#we wanted ONE RUN. a REHEARSAL. so we could be prepared to do our fucking JOBS if necessary.

[icequeenbae]

Hii! This is a more slow burn request so I’m sorry if it’s a little difficult, but could I request Heartsteel Ezreal x reader who’s knowledgeable and quite sarcastic and quick witted with their replies? I just wonder how their meeting would go with the whole Black cat, golden retriever vibe!

And maybe the reader sometimes suffers from low self-esteem and burnout.

Pairing: Heartsteel!Ezreal x Reader ft. all members

Heartsteel AU, attempted humor, fluff

Warnings: grumpymanager!Reader, Kayn is annoying as fuck… language? lol

Word Count: ~1.4k

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Author’s Note: Hiii~ Thank you for the Ezreal request, sweetie! I do have my favorites in Heartsteel to write for, and he is definitely at the top of that list <3 Not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, but let’s give it a try! As usual, let me know via comments/ asks/ reblogs, I try stay on it~ P.S. The stuff I post for requests is usually not beta’ed, so pls bear with me…

You rubbed your tired eyes and cursed, checking if your fingers had any mascara on them. There was an issue to resolve, and you had hoped to finish up before the Heartsteel members returned to the waiting room after their rehearsal. But your plan failed miserably.

‘Our dearest manager!’ Kayn appeared next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. ‘Always working, what a busy little bee!’

You raised your eyebrow at him and stayed silent until he cleared his throat and retracted his arm, while the rest of the members scattered around the room, minding their own business.

‘Someone has to work around here,’ you replied, typing away on your laptop.

‘You should take a break and go grab something to eat at least,’ Yone suggested.

His amiable comment made you release a desperate sigh.

‘They messed up the mic backup, Yone. Not to mention that we have the music video budget due tomorrow and someone screwed up the calculations. I cannot let you film without the drones or the special effects crew. If you do everything yourselves, you’ll be dead before you go on stage again, and I will be ripped into a million tiny pieces by the company or your fans. And I don’t know which one’s worse…’

‘If that’s Sett’s fans you’ll live. They all twinky as shit, look at Phel.’ Kayn cackled, and Yone glared at him.

Sett and Aphelios exchanged looks, probably deciding to give their most annoying member a proper thrashing another time just for the sake of your emotional wellbeing. At least someone understood how dire the situation was.

‘How can I help?’ The producer asked.

Although you appreciated the offer, you knew that they had to perform tomorrow, so Yone would have to supervise the last of preparations starting early morning. You could not allow him to spend the night helping you and then go straight into tomorrow’s work. The price of a screwup was too high on this one.

‘You can help by taking them out for dinner and making sure they’re tucked in later. I don’t want anyone out wreaking any havoc while I’m not around to settle everything.’

‘That I can arrange.’ Yone nodded, giving the rest of the members a solid onceover. ‘You heard Y/N, boys. No fun for you tonight, we have a very long day tomorrow.’

‘Ugh. Buzzkill…’ Sett sighed, and Phel pinched him on the arm, hard. ‘Ow!!’

‘I think we can live with one night in, guys,’ Ezreal interjected. ‘We’re so tired anyway.’

‘Speak for yourself, young man. I am full of energy!’ K’Sante retorted.

What a traitorous blow! You’d expect it from anyone but him.

Noticing your flabbergasted expression, K’Sante quickly continued.

‘…which I can spend by working some iron in the gym before bed time.’

You shook your head, trying to focus on your spreadsheet again. It was a little- no, it was extremely overwhelming, trying to fix several urgent issues at once, while running on a couple hours of sleep, half a sandwich (had to donate the rest to Sett – he’s still growing, after all… or so he thinks) and way too much coffee.

‘Are you going to stay here though?’ Ezreal asked, sounding too quiet for his usual bubbly self.

You assumed he was afraid to get the short end of the stick and make you explode with his question. But you were too tired to even yell at any of them.

‘Not that I have any choice,’ you answered dryly. ‘Not everyone can teleport, Ezzie.’

He pursed his lips, probably realizing that it was best to leave you alone before you gave him the same glare that Kayn had earned earlier. Unlike the demonic bastard, Ezreal was among the members who preferred to stay away from you when you were fuming, as opposed to irritating you further to poke some fun. Yone had already spent a week negotiating for you to take back your resignation once, so they were on their best behavior ever since. Well, the best they could muster, which wasn’t that great but in the grand scheme of things… you’d take what you could get.

After they all vacated the premises, you finally managed to send the updated budget numbers for approval, and made a few calls about the mic replacement. It was unbelievable, but you really had to find someone to get the necessary equipment and fly in to bring it on time. So you stayed at the venue to be able to check whether everything worked fine right away.

But later that night, a mystery visitor woke you up while scooping you off the chair to get you onto the sofa.

‘Mhm- what… Who’s here??’ You jerked up from your uncomfortable sleeping position, accidentally hitting someone in the face with your head.

‘Ow!’ You heard someone squeak and turned around, finding Ezreal in pain, holding his hand to his nose.

‘What on Earth brings you here??’ You instinctively pinched the bridge of his nose as if that would help with the pain. ‘Wait, what time is it? Where is my phone??’

‘I took it,’ he said, wiping under his nose to check for blood.

Thankfully, there was none, and he was okay. Your nervous system, however, was not as lucky.

‘What do you mean, you took it??’ You frantically checked the time on your laptop. ‘3:23? I was supposed to meet someone an hour ago! Why didn’t you wake me up?!’

You grabbed your phone from blabbering Ezreal, but he clung to you like a koala.

‘Y/N, I-’

‘I know. You didn’t think properly, and now I will have to find a way to get that guy to come back if he isn’t sleeping in his hotel already… Shit, Ezzie, you fucked up! No, I fucked up. How could I have fallen asleep?? Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ You knocked on your own head with your knuckles to make a point, and Ezreal caught you by the wrist with his two hands, looking as if you had hit him and not yourself.

‘Y/N, I already met with him and took the mics. We ran a test downstairs with some of the overnight technicians. Everything is set up and working fine.’

You blinked at him a few times, still confused.

‘Uh- You… did?’

‘Yes. I came back earlier and you were asleep. Then someone called you, so I figured- And then I went down and checked everything,’ he delivered anxiously. ‘I also brought you a sandwich- but I didn’t want to wake you, so…’

He grabbed a paper bag from the sofa and shoved it into your hands. You looked at it, and then back at Ezreal, your sleepy and stressed-out brain still catching up with everything.

