city as “home”, but you came to the conclusion that it was all because Harry was there) to Harry humming a song you didn’t recognize as he cleaned the apartment. He looked up when he saw you, dropping the broom and drawing you into a hug. “Hey!” He swayed you back and forth a few times as he held you. You had forgotten that little tic of his, but the motion reminded you of how much you loved it. It always made you feel safe and comforted, probably because it replicated the motion of a mother rocking a baby. And it was something Harry only did when he was really happy.

“What happened?” You asked once he let you go. Harry hadn’t seemed sad exactly, but you’d had the feeling that being isolated from his family and under almost constant money and career stress were starting to get to him. You hadn’t seen him happy like this since you were in college together and he aced a difficult Music Theory final.

“I think we should go out tonight. Somewhere nice-ish.”

This piqued your interest even more. Even combining your incomes, you still weren’t really on a going-out-regularly-in-LA budget. Something had happened. Something big. “Harry, tell me what’s going on.”

“I wrote a song a few weeks ago and The Heartbreakers want it.”

Your jaw dropped at the mention of the group who had shot to fame almost overnight a few years ago after one of their songs went viral on SoundCloud. Unlike some other indie groups that had scored mainstream hits and had faded to irrelevancy after a few weeks, The Heartbreakers had hired a good management team and were able to capitalize on the hit to become one of the biggest groups on the planet. “Harry, that’s amazing!” You threw your arms around him again. “But how? What? I didn’t even think you knew them? And I thought they wrote all their own stuff?”

Harry pulled back enough to look at you and gave a little laugh at all of your questions. His hands stayed around your waist, your arms around his neck. “That’s what they say. They use ghostwriters basically. I had to sign an NDA and got an advance that’s basically hush money.” You frowned, not really liking the thought that Harry wasn’t going to get any credit for his work. “Hey no, that’s just how it works sometimes,” He added, noticing your facial expression. “The music industry isn’t pretty. I knew that going in and I kind of expected it. Producers and other writers have their own kind of underworld. The important people will know that I wrote it. This will lead to more big stuff for me. I know. I wouldn’t have given the song away if I didn’t.”

Noticing that you still didn’t look happy, Harry was quick to change the subject. “As for how, I don’t know them. At all. It all went through this producer, Jeff, that I met a few months back. He wanted to hear some of my stuff, but nothing ever seemed good enough until I wrote this song. I sent it to him, he loved it and thought it would work with their sound. He took it to them and they wanted it. I’ve never even met them.”

“Will you get to?” You said, thinking that you would at least want to shake someone’s hand before handing off a piece of art that you created to them and letting them act like it was theirs.

Harry nodded. “I have to go in for a writing session and be there while they record in case they want to make any tweaks. Which they probably will. Change a word, get a third and all that.” Your frown returned at the mention of the unfair way that royalties were distributed. Harry noticed. “But this will still be really big for me. It’s the right move. I know.”

You studied him for a moment, looking for any sign of hesitation. “I trust you.” Realizing that you’d been holding each other for an awkward amount of time, and that it felt surprisingly good to have your best friend holding you, his big hands solid at your waist and your fingers toying with the curls at the back of his neck, you stepped away. “I’d love to hear it. Do you have a recording yet?” Harry looked alarmed. “What? Has the NDA got you scared?” You teased. Harry could be shy about sharing his work, but he’d always been open about it with you. He called you his guinea pig, you were often the first one to hear new songs.

“I just wrote it a few weeks ago. I got really inspired seeing you again, I guess.” Harry said, suddenly seeming shy.

“Harry that’s so sweet.” You asked, unable to keep the emotion out of your voice. No one had ever written or created anything for you before, and as far as you knew you hadn’t inspired anything either (aside from some crude messages in the boy’s locker room back in high school that Harry had taken a Sharpie to almost immediately after they popped up).

“But I can’t play it for you. I don’t own it anymore. I already signed it over.”

“Harry, we’re alone in our apartment. No one’s gonna know.”

“I know, I know.” Harry picked up his broom and went back to his sweeping, obviously nervous. “It’s a little unpolished though.”

“That never stopped you before.” Harry had played you things that were completely unfinished before, sometimes even when he just had a few chords together or two lines of lyrics.

“I really think the Heartbreakers will do it better than me. I think the first time you hear it, it should be their version.”

“At least tell me what it’s called.”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Harry said a little too fast. “Or at least right now. When it actually gets released they’ll find something marketable, I’m sure. Do you want to go to a club tonight, or just dinner?”

You accepted Harry’s abrupt change of subject and decided not to push it, but you spent the entire evening (both dinner and a club, Harry wanted to splurge since he knew his so-called hush money would be kicking in soon) wondering why Harry didn’t want you to hear the song.

*********

“So,” Jeff began as the final recording session for the song, which had been renamed “Crave” wrapped up. The Heartbreakers had left for the day, and Harry and Jeff had hung back to do some final mixing. Harry didn’t really need to be there either, but Jeff wanted his approval on the final version of the song and he seemed happy for the company. “You never told me who this song is about.”

“Who says it's about anyone?” Harry asked, trying not to sound harsh. Despite the fact that they’d been working closely together on Crave, they weren’t good enough friends where they could be quite so honest with each other.

“Every song is about someone. Especially ones this heartfelt.” Jeff let the song play once through. The Heartbreakers had changed very little lyrically, adding a lyric to the chorus about craving the person the song was addressed to (which was where they’d drawn the title from). They’d changed a bit more when it came to the music itself, switching from the indie playing-in-a-coffeshop vibe that Harry had intended, to a rockier sound. Harry thought it sounded much better that way, it was something that he wouldn’t have tried with such a sweet song, and he knew that he’d made the right decision in signing the song away. As the final songs of the song drifted away, Jeff turned to Harry again. “So I’m guessing it’s a lady friend of yours from back in school and who you once played seven minutes in heaven with,” Jeff began, referencing the first verse of the song where Harry had written about first meeting you when you were kids. “Who you now find yourself in love with because she sings like a lark when she’s happy, leaves bobby pins all over the place, and makes you chocolate milkshakes when you’re sad.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up as Jeff named more details from elsewhere in the song, all things that pointed directly to your friendship with him. “My best friend from back in school. She just moved out here and we’ve been living together and...I don’t even really know what it is, if it was the time apart or if it’s different now that we’re older or because we’re living together. But yeah, I love her.” It was the first time Harry had said it out loud and it felt like a weight off his shoulders.

“Have you told her yet?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m worried about ruining the friendship.”

“Do you think she feels the same way?”

Harry considered it, how you had let him hold you for far too long the night he first told you about selling the song, how you always made spinach for him as a side when you cooked even though you hated it, how much your hands brushed when he took you on tours of his favorite places in LA, if those were all just friendly gestures or if it meant something more. “Maybe? But she’s probably thinking the same thing about ruining the friendship.” Harry knew you well enough to know that you were a little too pragmatic sometimes when it came to relationships.

“You should tell her.” Jeff regarded Harry with a serious look. “The second she hears the song she’s going to figure it out. The Heartbreaker’s last single was number one on the Billboard chart for six weeks and played on KIIS once an hour every day for a month after its release. You don’t want her finding out that her best friend is in love with her when she hears the song in Trader Joe’s. It’ll mean way more coming directly from you.”

*******

“Does this look okay? What do you even wear to a listening party anyway?” You asked, stepping in front of Harry and twirling around, letting him examine your dress.

Harry gave you a quick once over. “What you’ve got on is fine. You look great.”

The simple compliment sent a little rush of excitement through you, the saw way you felt when previous boyfriends had complimented you before you set out on a date. With you in your dress and Harry also dressed up, the two of you looked a bit like you were setting out on a proper date, but you stopped yourself from going down that line of thinking. There was no way to know if he felt the same way. You studied Harry instead, drinking in his slicked back hair, black shirt with the little white hearts on it, and black pants. Realizing that you were staring, you changed the subject.

“You’re sure it’s okay if I come?” A listening party seemed like something so secret, something that only music industry people got to attend, like the parties the cool kids threw in high school. But Harry had seemed excited when he invited you along, even though he’d had to present you with an NDA at the same time and had told you not to bring your phone or it would be confiscated at the door. The listening party was for people from the label and was being held a few weeks before the official release of the single, and preventing leaks was essential, Harry had explained.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. It’s gonna be real small. Just the band, some people from the label, me, and Jeff. All people who are already aware that they don’t write their own music.” Harry looked like there was something more he wanted to say, but instead he just pulled on his sport coat. “Ready?”

Harry was quiet for the drive to the private club where the party was being held, letting one of his Spotify playlists play as he navigated LA’s busy streets. He didn’t speak until he found parking at the club. You reached for the door to exit the car, but froze when Harry said, “Wait.” You waited. Harry took a deep breath before speaking. “I just want you to know that the song is about you. I just want you to hear it, knowing that, and tell me what you think after.”

You wanted to press for more information. That was incredibly vague, and if anything it just left you with more questions. But Harry was nervous enough, you could tell from the way he’d adjusted his hair several times during the drive and the fact that he was avoiding eye contact with you now. Not wanting to stress him out anymore, you decided not to push it. You leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, ignoring how natural it felt. Maybe it was just the dim lighting from the streets lights, but you could have sworn that Harry was blushing. “I’m sure I’ll love it. I mean, writing a song about me is already nicer than anything any of my ex-boyfriend have done.” You realized a few seconds too late that maybe comparing your best friend to your exes wasn’t the best move. “And everything else you’ve written has taken my breath away. I’m sure this won’t be any different.” You added, trying to cover the awkward moment.

Harry turned to you, looking happier and more confident now. “Let’s go.” He walked around to your side of the car and opened the door for you, even taking your hand to help you out of the car. Because no LA party could really start without time for networking first, you spent the first part of the party following Harry around like a baby duckling as he made his rounds to talk to the band and the industry executives. You’d been a little worried that you would feel like a fish out of water, or worse that Harry would leave you by the bar and make the rounds on his own. Harry had never been the type to social climb, but you were fully aware of the fact that this was his biggest career opportunity yet, so you weren’t sure how he would react. But you were worried for nothing, because Harry kept you by his side the entire night, introduced you to everyone by name, and tried hard to include you in the conversation, even though you were so starstruck most of the night that you ended up feeling tongue tied.

As someone from the label raised his voice to announce that they would be playing the song soon, Harry pulled you to a table and introduced you to Jeff.

“Ah, the famous muse,” Jeff shook your hand before giving Harry a knowing look. “Harry’s told you about the song?”

“Just that it’s about me. I haven’t heard it yet.”

“You’re in for a treat.” He told you with a smile, shooting Harry another look. Before you had time to further ponder what was going on, a label executive's voice at the front of the room drew your attention as he introduced “Crave”.

As the song played, you were blown away. Harry had written a beautiful song, and though you’d initially been worried about him giving the song away you had to admit that The Heartbreakers had done it justice. But what surprised you the most was that it was a love song, and every single word of the song pointed to you, to things you had Harry had done together or to your little idiosyncrasies. Harry loved you, and had for a while.

As the final notes of the song faded away, Harry grabbed your hand and pulled you outside the club, clearly wanting whatever happened next to be just between the two of you. You stood bathed beneath a streetlight, with drunks exiting nearby clubs stumbling past you. “So, what’d you think?” Harry asked, smiling shyly at you.

“Harry, I loved it. I love you.” You said, throwing your arms around him. Saying it felt so right, so natural, even though it was the first time you’d said those words to Harry.

Harry slid his arms around you and pulled you closer to him. “I love you.” He said quietly, before he pressed his lips to yours for a kiss that had been a long time coming.

#pypfc #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #i literally can't remember the last time i wrote something i hope this is okay #i just read another friends to lovers fic earlier that was so good and its got me a lil stressed about posting this #also me posting this at 3 am is very on brand for me

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all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney · 5 years

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The Couple Next Door II (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Find Part I Here

A/N: Been a long time coming. I know it’s been literally half a year. I’ve been working through stressful family things, prep for university in the coming fall, spending as much time as I can with my boyfriend before we go our separate ways for a few months, etc.

Stuff just got busy and I am SO sorry I haven’t addressed any of that. I know many of you want part two, and here it is. I don’t know if it’s as good as my other works on here, but the only way to find out is to post it, right?

But anyways, yes, this chapter is here, and it’s kinda a filler. there’ll be more plot development in the next chapter, and I promise, if this part does well, I will not hesitate to post a continuation.

Like I say in my other author’s notes, feedback, and any sort of note, whether it be a reblog, a like, or a comment, is greatly appreciated. it inspires me more to keep writing. So thank you!

Summary: Moving day is here, and you and Roger had the honour of meeting the neighbours across the street, the Garrisons.

(This can be read as Borhap!Roger or IRL Roger. Whatever mows your lawn)

WARNINGS: Swearing, mild sexual content (but NO smut), and zero knowledge of U-Haul History (I know they no longer exist in the UK, but I’m Canadian and I’m too lazy to do any research to make sure the timeline is matched)

Like the previous fic in this series, it’s rated a T for Mature Subject Matter

It was a bright, sunny morning in London (shocking, right?).

The day would have been hot, but the wind chill cooled down the city rather nicely.

Not only was this a wonderful day, but it was moving day.

Roger was pushing the last box of vinyl records into the trunk of his car. He shut the trunk, and huffed a sigh before running his fingers through his sweaty hair. He didn’t remember the last time he’d lifted so much.

He took a minute to catch his breath, two ladies roughly the same age as him, jogging past. He drank in their appearances before winking at one of them and retreating to the apartment in which he and you once resided.

He made his way down the hallway leading to your room, and although he was planning on going to the empty room that once was his own, he figured he could receive the same amount of nostalgia when looking at your now vacant bedroom.

Roger found it so strange– The bare walls and stripped mattress. The empty closet and the unoccupied corners of the room.

“Weird, eh?” Roger asked you, who was simply packing away the last of the books on your shelf. You turned to him, and he leaned against the threshold of your bedroom door, arms crossed over his chest.

You shrugged your shoulders, glancing down at the floor and scratching the back of your head.

“Just a little, yeah.”

Roger playfully pouted at you, shoving his hands into his jean pockets as he entered the bedroom.

He looked around silently, and you went back to shoving your final books into its box before closing it up and labelling the cardboard.

“I’m gonna miss this place,” you said, frowning at the realization that you’d already slept, ate, showered, cleaned, and cooked for the last time in this apartment.

Roger took immediate notice of your upset tone. “Don’t get all melancholic on me now, y/n,” Roger teased, taking a seat right next to the box you just packed.

“But won’t you?/"

"Miss this place? Of course.” Roger smiled a little. “And Brian will miss us."

”Oh yeah. He’ll definitely miss my awful singing in the shower every morning, and your extremely loud noises when you bring a girl over to bed.“

He just shrugged. "What can I say? I’m not about to fake being unsatisfied, especially when I’m trying to get a girl off."

You shuddered. "I don’t wanna hear about your sex life, Roger."

He laughed loudly, rising to his feet and picking up the box of books on your mattress. "Then I don’t wanna hear you complaining about how loud I am in bed."

"You’re making it sound like we fuck,” you crossed your arms accusingly, your face twisting sourly.

“Might as well be. We’re basically a couple.” He turned on his heel and left the room, but not before he sent a teasing wink your way.

You simply shook your head, mumbling “gross” under your breath jokingly and moving to the bathroom to retrieve your remaining possessions in the medicine cabinet.

_____________________________

“Are you sure you don’t need my help, guys? Christine isn’t going to get here for another few hours."

"I think we’re all good, Bri,” Roger assured the tall guitarist, giving him a kind slap on the back.

“But if we do, we’ll give you a ring,” you added, to which Roger smiled. He liked that about you. You were so humble, but weren’t afraid at all to ask for assistance. It was an admiring trait of yours.

“Will do,” Brian confirmed with a grin and a simple nod of his head. You and Roger returned the nod, and walked to the car.

After climbing in, and giving one last look at the apartment building the both you and Roger once called home, he drove you both off to your new humble abode.

____________________________

“We can just put it here,” Roger directed as the both of you lowered the piece of furniture on the floor. When it was set where the both of you wanted it, you plopped down in the chair on the other side of the living room, sighing loudly.

“It was real nice of Christine to give us some of her furniture,” you commented, watching as Roger collapsed on the sofa in exhaustion.

“Well she’s got all Bri’s stuff now, right?"

The question sounded more like a statement, and Roger wasn’t surprised when you didn’t respond.

”… d'ya know what’s left to bring in from the U-Haul?“

"The mattresses and all the boxes from the car, I believe."

Roger groaned, and got to his feet, much to his dismay. "Then we can rest,” he exclaimed with a sigh. You just smiled at the idea, pushed off from your place on the chair, and followed Roger out.

He walked straight towards the moving truck and into the back, where one more box hid with the mattresses, which were now the only things occupying the truck. You, on the other hand, stood at the steps of the condominium, your eyes wandering around the complex.

Roger, who was just about to pass you with the final box in his hand, bumped your hip playfully with his own before slipping away into the building. You turned to where he was a moment ago, smiling to yourself at the idea of just how childish Roger could be.

Your eyes shifted to the right a little, and you caught the gaze of a man and woman who appeared to have been in their early to mid sixties, across the complex’s main stretch of road. You smiled, and waved at the couple, something you’d expect them to return.

What you didn’t prepare for was when they waved back, and began approaching you to properly greet themselves.

Your eyes widened and you began to internally panic. Roger was just exiting the front door, and you extended your wrist out, grabbing his arm tightly and pulling him back before he could go any further.

You turned to face him, your expressions hidden from everyone but him. “Neighbours’ coming,” you warned in a hushed tone, your eyebrows bent in worry, and your bottom lip rolling between your teeth anxiously.

“Hey, hey, nothin’ to worry about. I’m here. All you need to do is hold my hand, yeah? I can do all the talking."

You let go of his arm after a moment, and he slowly curled his fingers around yours. He took a deep breath, as did you, before putting on bright smiles, and turning towards the neighbours, who just appeared from in behind the truck.

"Hi! You two must be the new couple. Welcome to the complex! I’m Anna Garrison, and this is my husband, Charles."

You and Roger branded the friendliest smiles you both could muster. You watched as Roger let go of you to reach out and shake the couple’s hands.

"I’m Roger Taylor,” he introduced, glancing down and snaking an arm warmly around your waist.

“… and this is my beautiful girlfriend, y/n.” You tried to ignore what Roger said despite feeling your face grow hot. You reached out and politely shook the Garrisons’ hands as well, keeping the smile plastered on your mouth no matter how much it ached.

“I remember when we were that young and in love,” Charles mused in a soft tone. Conversations like this, Roger knew, you wanted to avoid at all costs, and he did as well. He was just… really good at lying.

Although the Garrisons looked nice, there was something about them that made them seem rather nosey.

And your suspicions were proven true when you watched Anna’s gaze fall on your bare wedding finger despite just hearing Roger and you were only “boyfriend and girlfriend”.

“So… do you two plan on marrying soon? You may be young, but time does pass."

You knew you should have remained quiet, but you began to panic, and you let out a laugh. "Yeah. We… we kinda talk about it. Not much."

"We wanna settle in first,” Roger offered, knowing if he didn’t start talking soon, you would have said too much.

You wondered how Roger could do that so easily: pretend, yet be so believable. You wondered if he simply tossed extra words in without thought. Like adding “girl” before “friend”, something he’d called you since you met.

You wondered if he found it awkward to hold your hand, or have you so physically close to him. Then again, you two never exactly had/ personal space.

You knew he had a method of doing this, but you couldn’t quite place exactly what he was doing, or how he did it so naturally.

“Well, it’s gonna be nice, having another couple to have over for dinner."

You could feel your throat swelling. If you made a list on everything you wanted to avoid doing with these neighbours in this complex that you were gonna end up having to do, a quarter of the list would have probably already been crossed off.

"That sounds lovely,” Roger nodded politely, silently wishing himself that the day never had to come, for your sake.

But it seemed Charles and Anna thought differently, and when the married couple made eye contact with one another, you and Roger just knew this invitation was not going to be forgotten about.

“Why don’t you two come tonight?” Charles asked, to which his wife nodded in agreement.

“Don’t worry about having to cook after a long day of moving in. I’m making a lovely casserole, and we can send you home with leftovers. There’s always too much for Charlie and I to eat anyways, with our kids having moved out and away long ago."

Roger opened his mouth to politely decline the offer, but like a few moments before, you panicked and spoke again. "That sounds great, actually!"

The blond looked down at you, and you could see in your peripheral that Roger seemed lost, though the Garrisons didn’t even notice.

"Perfect! We’re right across the road. I suspect it will be done near six-thirty. Gives you two some time to yourselves after everything is moved in."

"We’ll see you around six then?” Charles asked Roger, his old grey eyes wide and expecting.

“Six it is,” Roger agreed, matching smiles with the older gentleman.

“Six it is,” Anna repeated before linking arms with her husband, bidding farewell, and returning to their condominium.

As soon as they closed the door, you tightly grabbed Roger’s wrist, and stepped inside your new home. When the door shut, you let out a long groan, bending your knees and squatting, your face in your hands.

“I thought this is what you wanted to avoid!"