‘Um- so you brought me… a sandwich?’ You asked.

‘Yes,’ he nodded, strangely bashful. ‘And a juice box.’

His cheeks became rosy, and you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Ezreal looked like a stray puppy, unsure about whether it was safe to express his affection.

As your laughter settled, you finally exhaled. Everything was okay, thanks to your unexpected little helper for tonight. And now that he’d mentioned the food…

‘I hope you got me an extra-large one.’ You hummed, sitting your butt down.

‘I got two,’ he beamed. ‘And a chocolate bar.’

‘Good. You look like you could have some chocolate right about now.’

And of course, after such an eventful night, as well as the previous few days, having a full belly made you dozy again. Although you did notice Ezreal’s head slowly tilting towards your shoulder through the layer of drowsiness, you didn’t catch your own head leaning onto his.

Due to your carelessness, you were in for a rude awakening in just a few hours.

‘Now, isn’t that adorable?’ Even from the depths of hell you would have heard Kayn exclaim in the most obnoxious voice possible.

‘I’m taking a picture. For the family album!’ K’Sante announced, quick to utilize the camera on his phone.

‘Or future blackmail…’ Kayn sneered evilly.

‘Maybe I should post that picture of you stuck in the vault with your pants down, Shieda Kayn.’ You mused out loud, eyes still shut.

There were a few sounds resembling muffled cursing, and then Kayn walked it back.

‘Hey man, we shouldn’t take pictures of people sleeping. It’s illegal or some shit. Let’s just go check on the preparations, come on.’

And so, they went back to where they came from. ‘Manager…’ You heard Ezreal whisper, head still laying on your shoulder. ‘You’re amazing.’

Non-EXO masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading and happy holidays my sweethearts!! I have just a couple more requests to go~ I don't think I will take more for the time being but I might come up with another requests event for 900 or 1000 milestone! Please don't forget to comment and reblog if you want to support me 💜 And check out my masterlist for more of my HEARTSTEEL and kpop content 💕

[bi-bard]

Making a Home on a Foundation of Sand - Hannibal Lecter Imagine (Hannibal)

Title: Making a Home on a Foundation of Sand

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter X Reader

Word Count: 1,138 words

Warning(s): kidnapping, manipulation, GRAPHIC violence (choking), death

Summary: How does one survive when the man that they thought they loved turns out to be more monster than man?

Author's Note: Don't mind the dramatic as fuck summary.

THIS IS PART TWO TO THIS IMAGINE

--------------------------------

I learned quickly that with Hannibal, soft touches could scare me more than being grabbed hard enough to leave bruises.

At least when the rough moments happened, I could see the anger and rage so clearly. Nothing to hide the monster.

When he was sweet, I thought that I saw parts of the man that I knew before all of this. But through the cracks, the monster was still there. Waiting. And it broke my heart.

I missed not seeing the monster.

Every morning became the same thing.

I would wake up to find the other side of the bed empty. I would pull myself out of bed before walking into the main room. He would usually be cooking or setting the table.

He would grin at me, grab my arm, press a kiss to my head, and tell me to eat.

It made me feel silly every time I flinched in response to his touch.

How could I fear someone being so gentle?

Hannibal did that a lot.

Through any sense of darkness and fear, there was this... respect. He was holding me hostage but acted like he truly cared about my boundaries. He never did anything without my permission beyond what I had been comfortable with before he brought me to Florence.

Another kind of sweetness that made me feel silly for being scared.

I thought it was going to be a constant loop for as long as I was stuck there. Waking up, eating breakfast with Hannibal, spending most of my day alone, eating dinner with Hannibal when he returned home, and then lying next to him and letting him hold me like nothing about our situation was wrong.

The only interruption to that cycle occurred when Hannibal told me that he was inviting a "colleague" over for dinner.

I didn't think much of it.

I played kind and happy.

I didn't want this man to be a consequence of my actions. If anyone had to deal with Hannibal, it needed to be me.

Hannibal had gone to finish preparing dinner. I was standing near the table as the guest looked around the room. I was holding a drink in my hand, but I hadn't taken a sip of it.

"Dr. Fell has very interesting lectures," he explained. "How many times do you have to listen to him practice them?"

I chuckled. "Rarely ever. It's almost like they're instinctual. As rehearsed as they appear."

"Instinctual," he repeated. That one word made a wave of uneasiness cover the room. "Dr. Fell and I had an interesting conversation about instincts as well. What are the odds of that?"

"I would like to think that it's not all that surprising," I shrugged. "Instincts are a common conversation. We all crave a reason for our actions or the actions of others. A conversation about instincts is as natural as a conversation about closure."

The guest didn't answer. He simply set his drink on a small table next to him before starting to walk over.

I forced a grin, setting my drink down and going to take a few steps back.

"Our conversation was different," he continued.

"Oh?"

"We discussed giving into instincts that could be seen as distasteful."

I took a deep breath, taking a few more steps back.

"He encouraged me to entertain such instincts."

I felt like I was going to be sick.

"I do find that my instincts tend to be more murderous than most."

That was all the confirmation I needed. "Hannibal-"

I tried to turn and run only to have my arm grabbed. I was yanked back toward the guest. My feet came out from under me as he did. His arm wrapped around my throat and his other hand covered my mouth to keep me from yelling.

I was kicking and scratching. All of it powered by pure panic.

It wasn't until I saw Hannibal walk in that my thoughts seemed to align. I managed to pull my head back enough to bite the guest's hand. He yelled, letting go of me. I dropped to the ground as Hannibal stormed to the guest.

My back hit the doorway between rooms as I tried to push myself away from the scene. I couldn't get my breathing back. All I could do was try to breathe while watching Hannibal strangle the guest.

The guest was on the ground on his stomach. Hannibal dragged him up, choking him just as the guest had tried to choke me.

Any sound was drowned out by the ringing in my ears.

The man slowly stopped moving.

The first sound to cut through the ringing was a distinctive snap.

I tried to stop myself from shaking when Hannibal stood up straight again. He slowly turned to look at me over his shoulder. I felt my stomach drop as he turned to face me completely.

He walked over slowly.

It was like he was testing me. Daring me to make a run for it. There it was: the monster on full display. He wanted to see if I would try to escape now that his true nature was shown to me with no filter over it. I didn't. I knew very well that if I did, he would catch me. I didn't want to think about what would happen if he did. I would rather be certain that I was going to survive.

He held out his hand once he was standing in front of me.

I slowly reached out and grabbed his hand, letting him pull me off the ground.

His other hand reached up and cupped the side of my face. His thumb ran along the skin gently, wiping away tears that I hadn't even processed were falling.

"Can you see now that all I am doing is protecting you," he asked softly. "It's safer for you to stay with me."

I don't know if my mind had turned foggy because of the attack itself or because of how he spoke to me. Hannibal had always been entrancing, but this felt like magic. Like it was true control over my thoughts.

Regardless of what had caused it, I found myself nodding with little thought.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.

For the first time since arriving in Europe, I kissed him back. It was slow and almost lazy. He was gently guiding me.

I found myself feeling disappointed as he pulled away from me.

"We need to get you cleaned up," he mumbled, stepping back.

He kept my hand in his as he guided me through the apartment.

I knew that I wasn't physically dirty. Hannibal knew that too.

But I found myself following him anyways.

Because I trusted him. He was keeping me safe like he always had.

That's all he was doing.

Protecting me.

--------------------------------

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[rinkwrites]

Day 3/36 - in preparation for my YL project

ATE

Breakfast - seedy bagel with cream cheese, apple and cinnamon

Lunch - salad with spinach, kale, tomato, mushroom, chicken and apple. then grapes and an oat and honey bar

Snack - redbull and a dark chocolate bar because i was in desperate need of something to get me through the afternoon

Dinner - pasta with tomato sauce, bacon and mushrooms, then fruit salad and a meringue

EXTRA-CURRICULARS

Newspaper club - cancelled because the prof was too busy to run it

Choir competition rehearsal - skipped to (insert gasp of horror here) leave school grounds and risk getting a detention so I could go to the corner shop with my friends and buy redbull and chocolate

Cello lesson - was 15 mins late for because i totally forgot and got caught up in english notes

Library Duty - cancelled because the librarian hasn't sorted out her schedule yet

Piano lesson - cancelled because my teacher had a band rehearsal. shes been my teacher for years, and when we first hired her we set up a weekly bank transfer to pay her, but she was very patchy in her attendance and ended up owing us a lot of money. she has finally (3 years later) paid us off, and my parents want to get rid of her now. i really like her but i dont think shes a very good teacher. but im worried if we sack her now we wont be able to find another teacher in time to get me to the grade I need for UCAS points

WORK

Latin - i am so not a fan of grammar but i paid attention for a decent chunk of the class and translate some sentences vaguely accurately

History - didn't get distracted once. listened to the whole lecture of medieval scottish society and it was really interesting. i also answered some questions well

Double RMPS - meh on the attention, took some notes, planned an essay. the problem is we aren't learning anything new just going over and over and over old stuff again and again and again

English - took some notes, sprinted out 2/3rds of the way through because I realised I was late for my cello lesson

Biology - paid a fair amount of attention, i think i'm slowly grasping the different kinds of RNA

HW - nothing again. I'm just so tired when I come home

EXERCISE

If a twenty minute mad dash through the woods behind my school counts then yeah i exercised today. We're not allowed of school grounds at lunch time, and as i was walking with my friends along the path we saw one of our teachers in the distance. We panicked and fucking legged it. He did see us but luckily he's always had a soft spot for us so he isn't getting us in trouble

TO DO

hang up clothes

take more photos

do some of my homework

read more

look into volunteering for cv?

print off finalised time table

go to law society meeting and say the stuff for the presentation

None of these pictures are mine, they are from Pinterest, credits go to original owners, I will try and use my own pictures when I remember to take them.

[chocoenvy]

I miss thief reader <\3

(i wrote this entire thing and then accidentally fucking deleted it. almost cried bc i was proud of it but oh well hhahah)

Pls, i have an event going on rn and one of the things you could request is consort au + sexy thief reader and i jUST- I didn't mean to write all of this I just really wanted someone to request it so I just did it myself oops-

For this I’m using albedo because our pfps…

Warnings: Spoilers for Tsurumi island questline, SAGAU villain au, minor blood, self-harm(?), reader has questionable sanity, implied romantic Albedo x reader

Your reputation preceded you, casting a dark shadow over your cloaked form and painted you in a bloody light. While you had done awful things (only to those who deserved it), a lot of it wasn’t true. Merely rumors that got lost in their game of telephone and eventually got twisted with fact.

Thankfully, a bad reputation helped scare powerful individuals off. The shadow over your form made you appear bigger than you actually were and it helped, especially in scaring off the alchemist in front of you.

He didn’t try to hide himself, his footsteps approached you calmly. The second you heard him, your hearing heightened due to months of running, you had whipped around with your weapon(s) of choice already in hand.

Your glare was sharper than your blades, “What do you want?” You spat. You didn’t dwell on the surprise that he didn’t attack you immediately.

He didn’t meet your eyes, getting on one knee and bowing his head low, “Your grace,” He said, his voice strong as though he had rehearsed this, “I apologize for what Teyvat has done to you, and I promise I will do everything within my power to right the wrong that we have committed-”

“Cut the bullshit.” You interrupted, your fists tightened around your weapon, “I asked what you wanted not for your made-up apology.”

He didn’t flinch and remained in the same position, “I merely want to help you, your grace. I merely wish for you to remain safe.”

You laughed in his face, tilted your head back for the sky to bear witness, “Sure you do! I don’t care what you have to say,” You hissed, your lips twisted back into a teeth-baring grin, “Now go away or I’ll be forced to hurt you.”

He followed your directions, leaving you be. You shook your head with a scoff, watching him go and preparing yourself for a surprise attack.

It never came. How odd… you thought but shook it off. Albedo always tended to inspect the unknown.

He found you again, this time on Starsnatch Cliff.

You didn’t have to turn to know he was there, he was silently standing behind you.

“What do you want?” You demanded, your voice sharp and cutting.

It didn’t faze Albedo as he got down on one knee once more, his head bowed low, “I want to help you, your grace, and atone for the crimes Teyvat has committed.”

“I see.” You unsheathed one of your daggers, the blade glinting dangerously in the setting sun.

Albedo didn’t flinch, readying himself for the pain.

The hilt of the sword poked him on the top of his head. He opened his eyes, shocked, and tilted his head up to stare up at you. You were holding the hilt of the dagger out for him to take, a mischievous grin splitting your face.

His eyes went from the dagger, to you, back to the dagger, back to your almost frightening grin.