"I know, I know, and I panicked and I fucked up and now we have to have dinner with them,” you whined helplessly. “You’ve known me for years, you know I do this all the time!"

Roger, whose knees were bent, palms flat against his thighs as he thought, took a deep breath, and regained a neutral posture.

"You know what,” he raised his hands in a calming sort of gesture.

“It’s not as bad as you think."

"What do you mean "it’s not as bad as you think”?!“ You were horrified with Roger’s words.

"We do this once, and we never have to go back!” You raised your head from its once defeated position in your hands, but you could see Roger’s reasoning.

"Oh my God…"

"I know! Then we’re home-free!” He explained with a grin, his arms wide open.

You leaned backwards, falling on your ass and leaning your head up against the wall in relief.

“Oh God. We just gotta get through tonight.” You opened your heavy eyelids and smiled up at Roger. “We’ll be fine."

"Yes we will. Now, c'mon, Love. Let’s get those mattresses in here before someone takes notice we have different beds."

And that’s exactly what you did.

And after the car was all unpacked, you and Roger took a well-deserved nap together on the couch.

_____________________________

A/A/N: Thank you all for your patience. Happy reading!

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Nostalgia, Part 6 (Rujubee) - Dartmouth420

nostalgia is a series that follows the re-ignition of raven/jujubee’s friendship (with benefits) while jujubee competes on all stars five and raven is working on set. there will be one chapter for every episode of AS5 where jujubee appears. drag names used with male pronouns.

summary: Sewing challenges aren’t easy, and Jujubee’s just trying to keep his head above water… but two certain individuals are making waves.

a/n: apparently I can’t write anything without it devolving into angst so, uh… sorry not sorry?

tw: angst, love triangle, mild dom/sub dynamics, degrading language, smut

Jujubee threw a hand out to steady himself against the bathroom wall as Raven dropped to his knees before him, tore open his belt with frantic hands, got his rapidly hardening cock out of his briefs and ran his tongue down the length of it and took it in his mouth.

Jujubee grimaced and ran his hand over Raven’s head, holding onto the back of his skull, and pulled him closer, pushing his cock deeper into Raven’s throat. Raven took it like a pro, as usual, no sign of a gag reflex in sight.

“You filthy fucking bitch,” muttered Jujubee, and Raven managed a weird muffled laugh, despite his mouth being very much occupied.

It had begun earlier, after his conversation with RuPaul. Ru had decided he was going dig deep today and while Jujubee knew it was coming he wasn’t particularly comfortable with the conversation. He couldn’t just brush the personal conversation off however, it was part of the show. But RuPaul was not a trained psychologist, and he was dredging up some sensitive shit. Jujubee needed a moment to himself afterwards, off camera.

So Jujubee left the Werkroom and wandered down the hallways backstage to compose himself. He took off his glasses and dabbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist. Maybe he’d go outside to smoke for a few minutes.

But then he looked up to see who else but Raven coming around the corner, tossing some comment over his shoulder at someone Jujubee couldn’t see. Raven paused when he saw him, and Jujubee looked away. He didn’t particularly feel like dealing with Raven right now, their argument the previous night had left a bad taste in his mouth. He quickly put his glasses back on.

Raven didn’t seem like he wanted anything to do with Jujubee either, and he walked past him with a stiff hello and hardly a glance.

But then he’d stopped and turned.

“You good?” asked Raven.

“Fine, fine.”

Raven’s eyes narrowed, “Ru’s been playing therapist again.”

Jujubee shrugged, “I’m good, I just needed a break.”

“Alright, well-” Raven took a few steps back and then he stopped again.

“So, do you want company, were you going for a smoke or-?” he asked, and then glanced up and down the hall before inclining his head towards Jujubee, suggestive, “Would you rather…?”

The tension spiked between them, and Jujubee rocked on his heels. It was a bad idea. Literally the day after they’d had a conversation, well, an argument about professionalism and how they interacted on set. There was power sliding around between them again, but it felt different this time. It was easy, too easy-

Gripped with impulse, Jujubee said, “Show me where, bitch.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Raven, his expression shifting, coy, and then he turned, heading down the hallway. Jujubee followed him, his heart accelerating.

Jujubee snapped back to the present, where Raven was going to town on his cock with one very clear goal, just like that first delicious encounter a few weeks ago. Jujubee let out a steadying breath, trying to keep himself under control. But control was something he very much lacked right now. Raven had it, today. Unusual. A little discomforting.

But instead of doing anything about it, Jujubee surrendered, barely holding himself up against the wall. One of Raven’s hands was wrapped around the base of his cock and the other holding his hip, then reaching behind knead his ass. He watched Raven’s head bob rapidly, utterly shameless, those stupid fucking lips of his saliva-slicked. Raven’s expression was focused, with a mischievous undertone, and he was clearly enjoying himself, doing things with his tongue that should be made illegal in every state.

Fuck, Raven’s mouth was warm and wet and perfect-

“Shit fuck shit, I’m gonna come-”

When it was over and Jujubee felt less like he was astral-projecting into sex heaven, he blinked hard and looked around. Raven wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, shook his head once and stood. Jujubee quickly tucked himself back into his briefs and did up his pants.

Raven made a strange half-motion like he wanted to lean in and kiss him, but then appeared to think the better of it.

The tension was back, but it was awkward.

“Well, I have to go make a dress, so,” said Jujubee, motioning vaguely.

“Right, yeah.”

Jujubee pushed himself off the wall, looking away, and turned towards the door. Their conversation from the night before hadn’t led to any real conclusions. While this quick, distracting fuck in the bathroom meant Jujubee’s own personal life traumas were no longer as close to the surface (thanks, Ru), he also didn’t like the lack of control, the sheer impulsiveness that came over him around Raven. Like he was being pulled in by Raven’s own chaotic energy. He needed to return to his normal, chill state.

“From what I remember, you don’t sew,” said Raven. Jujubee glanced back at him.

“Not really, but I’ll make it work.”

“At the end of the day a dress is just a tube of fabric, so-”

“So don’t overthink it?” cut in Jujubee, teasing.

“Just make sure it looks good,” replied Raven, with a smirk that held a challenge.

“Well,” said Jujubee, unlocking the door and pulling it open, “That won’t be too difficult, will it?”

He would never be a great seamstress, considered Jujubee as he laid his barbecue items out, but he could make it work. As Raven had said, a dress was basically a tube of fabric and it was all about embellishment and presentation. Bianca had won Season Six wearing the same dress every week, so Jujubee figured he could wrangle something that looked just about as good if he styled it right. Shea was proving extremely helpful and kind in that department, Jujubee’s own janky seams aside.

His feelings of discomfort faded and he found he was having a great time with everyone, especially Cracker and Shea. Jujubee cut out watermelon pieces and built his outfit, and messed around with Alexis and the whole India-leaving-notes drama.

Jujubee was… what was it the kids said these days? Oh yes, vibing.

Time to write a monologue, bitch.

“I’m gonna wear this macramé dress I brought,” announced Cracker, sitting down next to Jujubee with their notepads out, scratching out ideas.

“Full Stevie Nicks realness, huh?” replied Jujubee, nudging Cracker with his elbow.

“Oh girl, I grew up in the sitcks,” laughed Cracker, “I may work in New York but I’ve got country roots. I know exactly the hick woman I’m writing here.”

“I’ve mostly lived in Boston,” replied Jujubee, tilting his head to one side. Cracker had been friendly the past couple weeks since their encounter in abandoned equipment room, even bordering on flirtatious, and Jujubee was growing to appreciate him as a friend as much as a competitor. “But in Laos there were what we referred to as the hill people.”

“Inspiration for your drag, I take it?”

Jujubee burst into laughter, slapping the table. Fuck, Cracker was funny. Cracker grinned back at him and even Blair joined in, and sending a gentle read their way.

As promised, Raven didn’t interrupt Jujubee again while he was filming. Unfortunately, Jujubee couldn’t tell if Raven was doing as he’d requested out of actual respect for his wishes or merely performing obedience to play into their power exchange. The fact that Jujubee couldn’t discern Raven’s usually very transparent thought process was a little unnerving.

The challenge happened, and the runway happened and the post-elimination discussion happened and Jujubee was goddamn tired. Raven was still nowhere to be seen, for which Jujubee was simultaneously grateful and disappointed.

They were ferried back to the hotel and Shea gave Blair some words of encouragement as they headed up their rooms. Cracker caught up with Jujubee.

“Hey, how’re you doing?”

“I’m alright,” replied Jujubee. He was very tired. But here they were, the top four and there was something invigorating about it, the competitiveness and determination growing under his skin. The crown was in his sights.

“Does your room have a balcony?” asked Cracker, “Mine doesn’t and I’d rather not go all the way downstairs again to have a smoke… ”

“It does,” said Jujubee, pausing and considering Cracker’s intentions. Their interaction in the abandoned equipment room hadn’t been unpleasant. And well, Jujubee wasn’t entirely sure what was going on with him and Raven. Things had been left unresolved. But Cracker made for good company. “Yeah, I’d like a smoke too, honestly. Come in.”

Jujubee turned and unlocked his door with a flick of the key card. As intended, the bedsheets had been changed and the room no longer smelled like he’d had spent all night fucking Raven, thank god.

“Congrats on your win,” said Jujubee, turning to Cracker, “I want to snatch up that twenty thousand next week, let me tell you that much.”

Cracker chuckled, nodding in response, “Yeah, thank you. This whole thing is such a trip. I loved your dress, by the way.”

“I know how to do one thing, and it’s make sure a tube of fabric looks good,” replied Jujubee, opening his bag to look for his vape pen.

“You know, it took me a little while to warm up to you,” said Cracker over his shoulder, walking around the bed towards the sliding doors of the balcony, “You early season girls are intense.”

“The show was different back then,” shrugged Jujubee, briefly checking out Cracker’s ass as he followed him, and wondering where exactly this conversation might go, “But I’m the chillest one of the lot.”

“Well, I’ve heard Raja can smoke anybody under the table-”

There was a knock at the door. Cracker looked up, frowning with surprise and Jujubee’s stomach dropped. There was only one person that could be. As he walked back across the room to the door he hoped it would be anybody else, Shea or Blair, or even some random PA, but-

Jujubee opened the door to Raven.

Raven had his arms crossed and looked, well, he looked annoyed but that was just the way his silicone-filled lips sat on his face. Resting bitch, as it were. He also looked vaguely apologetic.

“Hey,” said Raven, with a quick smile, “I saw you managed to pull that dress together.”

Jujubee nodded, “I did. Thanks.”

“So, uh, look,” continued Raven, “What I said the other night was bullshit. I’m okay to keep this more on the down-low if you want, like with today-”

But he paused, looking over Jujubee’s shoulder, a frown crossing his face. Jujubee glanced behind himself and noticed Cracker approaching.

“What is he doing in here?” demanded Raven.

“Having a smoke on the balcony,” replied Jujubee quickly. This was… not ideal. Uh oh.

“Well, we’re both contestants on a certain reality TV show,” answered Cracker dryly, standing next to Jujubee in the doorway, making it very clear that he wouldn’t be inviting Raven in, “But I don’t think you are anymore. So I could ask you the same thing.”

“Back off, you know I work on set. I just want to talk to him-”

“Little late, isn’t it?”

They both looked to Jujubee. Jujubee resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. This gay posturing was hilarious, it was like a telenovella. As entertained as Jujubee was, here were two people who he both very much wanted to fuck, and they were both mad as hell to see the other. How fun.

“I mean,” said Jujubee with a suggestive, flirtatious shrug, “Since you’re both here… and there’s only one bed…?”

It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

But Raven just rolled his eyes and Cracker raised his eyebrows at Jujubee incredulously.

“I’m not particularly interested in that slice of burnt toast,” deadpanned Cracker, eyeing the visible sliver of Raven’s heavily tanned chest, where his shirt was unbuttoned.

Raven made a noise like an angry cat and Jujubee coughed violently to cover his laugh. But then Raven turned to Jujubee, and head cocked to the side expectantly, lips pressed together.

A beat passed and Raven demanded, “What, you’re just going to stand there and let him insult me?”

“You can fight your own battles,” responded Jujubee, uneasy. Was Raven expecting a display of authority, as per their agreement-

“So you’re not gonna read me?” said Cracker to Raven, amused, “Gone soft in your old age?”

“Oh bitch when I come for you, you’ll know!” snapped Raven back to Cracker, taking a step towards him. That was not good, Jujubee needed to deescalate this right now-

But Cracker responded first with a snort of derision, not even remotely intimidated, and turned back to Jujubee, “Look, whatever history you two have is your own business. But come find me when you need something more interesting than whatever that is.”

Cracker cut eyes at Raven who glared back and snapped an insult as Cracker stepped through the doorway and brushed past him, heading down the hall to his room. Jujubee sighed and looked back Raven, who’s jaw was once again set in a way that guaranteed an argument.

“Okay, I see how it is,” said Raven, embittered and angry, “You and your double standards. You think I’d come all the way up here and, and offer to adjust for anyone else but you? Like I don’t have better places to be right now!? Do you think this is a fucking joke-”

Jujubee sighed and ran a hand over his face. Nostalgia was a complicated emotion. It was so tempting to fall into, warm, familiar, and deceptive. Jujubee tried to avoid it when it came to looking back on his own self-destructive behaviour, and there’d been so much change and self-reflection involved in finally getting sober. There’d been a lot of people he’d had to leave behind. But somehow Raven always clung on, their friendship was long and complex and unfortunately pretty public-

But maybe the time was up, considered Jujubee as he tuned out the rest of Raven’s increasingly malicious rant. Raven was self-centered, inconsistent, and tied up in some of the messiest parts of Jujubee’s past. In fact, Raven was complicit in, or at least present for, the harmful behaviour that had dragged Jujubee down for so long. Finally there was silence, and it stretched out between them.

“I don’t think you’re good for me anymore,” said Jujubee quietly, resting his hand against the doorframe and holding eye contact.

Raven’s mouth fell open and a hurt expression flashed across his face.

“Well, I-” managed Raven, “Well… fuck.”

With that he turned on his heel and stormed off down the hall.

Healing was painful, considered Jujubee as he shut the door, the ache settling in below his ribs. Healing really fucking hurt. But hopefully saying no to Raven would be like tearing off a band-aid. A dirty, nasty band-aid that had been siting there for so long it felt like it was practically part of his skin. A band-aid that really, really, did not want to come off.

Fuck was right.

#rpdr fanfiction #rujubee #jujubee #raven #miz cracker #smut #angst #love triangle #nostalgia #dartmouth420 #tw dom/sub dynamics #tw degrading language #submission #as5 #on set fic

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barbarasbae · 5 years

Text

Even in Hawkins

Part one

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (for now) Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader mentioned

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Omegaverse things (read:lots of smut), peeping tom-ing, voyerism, underage drinking, underage alcoholism mentioned, masturbation (male), 18+

Be cautious young readers

AU Note: in my omegaverse for this series, omegas get heats instead of periods no matter if they are male or female and because of this they come with the same variety. Some heats might be heavier or lighter, some people get them once a month, every three months or even only a few times a year. Male omegas heats are usually much less frequent than their female counterparts and also have more difficulty becoming pregnant. It is almost impossible for an omega to get another omega pregnant

Omegaverse Series!! I’m excited

original photo posted by @stevebyers (this photo was a huge inspiration for this series. very soft)

Steve was a little fragile to say the least. His girlfriend had left him for another beta, his college essay was a disaster and Steve had even fought monsters that he still had nightmares about over a year later. Then this ass of an alpha rolls into town and beats the shit out of him. But of all those crappy things, at least he had Y/n. She was another omega that Steve had gotten close with and was one of the only omegas who hadn’t thrown herself at every alpha that was in Hawkins. She invited him to go shopping with her, a new omega owned store opening in the mall about forty minutes from Hawkins. He said sure, because on the days the kids weren’t getting him into crazy situations and with the lack of a girlfriend to follow around, Steve didn’t have much going on.

The store was mostly clothes, but there was also a variety of other omega-centric products.

There were scent enhancers and suppressants, ‘boyfriend scents’, whatever the hell that meant. Steve later found out it was just a generic alpha scent in a perfume bottle. There was also slick proof clothes, mostly of the underwear and lingerie kind for heats. Steve got some slick proof boxers, sick of throwing away so many pairs of boxers every few months. “You would look cute in this.” It was a crop top. “I don’t think so.” He said, blushing. “Okay.” She shrugged, putting it back. They both left with a decent amount of clothes in their bags, Steve buying a sweater they were both practically drooling over it was so soft. “Do you mind if we go in here for a sec?” She shrugged, the two walking into the Radio Shack and were met with an overwhelming scent of alpha. “Here, give me your bag.” Y/n told steve, knowing that male omegas were more likely to be harrassed. He slipped his free hand into hers, pretending to be an alpha. Thankfully, it worked, their stop uneventful, with maybe the exception of the typical ogling they received. “Are we going to that party on Friday?” He asked as he opened the door (you become fairly close with someone when they’re the only friend you have that knows what it’s like to have the same secondary gender as you).

“Sure. I don’t have a test on Monday for once. How’d you do on that test on Wednesday?”

“Not good, but better.”

“Steve, I really think you should get a tutor. Help your mind refocus.” She had been there last year when all the crazy shit started to go down, even more than Steve had. He pouted, her nudging him with a smile. They got to his car, Steve drumming his fingers on his thighs before looking over to Y/n, whose eyes were on his lips. The kisses were feverish; needy. She held his waist, his hands tangled in her hair as she pushed her tongue into his mouth. He pulled away, panting, her palming his bulge through his pants. He rocked up against her palm, lips on hers yet again when a blue Camaro pulled into the spot next to them. He gasped, pushing her off of him and turning his car on. She was a little hurt at the sudden rejection. “Steve?” She asked softly, confused. He backed out of his parking spot way too fast, tearing out of the parking lot. As he whipped into the main drag, she felt panic rise in her chest. “Steve slow down. Slow down!” She shrieked, Steve slamming on the brakes as the light turned red. He was breathing hard. “Steve, Honey, are you okay?” She asked softly, reaching over and grabbing his wrist, rubbing gentle circles on the scent glands there. She saw the tears in his eyes. “Was that him? The alpha that beat you up?” He nodded tightly, whimpering. “Oh sweetheart.” She cooed soothingly, Steve driving towards her house now at a much more normal speed. She held his hand as he drove, rubbing his knuckles gently. He parked, Y/n leaning over and hugging him. He sniffled, no longer crying. “I’ll see you tomorrow okay?”

“Okay. Bye.”

Steve spent the day babysitting and worrying about his grades, his basketball coach taking him to the side and telling him he wouldn’t be allowed to stay on the team if his grades got any lower. Max and Lucas were fighting again and Steve couldn’t even keep track of what they were fighting about anymore. Needless to say, he could use a drink. He pulled up to the house of one of the guys on the football team, seeing Y/n standing with a few of her other friends. Despite it being winter, Y/n was wearing a dress. Steve came up to her from behind chirping a greeting. “Hey, Steve!” She cheered, happy he was finally here. “Wanna go dance and get wasted?”

“You know I do!” She teased, the two unfortunately developing a bit of a drinking habit after dealing with the upside-down a second time in a year. Steve found the punch that was more like alcohol with a little juice in it and handed her a cup, both downing two refills before moving to join the dancing bodies. Y/n and Steve were giggly, more bouncing than really dancing for a good hour until a slower song came on. They swayed together, her fingers hooked into one of his belt loops, not wanting to lose him. He settled his hands on her waist pulling her closer, their chests almost touching. “Wanna get another drink?” He asked softly, brushing the tip of his nose along the bridge of hers. She nodded, Steve leading her back over to the kitchen, the pair grabbing beers instead of spiked punch this time. “You’re eyes are so pretty, Steve.” Y/n complimented as they wandered back into the tightly packed drunk teenage dancers. “Thanks.” He was blushing. Steve let out a breath of relief as a faster paced song suddenly roared into the room, his thoughts having wandered to Nancy and wondering why she didn’t love him. He looked down at the other omega, her back to his chest. “You wanna go upstairs?” She asked, tilting her head up to look at him. He nodded, the two giggling and stumbling up the stairs, poking around until they found an empty bedroom, too drunk to remember to fully shut the door as they started to pull on clothes, desperate kisses burning into their skin.

Billy was bored. Hawkins was cold and it barely had twenty omegas his age. In California, not only was he used to a multitude of omega classmates to choose from, there was also plenty of tourists to help him get his fill. In Hawkins, there were so few omegas that he had hit on someone’s mom on accident. Ugh.Pushing the thought aside, Billy took another sip of his drink. He was feeling a little buzzed, having found the rum someone had used to spike the punch. He wasn’t really into the beta that was hanging off of him, chattering his ear off. Her intention to get him into bed was very clear, her neckline getting lower every few moments. He decided he’d had enough, pulling away from her and going to look for a bathroom or something, wanting to jack off so he didn’t give into her once he was drunk (he had a feeling he’d be getting calls about why he didn’t call her back or why he didn’t stay after he had slept with her). The bathroom downstairs was occupied by a petite beta girl puking her guts out, unable to handle her alcohol, her boyfriend (he assumed) attempting to help her. He stomped up the stairs, a smell hitting his nose that was too enticing to not look for the source. He followed it to a bedroom in the back of the hall, the door not shut. He pushed it opened a little more, giving him a full view of something he wasn’t expecting.