You nodded, gesturing to the dagger, insisting for him to take it. He did so, obeying your silent demand with a shaking hand.

“Your grace?” Albedo whispered, if he had spoken any louder his voice would’ve cracked.

“You believe I am your god now do you?” You raised a brow, taking off one of your gloves.

“Yes,” He said, without any hesitation, “I believe you are Teyvat’s creator.” His brows were set in a determined look.

You held your hand out to him and the sun crashed into the ocean behind, framing your almost manic grin in a stunning yet terrifying light, “Then prove it, Albedo.” Your godly voice demanded, reverberating in his mind and getting him drunk off the sound, “Cut me and see what color I bleed.”

Your voice was poisoned honey filling his ears. The way you said his name, commanded him with a grin. There was no doubt you were Teyvat’s god but the words you had said. It made his insides churn as he shook from the sweet sound of your voice and the awful choice you were forcing him to make.

Emotions bubbled within his chest and fought deep within his chalk heart, setting fire to all that was inside him. He couldn’t hurt you, you’d been hurt enough. But you had given him direct orders to cut you, and he couldn’t go against you. He was loyal to you, but he couldn’t hurt you and he couldn’t ignore your orders.

The knife was heavy in his hand. His eyes traveled from your hand, to you, back to your hand, and back to your eyes wide with adrenaline.

His eyes were wide with primal fear, but in the end his shaking fingers let go of the knife. He bowed his head in shame, “I’m sorry your grace, I can’t hurt you.”

You giggled, holding a hand up to your mouth as you cackled like a madman. You bent down to pick the knife up, still laughing. Albedo didn’t move.

Your bare hand tapped the top of his fluffy hair, patting it. Albedo’s breath caught in his throat, “Good choice, Albedo.” He looked up to bask in your grin, drunk on the way you said his name, “Someone who was faking being loyal to me would’ve jumped at the opportunity to cut me.”

Ah, he thought sheepishly, I was so caught up in my loyalty and the choice I didn’t even think about that…

You grinned, manically as you pointed the knife to your arm. He had no time to react as you sliced your arm.

“Your grace-!” He screeched, reaching his hand out uselessly.

“Either way,” You grinned, holding up your arm for him, you, and stars and celestia above to see the golden ichor drip down your limb, “There’s your proof.”

Insane, He thought, his form shaking, You’re insane!

Frantically, he stood up to help you. You pulled away, giggling, “I’ve suffered a lot worse,” You waved him off, sheathing the knife and putting your glove back on, not caring for the festering wound.

You placed both of your hands on your hips, your hat tilted back a bit to allow you to see better, the feather attached to your hat (Ruu’s feather, so that he could travel Teyvat with you like you had promised) glowed a dull purple hue, and your cape billowed in the soft wind.

Albedo could see his constellation in your eyes, glowing as though happy to be in your divine gaze, “Well, my first acolyte,” You held your palm out to him, gloved this time, “Would you like to join me?”

-albedo in thief wear <3

-All of my readers now have Ruu’s flower somewhere on their person

-As you gain followers, their constellations start to appear in your eyes bc i like the idea.

-thief reader amassing a small but devout group of followers to steal shit with them. They’re all poly because sexy thief reader being sexy

basically reader going "What're you gonna do? Stab me?" And Albedo almost cries.

[mercy-burning]

Honeybee

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: While attending Seraphina's wedding, Y/N discovers that her crush on her best friend’s older brother hasn’t gone away after all these years. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, alcohol consumption, fingering, penetrative/protected sex Word Count: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: I know I promised a oneshot over the weekend, but I’m a messy, inconsistent bitch, so you get it a day late 😅🥰

———

Looking back, I was starting to wonder if Seraphina only got engaged and asked me to be her maid of honor just to witness my slow descent into a heaping puddle of lovesick mush.

Truly, it was pathetic.

Yeah, yeah, she was getting married because she loved her fiancé and whatever, obviously, but she was also using it as an excuse to try and get me to admit my feelings for her older brother. Feelings, I might add, that only surfaced when I was a middle schooler and went away once he went off to college.

Sure, I'd thought about him on occasion when he was inevitably brought up around Sera's house throughout the years, but that was it. I'd hardly say I was hard-core in love with him. And I was totally prepared to see him for the first time since our high school graduation.

At least, I thought I was.

And Seraphina—the little shit—knew it, too. The smirk on her face the moment we were all in the same room for the first time in ten years made me want to run and hide more than her brother's figure, right in front of me and hotter than ever.

I was mad. Not at Sera as much, because really there was nothing she could do about the fact that he was her brother, but I was mad at myself. Because how in the hell had it stood to reason that a man I actively didn't think about for a whole decade had this much of an effect on me after all this time?

Honestly? I blame the FBI.

If he'd done literally anything else with his life I probably could have made it. Well, not by much if we're being honest, but come on...

Where he'd been a bit nerdy and reserved as I knew him, the man in front of me had clearly changed. Not just physically, though that was also a pleasant surprise. He looked like he'd been through some shit... And he carried himself taller. There was a new air of confidence that perched on his shoulder and helped him along as he talked with old friends and family members at his sister's rehearsal dinner.

Spencer Reid was older and more experienced this time around, and somehow even more goddamn delicious...

I was a total wreck. And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

He was coming this way. Right for me. He'd noticed me staring at him all night, because I couldn't keep my shit together, and now I was absolutely doomed.

Guess it was a good thing I'd practically grown up with him and knew how to act outwardly.

Still, the moment he was up close and flashing me that little smile of his, I felt the pit of my stomach scream out loud, sending shockwaves through my bloodstream.

"Hey, Honeybee. It's been a while."

Fuck. That fucking nickname...

"Spencer... It has."

When we hugged briefly, I tried as hard as I could not to inhale his scent, knowing that not only was that pathetic and embarrassing, but also I'd never stop smelling it otherwise. I did take note, though, of how strong he was now. He wasn't a bodybuilder of any kind, but he was certainly less bony and more defined.

I had to hold back a whine as I felt him let go of me, because I didn't want to leave his warm embrace but also because I didn't think I could stand to look at his face anymore without losing any and all semblance of my cool.

Still, I let him release me, and even then he didn't go far. We only stood inches apart, and my whole body was practically numb at the proximity. It also didn't help that I had to tilt my head up to see his face— It made me feel extremely submissive, and I could already feel myself starting to shrink.

Whether he was amused at that or just at me in general, the feeling I got was the same.