Now back home, it was still pretty rare but Billy was floored that a place like Hawkins would have an exclusively omega couple. The male was pretty, long limbs and brown hair. His cheeks were dusted pink, letting out a moan that went straight to Billy’s knot. Billy couldn’t really place what was familiar about him in the moment, and he didn’t care to. The female omega was straddling his hips, riding him. She was adorable even if he could mostly only see her back, her moans absolutely disastrous. He saw the clothes they abandoned on the floor, the male omega twisting a finger into the fabric of female’s panties that had simply been pushed aside for him to enter her. Billy palmed himself, her grabbing the other omegas hand, interlocking their fingers with a soft whine. Billy took a step back and looked around the hall. No one was there and he could bet if someone came up the stairs they’d be too drunk to care about what he was doing. He peered a little farther into the room, pulling himself out of his jeans, rubbing his thumb harshly over his tip as he heard a groan come from the male omega.

He used his precum as lube and slowly pumped his fist over his length, hearing a feminine ‘oh fuck’. Her hips rocked a little faster, long fingers of the male omega gripping her hips as he tried to give her some guidance. Billy wondered if she only rode omegas like that or if she would be just as enthusiastic with an alpha. “Shit.” He whispered, hips bucking to meet his fist, a coil of pleasure sitting in his pelvis, getting tighter, his hand getting faster. He braced himself on the door frame, trying not to knock into the open door and give himself away. “Cum in me!” She pleaded, the male’s hips lifting to meet hers. “S-Steve!” Oh Fuck. Billy’s hand stopped, forcing his eyes to concentrate harder at what was happening in front of him. Definitely Harrington. Her head tilted back a little, her hands on Steve’s chest now. He pulled her on top of his chest, more pumping into her than her riding him, Billy dangerously moving into the room a little more to see their faces. She slipped a hand in between them, finding her clit, forehead dropping onto Steve’s shoulder. Billy noted that Steve was loud, even if he wasn’t verbal. Lots of grunts and moans fell from the brunet’s lips. She nudged at Steve’s scent glands that were on his neck, Billy not able to tell what she did but it made Steve squeak. Cute.

Steve was getting sloppy, unable to pick a pace. He reached up and grabbed at her neck, rubbing on her scent glands, getting a mewl out of her that made Billy bite back a groan. Then Steve moved her head, Billy seeing him ‘mark’ her (mocking an alpha’s claim mark), the girl coming. “Steve!” She gasped, bucking against the pale brunet’s hips. Billy’s pumped harshly over himself, praying the growl that bubbling up in his throat wouldn’t give him away. He hissed softly, tugging a little too harsh on accident. He squeezed his eyes shut and mini prayer running through his mind not to cum yet. “Fuck, Y/n.” Steve groaned rather loudly, gripping her thighs harshly and coming. Billy dropped his cock like he’d burned his hand, his hips having jolted forward, about to cum. He watched long enough to see the two omegas rub noses and pulled the door shut as quietly as he could. He then shoved himself in his jeans and ran to the nearest bathroom, slamming it shut behind him. He pumped over himself furiously, abs flexing as he finally came in the open toilet, Billy letting out an unashamed growl. Panting, he flushed and tucked himself back into his jeans. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, skin pink all the way down to his chest. From getting to watch two omegas (one of which was Steve fucking Harrington) sleep together. “Fuck.”

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#steve harrington x reader #billy hargrove x reader #steve harrington #billy hargrove #omega!steve #omega!reader #alpha!billy #omegaverse harringrove #omegaverse stranger things #omegaverse #steve harrington x reader smut #smut #lemon fic #even in hawkins

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miairviin · 5 years

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Kunst

If I only had one word to describe Vienna it would be polished. As soon as we stepped off of the plane and sought out the train that would take us to the hostel this was evident. The train smelled like a new house and the chairs were cushioned. The metro station was spotless, except for a few pieces of graffiti that covered the wall. At night, Vienna was very quiet. Our very first night, by the time Madeline and I made it to the hostel it was 11 pm. In Greece and every other country I have visited so far, the streets would be alive with movement. The restaurants would be full of people still eating. In Vienna, however, this was not the case. All the restaurants were empty, the employees sweeping the front steps and stacking chairs on tables. Luckily, we were able to find a pizza place that was just about to close. We capitalized on this, and because they were closing, high tailed it back to the hostel where we feasted like Queens on the last slices of pizza in all of Vienna.

We had an 8 am wake up call, but not necessarily because of a tour or train to catch. Simply to guarantee we would make it to the free breakfast provided by the hostel. We ate as much as we could and put together a couple sandwiches together to go. We were going to milk this breakfast for every penny. Our first day in Vienna was truly one of wandering. It was so liberating to have absolutely nowhere to be and everywhere to go. Vienna continued its pattern from the previous night, absolutely everything in perfect order. I was amazed with the clean streets and the perfectly constructed buildings. We hit the Volksgarden which was a garden complete with statues, a pond where a duck was taking in the morning sun, and unfortunately lines of small trees with brown bags tied over them. The next place we found was the Hoffburg Palace complete with a historical figure who’s name I do not know riding his majestic steed.

Next, we went to the Museumquartier, jokingly following a little girl on a scooter. Our philosophy there being that you should always trust a local on a scooter. And good thing we did, because it brought us to Museum Leopold which we had seen a brochure for in our hostel. Both Madeline and I were familiar and curious about the work of Gustav Klimt, and some of his pieces would be there. We decided to head in. Art museums are always interesting to me. I love looking at the work and reading about the different colors used and the themes the artist is trying to address. But the Museum Leopold offered so much more. They presented an in-depth biography about the artists work at the beginning of their kunst, (art) and once you were in their exhibit, some of the pieces came with a short blurb about the social ramifications the piece might have stirred up, the artists inspiration, and the story the painting was telling. It felt so much different than other museums I had visited. It felt like I was staring back in time. It was easier to picture a distraught Richard Gerstl brushing madly against a canvas when you found out his muse was the wife of his best friend, and the two carried on an affair for some time. When you knew Gustav Klimt's last words were “send for Emilie” it made his work even more beautiful, more complicated. The museum also presented art like interior design, and discussed why one architect faced public outrage when he made cafes a more open concept, appealing to the lower and middle class. Or how posters revolutionized the streets, turning them into an art gallery for the poor man. Museum Leopold left me with so much to think about. Art is truly a revolution.

After the museum, we snacked on our lunch as we walked to the next stop, Belvedere Palace. The next stop was decorated with so many spots along the way. This included one of many parks we meandered through, Beethovenplatz, a butterfly house, and many beautiful buildings. That was the thing, it never felt like I was on the way to something. Everything was a view. Everything was kunst.

Vienna came alive during the day. The part of the city we were in definitely determined the age group that dominated the sidewalks. The older, more European looking Vienna with tall buildings decorated with statues and columns separated by open streets seemed to have an older population. Conversely, the younger people seemed to occupy the contemporary looking office spaces and more city-esque streets.

The Belvedere Palace was nothing short of extravagant. The gardens were kept symmetrical and spotless, the gravel walk looked freshly swept despite the many tourists walking along it. Uniformly groomed trees lined the gravel leading up to the palace. A few empty fountains stood in between us and the palace, their porcelain statues looking only a tad out of place without water showering down upon them. The palace was so wide, so magnificent. It was hard not to think of the grandeur of days past. When people would walk through the grounds just to take the air in. I wondered if they thought one day people would travel far and wide to marvel at their home.

We turned back and headed for the St. Stephen’s Cathedral. The wind and cold chased us into a small cafe so we could stop for a moment to warm up, and from there it was right back outside and towards the cathedral. Much like Florence and the Duomo, you turned down a normal street with a souvenir shop on one side and a bar on the other and there it stood. It was tall, it was ornate, it was holy. We walked around it, trying to take it all in. It was impossible. Because the city had truly grown up around it, there wasn’t much room to wander so our next stop was simply to head in. The inside was just as awe-inspiring. The architecture was exceptionally detailed, portraits of people like Mother Theresa on the walls. There was a quiet reverence amongst all of the tourists as we walked in the specifically designated areas. I’m sure the cathedral would look beautiful in the daytime with sunlight pouring in. But seeing it at dusk gave it a gothic charm I was grateful to witness.

We left the St. Stephens Cathedral and sought out a bathroom. An employee of a souvenir shop informed us the closest bathroom was just a minute away in the metro. When we made it down the escalator, my bladder definitely dancing the delicate line of being too full for comfort, we were faced with a coin machine. Paying for the bathroom was not something new. We had run into this problem in Italy a few times. In part protest of this capitalistic concept and in part because I’m cheap, Madeline and I had taken a stand and decided to refuse these set ups. We would hold it. But not only was this classist, we noticed it was .50 for a women and .20 for a man! It was sexism! We couldn’t believe it. Since we are both angsty feminists, this was a topic of discussion (mainly jokes) that carried on for a little while.

After the bathroom fiasco, we made our way through the maze of a mall that surrounded the cathedral. Stores like Louis Vuitton were the general theme, and we joked about trying to head in and getting stopped by the door man. “You girls work on commission right? Big mistake. Huge.” We would use these lines if we ever came back. We saw the parliament building where stoic statues sat pondering the great issues of our time as they looked out over Vienna. The air was perfumed with the scent of cigarettes and horse, as a few horse drawn carriages were carrying some tourists who probably shopped at Louis Vuitton.

We decided it was time for dinner and set out to find the cheapest schnitzel we could. Ultimately it was a quiet spot down an alley near our hostel. We ate our schnitzel the German way: with ketchup mixed with mayonnaise and beer. It was fantastic. Unfortunately, nothing has touched the jaegerschnitzel I had that first night in Berlin, but it was a formidable competitor.

However our night was not finished yet. We wanted to hit Sigmund Freud park, just to say we did. It was a short walk, marked by only a few signs. There was a small piece of art, benches, grass, and it seemed to be the place to be if you were an Austrian teen on a Friday night. One thing we picked up on is how proud Austria is of their alumni. Beethoven, Motzart, Klimt, and Freud all have squares, streets, parks, and cafes all named after them.

We picked up a few small dessert pastries and headed back for the hostel. I meant to write this post as well as pen a journal entry but the 13 miles we had ended up walking day snuck up on me, and exhaustion creeped in. Plus, we had an early wake up for the bus ride to Budapest, where I am writing this from. Vienna, as Billy Joel promises, will be waiting for me when we return on Monday.

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mollyellee · 6 years

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if you say that you are mine

Sebastian meets Blaine at a business social in a box at Madison Square Garden. They try to make up for lost time, until Blaine finds out Sebastian’s boss wants to buy his company. Sebastian has to prove it’s not corporate espionage, it’s begging for a second chance.

Here we go again! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, so hopefully I’m not too rusty. Thanks to @seblaineaffairs for giving me an opportunity to post something for Seblainiversary 2018, hope you guys like it!

m for a sprinkling of smut and language//inspired by the “should I stay or should I go” prompt from the original Seblainiversary post; title inspired by the song

Blaine likes sports. He’s never been the type of guy to memorize stats about the whole team or be able to recite the championship history in heavy detail, but he likes them.

And now that he’s divorced, he finds himself going to games by himself just because he can. Kurt would never begrudge him a day out at the ballpark, but after about an hour, he would complain about the greasy food, the inability to follow the game, and Blaine would lose all sense of enjoyment trying to make his husband happy.

So when his boss volunteers him to attend a hockey game in a private box, he jumps at the chance. His boss said that they needed some assistance getting some of their initiatives off the ground, and Blaine is the best man for the job.

When he steps in the luxury box, he is immediately taken aback. There’s a fully stocked bar, waiters mingling throughout the room, and a small crowd of at least 15-20 people. Normally when he goes to games by himself, he sits up as far as possible, wanting to remain another anonymous face in the crowd. Tonight, he knows he’s supposed to mingle, meet new people, and he’s fine with that.

Until he sees him.

The two haven’t interacted since high school, but Blaine would recognize Sebastian Smythe anywhere. He’s standing near the exit of the luxury box, so close to the seats that if he took two steps to his left, he’d be invisible to Blaine, just a mystery man in a crowd of mystery men.

Then again, Sebastian has always been a little bit of a mystery to him.

And then the person talking to him leaves and Sebastian looks up, right into Blaine’s eyeline. He doesn’t look like he feels the the life changing shock that Blaine felt when he saw Sebastian, but his eyebrows do raise slightly. Blaine isn’t sure how they do this. Do they act like they didn’t see each other? It feels like Sebastian remains stationary, but Blaine feels like he’s on a conveyor belt straight to him. He isn’t sure how he arrives in front of Sebastian but before he knows it, he’s opening his mouth to speak.

“I wasn’t sure what I’d say if I ever saw you again.”

Sebastian still has that same self assured smirk as all those years ago, “And that’s what you went with?”

Blaine laughs and releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “What’s your best line for an old friend you haven’t seen in ten years?”

Blaine notices Sebastian’s slight flinch at friend, but he’s more occupied with trying not to stare as Sebastian takes a sip of his drink, clearly buying time to think of something clever. After swallowing and licking his lips, just to make sure Blaine sees them shining and wet, he responds.

“Still look hot in a blazer, Anderson.”

The Dalton model, blue and red and maybe just slightly too big, has been replaced with a sleek black jacket that compliments Blaine’s strong shoulders. He rolls his eyes playfully and replies.

“Mine was better. It implies that I’ve been thinking about you all this time.”

Sebastian sighs dramatically, “If only that were true. But alas, you were scooped up long ago by that understudy for Tinkerbell.”

Blaine’s shoulders tense up instantly, but not because he has any residual feelings left for Kurt. But he feels the inexplicable guilt of letting Sebastian slip out of his life. He doesn’t want to explain everything that happened that led him to this moment, but he does want to make his current situation very clear to Sebastian, even if he’s not willing to admit the reason quite yet.

“Actually, I’m divorced, so this Peter Pan is all on his own in Neverland.”

At this, Sebastian’s eyebrows raise, intrigued, “That can’t possibly be true. You two were practically attached at the hip. Maybe that was the problem, too close for comfort?”

“I think that was more of our problem. For him anyway,” Blaine says teasingly. Sebastian is impressed. This Blaine is looser, more comfortable than the one he remembers. Maybe losing Kurt (and those horrendous bow ties) has done him some good.

Not that Sebastian would’ve expected any different.

“Well then,” he says slowly, finishing the rest of his drink and distractedly putting it on a counter next to him, “since you never grew up, why don’t we finish what we started back in high school? My place is just a little ways uptown, care for a nightcap?”

Blaine is enjoying this. It’s been a long time since flirting with someone made him feel excited, and the fact that it’s Sebastian, someone he always wanted but never could have, makes it feel even more thrilling.

“I bet that’s what you ask all the boys,” Blaine says with a smirk, “minus the high school thing, of course. Unless every broken heart you left in Lima followed you to the big city.”

Sebastian leans over and murmurs low into Blaine’s ear, “For your information, it is a sacred few that make it through the hallowed halls of my home. I usually just leave them in the club bathroom when we’re finished.”

As Sebastian pulls away, they are both laughing, and Blaine feels the slightest twinge that he should stop this. The game isn’t even half over, he hasn’t spoken to anyone about work, and he’s seriously considering doing something with Sebastian that he always thought he might regret.

“I actually should probably be talking to some of these people since this is a business function,” he responds, and pulls out a business card from his blazer pocket. Sebastian reads it and asks, “Broadway Works Project?”

The name of the company Blaine works for is printed on the card, but he suddenly feels foolish for handing one to someone who just asked him to go home for a drink (and definitely more, but Blaine can’t focus on that right now).

“Uh yeah, it’s this little non-profit I work for. We’re small, but we do a lot of good work, and you probably don’t care at all,” he says with a self-depricating laugh.

“I’ll have to look into it,” Sebastian responds with a warm smile, “It was good talking to you, Blaine.”

“You too,” Blaine says, and slowly makes his way to some of the other small groups forming in the room. He makes casual conversation, explains the mission of Broadway Works Project, that they help up-and-coming actors looking to make it on Broadway with auditions, portfolios, anything they need to get their career started. His boss had sent him to drum up support for the project, mostly monetary, but he knew Blaine’s passion for the group would show through and bring support in whatever form they could get.

And yet, as he talks and mingles, all he can think about is Sebastian. The few times he allows himself to zone out of the conversations he’s having, he looks over and Sebastian is always looking his way, a small playful smile on his face, even from across the room.

It has been a long time since Blaine did something reckless. He’s done enough work for one night, he thinks he can afford to play a little too. They’ll forgive him at work tomorrow.

He walks over just as Sebastian is finishing talking to an older man, and the two exchange cards. He quirks his head to the side and smiles. He doesn’t even have to say anything before Blaine responds to the question he asked earlier in the evening.

“All right, yeah,” he answers, “Take me home, Sebastian.”

---

Blaine should’ve known Sebastian would never take the subway, so they stand in silence as they wait for a cab outside Madison Square Garden. It doesn’t take long, the city alive as always, but Blaine feels like he can feel his whole body vibrating as they get in and Sebastian directs the driver toward an address on the Upper West Side. He doesn’t know if it’s the thrill of going home with a hot guy, or if it’s because that guy is Sebastian, but he feels more alive than he has in a long time. When Sebastian leans back against the seat after stating the address, Blaine swears he winks at him before looking down at his phone and sending a few quick text messages.

He looks down at his own phone and sees a message from a coworker, and more importantly, an old friend.

How is the event? Get any buzz going?

She doesn’t like to be ignored, and she’ll give Blaine hell for it when she sees him tomorrow, but right now, he wants to think about nothing but Sebastian. As the taller boy writes an email, Blaine scans his body from top to bottom. He’s always been gorgeous, but growing older has done him so many favors. His teenage lankiness has evolved into sharp edges that define his long legs, and the button down he’s wearing is rolled up at the sleeves so Blaine can see his toned, but not overly muscular arms. He doesn’t even bother looking up from the email before saying, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Blaine snorts through a laugh, “And you think I’m the one with the lame lines.”

He hits send and smirks as he looks at Blaine, “I don’t think anything about you is lame. Well, your taste in men used to be, but clearly that has improved.”

Sebastian finishes his statement just as the cab comes to a stop and Blaine is immediately in awe of the beautiful building. They step out and he waves hello to Sebastian’s doorman, as they go through the lobby to the elevator and end up on the 14th floor of a 16-story building. The building is massive, but it appears to only have three apartments on the floor and as Sebastian unlocks the door and they move into his apartment, Blaine tries to control his eyes because he knows they must be bulging out of his head.

They walk through the slightly narrow foyer, into a large open living area where Sebastian has a massive white couch, an extensive bar area in the corner, and a record player sitting where Blaine has his TV. Past that though, is what takes Blaine’s breath away. The whole wall is a large glass window, looking out on the city, lights twinkling, televised advertisements constantly changing, cars moving slowly. There is no way any of those people below can see them, but Blaine feels like he can see everything.

Suddenly, Blaine feels nervous and slightly panicked. His apartment is nowhere as near as nice as this place, and he realizes he hasn’t even asked Sebastian any questions about his life, his job; hell, he could be married and just looking for a little fun on the side. This last part particularly makes him panicked and he can’t help the accusation from bubbling out.

“Are you married?”

Sebastian looks over from where he’s hanging up his coat in the closet by the door and laughs, “Insulted that you think I wouldn’t be able to afford this place on my own.”

Blaine can feel his walls coming down at the familiarity, “I’m just saying, I was married, and we still could never have afforded a place like this.”

Sebastian avoids the topic, and instead opts to go over to the bar, pouring two glasses of scotch, “What happened with you and your marriage?”

Blaine sighs, “I don’t know.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes playfully, handing a glass to Blaine, “You do know, you’re just too nice to say.”

Blaine nervously throws back his drink in one gulp, amazed at how smooth it goes down, and looks up at Sebastian, his hand shaking slightly.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with you.”

Sebastian takes a sip of his drink and then takes both his and Blaine’s glasses and sets them on the shelf next to the record player, where all his albums are displayed proudly.

“Nothing yet,” he murmurs, “but I am in fact, not married, so the possibilities are endless.”

He leans down and kisses Blaine, slowly, tentatively, like he doesn’t want to scare him, but Blaine doesn’t seem scared, returning the kiss like he’s giving permission for it to continue. Sebastian effortlessly reaches out to the wall, turning off the lights and putting them in darkness save for the glow of the city around them. Blaine gasps when he opens his eyes, letting them adjust to see the shine on Sebastian’s lips, the twinkling of the city lights behind him.

“Tell me something you don’t tell the other boys,” he says quietly.

Sebastian likes this game. He smiles, “This place was a gift from my Dad for business school graduation. After all the trouble I caused in high school, I think he was so grateful I actually did something with my life.” He doesn’t look hurt by this admission, just takes it as fact.

“Your turn, killer.”

Blaine practically goes weak at the knees at the mention of his old nickname. He and Sebastian have moved closer to the window, and the lights from the city are casting the most beautiful shadows on his face. He leans forward, placing his hand on Sebastian’s chest.

“I don’t think Kurt ever got over the insecurity he felt with you.”