"Sera tells me you've been busy..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right word, though I could tell he already had it on the tip of his tongue. "Modeling?"

I closed my eyes with a sigh. "It was one job for some obscure European magazine, no one in the country's probably ever heard of it... It's not that big of a deal."

Spencer huffed a laugh. "You sound embarrassed..."

How was I supposed to respond to that? If I lied and told him I wasn't embarrassed, he'd figure it out, and if I told him the truth? I'd still be screwed. Honestly, my best bet was changing the subject.

Though, maybe it wasn't— When I asked him about his travels for work, he ignored it and responded with, "Ah, so you are embarrassed."

"N— I am not!"

"You changed the subject so fast I barely had time to blink... There's nothing to be ashamed of, Honeybee, I don't know why you'd—"

"Look, dude, I'm not ashamed, and I'm certainly not changing the subject. We were on the subject of jobs. So there."

I was aware of how childish I sounded, but I stood my ground nonetheless. And thankfully Spencer seemed to let it go, though not without amplifying that amused sparkle in his eye.

"Okay... Well, I've got some more people to see, but, uh... I'll see you around. Maybe you can show me some of your work."

He didn't even give me time to protest. Though if he had, I was sure I wouldn't have been able to get any words out what with that goddamned face he had, twisted and sculpted into all these beautiful ways that were designed specifically to make me a blubbering hot mess.

I could only gather the courage to nod in response, though he'd turned his back and walked away by the time I got it out.

———

All things considered, I'd managed to avoid him for the majority of the wedding festivities. I focused all my energy on being happy to see my best friend get married, and likewise it seemed that Spencer was inclined to do the same.

He walked his sister down the aisle, and seeing them both so happy truly made my heart sing. To think I'd known them since we were all kids more or less, and now they were both successful, beautiful human beings... It warmed me to my core, and despite the other flames that stung my insides at seeing Spencer in his tux, thing were going swimmingly.

That being said, we were just about two hours into the reception, and there was absolutely nothing stopping me from begging Seraphina to put me out of my misery.

Except maybe pints upon pints of alcohol.

In hindsight, that may not have been a good idea, though. Because as much as the open bar had it benefits, it also hated me. It was mostly my fault, because I was stupid enough to forget that I get frisky when I'm drunk, but that didn't stop me from blaming the bartender for continuing to serve me.

I wasn't quite at the point of all-out inebriation, but I was definitely toeing the line between tipsy flirting and total disaster.

And when Spencer came over to ask me to dance, I knew I was doomed.

I didn't find myself caring about what he was saying, only the fact that he was there, in front of me, putting his hands on me and breathing in the same air that I was putting out. My entire body buzzed, and while I would have panicked otherwise, my tipsy brain welcomed the tingle and made me a bit bolder.

"You enjoying yourself tonight?" he asked, like he couldn't already tell that I was having the time of my life.

"No way. You suck at dancing." The joke rolled off my tongue with ease, a product of years spent teasing him for countless things.

And just like all those times before, he rolled his eyes and then immediately flashed an affectionate smile all the same.

I should have stopped there, maybe tried to do something a bit more romantic like teach him how to dance... Placing his hands and fixing his posture, taking the time to gracefully have an excuse for exploring his body with my hands...

But romance took a backseat when I pressed myself in even closer to him and hummed just under his jawline. "Mmm, but I bet you're good at other things..."

I felt his hands grip my waist just a little tighter, and his throat visibly twitched. "How much have you had to drink, Honeybee?"

"Spencer," I whined, pressing my face into his neck. "Don't tell me you're turning me down, please..."

I could tell by the way he was touching me, his hands wavering and undecided, and the way his heartbeat thrummed loudly and quickly against my own that he wanted nothing more than to entertain my desires.

The thought made me quiver and press further into him. I kissed his jawline tenderly, silently begging him to whisk me away and finally make me his, but it broke my heart a little to feel him peel away from me.

When he looked into my eyes though, I swore the gleam in his own is what put me back together. It could have been the liquor swimming around in my body that made me feel lightheaded, but when Spencer lifted my chin with his fingers and looked me over, I knew that wasn't it. It was wholeheartedly, without a doubt, him.

"Tell you what... You get sobered up by the end of the night, and maybe I'll come find you."

I wanted to nod, but his gentle grip on my chin held me steady—At least until he glided his fingertips down my throat and over my shoulder. Then I downright slumped forward with a whine and a weak nod that seemed to make him smile.

"Thank you for the dance," he said earnestly, leaning forward to press the lightest of kisses to my temple.

Just like that he was gone, and I wanted him back almost immediately.

———

And so the night dragged on, and the longer I sobered up the more it dawned on me what the fuck just happened— What the fuck was going to happen, too, if I played my cards right.

It didn't help that I could practically feel Spencer's eyes on me the whole time. Probably to make sure I really wasn't drinking anymore, a fact that only made this feel more real.

On top of it all, I was starting to lose count of the amount of men here who were trying to buy me drinks. Even if the one man I really wanted tonight hadn't given me a deal, I still wouldn't have accepted them, if only for the pathetic fact that I would have been trying to catch his attention instead.

So much for trying to convince myself I wasn't in love with him...

Was that really what it was? It had to be, right?

Either way, I was determined to find out, and that meant declining every flirtatious offer to drink and dance.

Unfortunately, Seraphina seemed to notice, even on the one day in her entire life she shouldn't have been thinking about anyone but herself. "You're not having fun," she pouted, plopping down next to me and handing me a shot. "Have fun."

I laughed and set the tiny glass down on the table. "I am having fun, I'm just... tired. And being hungover tomorrow does not sound fun."

"Mmm," she responded, visibly suspicious.

I didn't really know what to say to her to convince her not to be though, so I grabbed her hand and smiled. "You're having fun though, right? 'Cause I will not hesitate to kick someone's ass if you're not."

With a bellowing laugh mildly tainted with the smell of champagne, Seraphina squeezed my hand and leaned in close. "I'm having the best time. I couldn't be happier."

"Well, good. You deserve it."

After a small moment of silent shared smiles, my best friend glanced over elsewhere and then back to me with that look in her eye that kind of scared me.

And her words were even scarier... "So, you talk to Spencer at all tonight?"

"Uh— Yeah... Briefly."

"Mhmm... Y'know, I saw you two dancing together earlier. You seemed reeeally close..."