This pleases Sebastian, or at least if his behavior is any indication it does. He leans down, ghosting his nose over the shell of Blaine’s ear before biting down gently on his lobe, moving to kiss down his neck. When he finally returns to Blaine’s mouth, Blaine receives his kiss easily, all while reaching for Sebastian’s shirt, unbuttoning it as quickly as possible, and sliding the shirt off his broad shoulders, stopping to stare at him in the light.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you, Sebastian.”

“I think I do,” he says, desperation lacing his voice, “because I’ve been waiting longer.”

Sebastian reaches down, pulling Blaine’s shirt over his head and pressing him against the window. He feels Blaine arch his back and shudder and pulls away to make sure he didn’t hurt him and Blaine just smiles sheepishly.

“Cold,” he says, gesturing at the window.

“Sorry, I just want the whole world to see,” Sebastian admits and Blaine asks breathlessly, “See what?”

“That you’re mine.”

Blaine knows that Sebastian’s always been a smooth talker, but god damn is it irresistible when he can actually do something about it.

“There’s gotta be a bedroom around here somewhere, right?”

“Fuck yes there is,” Sebastian breathes out, grabbing Blaine’s hand, but keeping him close, reaching with his other hand to unbuckle his belt and dispose of his slacks. When they get into the bedroom, he gently pushes Blaine on the bed and gets rid of his own remaining clothing. When he turns around Blaine has shed the last of his clothes and is laying back on the bed. Sebastian comes closer and Blaine pulls him on top of him, close so he can feel every inch of their bodies touching. Their cocks brush and as Blaine groans lowly, Sebastian laughs breathlessly. Blaine musters the strength to glare, but Sebastian just keeps smiling.

“I’ve waited a decade to hear you make that sound,” he admits.

“I’ll make some other ones if you play nice,” Blaine breathes out.

“Oh Blaine,” Sebastian says with a smirk, “you know I never liked to play nice.”

Without warning, he hoists Blaine’s legs up around him, leaning down again to kiss him and then murmuring close to his ear.

“Tell me again how long you’ve wanted me.”

Blaine babbles out “forever, since the moment I met you, please”, his breathing getting more labored by the second. Sebastian wants him to elaborate, but wants something else much more. He moves as quickly as he can to the side table drawer where he easily finds a condom and his bottle of lube. Blaine shuts his eyes, hearing Sebastian pop open the bottle and it’s only when the cool sensation hits his entrance that his eyes shoot open. He looks down and sees Sebastian working his fingers in and out of him, slow at first but faster, more assured as Blaine gets more comfortable.

Blaine can see the sweat shining on Sebastian’s abs as he breathes and fuck they need to get on with it before he comes just from the sight.

“Sebastian I’m...I’m ready, just do it,” he pants out and almost instantly feels a twinge of regret because Sebastian’s fingers are gone that very next second. But before Blaine can miss them, he feels Sebastian pressing inside him slowly and he reaches up to grip the headboard, his back arching to get him closer.

Sebastian thrusts shallowly at first, but hearing Blaine’s whines and watching as he scrambles to ground himself encourages his movements. He slams into Blaine once, testing the waters, and Blaine practically screams with pleasure.

So, yeah, he’ll definitely be doing that again.

He knows Blaine is getting desperate, so he reaches down to Blaine’s cock, bobbing hard and full between them and strokes once, twice, just to hear Blaine’s breathy moans of please and faster. Sebastian’s strokes become more frantic, knowing he himself is close to the edge, and as he thrusts hard once more, the combination of his cock and his hand become too much for Blaine and he comes, panting as Sebastian stills for a moment, just staring at the beautiful picture in front of him, the one he had given up on ever seeing.

“Well, don’t just sit there, move,” Blaine encourages him, wanting Sebastian to have his release. Sebastian happily obliges, pushing a few more times into Blaine’s tight heat before he’s coming, releasing Blaine’s legs from where he’s held them at his sides and drawing out of Blaine.

He rolls over onto his back and disposes of the condom. He knows he should get up, get a wet towel to wipe the remaining traces of Blaine off of his stomach, but he can’t seem to find the strength to move. Blaine seems to sense this so he gets up with a smile, coming back a few seconds later to wipe down Sebastian’s abs with a warm towel.

“You just wanted to touch me again,” Sebastian teases, still a little breathless.

“Yeah maybe,” Blaine replies with a smirk, throwing the towel in the bathroom and coming back to lay beside Sebastian. They don’t say anything for a few moments, and the next time Sebastian opens his eyes, Blaine’s breathing has evened out. He’s not usually a fan of the one night stand sleepovers, but for Blaine Anderson, he thinks he could probably make an exception.

---

When Blaine wakes up, he hears the sound of water falling and his first thought is how nice and relaxing the sound of the rain is. He opens his eyes and see his clothes scattered on the floor and smiles, feeling the soft sheets enveloping his body. Tentatively, he reaches for his cell phone and turns it over to see the time.

It’s 9:15. Normally he would have his breakfast and be on the train from his apartment in Brooklyn by 8 am.

They are going to kill him at work. Especially since he didn’t exactly do his job last night.

He’s in full on panic mode, running around the bedroom and throwing his clothes on haphazardly. He looks in the mirror in Sebastian’s hallway, making sure his hair is at least presentable. He realizes that the sound isn’t the rain, it’s the shower, but he doesn’t have time to have the awkward conversation with Sebastian about what they are or aren’t, and truth be told, he’s not sure he would have any answers that he feels confident in.

After ten years apart, they had a great night, but their past is complicated. So why not just leave it at the perfect night?

Blaine glances back toward the bathroom door, part of his heart begging him to stay. But his sensible side takes over, and he’s knows it’s best to go. So, he leaves without a word.

All the while, the water is still running.

—-

“What the fuck Blaine, where have you been?!”

That’s about the reaction he expected. He places an Americano from her favorite coffee shop down the block on her desk, hoping it will placate her, but she is still glaring with her arms folded.

“Sorry, I um...got caught up after the event last night.”

If anyone had told him after high school that the person he would be seeing most often would be Santana Lopez, he wouldn’t have believed it. But ten years, two divorces and one non-profit later, here they were: co-workers, and dare Blaine say it, possibly best friends. The Broadway Works Project happened at a time when they both needed it and when they both needed a friend. And although they had success working for the company, felt the most fulfilled they ever had at any job, both knew it had led to their hardest failures. But they were failures they both understood, and failures they could help each other through.

“You got caught up?” She said, an eyebrow raised, and then the moment Blaine had been worrying about all the way over from Sebastian’s happened. She’s studying his outfit a little too closely for him to not be caught.

“Blaine Anderson, you were wearing that tie yesterday! Did you actually get some?!”

“Oh my god can you keep it down?” He’s frantically looking around, hoping Santana’s outburst doesn’t draw the attention of their boss, Charlie, who no doubt will ask Blaine how the event went last night. Charlie is the founder of the group, and so passionate and dedicated to his mission that he would never skip out on an event to make it even greater. Blaine knew he had let him down, but he had managed to take a few business cards before he skipped out. So that had to count for something, didn’t it?

“Spill. Now,” she says quieter, “Was it…” She looks off into the distance, mentally scrolling through the list of attendees she casually glanced at the day before. Neither of them had remembered seeing Sebastian’s name. Blaine isn’t sure if that would have persuaded him to go or caused him to make an excuse not to. He knows now, but yesterday seems a lifetime away.

“It was no one. Now can we leave it?” Blaine knows as soon as the words come out that Sebastian is far from no one but he doesn’t know what he is, and he’s not trying to figure it out now when he’s two hours late for work and has to come up with an excuse as to why he doesn’t have any intel for his boss.

She lets it go (for now), and goes back to whatever she was working on, making phone calls and screaming in Spanish to casting directors and stage managers, and Blaine considers the matter forgotten.

It isn’t until about an hour later when he hears her stop mid-sentence and go, “I have to call you back.”

It isn’t much that makes Santana speechless, but she stops flat and stares behind Blaine. For a moment Blaine panics, thinking it’s going to be Charlie, but he is usually friendly and understanding, not a boss to be afraid of. Both Blaine and Santana know they don’t have anything to fear from Charlie when they don’t get their work done, he just encourages them to keep at it. So, he turns around to see who she could possibly be gaping at.

And standing in the middle of their office is Sebastian Smythe.

“Hey there Cinderella. You left so fast this morning the smoke was still clearing when I got out of the shower.”

Behind him, Blaine can hear Santana choking on her coffee and he turns around to shoot her a look. When he turns back, Sebastian is sitting on the edge of his desk giving him that salacious grin he’s having flashbacks to.

“I...how did you find me?”

He reaches into the pocket at the front of his suit jacket and pulls out a business card. It’s Blaine’s own.

“Your glass slipper.”

“I’m sorry, is this for real?” Santana says a little too loudly, caught between confusion, excitement and anger. A lot of time has passed since Santana and Sebastian’s confrontation, and she’s not sure where Blaine stands on everything. Although it does seem pretty clear that all seems to be forgotten and forgiven.

“Feels like I’m a new man since the last time we met, Santana.” Sebastian is over by her desk now, extending his hand and Blaine nods letting her know, it’s okay I’m okay.

She accepts his handshake, “Well you look damn good, Smythe. Still up to your wicked ways?”

“Nah, left that life behind. Now I am but a humble PR rep for an entertainment company.”

Blaine snorts, “Yeah, so humble he has an apartment the size of Yankee Stadium.”

“You’ve been to his apartment?” Santana asks with a grin, confirming her suspicions, “Well, well, well, this is interesting.”

“Santana, please, don’t tell Charlie,” he panics, “I went to Sebastian’s last night during the event, so I...I didn’t exactly accomplish our goals.”

“Oh honey, you accomplished every goal I’ve had for you for two years.”

“Two years?” Sebastian pipes up, interested, “For someone who was out of practice, you sure didn’t seem like it.” He and Santana exchange smiles and Blaine can feel himself turning red with embarrassment. He had left Sebastian’s apartment without a word, hoping to avoid any awkwardness of ‘what does this all mean’, and instead he was now getting it from both sides.

“Yes, well, is there something I can help you with, Mr. Smythe? Or did you just come all this way to sex-shame me?”

Santana and Sebastian share another look and Blaine hates it already. This closeness starting to form between them is trouble, and the last two people he wants causing trouble are his best friend and his...well, whatever Sebastian is.

“Well, Mr. Anderson,” he teases playfully, “I was hoping you might join me for a little late breakfast-early lunch. It’s the least I can do for keeping you from your work last night.”

He’s already started saying “Sebastian, we don’t have to…” when he hears Santana exclaim “Yes!” They both stare at her, Blaine shocked, Sebastian pleased, and she clears her throat to speak again, “Sebastian, would you mind giving Blaine and I just two seconds? He’ll be right out.”

Sebastian nods and leaves and Blaine turns back to her and hisses, “What are you doing?”

“Blaine, I haven’t seen you get this flustered over a guy in years. In fact, I think the only other guy besides Kurt that ever made you act this way is him. So why not take a chance and see what could be?”

“It was a one night stand, Santana. Consider it a check off my bucket list.”

“Talking about checking off your bucket list is exactly why you need to go have lunch and flirt with a hot guy. I’ll cover for you, say you ate some bad wings at the Garden last night and are at home barfing your face off or something.”

Blaine closes his eyes for a moment and thinks. He never really got to travel down this road with Sebastian because his heart had been occupied from the moment they met. Does he want to give him this chance 10 years later?

He picks up his bag, “All right, fine. But if I end up with another slushee in my face, I’m blaming you.”

She rolls her eyes, “That level of drama is so high school. Go get into some big boy trouble.”

He laughs and heads outside where Sebastian is ending a phone call. He smiles when he sees Blaine walk through the door.

“If something more important came up, we can reschedule,” Blaine offers, motioning at the other man’s phone. But Sebastian waves it off.

“No, no it’s nothing. So, where do you want to eat?”

Blaine’s eyes alight. If there’s one thing he loves about New York, it’s the food. And Sebastian looks like the type to order the same sandwich from the same deli delivered to his desk every single day because he’s too busy to go out to eat. Blaine is going to rock his world.

---

“Holy shit, this is amazing,” Sebastian moans.

Blaine is quite pleased with himself. They are at a little Italian cafe, not far from the Broadway Works Project, but far enough that Blaine (hopefully) won’t be running into his boss while he plays hooky with the hottest ghost from his past.

“Told you,” Blaine says with a satisfied smile, thanking the waiter and leaving them alone. Sebastian figures this is as good a time as any to ask the question again, the one he’s dying to know the answer to.

“So, come on, tell me. What idiotic decision led to you becoming a divorcee?”

“Wow,” Blaine says, taking a long drink of water, “pretty hard hitting topics for a first date.”

“This is a date?”

“Guess I should ask the guy who stalked me at my work after a one night stand.”

“Ouch, killer,” Sebastian says with a laugh and a touch of mock hurt.

Blaine can feel himself blushing despite himself, “Stop calling me that. It makes me forget that maybe I should hate you.”

“And why is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, you’ve made me shirk my responsibilities at work twice now, you threw rock salt in my eye, you tried endlessly to break up my relationship…”

Sebastian’s smooth facade falls for a moment and he looks genuinely remorseful, “I am sorry about what I did to you all those years ago. I was an immature idiotic kid. I never would have forgiven myself if I had, god forbid, blinded you or something.”

Blaine smiles warmly, “It’s forgiven. Honest. Although, I’m pretty sure I’m still mad at you about that other stuff.”

Sebastian shrugs, “Hey, if you had given me a chance the first time I asked, maybe you wouldn’t have had all that heartbreak to deal with. Marriage and divorce, it’s so expensive, who needs it?”

At this, Blaine pauses, amused, “You wouldn’t have broken my heart?”

“Maybe,” Sebastian responds, noncommittal. He knows he wasn’t perfect, never has been. “But the fact is that Kurt did and you still haven’t told me how.”

Blaine explains quickly what they do at Broadway Works Project. How they act more like advisors than agents, but nevertheless, they advocate for actors, ones who just need a little help getting their big break. The same big break Kurt had been chasing his whole life.

“He didn’t get that I couldn’t just hand him these roles, you know?” Blaine sighs, “and then he got jealous because I was giving roles to other guys and he thought I must like them better and I just got so tired of it. I know it must’ve been hard to be him, coming to NYADA only to have so many doors closed in his face, but he never even considered how hard it was to be me. I never told him this because I didn’t want to crush his dreams, but it wasn’t me who didn’t want him in any of the shows. I tried, believe me.”

Sebastian picks up his glass of wine and takes a drink, “He never deserved you, I could’ve told you that.”

Blaine rolls his eyes, but is still smiling, “I think you did tell me that. That was the problem.”

“Well, I hope it’s not a problem that I’m telling you now.”

Blaine can’t believe how absolutely smitten he is still is for this boy. Maybe always was.

“Not in the slightest.”

—-

1 date becomes 5. Nightcaps become sleepovers.

Days become weeks become months.

And before he knows it, Blaine Anderson has a boyfriend. And so does Sebastian Smythe.

---

“I’m sorry, you’ve lived here how long and you’ve never taken the subway?!”

“Blaine, why would I ever share transportation with God knows who coming from God knows where when I could have a nice private car to myself? Nobody talks to me, I don’t talk to them, everyone is happy.”

“The subway is what makes the city come alive! You have to try it at least once.”

Blaine’s puppy dog eyes are met with Sebastian’s unimpressed side eye, but within minutes, they are on the platform, waiting for the train to take them back to Blaine’s apartment.

“Is this smell also part of the experience?”

“Nah that’s just trash,” Blaine says with a shrug, taking Sebastian’s hand and pulling him into the train as the taller of the two mutters, “Lovely.”

The train moves, it stops where it shouldn’t, they’re treated to an impromptu musical number, kids talk way too loud in front of them, but Sebastian never complains. He just looks over, Blaine’s head resting happily on his shoulder as they sit. He thinks it, but he can’t say it

Not with the knowledge that it might someday break Blaine all over again.

When they get to Blaine’s stop, Sebastian has never felt so relieved. They get off the train and the cold air of early fall hits them, but Blaine doesn’t seem to mind at all. He’s practically grinning ear to ear.

“Okay, you can’t like the subway that much, you’re acting like a character in a tourism ad. I’m worried you’re going to burst into a song and dance about the Empire State Building” Sebastian says skeptically.

“Not about the subway,” Blaine replies as they get to the door to his small brownstone, “You hated it.”

“Not my preferred transportation, but…”

“But you did it. For me.”

Sebastian feels his heart ache. Everytime Blaine does something like this, appreciates him for the little things, he can’t help but feel warm inside. But there’s always that feeling of guilt, the little voice in his head that says tell him before it’s too late.

Sebastian just nods and Blaine pushes up to kiss him. When he pulls away, he is still smiling.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

It’s been six months since they met again, but Blaine has wanted to say it since that very first date. He knew, even then, that there had to be a reason he had never fully given up on Sebastian Smythe.

Sebastian can’t say it, for so many reasons, so he kisses him back, hurries them inside so they can warm up. Blaine is so elated he got his feelings out, that they don’t even make it to the bedroom. They undress in the living room, clothes catching on barstools, shelves, even his TV, but he can’t bring himself to care. Sebastian loves him, he can feel it in his touch, the way he looks at him.

The way he drops to his knees in front of Blaine’s couch, looking up at Blaine ferociously as he kisses down Blaine’s torso, leaves little bites along his stomach, the inside of his thighs. By the time Sebastian’s lips reach Blaine’s cock, he’s practically begging for it, and Sebastian is happy to oblige. He takes him deep, humming around the shaft, and Blaine can’t help but stare as Sebastian works his tongue around him. He grips Sebastian’s hair, lightly, just to feel him everywhere. When it’s almost too much, he throws his head back against the couch, whimpering and scrambling, but Sebastian remains steady, moving up and down until he can feel Blaine’s release.

When he knows Blaine is close, he pulls off, replacing his mouth with his hand, and Blaine gasps, whipping his head forward. He leans up to kiss Sebastian frantically and comes hard, biting Sebastian’s lip as his hand works him through it. He takes a few moments to breathe, and when he looks up, Sebastian is cleaning up with Blaine’s t-shirt, and Blaine whacks him playfully on the side of the head.

“Hey asshole, that’s my t-shirt,” he says with a grin.

“Yeah, well, this was my lip, but you didn’t seem to care about that,” Sebastian replies, sticking his tongue out and then showing the little pricks of blood coming from where Blaine bit down as his orgasm hit.

“Oh my god, Sebastian, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

He shrugs playfully, “I don’t know, I may never be able to kiss you again.”

“Oh I highly doubt that,” Blaine says with a smile and Sebastian laughs, lying back on the couch. He nods and pulls Blaine on top of him, and everything starts again.

He wishes it could stay this way forever.

—-

“And last we have...Sebastian.”

He hears his boss state his name over the phone, the last order of business on the conference call and he sits up straighter, having been distracted by dread, knowing this moment was doomed to arrive.

“Um yeah, what can I answer for you?”

“What’s happening with the Broadway Works Project? We were supposed to have acquired them 6 months ago, I have agents waiting to foster that talent.”

He swallows hard and realizes he has no good answer for the predicament he’s found himself in. He loves this job, worked harder than he’s ever worked in his whole life to get where he is. If his boss wants to take over a company, he should be doing whatever it takes to make that happen.

But then there’s the picture of him and Blaine sitting on his desk, the two of them at Coney Island, Blaine looking up at Sebastian adoringly like he’s his whole world.

Sebastian can’t bear to tell him.

His whole world is a lie.

—-

Sebastian is standing in his apartment alone, staring out at the city, waiting for her to arrive. Blaine had said he was taking a new client to tour some theaters around the city, get an idea of exactly the types of shows he’d like to get involved with and Sebastian was more than happy to have some time alone.

He needs to figure this out.

The buzzer signaling someone is at his door chimes brightly and he could almost curse the happy jingling tone. He moves toward the door, knowing he’s dragging his feet. Knowing she’s almost certainly thinking she’s coming there for something happy. Knowing it’s the complete and total opposite.

When he opens the door, Santana is grinning, bottle of champagne in her hand, and even Sebastian is a little thrown off by this gesture.

“Hi, I’m so excited you called!”

She flings her arms around him for a hug and he hugs back, distracted and confused. He takes the bottle of champagne and holds it out, “What’s this for?”

She enters the apartment, walking straight into the kitchen area to look for champagne flutes.

“Your engagement, of course! I know some people might think it’s fast, but I’m so happy for you guys. Blaine is just so happy with you, and he won’t be home for hours. I made a very extensive tour list for him and Michael.”

Sebastian’s heart drops and he almost drops the bottle of champagne, but instead he places it gently on the counter and halts Santana’s search for the glasses.

“Santana, I need you to sit down.”

She looks taken aback; this isn’t exactly textbook behavior for someone who she thinks is about to ask the biggest question of his life, but as with Blaine, Sebastian has always been a bit of a mystery. They sit down on the couch, facing each other from opposite ends and Sebastian starts, shaky.

“I haven’t been honest...with Blaine.”

She instantly looks angry. She never thought she and Blaine would ever be this close, but he is her best friend, the person she would protect over anyone. But she tries to stay calm, hear him out.