There I was, getting defensive in front of a Reid sibling for the second time that night. And just like before, I was awful at being subtle. "Sera, stop it! It was just a dance..."

"Bullshit! He had his hands all over you, and he had that gross-ass, dreamy-ass look in his eye! He so wants to sleep with you!"

"Sera!" I gently shoved her and tried not to smile at the goofy smile she had plastered on her face.

"Am I wrong?"

"I... I don't..."

"Ha! I'm not wrong!"

The defeated look in my eye did nothing to disconfirm her story.

"So, what's stopping you from letting him?"

I went wide-eyed. "Se—You... You seriously would... You're okay with this? It doesn't... gross you out?"

There were a lot of things I could have seen Seraphina do in that moment, but pinching and yelling at me were not any of them. "Y/N! You idiot! I've been trying to get you two together for years! If I knew all it took was me getting married, I would have accepted Theo Decker's proposal..."

"Wa— In fifth grade? Sera, that wasn't—"

"I know, but you get what I mean! You two are so painfully attracted to each other, it physically hurts me. It's actually disgusting, but if it means there's a chance that you might get to be my sister? I say go for it."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You... You really mean that?"

"What, you think I'd joke about that?"

Everything that she conveyed to me within the look in her eyes, her words, and the squeezing of her hand over mine told me she was sincere.

"I love you, you know," I told her just as sincerely.

Her smile was as radiant as ever, but the teasing tone in her voice was enough to make me scowl again. "Right back at'cha, Honeybee. Just do me a favor and don't tell me any details. I don't wanna know."

I stuck my tongue out at her, followed by a short shove. "Oh, and as soon as you get back from your honeymoon? I'm kicking your ass for telling him about that nude shoot I did for that magazine..."

She only grinned. "Why? I think I did you a favor..."

I rolled my eyes at her, but in the end, I guess she was right.

———

I shouldn't have been pacing. Really, it was pretty fucking embarrassing the way I walked in circles around my hotel room, waiting for a knock at the door or a text message on my phone, or something to let me know that Spencer had really meant what he said and was on his way to come find me.

I didn't have a single drink after we danced, and I swear to God, if he made me go through this entire night all nervous without the liquor to calm me down, for nothing? I was going to kill him tomorrow.

Later today... Whatever.

The point? I was well and truly ready to feel him taking up my personal space, and I was going to feel like a real idiot if I waited around and prepped and everything, only for him not to show. The funny thing was, it was almost two in the morning, and I would have stayed up until the sun rose for him.

Thank God he had the decency to save me the trouble.

A short two-rap knock on the door made me jump, but I ran at it full-speed, flinging the large wooden panel open and letting its momentum blow cool wind over my body. And I needed it, too.

Because standing right in front of me was Spencer Reid in all his semi-exhausted glory. His outfit was loosened, buttons undone and bowtie untied, hanging limp around his neck. His hair sat wild atop his head and a thin layer of sweat coated his skin. Maybe that last part sounded gross, but looking at him? It was anything but.

Especially when he flashed me that damned smirk. "Someone's eager..."

I tried not to sound as dumbfounded by his presence as I felt. "Well, you made me a good offer I couldn't refuse. Excuse me for being excited."

"And here I thought all this time you hated me, Honeybee..."

"That would be easier, wouldn't it?"

His grin transformed into a full-on beaming smile then, and it only made my skin feel warmer and my heart beat faster. I returned his smile with my own, so genuinely happy to see him again after all this time, and with the brightest show of happiness I'd ever seen.

Turns out, smiling like a lovesick idiot was all I was capable of.

"Are you... gonna let me in?"

The low suggestive tone in his voice had me springing into action, stepping back and allowing him the space to come in. And though he had plenty of room, Spencer still decided to brush his body over mine as he passed. His eyes bore into my own as he gently kicked the door shut and enveloped us in a dimness that came from cheap hotel lighting.

Still, I was unable to speak, and hardly able to even breathe, with each passing second.

And then, his hands were on my waist, pulling me to him with a softness that matched the whisper in his throat as he said, "C'mere..." Looking up at him then, his fingers burning holes through the thin fabric of my dress while he looked back down me, eyes swimming in tender desire... It almost didn't even feel real.

And it certainly didn't feel real when he leaned in, one of his hands coming up to touch my face while the other pressed me firmly against him.

The moment his lips touched mine, I was gone. I positively melted into him, so much so that it felt like I was just becoming a part of him entirely, losing myself in the moment and unwilling to let it go.

Even when he sighed against my lips and parted his own to kiss me deeper, I just followed suit and let him take the lead. We moved together as one, fluidly and with as much eagerness was possible. I'd wanted to get a taste of him for so long, and he obviously felt the same way, what with the thorough and precise exploring his tongue did with my own. It shot warmth throughout my whole being, and my legs threatened to buckle underneath me from how weak they felt.

Spencer seemed to understand what was happening to me, because as soon as I'd thought it, he was just as quick to literally sweep me off my feet, scooping me up bridal style and carrying me over to the large bed in the middle of the room.

"I know we're at a wedding and all, but geez," I laughed, watching as he laid me down gently and crawled over my body. "A little much?"

He only rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse me for trying to be romantic..."

"Mmm, I think you're just being an overachiever. As per usual."

That remark earned me a pinning of my wrists above my head, and the fire that erupted in my very core at my current position only cemented that this was very real.

Spencer grinned, his hips coming down to roll over mine teasingly. He spoke nice and slowly, his voice slicing through my soul like smooth butter. "Oh, Honeybee, I'll show you an overachiever..."

Once again I was rendered speechless. Not like I expected to be talking his ear off or anything, but words genuinely escaped me.

Luckily, Spencer didn't seem to mind. In fact, he knew exactly what to do next, and it made me even hungrier for him than ever before.

He captured my lips in another dizzying kiss, his hands still flexing over my wrists to keep them steady. I moaned softly and writhed against him, and though I would have liked to say that it was a conscious choice to coax him to give me more, really it was just me being unable to handle the fact that this was actually happening.

Actually, if not for the overwhelming and familiar scent of him, I would have thought I was only imagining it.

But alas, here he was in all his floral peppermint glory, grinding his hips down into mine and kissing me like I'd never been kissed before, driving me mad with each adept movement.

Thankfully he seemed to get as lost in the moment as I was, because he loosened my wrists in his grip, and I broke free, flying my hands in between us and down to his belt.

His lips pulled away from mine with a soft smack, a smile forming smugly upon them. "Have you no patience?"