“What do you mean, Sebastian?”

“When we met again, I was working for Mirage Talent Agency, and I still am. I was at that event at MSG looking for partnerships. My boss was looking to grow our business, so I had been talking to a few other reps from smaller agencies. Nothing too exciting. And then I saw Blaine. And that night, we didn’t talk about Broadway Works Project, or my job, we just reignited that spark. But the next day when I went into work, my boss told me about the company, said one of my co-workers saw me leave with Blaine and thought I was working with him on a deal to buy the Project. When I said I wasn’t, he insisted I should. That’s when I came to see Blaine, I had to figure out what to do.”

“So what? Your first date was a test?”

“I don’t know,” Sebastian sighs, frustrated, “I thought it might make it easier, if I could see Blaine in the light of day, realize we were only meant to last for a night, then I wouldn’t feel bad trying to acquire the company. He hurt me by choosing Kurt so long ago, I thought maybe this was my chance to even things out. But after that first date, I knew, I couldn’t hurt him. I’ve been stalling at work for months, saying the deal isn’t ready, things aren’t right, but I can’t do that for much longer. If my boss doesn’t see some results soon, I’m going to get fired, and Mirage might take over BWP anyway. So I don’t know what to do.”

Santana is furious now, “Jesus Christ, Sebastian. You should know he’s been through this before! You’re the one who told him that you’re not like Kurt, you’re different. You don’t want anything but him. What a load of shit.”

“That’s the thing, Santana, I know I want him! I don’t want the company, I never did. But I don’t know how to stop this without staying. If I’m there, I can fix this, I can try to set my boss’ sights on another company.”

Santana just shakes her head sadly, “I don’t know if you can fix this.”

“I don’t either.”

Both of them look up suddenly from the couch and there’s Blaine, standing in the foyer hallway. His eyes look hard and angry, but there is a weariness to him; Sebastian can tell that he’s been crying.

“Santana, would you mind?” It seems like that’s all he can get out, but she understands instantly. She shoots Sebastian a glare before grabbing the champagne off the kitchen counter. She puts one arm around Blaine, whispers “call me if you need me”, and then she’s gone.

“Blaine, please, let me explain.”

“I ran into Kurt. He explained.”

Sebastian is taken aback. “You still talk to Kurt?”

“I don’t, but if we’re going to make this about keeping secrets, you’re definitely going to lose, so I probably wouldn’t go there.”

Blaine is so angry he can feel his hands shaking. He tries to calm down, remember the details of Kurt’s story so he can keep the facts straight.

Blaine is getting off the subway, having just left Michael after the most meticulously planned tour of the city’s theaters courtesy of Santana. He’s planning on heading back to the office to finish a few things up when he’s walking up the stairs to head outside and he sees him.

Kurt. Coming down the stairs.

They both freeze, passengers around them swearing and jostling them to move out of the way. Kurt backs up a few steps so that he and Blaine are standing outside, away from the subway’s entrance.

“Hi Blaine, how are you?”

“I’m, um, I’m good, Kurt. How are you?”

Blaine can hardly believe this is the person he thought he was going to spend forever with. They seem so separate, so distant. He can barely remember a time when they were one, they are now so solidly two.

“I’m okay. Rachel is about to be picked up by a new agent, I think. They actually said that they work for BWP.”

Blaine is confused. Broadway Works Project is a small organization, they’re like a family. He would know if there was a new agent.

“I don’t think we’ve hired anyone new lately, do you know his name?”

Kurt shrugs, “I can show you a picture, he just followed Rachel and me on Twitter.”

He pulls out his phone and shows Blaine a picture of a man he has never seen before. But underneath the picture is his heading that reads: “The newest agent for the Broadway Works Project, a subsidiary of Mirage Talent Agency; coming soon!.”

Mirage Talent Agency. Or, as Blaine knows it, the company Sebastian works for.

His head is spinning and he knows he has to get out of here. But he can’t lose it in front of Kurt. He might explain why he’s so upset, explain that Sebastian is back in his life.

Explain that Kurt was right about him.

“Interesting,” he says distractedly, and if it comes off a bit rude, he can’t put forth the effort to care, “I’ll have to look into it. Good seeing you Kurt, I gotta run.”

And that’s practically what he does. He walks so fast he can hear his heart pounding in his ears. He can tell he’s on the brink of tears, but he won’t lose it in the middle of the city. Won’t let them get the best of his anger.

That has got to be saved for the person who hurt him most.

“Blaine, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“You’re right, he probably doesn’t know this. So tell me, Sebastian, who are you? Do you really work in PR?”

“No,” Sebastian admits readily and Blaine feels like someone has punched him in the gut, “my boss is Head of Acquisitions. I’m a Talent Manager, I handle agents who handle clients.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about this? We practically do the same job!”

“I didn’t know how to explain,” Sebastian says, frustrated, “I didn’t even know what Broadway Works Project was when we met again that night, and then the next thing I knew, my boss was suggesting we acquire it. I barely knew you then!”

“And yet, you took me to dinner, to plays, to fucking Coney Island and asked me question after question about my job.”

“I was getting to know you, Blaine. That’s what people do when they date someone.”

“So this whole time we’ve been dating, what was that, like corporate espionage or something?” Blaine feels like he sounds crazy, words he never expected to say coming out of his mouth.

“Jesus, how could I be spying on you when I didn’t even expect to see you ever again? I saw you that night and I thought fuck I missed him. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am, but in that moment, everything changed course. I am so in love with you, I knew it the second you walked back into my life.”

Blaine isn’t sure what to say. He is seething with anger, but it is rare to hear Sebastian be so open about how he feels. He knows his resolve is weakening, so he tenses up, asks the question he needs to know the answer to.

“Is Mirage taking over BWP?”

“It’s not a done deal,” Sebastian tries to sound confident, “I can fix it. I can point my boss in another direction, I know how much Broadway Works means to you.”

“You do. And you knew how used I felt by Kurt and you did the exact same thing! I mean, Jesus, I love Broadway Works, but I don’t see why the fuck everyone in my life wants to take the control of it from me.”

“I don’t, I’m sorry, I was trying to prevent that,” Sebastian can feel that he’s practically begging now, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He can feel Blaine slipping from him by the second.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Blaine’s breath hitches. He is not going to cry in this moment. He takes a breath and finishes the statement.

“I can’t trust you anymore.”

“You don’t mean that,” Sebastian says calmly, the panic inside him threatening to erupt.

“Good luck with your deal, Sebastian. Maybe in some cruel twist of fate, you’ll end up being my boss.”

Blaine can’t even bear to look at him anymore, confronted with the fear that all it will take to forgive him is one look at Sebastian’s broken eyes, the way his body is slumped in resignation.

Blaine should’ve known better. Zebras can’t change their stripes.

And heartbreakers will always be just that.

—-

Santana is sitting on her couch, having a glass of wine when the knock comes. She rushes to her door, and on the other side, Blaine is standing, eyes red from crying.

When she sees him, she puts her arms around him and he starts sobbing all over again. They stand in her doorway for what feels like forever before Santana guides him in. She sets him up in her guest room, and asks if he needs anything.

“Fix my heart,” he sobs out and hers breaks.

She may not be able to fix his, but if she ever sees Sebastian again, she will shatter his.

—-

Blaine lays in Santana’s bed for a few days, staring at the ceiling, trying to make his heart stop hurting when he realizes he’s got to try to distract himself.

So he goes to work, tries to pretend everything is normal, and only Santana is the wiser.

But he watches Charlie in his office every single day, making frantic phone calls, pacing back and forth. He’s defending a company he didn’t even know was under attack and he’s woefully unprepared.

His heart aches, wishing there was something he could do about any of it. Wishing he could save the company he loves, the one who gave him a home.

Selfishly, wishing he could do the same for Sebastian.

“Should I tell him?” Blaine says quietly to Santana, motioning his head in the direction of Charlie’s office.

“Tell him what? You didn’t do anything wrong,” she replies.

“If I had never seen him again, if I hadn’t been with him, Charlie wouldn’t be having to fight to save us,” he laments.

“Blaine,” she says sternly, but caring, “maybe you dating Sebastian expedited the process a little, but bottom feeders like whoever Sebastian’s working for will always find a way to pick on the little guy. We’re underdogs, always have been. But we’ll be all right.”

He knows she’s not just talking about the company. But if he’s honest with himself, he’s not sure he believes her about any of it.

—-

Blaine thanks God for winter. A few days later, the biggest storm to hit New York in decades arrives, leaving him and Santana snowed into her apartment. He’s selfishly glad for the snow, seeing Charlie distraught and run ragged has been wearing on his conscience and although Santana told him none of it was his fault, he still felt responsible for bringing Sebastian, and thus, Sebastian’s company, into their lives.

He doesn’t allow himself to think about the fact that there were parts of Sebastian being in his life that were good. So good they keep him up at night, entering his dreams and even sometimes his conscious thoughts when he knows he’s alone.

“Maybe I’ll just be a spinster.”

“Don’t be dramatic, boys can’t be spinsters,” Santana says with what she calls “her most loving eye roll”.

“You told me not to be dramatic when he showed up at Broadway to take me to lunch. Maybe this is all your fault.”

She throws a cotton ball at him at this comment before continuing to paint her nails. He’s being mopey and sad, but at least he’s making jokes, which is a large step forward from the past few weeks. Part of her does feel bad that she encouraged him to go out with Sebastian, but she had seen the chemistry between them. Sebastian had shown up, like Blaine’s prince with the glass slipper and they had all fallen for it.

Blaine is lying on the couch, idly flipping through reality shows when his phone rings. He looks and sees that it’s Charlie and groans.

“Santana, can you deal with this?”

“If he wanted to talk to me, he would’ve called me,” she says, not looking up from her manicure.

“Pleaseeeee,” he says, turning over on his stomach and facing her with his biggest pout, “I’m heartbroken.”

She scoffs, but puts down the nail polish nevertheless.

“This shit is going to get old at some point, you know,” she says before greeting Charlie with a quick, “Blaine Anderson’s phone, this is his secretary.”

Blaine can hear Charlie laugh, and it’s such a welcome sound. He can’t hear what his boss is saying, but he is loud, fast, talking excitedly. Santana’s eyes are getting larger by the second, like she’s hearing some truly unbelievable news, and she tries to interrupt Charlie a few times, but he keeps chatting. Finally, she gets a word in.

“The donor was anonymous?” Blaine sits up straighter, stares directly at her. “I don’t know Charlie, but that’s absolutely incredible news! It’s definitely going to make Blaine’s day, I’ll be sure to tell him.”

She hangs up and takes a breath, trying to process everything she just heard. But Blaine is impatient.

“What donor? What did he call for?”

She laughs, incredulous, “Mirage was all set to buy us. And then they were stopped. By an anonymous donor who far exceeded what they were comfortable with bidding.”

Blaine takes a moment to let the news settle on him. He knows without a doubt who the donor is, but how?

And then the text comes through to his phone, which is sitting between him and Santana on the couch. They both look at once.

It’s all yours. All of it.

—-

Blaine leaves Santana’s apartment in a rush, taking the train down to Sebastian’s building, where he’s stopped by the doorman before he can even enter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson, but Mr. Smythe no longer lives here.”

Blaine is shocked, “What? Where did he go?”

“Relocated,” the stern man replies, and then lower, almost as if he’s ashamed to say it, “To Brooklyn.”

Normally, Blaine is strictly subway, but today, he springs for a taxi. He has to get home. Fast.

—-

His three-story brownstone has a small stoop where kids play, moms gossip, college students study.

But when he walks up to the building, all he sees is Sebastian, sitting and waiting for him. Looking absolutely gorgeous in the thinnest peacoat Blaine has ever seen.

“You do know it’s fucking freezing out here, right?” Blaine says, immediately removing his scarf and putting it around Sebastian’s neck. Sebastian stands up, looking at the scarf approvingly.

“Had nowhere else to go. I’m homeless,” Sebastian replies with a shrug.

Blaine raises an eyebrow, “So you’ve been sitting out here in the snow waiting for me?”

Sebastian sighs, “Okay, I may have gotten a hotel. But strictly for sleeping.” Blaine gives him a pointed stare and he continues, “Okay I may also have paid Luther to tell me when you showed up at my old place so I could be here.”

“Sebastian, how long have you been here? And why is that your old place?”

“I sold it,” he says, matter-of-fact, “It took a few weeks to get the deal done and everything squared away, but I figured my father’s very heartfelt gesture of congratulations should reward someone who has actually done some good. Like a non-profit for dreamers who need a hand.”

He is self-deprecating but he is also looking at Blaine with the slightest shimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Blaine offers, but his voice indicates how touched he feels by the gesture.

“I know it’s just money. But I made the donation anonymous so that Charlie can just keep running BWP the way he wants to, and that you guys can keep doing the work you were doing before…”

He stops. Blaine knows he means before he came back into his life. Before they intertwined their lives, told each other everything. Well, Blaine thought they did anyway.

“I promised you I would fix it and I hope I did,” Sebastian offers, “Or at least made a start to.”

“Are we just talking about Broadway Works?” Blaine asks, stepping closer.

“I know I betrayed you. You have every right not to trust me. I did everything he did and broke your heart all over again, and if you never wanted to see me again, I’d understand. But I had to risk everything at the hope that you might give me another chance. I went ten years without seeing you the first time. I couldn’t do that again.”

As they stand outside Blaine’s brownstone, a light snow has begun to fall, but all Sebastian can see are the few tears rolling down Blaine’s cheeks. Last time they were together, Blaine swore to himself that he wouldn’t let Sebastian see him cry. But if this is going to work, they have to be open and vulnerable with each other.

And Sebastian seems to know that as he says, “I love you. I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you from the moment we met. And I will spend the rest of my life begging you to forgive me for this. If you’ll let me.”

Blaine laughs incredulously, but nods frantically, gripping the scarf at Sebastian’s neck and pulling him in to kiss him deep and long and slow. It’s freezing and the snow is picking up, so they are alone on the street, but even in a crowded room, Blaine knows, they would only see each other.

After all, that’s how this started.

And as they pull apart, they are still entwined, Sebastian’s hands in the pockets of Blaine’s peacoat, Blaine’s arms still flung around Sebastian’s neck, he leans in to offer a suggestion.

“Take me home, Blaine.”

They climb the stairs two at a time to the third floor, losing clothing by the second, Sebastian muttering “leave it” against Blaine’s lips, Blaine running back down the stairs to pick everything up before any of his neighbors have the chance to see him half-naked and disheveled. By the time Blaine’s apartment door shuts, their clothes are all discarded and Sebastian is looking all around at the place he will now call home.

At least, he hopes Blaine will ask him to call it home.

“Hey.”

Blaine’s statement beckons Sebastian’s gaze away from the apartment and when his eyes fall on Blaine standing in the doorway, a small contented smile on his lips, he isn’t sure how he ever looked away in the first place.

“Come on, our bedroom’s this way.”

His whole life, Sebastian has always been a strong advocate for mine and yours.

He’s beginning to think ours doesn’t sound too bad.

#seblainiversary2018 #seblaineaffairs #seblaine #future #should i stay or should i go #sebastian smythe #blaine anderson #rating: m

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smallgirlbigpersonality · 7 years

Text

Take it Easy | Chapter 1

Source: supremeleaderkylorens

1/15 (Chapter Two)

Pairing: Clyde Logan x Reader

Word Count: 2,000+

Disclaimer: All copyrighted characters are property of Bleeker Street, Fingerprint Releasing, & Steven Soderbergh.

Warning: Rated PG-13 (Eventual NC-17)

“Well… I don’t know Clyde, have you ever thought about just droppin’ it?” Mellie suggested as she rolled another curler into the Purple Lady’s hair. She’d been more than happy to give her brother a ride to town today but man~ she hadn’t been prepared for the 20-minute car ride to morph into a three hour lecture. The Logan’s had rotten luck and it wasn’t exactly a secret. Her older brother just seemed to need a reason to explain their ever shrinking family tree family tree.

“You know poor old Maggie Logan, bless her soul, won the lottery and then the next day she just drop~”

“Now Beatrice, you know I love ya but he don’t need any encouragement,” Mellie scolded, casting her brother a weary glance.

The batty old hens at the salon loved nothing more than gossip. They caught wind of every good, bad, lucky, scandalous, and downright unfortunate event that ever happened in their small Podunk county. Clyde hung on their every word too; no doubt taking notes so he could bring his findings to Jimmy their older brother when he finally wandered into town.

In fact, by the time Clyde left for his shift that night, he had managed to add three more unlucky Logan’s to his list. He manned the bar straight faced and more determined than ever. If he kept his game face on, tonight might be the night he convinced Jimmy that whatever this “thing” was… It was real!

Although, when Jimmy Logan did finally make an appearance he wasn’t exactly in a talking mood. He marched up to the bar looking madder than a wet hen. His brother could practically see the steam rolling off his shoulders. Clyde knew Jim well enough to know he needed a drink or two before words of any kind could be exchanged.

He made his way across the bar to where the taps were and poured a homegrown West Virginian Porter. That and their old friend Jose Cuervo should’ve been enough to get the evening headed in a better direction. He poured two shots and pushed one towards his brother. The other Clyde picked up the other, idly sloshing it around while he waited to see Jimmy’s next move.

“I don’t wanna talk until both of these are gone,” Jimmy muttered before grabbing his shot and downing the honey colored liquid. The younger Logan hadn’t even finished his shot before his brother was done with the beer.

“Well, what happened?” Clyde asked, brushing some of the long black hair away from his face.

“I got fired today.” Oh.

“It might’ve had something to do with this darned curse. I was at the salon with Mellie this mornin’ and we hear about old Aunt Maggie. Beatrice said she won the lott~”

“Don’t you start with that Logan curse stuff again,” Jimmy snapped, cutting him off. “It’s all folktales anyway!”

Clyde frowned. To him this was very real and very simple.

“Then how do you explain you gettin’ fired? Blowing out your knee before the championship game? Or me losing my hand on the way to the dang airport?”

Jimmy grunted, dragging his hands over his face. “Look, I don’t want to deal with this tonight. Bobbie Jo is moving Sadie out of state too.”

“I like to think we ain’t that bad of people and for good people we sure do see a lot of bad karma,” he argued.

“Oh, so it’s karma now? Alright fine, you win! When I get back from my satellite office we’re going to talk about this!” Jim muttered, hobbling off towards the bathroom.

Cylde seized the opportunity to checkout the bar. He craned his neck to take a quick look around the place. Same old dusy pool tables, empty booths against the back wall, neon beer signs on the right, and a jukebox resting next to the karaoke system on the far wall. Everything was in its place.

As for the clientele… It was a slow Friday night. He had a few locals hanging around the pool tables; they just ordered a fresh round of beers so he didn’t have to worry about them. You and your friend; however, managed to sneak in during his debate with Jimmy. Lord knows you two had to be some of the prettiest thing this side of the Mason-Dixon line so he wasn’t sure how you’d snuck by. Your friend with the long blonde hair and baby blue eyes seemed like the city type. Those were usually just passing by on their way to Charlotte. You almost looked at home though…

You had long (y/c/h) hair with a bit of a curl to it and some of the prettiest eyes Clyde’d ever seen. The dark purple flannel, black tank top and jeans weren’t that out of the norm- what gave you away as an out-of-towner were the boots. Nobody that lived in these parts would wear shoes quite that nice; even if they had money. He imagined you were a nice girl with a sweet laugh, and just enough sass to keep things interesting. Reading people was one of the few skills he prided himself in. That and being able to guess what kind of drinks people liked. More often than not, he wasn’t that far off the money.

When your friend leaned in to whisper something in your ear, he confirmed his suspicions about your laugh. Gosh, you had the cutest smile too. It wasn’t until you’d hopped off your bar stool and started making your way towards him that Clyde realized he’d been staring.

Oh boy, did that blush rise in his cheeks.

“I would’ve remembered if you’d ever been to the bar before. Are you and your friend just passing through?” he asked, trying to maintain some dignity. That little smirk you gave him though, sure wasn’t helping with his blush.

“Oh, my friend’s in town with her… Well I guess you would call him boyfriend,” you wondered out loud, “Anyway, he owns one of the race teams and they’re prepping for the big race. I’m just along for the ride.”

“What team does he ow~” for the second time tonight the bartend found himself getting cut off. His attention snapped to a new group of gentlemen who’d stumbled in the front door. Tonight’s new guest count jumped from two to five. These men gave him a bad feeling though; that uneasiness crept up through his bones like no other. These men weren’t good people…

“Oi! Hey (y/nickname), did you order us a round yet? Where’s Alyssa? God, I miss that tight little ass of hers,” Clyde’s eyes widened at the comment; so not a gentleman.

“Not yet. I was just about to though,” you murmured, turning back to face the bartender. “...Look, I’m sorry in advance…”

He rolled his shoulders and tried to brace himself for the massive ego that was about to hit him head on.

“You’re a bit slow for being the smart friend aren’t ya (y/n)? Anyways ol’ bloke just open a tab on this card. Anything these ladies want can go on this,” the man offered as he slid a black piece of plastic across the counter.

“Right, well what will you have then?” Clyde asked, resting his prosthetic limb against the counter.