As my fingers fumbled with the metal and leather, I pressed my nose to his and quickly pecked his mouth. "I thought we already established that I have no patience the moment I opened the door..."

"Fair... But still..."

Spencer grabbed my hands again, moving them to my sides and then hiking my dress up slowly. His skin was hot against my own, and it took everything I had not to break down begging for him.

And then he spoke again, his lips barely grazing mine as he did. "Teasing you is so much fun..."

I couldn't really explain what sound escaped me then, but it reminded me of a disgruntled animal, erupting from my throat and getting muffled the moment I took my hands and brought his face to mine. I kissed him fervently as his hands matched the intense nature of my affections— With every soft groan I gave him, he returned it with an inch higher up my leg, until eventually he was toying with the hem of my underwear.

Unable to take it anymore, I gave in and mumbled the most desperate plea I could think of. (Like I had to think that hard...)

"Spencer, please..."

I half expected him to tease me again, but this time I felt him tremble over my body. His fingers slipped under the satin of my underwear and he sighed into my mouth. "God, how could I ever say no to you..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did he spread me apart with his fingertips, getting a feel for me and a broken sigh falling from his tongue and onto my own. I captured it and kissed him with as much precision as I could while under the influence of his hands working wonders.

Truly, his hands hand a magic of their own that should have been considered as an eighth Wonder of the World. They flexed in all the right places, splitting me open and caressing the most sensitive parts of me, simultaneously breaking me apart and putting me back together...

God, and those was only his hands...

The thought of what else he had waiting for me made me cry out into his mouth, though I'm sure it also had to do with the fact that his fingers were curling expertly inside me and summoning an orgasm that I knew would satisfy us both.

I almost cried out again when his lips left mine, but then they travelled to my neck and paid it the most glorious attention. The alternation of his fingers and his tongue on different spots of my body had me in shambles, and it took no longer than a few seconds to snap.

"Fuck, that's my girl," Spencer grumbled into my neck, helping me through my orgasm. "That's it, honey..."

What I wouldn't have given to hear him talk to me like that until the end of time... His words, their tone and praise seeping into my skin and bringing my soul to life... Coupled with his soft hands and his even softer breath fanning over my neck, I was just about ready to ask him to keep talking to me, to say my name and never stop.

He pulled away though, removing his hand from my lower half and bringing it up to his mouth, and I had the feeling my request wouldn't be a problem.

Spencer's eyes rolled back and his tongue gathered my arousal off his long, well-endowed fingers. And though I could hear his groan well and clear, I felt it more than anything. It reverberated through my body and brought me more to life in a way I never thought imaginable.

No one had ever made me feel that way with one single sound, and that's how I knew.

I thought I knew it from the start—from when we were growing up—that I wanted to be near him forever. But It was always just a silly dream, something I was never quite able to reach, and as I got older and we rarely saw each other, it got harder to even imagine anymore.

Now I didn't have to imagine.

Spencer Reid was right in front of me, touching me, tasting me, verbally praising me with sounds I'd only ever dreamed of...

I wanted him to have his moment, because I was positive he'd wanted this just as much as I did, but this sappy sort of revelation I was having made it nearly impossible to not be utterly wrapped up in him, and I wanted more.

So I wiggled and adjusted myself underneath him before grabbing his hand and placing it over my heart. His eyes widened softly at the sight of me, and I knew then that he was taking the time to memorize my face, and the image of his hand resting at my chest, right where my heart was encased beneath bones, flesh, and fabric.

"I could look at you forever," he whispered then.

I would have been ashamed to admit that I whimpered when he said it, but the way he looked at me afterwards made me feel the exact opposite.

He smiled, using his other hand to come up and touch my face. "You want it bad, don't you, Honeybee?"

I didn't even argue with him this time. My head nodded and my hands reached out to pull him closer. "I want you... More than I've ever wanted anything."

Before he leaned down to kiss me, I could have swore he looked like he was going to shed a tear. The duality of him, his ability to be all teasing and cocky one second and then reduced to a lovesick mess at just a few words from me the next, made my heart sing.

And it kept singing, a sweet, steady melody as Spencer kissed me and touched me like he meant it.

Only this time, he didn't pause or tease me with theatrics. He went straight for the kill, fetching a condom from his pants pocket and then sliding the material down, all while keeping me trapped under his embrace. I welcomed it naturally, humming happily into his neck and jawline and anywhere I could reach as he got us both fully undressed and situated, until finally he had the condom on and his hands rested nicely on either side of my head.

"Promise not to sting me?"

I laughed, draping my arms over his shoulders and flashing him a wink. "Mmm, only if you promise to give it to me good..."

"Deal."

He slowly pushed into me then, and the stretch was far more satisfying than his fingers, though I was in no position to complain either way. If he was even half as skilled with his hips as he was with his hands (which I had no doubts about whatsoever), then neither of us had anything to worry about.

It didn't take long for us to find our rhythm, but I didn't have time to think about that. I was so consumed with just the feeling of him being everywhere that technicalities didn't matter.

That being said, the technicalities were really fucking good.

His hips snapped into mine with sharp precision, and I felt it deep within my bones. My cunt clung around him willingly and accordingly, as did my legs, which hooked over his waist as I dug my heels into his ass.

Meanwhile Spencer grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head again, this time interlocking our fingers and then leaning down to kiss me deeply. It was met with my undying welcome, of course, but with the way he was fucking me, deep and with a devotion that nearly exploded my heart, I couldn't help but whine out for more.

His name was all I could manage.

"What do you want, Honeybee?" he cooed, holding himself deep inside me and grinding his hips in small circles that made it harder to breathe.

"M—More... I..."

"Can you be more specific?"

How he could be such a cocky little shit in this moment I wasn't sure, and it frustrated me to no end. He knew damn well what I wanted, and I knew just the thing that would make him give it to me.

I have him the biggest pout I could, also whining out the most pathetic, "More," in my arsenal. And with a roll of my hips up into his, I gasped out at how deep he got, and whined out again.

"Spoiled brat," Spencer grunted in defeat, retreating only to slam into me at full force.

My small gasps and cries turned into full-blown howls of searing pleasure as he fucked me then. My head tipped back and my back arched slightly, exposing my neck and chest to him, and he took it as an invitation to lean down and put his mouth anywhere he could reach. I was sure there would be small nicks and bruises littered over my skin the next morning, and just thinking of everyone seeing them, seeing Spencer's mark on me, made it harder to prolong the inevitable.