“I’ll have three stoli martinis dry, all with two olives… Oh, oh this is going to be good. Are you sure you can manage all that?” Looks like the bar’s latest guest finally noticed his missing appendage.

“I think I can manage. What can I get for the ladies?” he asked briefly turning his attention back to you.

“If you’ve got ginger beer, two jacks and gingers would be amazing. Then two of your strongest shots would be greatly appreciated, please!” When Clyde nodded you gave him a silent thanks and watched as he got to work on your drinks first. Although, it didn’t matter much. Alyssa found herself occupied with her boyfriend’s two cronies.

“Hey! Do you mind if I film a post?” the obnoxious man asked as he whipped out his phone, “It’s not often that ya get to see a one armed bartender.”

Living in such a small town Clyde was used to people poking fun at his arm. More than half the time though, it was done out of ignorance as opposed to ill intention. Very few people had the guts to mess with Jimmy Logan’s brother. Even if he wasn’t a Logan… He was a war hero of sorts. Between the Logan thing and the veteran thing most people backed off leaving him to his quiet self. For those who didn’t, he did his best to educate them on transradial amputations…

Blocking them out came with years of therapy and he still wasn’t that good at it. He couldn’t blame people for not being comfortable around him because he still didn’t feel at home in his own skin.

Clyde started to liken your friend’s date to a shorter, fatter, talentless version of Graham Norton. He kept going on about something called Instagram and how he could make the man famous. Out of all the things Clyde Logan was an idiot sure wasn’t one of them. He knew the man was trying to get a laugh… Now the bartender was trying to figure out if it was worth causing a ruckus over.

Almost as if he was on cue, Jimmy stepped in to defend him though. His brother didn’t have the chance to open his mouth before words and fists started flying. Jim had been itching for an excuse to get in a fight tonight and this man just served himself up on a silver platter.

Clyde hear two distinct noises; one sounded like a body hitting the floor and the other sounded like one hitting the bar. He didn’t need to turn around to tell you his brother had been the one to bite the dust. Jim wasn’t the type of man that thought things through. He’d dive head first into a one on three fight and hope for the best. As his brother, it was always up to Clyde to help even out the odds. Turning on his heels he darted to the opposite corner of the bar.

In his experience, fighting smarter always ended up better than going for the most direct offense. Which was exactly inspired the bartender’s next move. Making sure his prosthetic was safe, he grabbed a rag, a bottle of vodka, and headed towards the parking lot.

“Hey Earl, you got a light?” Clyde asked calm as ever. Earl was a townie about 10 years his senior and a quiet man much like the middle Logan. He’d worked with Jimmy up in Charlotte, but beyond that there wasn’t much to know about the man.

“Yeah, here ya go.”

The young bartender then picked up a brick and threw it towards the widow of an expensive looking SUV. The car was plastered with an ugly red wrap. It looked like it was for some off brand energy drink… Just the kind of car the ass currently beating the pulp out of his brother might drive. He then shoved the rag into the vodka bottle and lit his little Molotov cocktail. Within seconds the car had burst into flames. Clyde leaned back against the porch railing, taking a second to admire his handiwork.

What he missed though, was you watching from the window. Alyssa was appalled but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. Anybody who even attempted to put Max in his place was someone you wanted to know. That man had an ego the size of a planet.

“Handsome and ballsy,” you smiled after taking a sip of your drink. You couldn't help but wonder if your little trip was about to get about a thousand times more interesting.

#clyde logan #logan lucky #fanfic #fanfiction #adam driver #clyde logan x reader

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hurricane-jenn · 7 years

Text

Break First

Hey guys! Sorry it’s been so long since my last fic. Life has been crazy busy, and rehearsals are occupying all of my time. This fic is inspired by a song by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill. The first time I heard it was when I saw them in concert and I fell in love with it. Since the Omelia ‘split’ this song has really given me some Omelia feels!

Thanks to @jordan202 for the help with this fic, and to @em-m-j for alway6s beeing willing to read over my fics and for encouraging me to get back into the fic game, and post more.

Standing at the bar tryin' to get a drink, got one I hadn't touched at the table. Somebody said you're here, but I ain't gonna leave, maybe I'll just act like you're a stranger.

Amelia knew she shouldn’t have agreed to go to Joe’s, though her friends insisted she needed a night out, she knew that a bar was the last place she should be right now.

It had been been almost a month since her marriage to Owen had ended. Though technically they were still married, she had moved out and he had moved on. Well maybe not moved on, but she has seen him more than once with Carina. There was definitely something. Yes she had also slept with someone else, but it was a one time thing and meant nothing. Owen’s was more than nothing, and she was surprised how much that hurt her.

Sure, they were acting friendly, treating each other like friends. She had tried to be so cool when she had accidentally crashed Owen and Carina’s French toast date, but the truth was it was like a knife in her heart.

April and Arizona knew she was in a bad place, and with the two of them single too they had decided she needed a girls night. So here she was at Joe’s, standing at the bar trying to get Joe’s attention.

Some handsome man had bought her a drink. If this had been five years ago she might have shot it back before taking him home. But she was sober now, and though a bar was full of temptations, Amelia was doing her best to stay sober. Yes she could still take the cute guy home, but she wasn’t ready for that. Maybe Owen was okay flaunting his new relationship in front of all their friends but she wasn’t. And she wasn’t ready to move on. So she left the drink untouched on her table and sauntered up to the bar to try to get something non alcoholic.

“Amelia I am so so sorry,” April’s voice came from behind her.

Amelia spun around to see April and Arizona standing there looking at her so guilty.

“We didn’t know he would be here,” Arizona added.

Amelia was not sure what they were talking about, but all of a sudden over their shoulders she saw him. Owen. On the dance floor with his arms around Carina.

“Amelia? Are you mad?” April’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.

Oh god had she been staring at Owen and his date? She definitely had. Looking back sheepishly at her friends she shrugged. “It’s okay, you didn’t know he would be here.”

“Do you want to leave?” April asked concerned.

“No it’s okay,” Amelia replied. “Let’s just pretend he isn’t here. Don’t let him ruin our night.”

Do you know how hard it is tryin' to hold a conversation? Knowin' you're right there across the room, so I don't hear a word that they're sayin'. No, I don't hear a word that they're sayin'.

Amelia let her friends pull her out on to the dance floor. They did a good job of trying to keep her distracted, but her gaze kept flickering over to the booth where Owen and Carina were now sitting. She knew her friends were trying to talk to her, to distract her, but she wasn’t registering anything they were saying. She was too focused on Owen.

Maybe she should leave. Maybe this was all too much for her. All she wanted to do was walk over there and kiss him. To show him that she still had feelings and that this separation was a big mistake. But he was with Carina now, and they had agreed to move on. So why was it so hard for her to do?

I'm dancing with a girl, got my eyes closed, actin' like I'm lost in the music. All I'm thinkin' 'bout is holdin' you close, I don't know how much longer I can do this.

Owen hadn’t wanted to come out at all tonight. He was in a bad mood after a day of back to back traumas, and all he wanted to do was go home and sleep for two to three weeks. And if he was being honest, part of his bad mood was from having to avoid Amelia all day. Though they pretended they were friends now and things were good, seeing her was still too painful. So he avoided it as best he could.

Carina had insisted that he accompany her to the bar, wanting to blow off some steam and dance. He had agreed thinking what did he have to lose? What he didn't count on was Amelia being there. Seeing her was difficult, that much he knew, but what he didn’t count on was how being there without her by his side would affect him.

Carina had pulled him out onto the dance floor the second they had arrived. She pressed her body close to his and danced in a way that should make any man lose all control. Except him. While she was dancing he caught a glimpse of a familiar petite frame over at the bar. She seemed to be waiting to order a drink. He felt his heart sink. She must be drinking again. He had done this to her. When Amelia did finally get the bartender's attention and a drink was produced Owen was relieved to see it was just water.

Owen saw Arizona and April approach Amelia, acting like they were having a good time. He internally kicked himself for thinking she was that broken up about him that she would drink again. His gaze was still fixated on Amelia when he noticed her own flicked up to meet him. They shared a surprised look before Amelia turned her attention back to her friends.

Carina was still dancing up against him, and kept grabbing at his hands indicating for him to put them on her. He was suddenly struck by how much he didn’t want to be there. Sure Carina was hot, and he was sure she was a great person, but she wasn’t the one he wanted. She wasn’t the one he wanted to be dancing with. He wished it was Amelia pressed up against him instead, wished it was her he could hold close. Taking a step away from Carina and muttering some lame excuse about the bathroom Owen left the dance floor.

Do you know how hard it is bein' in this situation? Knowing you were everything, and now havin' to act like we're nothing. And pretendin' that I don't still love you.

He still had his eyes on Amelia as he made his way off of the dance floor. She had just let her friends pull her out onto the dance floor, and the fear of having her near and not being able to reach out for her made him flee. Instead he walked up to the bar and ordered another drink. He was going to need it to get through tonight.

He could feel Arizona and April’s eyes on him, while Amelia was obviously trying to ignore his presence. Who was he kidding, of course she didn’t want him back. She was moving on, she was out with friends, dancing, having a good time, and paying him no attention. There she was, the woman who used to be his whole world, who was still his whole world if he was being honest, but now they were nothing. He had no right to still care, or lay claim over her. He had been the one to end it. It was a mistake, he knew it the second she moved out, but it was too late. He had lost her.

Amelia noticed Owen leave the dance floor. He walked off in the middle of a song leaving Carina standing there stunned. She wondered what had happened, some lovers’ quarrel. A part of her wished that it was because of her, that seeing her made him realize he didn’t want Carina. But the rational side of her was sure it must be for some other reason.

She knew it was stupid, irrational even, but she felt drawn to him. She craved being near him, hearing his voice, feeling his touch. So she gave a lame excuse to her friends and headed towards the bar. It was a bad idea, she knew it was. Talking to him would only lead to more pain. But she approached him anyways.

You or me baby, who's gonna break first? You or me baby, who's gonna break first? Who's gonna walk up and say "hi" then lean in a little close to whose lips say, "What the hell are we doin'?" You or me, baby, who's gonna break first?

“Hey stranger,” Amelia breathed in a voice that was much too cool for how she was feeling.

Owen turned around to face her giving a look she could not read. Was he happy? Angry? Nervous?

“Hey to you too,” he grinned. She was being too friendly. Did that mean she really was over him, content to be just friends? Or was she pretending she was okay the way he was?

“Having a good night?” she inquired. God she hated small talk.

“It’s alright,” he shrugged. “I’m not much of a dancer, as you know.”

“Hey now,” she giggled. “I thought you were doing alright.”

“Ah so you we’re watching,” he flirted.

She gave him a sultry smile, easily falling back into old habits. “Maybe I snuck a peak.”

He smiled at her, instinctively moving a little closer. He noticed her hair was wild, probably from the dancing, and a strand was hanging in front of her face. Without even thinking his hand came up to tuck it behind her ear. At the contact they both froze, eyes locked, no one speaking.

Amelia was the first to move taking a step back and shrugging off Owen’s hand. She hadn't wanted to, the contact had been something she had craved for weeks but she was convinced it meant nothing to Owen. She couldn’t handle being that close if he wasn’t feeling it too.

Owen let his hand drop, his heart sinking as she stepped back. What was he thinking, of course getting Amelia back wouldn’t be this easy.

“Well uh, my friends are waiting for me,” Amelia said nervously gesturing towards April and Arizona. “And you should probably get back to your date.”

She took another step back from Owen, trying to put some distance between them. She was sure the sadness on her face was betraying how she really felt, but she couldn’t be bothered. This whole thing just hurt too much. With one last look at Owen she turned around and headed back towards her friends.

Who's gonna say, "What were we thinkin'?" Who's gonna cut right through the tension? Who's gonna admit that they miss who worse? Who's gonna tell who how bad it hurts?

Owen’s heart broke all over again watching Amelia turn and walk away. It was his fault they were in this mess in the first place. He was the one who had to say he was unhappy. What did he know? He didn’t even give them a chance to be happy after her surgery. He just made this big decision without thinking it through. Without realizing how much he still loved her, how much he needed her. He was the one who tore apart their happiness, it was up to him to fix it.

At this point what did he have to lose? He had already lost the love of his life, why shouldn’t he take a risk to get her back? He saw her retreating form disappearing through the crowd and moved to follow.

“Amelia wait!” he called after her.

She spun around eyes locking with his. She had hated walking away from him but she didn’t want to get her hopes up. Now he was calling her back and she couldn’t help but hope for the best. She moved back in Owen’s direction, anticipating what he would say next.

“What are we doing?” Owen asked when she reached him.

“What do you mean?” she inquired, unsure why Owen had called her back.

“Avoiding each other. Being just friends,” Owen explained. “What were we thinking?”

“Are you kidding me?” Amelia exclaimed, suddenly angry with him. “You’re the one who said you weren’t happy. The one who called this all off.”

He sighed. She wasn’t wrong, it was his fault. “I know,” he replied. “I know I did, but I was wrong. I need you, I can’t do any of this without you.”

Amelia blinked back tears. She had waited so long to hear Owen say this, but now that he did she wasn’t sure how to handle it. How could she be sure he meant it? “Owen, you made the decision to end our marriage. You told me you weren’t happy, you said we didn’t know each other. How can I trust that you’re right this time?” Amelia argued. “You moved on. I’ve seen the two of you around the hospital, hell I’ve seen the two of you here tonight. How can I be sure that you’re not just bored with her and that’s why you’re suddenly interested in me again?”

He had to admit she had a point, and it hurt him that she was doubting what they had. “Amelia I could never move on from you,” he urged. “You’re it for me. It hurts me every day to see you and not be able to hold you, or talk to you, or be the reason behind that amazing smile. I tried to move on, because I thought it was what was best for us, but it wasn’t. She’s not you, and being with her only makes me miss you more.”

Amelia sucked in a breath, stunned by his confession. She had been looking for a reason to push him away again, but after those words she couldn’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t be leaping into his arms. So she did.

She flung herself towards his body, trusting that he would catch her, and crashed her lips into his. When they broken apart he wrapped her in his arms, pulled her to the dance floor and together they slowly swayed to the music. They stayed like that, caught up in each other for a long time.

They didn’t notice when April left, needing to relieve her sitter. They didn’t notice when Arizona and Carina made their way to each other, both having been left by the people they came with. They didn’t even notice when the two women left together. All that mattered was each other.

Things weren’t perfect, but at least they had each other. And together they learned that sometimes someone has to break for something to be put back together again.

You or me baby, who’s gonna break first?

#omelia #amelia shepherd #owen hunt #grey's anatomy #greys anatomy #omeliafics #omelie fics #omelia fanfiction #my fan fics #break first

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nasatshirts · 7 years

Text

The Good, the Bad, and the Dirty part 1

A/N: So uh. This is my first Wolfstar FanFiction and the first one I post on this account so like…lotsa firsts here. Pls be nice if you comment…I worked really hard. Inspired by The good, the bad, and the dirty by Panic! At the Disco

Summary: Sirius messed up. Only he has no idea how to mak things right.

Warnings: Panic attack, crying, negative thoughts, umm…idk tell me if I need to add anything else

He screwed it up. He always screwed it up. That’s it. It was over. He shouldn’t have even tried to be in a relationship because he knew it would be doomed from the start and—

“Get on with it, Padfoot!” A very annoyed-sounding James said. “Why’d you even do that to him in the first place?”

Sirius felt a stab of annoyance mix in with the guilt already threatening to take over. “Hmm, let me think Prongs. I actually did it to hurt him, I mean, why wouldn’t I? OBVIOUSLY I HADN’T MEANT TO, IDIOT.” Sarcasm dripped from his words like water from a leaky faucet.

And he hadn’t meant to hurt Remus. All Sirius had waned to do was sell a couple items to some of the other Gryffindors, hopefully obtaining some extra money to buy Remus something for his birthday! But everything started to go wrong when Sirius sold something that couldn’t ever be replaced.

*^/^*

~The day before~

Sirius walked into the dormitory to nothing short of chaos. Clothes were strewn all about, somehow ending up on the ceiling way above their heads. A chair was on its side, halfway across the room from its original location. One of the curtains that hung from the beds was ripped and flung onto the floor in a sad heap, along with a trunk completely open and empty with its contents dumped on the floor. Random objects floated in the air, even snapped quills and smashed vials of ink haphazardly hanging completely still in the tense atmosphere.

Sirius let out a low whistle. James, who had been a few steps behind him on the stairs, suddenly entered and stopped dead in the doorway.

“Sirius,” he said slowly. “What. In. Godric’s. Long. Furry. Beard. Happened. In. This. Dorm.” Sirius opened his mouth to retort before the answer made itself known in the form of Remus skidding out of the bathroom and sliding into the floor, having slipped on a shirt that had been torn in half.

James took a deep breath. “Remus. I’m going to ask you a simple question, and I want a simple answer.” Another deep breath. “What the hell?”

Remus, however, wasn’t exactly paying his utmost attention. His eyes were wide and were everywhere at once, glancing at multiple points around the room in a matter of seconds. He was hugging himself tightly, scratching at his arms every few seconds.

The other two, becoming alarmed, approached him slowly. “M-moony? You okay?” Sirius asked softly. James could only gape, eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.

Remus didn’t seem to be paying them any attention, only shaking his head, muttering insanely to himself. He scratched harder at his arms, worrying Sirius further.

Moving slowly and keeping his hands in Remus’s eyesight, Sirius gently took his hands in his own, stopping him from clawing at his skin.

Though Remus, thankfully, was not scratching at his arms anymore, he still was muttering crazily to himself, glancing at everything so quickly, it made Sirius dizzy. His breathing was coming in short gasps, nearly at the point of hyperventilation.

“James?” Sirius asked. “D’you mind stepping back a bit? He’s having a panic attack, this isn’t good.”

James swallowed and nodded, going back a few paces.

“Moony.” Sirius said, directing his attention to Remus once more. He didn’t look at him. “Moony.” He tried again, firmer. “Hey. Look at me.” Sirius took Remus’ face in his hands, benignly directing his gaze onto his own face.

Remus’s panicked expression met his own concerned one. “P-Padfoo-oot?”

He was stammering horribly and his voice cracked in the middle, but that single word brought relief like nothing else could ever provide.

“Yeah, Moony, it’s me. I’m here. What’s wrong?” He added.

Remus was clutching at Sirius’s arms like Sirius was his savior from all the evil in the world. He whispered something. Too low for him to catch it.

“What’d you say, baby?” He was caught off guard when Remus started sobbing, almost hyperventilating again.

“I lost it I lost it I lost it. Sirius. I lost it,” he whimpered.

“Lost what, Moony? Tell me.”

“The locket. I lost the locket, Padfoot, I l-lost it. Tha-at was the th-thing that helped me, P-Padfoot. Before you gu-uys started coming w-with me ok those nights.” Another wave of tears was shed, and Sirius felt his blood run cold. It couldn’t be the same locket, could it?

“Remus, what did the locket look like? Was it silver, Moony? With a large red gem in the middle?”

But Remus didn’t answer. His jaw got tight, and a look of betrayal slid its way into his face. Shaking his head, eyes narrowed, he shoved Sirius away and sprinted out of the room and down the stairs.

It could have been a figment of his imagination, but Sirius could have sworn that he heard something; a very small, very hoarse voice whispering “How could you?”

*^/^*

“Well? What are you going to do about it, Padfoot?” James’s voice cut through the silence that had occupied the flashback.

He jumped, having forgotten the present world momentarily. He could still feel the guilt piercing through him like a stake through a vampire’s heart.

“I…I don’t know.” He stared determinedly at the floor, purposefully avoiding the exasperated gaze that he just KNEW was studying him as if he were a particularly fast snitch he had to figure out how to catch.

“You don’t know. You must have some idea of how to fix this! I’m sorry, Sirius, but you can’t keep hiding here forever, praying to Godric that Remus just magically forgives you.” James loved all his friends—with his whole heart—but he was getting tired of having this same conversation a million times over.

He knew that all Sirius needed was a little nudge in the right direction. Or perhaps just flinging him in the right direction instead would be more effective since otherwise Sirius would take two steps back for every one step he managed to go. If only he had a good metaphorical catapult (in the real-life form of words) to aid him.

“Don’t you understand,” Sirius started, and his voice contained millions of unshed tears, “that I have been racking my damn brain for the right way to fix this?” He took a step towards “I have spent literal hours thinking of what to do. And I have nothing.”

James’s eyes widened behind his glasses as he realized the implications of what he had just said.

“I’m falling apart, James.” James’s heart broke a bit.

They stood in silence for a while, each too caught up in their brainstorming to speak.

Then it hit him. And, though he would deny it until the day he died, his voice cracked with desperation as he yelled out a single idea that he remembered his own father had done for his mother when they were young.

“A LIST.” Sirius blinked, and then looked at him through narrowed eyelids.

“A what.”

James saw a gleam of hope in his eyes that sent a wave of excitement through him. “A list, Padfoot, keep up! You know, with the words after the numbers and they look organized if ya do it right and—“

“I know what a list is, Prongs.”

“Shut up for a second, Padfoot, that’s not my point.”

“Then get on with it, you moldy onion.”

“I will if you shut up, Sir Rotten Grape.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, giggling slightly. This might be his only chance to make things up with Remus and he felt giddy with relief.

“Now. As I was saying, a long time ago, you can make him a list of, I don’t know, all your favorite things about him or some cheesy crap like that. Maybe list how many ways you’re sorry or the different sized animals that are smaller than your love for him—just. Be creative. And make. Sure. He. Knows. How. Hecking. Sorry. You. Are.”

James, expecting Sirius to laugh at his idea, looked up to find him nodding thoughtfully.

“Yeah. That—that sounds great. Thank you so much, Prongs, I’ve gotta go,” He hugged James quickly, much to the other’s surprise, slinging an arm around his neck abruptly before dashing out as fast as he could.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” James said to the empty room, scratching the back of his neck.

Next part

#wolfstar #sorta angst #with a happy ending #mah writing #my fics #this is my first fic #heh #*sweats*#its probably really bad #but like #i tried #so #yeah

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edourado · 7 years

Text

Hungry

Oh, Kastle.

This is for my fiery red @theserpentgod, who tagged me on this post by @nxtyourfirstrodeo and requested a fic from this simple, but very interesting and suggestive gifset. Also inspired by this one, because I could not help myself.

It is, also, a second attempt at the “skin hungry” prompt by @primarybufferpanel. I already delivered that one (here) but I’ve always felt like the “skin hungry” element was a little lacking. So this is me trying again.

This is shorter than usual, since I wanted to deliver it quickly. But, for those of you who like longer, lenghtier smutty Kastle, don’t worry. Some of that is coming.

This is immediatelly after the events of Never Had. You don’t HAVE to read it, but, you know. Couldn’t hurt ;-)

Much love ;*

She wakes up worried about him.

He insisted on sleeping on the couch, refusing even the possibility of her giving up her bed for him, even all injured and bruised as he was.

Before her alarm goes off, she sits up and smiles, inhaling the smell of fresh coffee.

Sure enough, he is standing there, moving around her kitchen with a familiarity she couldn’t claim to have herself - he knew where all her pots and pans and glasses and plates went. She, sometimes, got confused in the mess.

“Good morning”, she says, and it’s almost a question.

“Mornin’”, he replies, voice gruff and deep. Probably the first word he said after waking up. She picks up the mug he gives her, wondering how many people could claim the Punisher knows how they take their coffee.

“How did you sleep?”she asks after taking a sip, wondering where he had found not only a waffle maker, but the ingredients to make them.

“Good enough.”

Soon, he is putting two waffles in two plates and moving to the small table, motioning for her to join him with his head.

“Let me see”, she asks when they sit and he lets her touch his face, inspecting the wounds the grazing bullets left on his cheek last night. It’s red and angry. Karen sighs, remembering what it felt like to lie on the floor, Matt holding her, stopping her from going to him, probably saving her from getting herself killed.

“You’re not going out today, right?” she asks, dropping her hand, letting him eat, picking up her own fork.

Frank gives her a look. It’s not angry, but it’s definitely annoyed. He knows he has to stay put, at least until they manage to get an advantage. Liking it, though, it’s a different story.

“I can bring you something from the street”, she offers, eating the very good waffle he made her. “Do you want anything?”

Again, he fixes her with a look, but this one is different. It’s one of those, that make her blush and curl her toes. Even if she wants to look away - it’s too intense, that stare, he might as well be reading all of her thoughts - she holds it, even dares a tiny smile.

“Don’t know. Burger, maybe?”

She blinks and raises her brows.

“Junk food? That’s a first.”

“I dodged three bullets last night. Figure I earned it.”

“Indeed you have”, she says, smiling too much, tone it down, geez, she reprimands herself. “Burger it is. Fries?”

“With bacon.”

“Of course.”

“You got work today?” he asks after a few seconds of silence. She nods and is surprised when he makes a face. It’s only for a second, maybe even less than that, but he pouts. It’s gone in a flash when he takes another bite of his waffle. She is the one that stares this time, and she keeps staring until he motions to her mug.

“Drink your coffee.”

It’s strong and bitter, but he knows she takes it with one sugar, so there’s a faint sweetness to it.

Karen is reluctant to get up and go to work. She likes it when he’s here. She feels safe, and it’s early in the morning, so the city is not yet so loud, the light is golden through her curtains, the smell of coffee and the silence and the light and the stares make her want to stay. He makes her want to stay.

Alas, she has to go. It doesn’t take too long for her phone to start pinging, messages coming in, demanding her attention.

“Go”, he says when she gets a call. “I’ll do the dishes.”

She’s talking to Trish on the phone, strategizing, coming up with meetings that were supposed to be about money laundering, but is actually about opening doors for the vigilantes in their lives.

His towel is hanging beside hers in the bathroom, the first aid kit (which stopped being “first aid” a long while ago) is on the sink. When she opens the cabinet, she sees the deodorant he forgot there once and now just lived here, along with shaving cream and her own products. His disposable toothbrush that was supposed to have been disposed already is sitting there next to her slightly fancier one.

The steam of her shower was still fogging up the bathroom, so there was no reasonable explanation for the chill that ran down her back at the sight of his shirt in the hamper. It was, she would have to admit, just the thought of having him here so regularly, occupying her space, making it look like…

Sighing, she smothers those thoughts, shaking her head, promising herself she would dwell on them once he was gone, even if she shouldn’t.

She was almost ready to go when Trish calls her again, asking for some files they had dug up weeks ago, that might have pertinent information.

“Yes, I got it here”, she answers, distracted for a moment with the work. “Tell me the numbers again.”

They are both excited about their new discovery - a technicality that would make Jessica’s and Matt’s work much easier, speeding the whole thing up.

“What are you gonna tell Ellison?” Trish is asking, but she’s distracted again.

Frank is standing in front of the kitchen sink, doing the dishes. It’s a simple enough image, except his shirt is very… Fitted. She can see the muscles of his back and shoulders, the defined lines of them before the fabric gets loose again around his waist. His pants are not so tight, but they rest low on his hips. He put the dish rag on his back pocket.

Karen swallows some extra saliva that suddenly pooled in her mouth and shakes her head, to try and remove that image. She does not need to be thinking about that the entire day.

“Ok, I’m out”, she announces and he looks behind him while she walks to the door, purse on her shoulder, briefcase full of files on her hand.

“You be careful”, he says in that voice of his and she would pray for him to stop sounding like that, except she likes it too much.

With a smile his way, she goes, gets out of that apartment because, honestly, she needs some air.

She is wondering how is she going to survive having him for a roommate without melting into a pile of wanton bones when Trish arrives for their meeting.

“So”, she asks after everything is dealt with and they stop for coffee on their way back to their own offices. “How’s… Francis?”

With a sigh, Karen thinks about lying. Saying it’s fine, it’s going good, telling her about his health and how he’s doing after being shot at.

But, in all honesty, she is tired of this. She can’t talk to Matt about stuff like that - God, she can’t even imagine that -, nor to Foggy, poor thing has enough on his plate dealing with his best friend being Daredevil, she doesn’t think he could handle her feelings for the Punisher.

She needs someone. A friend, someone that understands her and won’t judge the crazy things going through her mind, her heart and her body.

She figures Trish fits that description perfectly.

“He’s… Present.”

Trish squints.

“Like…”

“Yeah”. They both take a sip of their coffees. “He occupies to whole place. Even when he’s not there, does that make sense?”

“Oh yeah.”

“And I swear, I’m about to… I don’t know, I might be going crazy.”

“Listen. I’m not very familiar with him, only met the guy twice. But hey. I get you. I really do.”

Karen is feeling a bit better when she gets home again, holding a bag with his burger and fries. Talking to Trish really was the best decision. They laughed and they speculated and imagined and wondered.

Closing and locking the door behind her, she looks around for him. When she doesn’t find him, she moves to place her things on the coffee table.

He was in the bathroom, and Karen finds herself mute at the sight of him again.

The door was cracked open, she imagined to let the steam of the shower out. He was standing shirtless in front of the mirror, hands on the sink, the muscles of his arms bare and evident.

She’s just done mentally shaking herself again, to try and clear up her mind, when he looks her way and their eyes meet.

His body is what caught her attention. His eyes were the ones that caught hers. But it’s the big bruise on his chest that makes her gasp.

Before she can even think about it, she’s there, pushing the bathroom door open and he’s telling her it could be worse. Her face must betray her concern.

“Was this from that gun you told me about?”

“Probably”, he says, looking at his reflection in the mirror, and Karen leans against the counter, not able to take her eyes from the big purple bruise, sickly looking, a little under and to the right of his heart.

“I saw when it hit you”, she says while he runs a big wad of cotton over it, cleaning the scrapes left behind by his vest. “And then the ones on your face, I thought-”

She interrupts herself, not wishing to dwell on what she felt when she saw him fall, unconscious.

“I’m glad Red held you back”, he says, cringing when the antiseptic stings him.

“Yeah”, she agrees, taking the cotton from his hand, taking over in cleaning the scratches. “Me too.”

He winces when she presses a little harder than he had been, his hand closing around the edge of the counter.

“Sorry, sorry.”

She is focused on not hurting him, but being thorough, so she doesn’t immediately notice him watching her. When she raises her eyes and lets them wander around him, looking for more things to fix, she sees it.

And then she notices he’s really close. Really close. She is standing on the space between him and the sink, where she leans, and he is close enough that she sees his pupils dilate and contract.

Karen holds his gaze again, for a moment longer, and then looks down to prepare another wad of cotton to clean the wounds on his face.

He shuts his eyes tight when she touches the embedded cotton on his face and it’s like she can feel it herself. Holding her breath, she keeps it there, but leans closer to him, placing a kiss on his other cheek, free hand on his neck, trying to soothe.

It’s just meant to soothe, both of them. His bruises and her memory, to comfort both of them, and she meant to stay only a second, but the hand that gripped the counter raises and lands on her back, keeping her where she is.

She can’t see what she’s doing like that. She needs to lean back and look to know where to clean, where to press, where to be gentler. But he doesn’t let go of her. So she doesn’t move from there. She can feel his breath on her shoulder, and that shiver is back, running up and down her body when he closes his hand around the fabric of her blouse, face moving to the left towards hers and his lips land on her neck.

Her own eyes fall closed when he drags them a little, almost as if getting himself acquainted with that part of her, before his hand, still balled in a fist and holding her blouse on her back, presses her closer to him and he lifts his face until he has his mouth right on that spot under her ear, on her jaw, and she’s breathing heavily, right hand gripping his shoulder while the right one lets go of the cotton to sneak to the back of his head, slipping down his back when he lifts his head to catch her mouth with his.

There is a monster inside her stomach that threatens to consume her when he touches his tongue to hers, letting out some sort of growl that has her toes curling all over again.

He is fully pressed against her, now, both arms around her, pulling her blouse from inside her skirt, kissing her dizzy, and she’s trying to hold on to him, sighing to the ceiling when he lets go of her mouth in favor of her neck again, this time sucking on skin, pulling it through his teeth and she doesn’t care in the least that that is definitely gonna leave a mark. Let him do it, as many as he wants, she doesn’t care, she wants all of them.

Suddenly, he’s pulling back to pull her blouse over her head and she gets a glimpse of his face - serious as ever, with a hint of desperation that made that monster inside her purr with pride and possession.

Frank throws the article behind him without a thought and moved back in, his hands on her face, one thumb pulling on her lower lip, the other swiping over one of her eyes before he slides them up, weaving in her hair, pulling a bit to make her offer her neck to him and she grips his biceps when his mouth meets her skin again, lips and teeth and tongue. She loves it, maybe she loves it too much, letting go of his arms to support her hands on the sink, head tumbling back for him, one of his hands still on her hair while the other slides down her back.

He’s kissing her again, charged, full of that thing he has been hinting with his stares, with that way he looked at her lately.

It’s also full of something she never felt before in a kiss. His mouth and his tongue and his hands, he touches and kisses her like she’s water and he’s parched.

Like he’s hungry.

She feels like she’s his already. Feels like he’s hers, the sounds he makes might as well be his surrendering.

Karen lifts her left hand to hold him by his shoulder when he finds the zipper of her skirt on her back. Her right hands runs the length of his arm, from his wrist to his shoulder and then down his back, those muscles she was admiring that morning taut and solid under her palm.

He lowers the zipper on her skirt and nips on she lobe of her ear. She yelps, surprised, when he lifts her skirt and pulls it over her head too, instead of lowering it down her legs like she expected. Maybe the laughter she lets out is a little nervous, since this is really happening, she really is standing here in her bathroom with him, just in her underwear.

It’s worth it, because he smiles too, throwing it back like he did with her top, such an open smile, and silences her laughter with another kiss, sneaking his arms around her, and hers are around him, she’s careful not to touch the wounds on his face, trying to commit the feel of him to memory, his solid body against hers, how small she feels inside his arms, that monster inside her purring at his kisses, at his hands, the way he grips her bottom before lifting her.

She’s sure he’s going to sit her on the counter, she’s fine with it, whatever he wants, she can’t think of anything she would deny him right now. She lets go of him with her left hand to support her weight on the cold counter, but once he has a hold of her, hands on her thighs and her right arm around his shoulder, he turns around and presses her against the door.

Only he doesn’t want the door. With his tongue sliding around hers, he takes a step back, bangs the door shut and then another step forward, pressing her to the wall. The tiles are cold against her skin, and she glides because of the steam of his shower, still making the bathroom warmer than it should be in the early days of fall.

And then he slows down. She can feel all of him, her skin is vibrating because of it, it’s her turn to press his skin between her teeth, and he sighs in her ear, one big hand exploring her leg while the other remains tight and still on her thigh, making sure she doesn’t budge from the spot he has her.

She can feel his hesitation in the way his hand finally leaves it’s spot and rises to her head, caressing her hair. It’s full of care, it’s tender and it’s wondering.

She doesn’t want him to wonder, not right now, she needs him to be sure, as sure as she is, so Karen makes him look at her, catches his eyes for a moment, trying to tell him, trying to make him see.

Her lips on his are soft at first, because she understands, she really does, what this might mean for him, so she is willing to slow down a bit, just to make sure.

Frank seems to understand it, because the hand on her hair is no longer soft. He’s pressing her mouth to his again, opening his up and sliding his tongue against hers one more time, sensually again, hungry again, moaning again.

Just to make sure, she redirects the hand on her waist to her back, leaning off the wall, relying on him for balance, placing his fingers on the hook of her bra and he is quick to respond, unhooking it in a second, pulling the thing off her, mouth lower again, hand pressing so good, and her eyes are closed, enjoying it while her own hand slides from his back, stopping on his neck for a second, around and down his chest, careful around his wound, landing on the waist of his pants, undoing them, wincing when he bites on a big chunk of her skin as she grips him, that growling making her feel powerful, mellow and pliable, putty in his hands.

Her moan echoes on the tiles of her tiny bathroom when he sinks into her after tugging and pulling on her underwear, probably ruining it, and she bites her lip to keep them in, because she doesn’t trust the walls, doesn’t trust her neighbors, doesn’t trust herself.

He moves deliciously, amazingly, just right, perfect, and Karen tightens her legs around him, nails sinking on his shoulder and fingers gripping his hair, half aware of his breath against her ear, lips on flesh, tongue coming out to taste the salt of her skin, hips thrusting so good.

She hears his name leave her lips, and he hums his response, both hands exploring now, touching what they can of her breasts, since they’re tightly pressed against his chest, lowering and gripping her legs, adjusting them like this and that, left hand finding her right one, fingers intertwining, and he moves both his arm and hers behind her back, making her arch against him, she wants to cry at how good it feels, and it comes out strangled, because she’s still biting on her own lower lip, but his thumb is there to pull it free, and she finds herself wrapping her tongue around his finger, sucking it inside her mouth when he touches her lips, and his teeth are pressing again, there at the base of her neck, biting and sucking, moving within her so good, so good she thinks she might fly right out of her body.

When he licks a path from one side of her neck to the other, she lets her head fall against the wall, right hand still tight around his on her back, the left one in his hair.

While he moves, his mouth makes it’s way up her neck, and she moves to kiss him again, she can’t get enough of kissing him.

He has his lips on her cheek when she opens her eyes and sees their reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her legs are tight around him, the muscles on his back are taut and shifting while he moves.

The vision of Frank pressing her against the wall like that is not something she’s gonna forget so soon, and she keeps watching, watching as he moves, as he plants his mouth wherever he can reach, left arm around her while his right one holds her under her knee, the hold almost a leverage for his thrusts, long and measured and hard, her throat is dry, she reaches a hand to hold him, the reflection of her fingers on his back and her legs around his waist and his grunts in her ear making her want more it it, more of it all, his chest against her, his skin is hot, feverish, she slides against him, both of them sweating, she needs more, more, more, more of him, she can’t get enough.

Karen stretches the leg he’s not holding, and it’s a small bathroom. Her right foot finds leverage on the sink, and she pushes against it, creating some resistance against him.

Frank lets go of her hand behind her back to pull on the roots of her hair again, speeding up, sending electrical shocks through her. Next, he lets go of her leg, but she keeps it there, and hugs her waist, pressing her to him further, she can barely move, he has her arched and twisted against him, but she loves it, closes her eyes again, arms around him, nails on his skin because she’s about to explode, she needs to hold on to something, God, please don’t let him stop, don’t ever let him stop.

She’s barely aware of her cries bouncing off the walls when she sees white and her body goes limp against him. Frank is kissing her when he steps back, carrying her away from the wall.

Next thing she knows, she’s lying on her bed, his hands are all over her, so is his mouth, soothing, kissing, caressing, nipping, pressing and licking, she’s shivering. But then his mouth is on hers again, he’s bending her leg, he’s on top of her, fuck, there he is, again, slower, she’s sensitive, but he’s so warm, it’s so good.

“Again”, he says in her ear, and she doesn’t even know what he means, but her body does, apparently, because she’s vibrating again, hands tight on whatever part she can find of him, responding to that hand he sneaked between them, how does he know to do that?

“Open your eyes”, he says, locking her leg around his hip and she does, sees him there above her, looks straight in his eyes, and he is inspecting her face, moving, moving, faster now, there’s a drop of sweat running from his brow down the side of his face and she reaches to pick it up.

Frank closes his own eyes and leans into her touch, removing his hand from between them and she whines, because she misses it immediately, but he’s speeding up, his thrusts are harder and he kisses her silent.

“One more time for me, c’mon”.

She opens her mouth to his kiss and he picks her hands up, pressing so hard she can’t even close her fingers around his, and pins them over her head on the mattress. Karen is about to ask him to let her touch him when he lets go, preferring to run his own hands around her body, and she holds him, bringing his mouth back to hers while he pushes her over that precipice again.

His head is resting on her chest and her fingers are roaming around his back, both of their breathing back under control, but their bodies still warm and slick with sweat, when she remembers his dinner.

“I got that burger for you”, she offers, realizing she’s thirsty, her throat is dry, and he shakes with quiet laughter, placing a kiss on her collarbone and turning them until they’re lying on their sides, and the look on his face is so self satisfied she almost laughs.

“I’ll order another one”, he says, nose bumping against hers sweetly. “I’m starving.”

He gets up to do just that, pressing kisses on her before going, and she walks towards the bathroom to take a shower.

Her reflection shows her all the spots he pressed and kissed and sucked and bit, and she can’t help but feel good at the sight, as shocking as it is.

She is rinsing shampoo from her hair when he walks in, and they kiss under the warm spray of the shower.

Karen falls asleep against his chest, tired and sore and so satisfied it should be illegal. Well, he’s the Punisher. It is a little illegal.

#kastle #kastle fic #kastle ff #kastle smut #smut #Frank and Karen #Karen and Frank #writing #theserpentgod #nxtyourfirstrodeo #primarybufferpanel #Hell's Kitchen Chronicles #kastlelibrary

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supermonsneha-blog · 5 years

Text

Romantic Birthday Ideas for Your Beloved

If you want to set up the most ideal romantic birthday set up for your loved one, you have to come up with the best romantic birthday ideas and usually, these ideas would involve stressful planning, you would need a lot of time mapping it out to a T, and most of all, you need lots of money. Now, in order to hone in on the right moves and the proper setup that would seal your venture as a romantic birthday, you have to consider a lot of things, but of course, if you love the person, the effort is negligible in order to make that person happy.

The very first thing that you have to take into account would be your partner's personality. If your partner is the extrovert kind, then inviting all his friends and colleagues without him or her knowing it would do the trick, at the same time, preparing his or her favorite dish. You can also convince his friends to come up with speeches expounding on the virtues of your partner and the reasons why they are friends with him or her. If you are able to set this up, then you would be in his or her good graces forever bachelorette party gifts .

Now, if your partner is the low-key kind of person, an enormous bash would not be the appropriate thing to arrange because it may only put him or her off and it what you have prepared would not be bringing out the result that you wanted which is to make your partner happy. Here, you can invite his or her close friends and immediate family and that when implemented would really score some huge points with your partner in love.

If he or she is an athlete, run with him or her, if he or she is a musician, compose something for him ore her without them knowing it, create something that is closely related to their personality or the things that keep them occupied most of the time. You might want to set up an anime party if your partner loves anime, buy him or her a life-size replica of an anime character and he or she will hands down, love it.

If you and your partner are both adventurous, take him or her for a hike where you can spend his or her special day with the beauty of nature. Prepare your camping stuff, go out on a camping date. Or take him/her along the beach and experience sunset together. Go out on an impulse. Have an unplanned trip. Experience the hype of adrenaline with different outdoor activities. It will be your partner's most special birthday ever.

If you are working on a really tight budget, and you would not want a simple "Happy Birthday" greeting, then it is about time to expose all the creativity within you and come up with great romantic birthday ideas that would not entail spending huge amounts of money.

A dinner for only the two of you out on the porch under the moonlit night complemented with scented candles and some of his favorite food can become an instant romantic dinner for you and your loved one. A cheap champagne would do in the meantime and the idea of exerting effort to set this up is a romantic enough idea. You can even write a cute invitation letter addressed to your partner and tell him or her that they need to bring the invitation before they can partake in the dinner table.

If you want to celebrate your partner's birthday first thing in the morning, prepare a breakfast in bed. Wake your loved one with a kiss and a serving of his or her favorite breakfast with his/her favorite cup of coffee or tea. Make it extra special by having a cupcake lighted with candle. You can also prep up the bedroom the night before while your partner is asleep. Put up balloons and streamers on the wall so that your partner will wake up to a birthday surprise. Be sure to prepare the camera so you can capture the moment and your loved one's surprised face.

If you're a good baker, then make a personalized cake only for your special someone. Or send some pastries of food over the office for him/her to share with officemates. Both of you can still enjoy a hearty lunch or dinner by preparing home-cooked meals where the two of you can share together. You can also ask his/her friends to call or leave a birthday message to your loved one. Just let your creativity flow, you can still make more ways to celebrate a romantic birthday without spending too much.

You can end the day still having the birthday ambiance by pampering your partner for a relaxing night at the spa. Or if you are working on a tight budget, you can prepare for a personalized spa at home. Dim the lights and set up some aroma candles in the bathroom. While soothing your sore bodies and relaxing on the tub, talk about things that happened through the day like how your partner's birthday went. With this, you are having a more creative and romantic way of bonding with each other.

But why do you have to wait for your partner's birthday to exert an effort to make him or her feel special when you can have the rest of the year to express your affection to your loved one? Aside from celebrating special occasions today, it is way more thoughtful to surprise your partner on random days. Giving your lady love even a stem of rose on days unexpected will eliminate all the stress from the day's work. Placing a post-it note on the mirror or the fridge where your man usually goes with this daily routine will give him inspiration throughout the day. Little notes, home-cooked meals, giving massage, all these and more are the simple gestures to make your partner special not only on his/her special day throughout the year.

#homemadehealthycheaplunchideasforwork

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fanfictionformost-blog · 7 years

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Smitten With You Van

A/N: I've been a little obsessed with Nicole Dollanganger’s song Smitten With You so I decided to use it as inspiration for this fic! I hope you enjoy.

This summer was by far the best you’d ever had, you were working as a photographer following the band Catfish and the Bottlemen. The tour was nearly half over and you were absolutely smitten with Van Mccann. He was preforming 7 on stage and you were standing in front of the security snapping photos. The way Van swayed his hips while he played the guitar and sang hypnotized you, your cheeks burned red as you slipped into a fantasy where Van was moving his hips to a much less wholesome beat. As the song came to an end you shook yourself out of your smutty thoughts. When you brought your eyes back to the stage you found Vans eyes waiting to meet yours with a knowing smirk resting on his lips. You rolled your eyes and tried to will the blush from your cheeks. You then turned your focus to the crowd behind you, you wanted to catch a few photos of all the fans. They were so energetic, everyone looked like they were having a great time. This made you smile and thankfully chased off all your impure thoughts, it even brought your cheeks back to their regular color. When you heard the boys start their closing song you turned around to watch hoping that you would have some more self control this time. With a little teeth gritting you managed to keep your cool all the way through final bows. You quickly made your way back stage for post show photos.

Once back stage it didn't take long to find the boys, all you had to do was follow the sound of laughter. “Good show lads!” you said while entering the lounge which was now occupied by drinking and smoking boys. “Thanks love” Bondy said with a wink. You managed to catch a photo of him mid wink. “Yeah, thanks love.” Van copied Bondy but his tone was much more flirtatious and his eyes looked hungry. This made you feel flushed so you hid your face behind your camera and snapped a few quick photos. Van still noticed though, he made that evident with a deep confident chuckle. You hated how obvious you were, you mentally kicked yourself then took the final pictures you would need for the night. “Well ive got all I need so ill be off now, have a little fun for me tonight.” You said while placing your camera into your purse. “Why don’t you join us for once and have a little fun for yourself?” Van asked while raising an eyebrow to you. “No can do, sorry. You know me all work and no play.” You answered a little dishonestly, you could go out with them but Van made you so nervous you thought you would just make a fool of yourself. You decided it would be better to love Van from afar and behind a lens. “Okay if you insist. One day I will get you to play though, mark my words” Van said as though he knew for sure he was right. His confidence and cocky tone did things to you. Your cheeks once again betrayed you and filled with blood . Van chuckled again and then whispered something to Larry. You waved goodbye and then quickly turned and left.

Your whole walk back to your hotel was spent thinking about Van. You kept running unrealistic fantasies through your head. Fantasies where you build up the nerve and ask Van out then immediately pull him off to some empty bathroom to show him just how smitten you were with a quick hand job. Well that escalated quickly you thought to yourself. Your mind spared no time when it came to thinking fantasizing about Van.You unlocked your hotel door and headed straight for your bag of clothes so you could put on some pj's. The whole time imagining Vans lips all over your body. After you changed you gathered your laptop a blanket and your camera then you curled up on the arm chair opposite of the bed. Time to try and get some editing done. You uploaded the nights photos and tried your very best to focus on the work in front of you, but every time Vans face popped up on your computer screen the room got a little hotter. You soon realized you weren't going to get any work done, so you decided to give in to your carnal desires and take care of there thoughts once and for all. You laid down on the bed closed your eyes and began to touch yourself but you pretended it was Van doing the touching. You imagined your soft fingers were his rough ones and that your quick breathing was his deep pants in your ear. Your release came quicker then you thought it would and when you finished you felt quite relaxed. You drifted right off to sleep.

All night you dreamed of Van, when you awoke you found yourself a little disappointed that your dream was not real. You shook the feeling off and then started your day with a much needed cold shower. Once you felt all fresh you hopped out and got dressed. You really needed to get serious about editing now or else you would be hearing from your boss. This was gonna take coffee, focus, and some extreme levels of will power. With the perfect music playing in the background you began your work. It only took three hours four cups of coffee and one “me time” break to finish, you were pretty proud of yourself. You really deserved a treat so you decided to take a quick trip across the street to a cafe for something sweet.

You noticed Vans tall slender frame as soon as you walked into the cafe. You quietly approached him from behind and then exclaimed “OH MY GOD! Your Van Mccann! I’m your biggest fan!” In your highest pitched voice. Van jumped at the sudden noise “ Are you now?” he asked while turning around to see the face of the person who was accosting him. When he saw it was you he let out an excited laugh. “Well then you'd better stay and party with my band and I after the show tonight! My real biggest fan would.” Van said raising both eyebrows as though what he were saying was a given. “You got me there... I guess tonight we party?” You said trying t sound confident but it came off as more of a question. “Yes!” Van laughed “I knew I would get to you” He said confidently. “Trust me you wont regret hanging with us, tonight's going to be a good one Party in the lounge after the show then after party on the bus” Van told you with that smirk once again written on his face, That smirk that your eyes lingered on for a moment to long. Van of course noticed your obvious behavior and took it as an opportunity to give you a once over. The sexual tension felt heavy, “Order for Van” the waitress called out breaking the moment. “Well that’s me but i’ll see you tonight yeah?” Van asked. “course, i’m a lady of my word” You answered. “Better be, I’m looking forward to it.” Van said while reaching out and placing a hand on your waist. The contact made you shiver and dirty thoughts popped back into your head. You felt your cheeks heat up. Don’t be obvious, Don’t be obvious, DON’T BE OBVIOUS! You kept thinking. “Your always blushing, I wonder whats going on in that pretty little head of yours.” Van stated. “Nothing good.” you responded now a smirk playing on your lips. You had no idea where the confidence to say that came from but there was no chance of not being obvious now.

The show that night seemed longer then usual, probably because you were so nervous about what would follow it. You thought you would do something stupid and ruin your working relationship with Van. All you wanted to do was push him down onto your hotel bed and do all the things you imagined you were doing last night, but that was way to risque of a move. The show had finally started to wind down and you realized you had hardly taken any photos... oops. You decided to head back stage a little early so you could relax and gain some composer before the boys got back there. You sat on the couch in the lounge looking through your camera roll until the boys walked in bringing a boom of laughter with him. You took a photo of them all smiling and looking sweaty walking in to the lounge. I might just keep this one for me you thought smiling down at your camera. “No no no, no work tonight” Van said while taking your camera from your hands. “Hey I need that!” you protested through laughter. “Sorry love you wont have anything to hide behind tonight.” Van told you before handing your camera to Bob who immediately took a photo of you and said “Don’t worry I will take care of it.” You just pouted a little and crossed your arms over your chest not knowing what to do with you hands without your camera. The boys all laughed in unison which made you realize how immature you must look so you unfolded your arms and played with your hair a bit pretending to fix it, Van chuckled “You don’t know what to do with yourself do you?” He asked before sitting down next to you. “I really don’t, Help me?” You asked sweetly laying your head on the back of the couch but keeping your eyes on Van. “Alright I will guide your way through the perfect night, first things first have some of this.” Van said while handing you a beer from off the coffee table in front of you. You gladly took it taking a drink as soon as you got it in your hands. When you finished your swallow of beer you looked at Van innocently and asked “Okay, Whats next professor fun?”

“That’s Professor fun sir, to you! and next is you tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.” Van stated. “ Oh my apologies Sir!” you said playfully. “Well go on then.” Van suggested. “hmm... I don’t know, i’m quite smitten with you I suppose.” You told Van looking at him through your eyelashes. “I said to tell me something I don’t know love.” Van said while leaning in as if to get a better look at you. His confidence was over powering, It made you feel competitive and playful. You leaned in matching Vans intensity and looking him straight in the eye. “You have lovely eyes, do you know that?” you questioned tilting your head ever so slightly. “I’ve been told a time or two before.” He responded. “Okay well do you know that the thought of you fucking me kept me from my work last night?” You fired back throwing all caution to the wind. Vans eyes shot wide open and a huge grin spread across his face. “I had no idea.” Van said sounding shocked and quite pleased. Your cheeks got that familiar blushing burn. You broke eye contact for the first time and looked down at the ground, then you let out a small giggle. Van laughed with you then said “ I can’t say I feel bad love, I would keep you from your work every night of the week if i could. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there.” You just smiled up at him unable to think of anything to say. Van leaned again this time leaving no space between you so he could kiss your smile. Your heart raced as you kissed him back. You had to pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t asleep, This summer sure was turning out to be a dream.

#fanfiction #fan fic #van mccann #Catfish and the Bottlemen

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westwoodhomesforsaleinma-blog · 6 years

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Needham Home for Sale in MA : Best Kept Secrets to Sell Your Home Fast

Are you under pressure to put your Needham home up for sale? Find out how to sell your home fast in this post.

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When you're facing a difficult situation like financial hardship, bankruptcy, divorce, or simply moving away because of a career change or needing a large space for your growing family, you may be feeling the pressure to sell your current home.

Selling a home can be a nerve-wracking experience, especially if it is your first time. Even experienced sellers still feel some level of anxiety when it comes to parting with their home.

In today's competitive market, having a beautiful home is not enough. Your home must stand out, be more appealing, more attractive, and better priced over other Needham homes for sale in MA.

This means putting more time and effort into the selling process, but when you are already under so much emotional pressure, how will you manage to move your home out of the market faster over the other homes for sale?

I am here to tell you it can be done. There are homes that have been sold within two to three weeks of its listing.

If you're wondering how they did it, here are the best-kept secrets to selling your home fast.

Secure the help of the best real estate agent

You need a great - no, the best - real estate agent in Needham. Your real estate agent is your best tool in selling your home.

Hire the wrong one and your home will stay on the market for months. Hire the best one and you'll have someone committed to selling your home fast and for the right price.

How do you know which one to hire? Find a reputable local agent who is well-experienced and with a solid online presence.

Hire an agent who works full time in the real estate business for more than five years, and one who works in the Needham market, like me Sheila Moylan.

How can I help sell your home?

1. You can rely on my skills and professional experience and trust that I will do everything in my capacity to help sell your home quickly.

2. You will be entitled to my professional advice regarding how to price your home right.

Your home's price is the most significant factor that determines the success or failure of your home selling process. When your property is priced right, you let more potential buyers for your home. I have priced so many homes so you can be assured that I have mastered the process of pricing your property right.

3. You are entitled to my professional advice regarding how to best maximize your home to make it more appealing to buyers.

I've been working with buyers for years. I know what buyers want. I can walk into your home and suggest areas where you can improve your property so that buyers will find it more attractive.

4. You will gain a team of professionals to help market your property extensively, both online and offline.

Did you know that 95% of home buyers first search the Internet when looking for a home? If your home is not listed on any of the Internet real estate platforms, nor properly marketed on any of the social media platforms, your home for sale won’t be found.

5. You’ll have a professional real estate adviser and trained negotiator that will take your side and back you up when it comes to price negotiations.

6. I can make your home selling process easier, faster, and convenient.

Visit here https://www.WestwoodHomesForSaleInMA.com/testimonials/to find out for yourself what my previous clients thought of my performance.

Boost that curb appeal

First impressions last. In real estate, the first few seconds are crucial. You only have one chance to create a good impression.

In those few seconds, a buyer decides whether he likes the house or not. That’s why it is extremely important that your home has a great curb appeal.

How do you improve your home's curb appeal? Here are some budget-friendly suggestions that will elevate the look of your home to make buyers fall in love.

Take care of your lawn. Lawns are a major component of the front yard so make sure to keep your lawn in good condition. Mowing, raking, and edging can create a beautiful lawn.

Pruning bushes and trees keep the front yard neat and orderly. You want the exterior to look well-maintained, without gnarly and overgrown foliage.

Plant some shrubs and flowers. A home looks more beautiful when the garden has some color. Adding shrubs and flowers make the house look more inviting.

Clean the walkway, steps, porch, and front door. You can either power wash or brush them. Cleaning them helps them look newer and is also a great prep for painting.

Paint or refinish the front door. The front door may be small in size compared to the lawn, trees, porch, and bushes, but because it serves as the entrance to the house, it draws the buyer's eye.

Paint the porch if necessary. If your home has a front porch and it’s looking dinghy and worn out, cleaning and painting it can improve its overall look and enhance your home's curb appeal.

Depersonalize

You want to showcase the property, so take away anything that can distract the buyer.

Photos, awards, books, etc, all these items should be removed and placed in boxes.

You want to help the buyer picture themselves living in the house, and that can be difficult when you have a huge portrait of yourself hanging in the living room.

Clean everything!

Buyers love clean homes.

Clean homes are appealing, attractive, and more importantly, ready to be used and won't require much work for the buyers. If you want your home to sell fast and bring top dollar, you need to start the cleaning process.

Cleaning for home selling takes much more effort than your regular weekend cleanup. It can be time-consuming but worth the effort you'll put into it.

Cleaning is one of the cost-effective ways to get your Needham house sale ready and won't cost you a few dollars because you most likely have all the materials needed in your kitchen.

Here’s how you do it.

First, get rid of the clutter.

This is easier said than done especially if you still have no new place to move your things into.

Your home is most likely to be filled with mementos, furniture, clothes, etc, which have all piled up especially if you've been living in that house for a long time.

One of the best solutions that worked for many home sellers is to hire a storage unit.

Transfer most of your unused items and belongings to a storage facility. Keep only the ones you are regularly using, and this goes for kitchen furniture, chairs, gadgets, clothes, books, collections, etc.

Once you've cleared the house of many of your personal items and displays, it is time to clean.

Second, prepare a cleaning schedule for each room of the house.

Doing this gives you enough time to deep clean the room without occupying most of the day.

Cleaning takes about an hour to two hours, depending on how large the room is, and how occupied it is.

Third, prioritize cleaning rooms that are most visited like the living room, kitchen, master's bedroom, and bathroom.

These rooms are the ones buyers really check out, so make sure to do a good job in cleaning everything.

Take your time to clean each room from top to bottom and corners to corners. Swipe all the drawers and cabinets, vacuum under the bed, and organize displays.

Don't forget to clean the windows, top of the ceiling fans, and underneath the cabinets.

Kitchen Cleaning Tips

They say the kitchen is the heart of the home. It plays a huge part in many buyers decision to buy the house or not. When cleaning your kitchen here are some things to remember:

Wash all dishes, pots, and pans and put them away.

Remove all knick-knacks and other clutter on the counters, then wipe the counter clean.

Wipe down all surfaces including appliances, cabinet doors, refrigerator, etc

Clean the stovetop, including the burners and hood.

Clean the refrigerator too. Throw expired food away - some nosy buyers check inside to showcase an organized refrigerator content.

Bathroom Cleaning Tips

Pay attention to your bathroom. This is the part of the house that buyers get to test and use during showings.

Clear the bathroom counter of any clutter and personal items like hygiene kit, makeup, etc.

Thoroughly clean all surface areas of the bathroom, making sure that you get rid of mold, mildew, and surface stains.

Clean inside the cabinets. Throw away old towels and replace them with fresh new towels.

Fix minor repair issues

In preparing your home to sell, you might be tempted to have many things fixed. Why pour out your money on repairs that will have little returns? It is more practical to spend your money on minor fixes.

Identify the repairs your house needs. Here’s a list of things of minor repairs you can do in your home:

Repair any cracks in the walls and ceilings

Fix leaky plumbing

Replace any broken windows

Replace broken appliances

Paint it!

As I’ve mentioned before, first impressions matter. Painting is the best way to update your home’s look without breaking the bank.

A home that’s clean, well-kept and properly maintained will attract more buyers than homes that are not.

Here are a few more benefits of painting your home:

Most buyers prefer move-in ready homes, so if you have your house painted, it means they won’t have to do it anymore which is a great bonus to them.

A paint job increases the home’s value more than the cost of the actual paint.

A newly-painted house looks great on photos, which is crucial in marketing.

A painted home shows pride of ownership. It shows that the previous owner took care of the property, inspiring confidence in the buyer.

When choosing the color of paint, go for neutral colors. Your favorite color may be a vibrant red, but when it’s time to sell your property, neutral colors work best. These colors look great on the eyes and can work well with any kind of decor you want.

Paint both the exterior and interior of the house. When choosing the color of paint, go for colors buyers love, not colors you like. Neutral-toned colors are proven to be buyer favorite, so choose along those color line.

Colors like creamy white, light grey tones, dove gray, and light beige are the best colors for living rooms.

For kitchens, some lovely colors to choose from are light sage, light olive, and creamy beige.

Bedrooms look best in light blues and greens or tan colors.

For home exteriors, shades of whites, beige, and muted greens or blues look amazing.

Let the light in

Dark homes can look cold and depressing. Most buyers prefer light-filled homes as they seem warmer and inviting. A well-lit home looks more open and spacious.

Get more light in your house by opening the windows.

If your curtains are dark and heavy, replace them with something light so that light can easily filter in.

Remove any furniture or appliances that cover the windows so nothing is blocking the light.

Also, update your light fixtures. New light fixtures are brighter and will give you longer usage. If possible, use LED bulbs because they are more environmentally-friendly and a lot brighter.

Staging

When you want buyers to fall in love with your Needham property, stage it!

According to the staged home's website, staged homes average six days on the market versus 48 days for unstaged ones. The National Association of Realtors NAR reports that 96% of buyers agents say that staging has an effect on the buyer's view of the home.

Staging makes it easy for the buyers to visualize the house as their future home. It also enhances the visual appeal of the room and helps create amazing marketing photos.

Here are some staging tips you can do :

Remove excess items and furniture. Showcase space and create a better traffic flow by retaining only the most important pieces in the room.

Group furniture together. Arrange your couches and chairs in a conversational group.

Accessorize. Breathe life into your house by accessorizing. Once you’ve painted the house in a neutral tone, you’ve created the perfect canvas for a few accessories. An area rug, colorful pillows, several artwork or sculptures, when properly placed, will bring in the just the right amount of color in the house.

Artwork at eye level. If you are to hang paintings on the wall, hang them on eye level. One to two pieces are enough, you don’t need to fill the whole wall.

Hang a mirror. The mirror is a great way to reflect light and space. In a small space, it makes the room look larger.

Now that you know the secrets to selling your Needham real estate property fast, it’s time to roll your sleeves and get to work.

Call me, Sheila Moylan at (781) 559-4057 today.

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In case you can not view this video here, please click the link below to view Needham Home for Sale in MA : Best Kept Secrets to Sell Your Home Fast on my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vY12w4X2PK8&list=PLTyA6fLJnFKnRBZE2-AS0ezhwh_d9aDbb&index=5&t=0s

#blog #homesellingtips #sellingahomeinNeedham #BestRealEstateAgentInNeedhamMA

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