I came with a shout, flexing my hands into his as my body tensed then relaxed, over and over while he whispered praises into my skin. He followed soon after, shoving his face into my neck and muffling the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard as he came.

By then his hands had loosened, so I snuck my own away from his and brought them over to hug him close. One hand knotted into his hair while the other grazed over his back. The thin sheen of sweat forming over his skin once again was more enticing than it probably sounded, but I loved it all the same. I felt him relax and bring his arms down to rest at my sides, his fingertips dancing lightly over my skin and giving me goosebumps.

Then out of nowhere, he said something that confused and mildly panicked me. "I thought you said you wouldn't sting me..."

I pulled away to try and look at his face, loosening my grip on his body. "A—Am I hurting you? I'm sorry..."

He laughed though, peppering tiny kisses up my neck until he got to my jaw. "You're not hurting me, Honeybee... You've just... stung my heart, that's all."

"I... Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a strange thing..."

He looked at me like I was the one thing on the planet he adored, but his words sounded different.

I raised an eyebrow. "You're not helping me understand..."

With another laugh, Spencer Kissed my cheek and rolled off of me, settling for laying on his side and turning me to face him. "Do you remember how I gave you your nickname?"

Despite my confusion about all of this, I entertained him with a huffed laugh. "Yeah, I spilled honey all over my shorts without realizing it, and I had ants all over me in a matter of minutes. I was terrified."

"I was highly amused."

I shoved him. "Yeah, dork, I know you were! You and Seraphina both thought it was the funniest thing on the planet, and then your mom had to come out and spray me down with a hose before I came back in the house."

Spencer barked a laugh, and I wanted to punch it right out of his mouth.

"Tell me again why this is relevant to our current situation?" I reminded him with and sigh, already over his antics.

Thankfully he seemed to take pity on me; He reached a hand out and played with a strand of my hair, smiling even brighter than when I opened the door for him. "That's when I started to feel it. You were just... so cute all angry at me and Sera for laughing, and it... It changed everything."

"You know, that would be more romantic if I hadn't been covered in bugs," I responded with a laugh.

"It's true! And it confused the hell out of me, because how was I supposed to cope with the fact that I actually had a crush on my little sister's best friend like some stupid cliché? You were always so feisty after that, too, and it certainly didn't help... And when I graduated and went off to college, I thought... I thought there was no chance you would ever be able to break the heart you'd managed to steal."

He swiped his thumb gently over my bottom lip and smiled, his eyes going all tear-y again. It sent butterflies through my whole body.

"I would never even dream of breaking your heart, Spencer..."

Our foreheads pressed together then, and the unwavering adoration in his voice when he spoke made me forget all prior confusion and minor embarrassment over re-living our origins.

All that mattered was that he was here, holding me in his arms and making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

"I know you won't, Honeybee."

———

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Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Two)

2.9k words, rated E for everyone :)

Lando’s voice, amplified by the TV speakers, echoes around the humming Red Bull garage. “I’m fine but I’ve been better. I can say that I’m not in perfect condition, I’m not gonna lie. Some work to do mentally of course. I talk about that a lot, and mental health and mental strength is very important. I’ve not been sleeping that great and so on… not ideal and I’m feeling a bit sore, but I’m not the guy in the worst position after Wembley. I’ll work on it, I’ll make sure I’m in the best shape possible, and I feel like I can still go out and focus on what I need to do, and that’s the main thing.”

Your mind races as you listen to the boy plastered across the many screens revisit his experience at Wembley. He sounds awful; something about his cadence making it even more obvious that he is really, truly shaken up. The wavering pitch, awkward pausing, fumbling for words; everything about the way he presents himself is serving as a brutal reminder that being physically unscathed is no indicator that harm was not dealt. Even as the interview moves past the topic of last week’s Euro Final, you notice the shift in demeanor and your heart aches. You worry that bringing the watch to him is a bad idea, that it could prompt unbidden memories and disquieting feelings. You understand how big of an event Silverstone is from your dad’s tangents alone, especially for an English team with an English driver, so you reevaluate whether your decision to come was selfish, one made solely to alleviate your own sentiments of guilt rather than to verily right your believed wrongdoings.

On the journey to Silverstone, your dad had made multiple attempts at lessening your stress, even opting for variations of the if he steps out of line I will put him right back in his place father speech. Unfortunately fruitless, your father’s attempts mean you remain just as anxious as when you had first discovered that you managed to obtain a stolen wristwatch.

You’re not sure whether it’s the crisp morning air or your nerves that sends chills across your flesh, but your attempt to ground yourself subtly doesn’t go unnoticed by your dad as he passes you in the garage.

“Time is ticking,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips. “No pun intended.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to downplay your apprehension, but your voice gives away any and all signs of the false confidence you hope to portray. “Can you do it for me?” you plead.

“I can’t just stroll on over to the McLaren garage without an invitation or proper reason, especially not a couple hours before free practice starts. It doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not like me walking in there instead would look any better,” you retort, gesturing to the Red Bull logo plastered across the chest of your black polo. “Your branding isn’t what I would call subtle.”

“Look, the McLaren team are a good sort. They’ll help you out if you just explain the issue and show them the watch. I’m sure Lando will understand too, he seems like a pretty nice bloke,” your dad reassures you.

Sighing, your eyes meet the floor, fingers intertwined with each other as you fidget incessantly. Before you can speak up in further defiance, however, an additional set of footsteps grow nearer and you freeze at the voice which speaks up.

“Christian, how much longer until our media slot?”

You lose your breath momentarily, locking your gaze onto your shoes as you wait for the person to pass by.

“About five minutes, Max,” your dad replies. “We were just about to head over.”

When you hear the footsteps grow fainter, you risk looking up, thankfully being met with only the observance of your father. You don’t even realize that you’ve tensed your body until your dad points it out.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything here, especially not on a race weekend.”

Nodding, you feel your shoulders ease up but you remain quiet.

“Anyways, like I said, our media briefing and interviews start soon and we’re after McLaren this weekend so they should already be back in their garage,” he says, realizing that you still appear troubled by the task ahead of you. “I promise you, everything will be fine. Just go over there and I’ll meet you back here when we’re done. The quicker you head over, the quicker you’re done with it and we can all move on." With that, your dad walks away and you reluctantly leave the Red Bull garage, adjusting your shirt as you straighten up.

You take a brief glance at your phone, turning it off after you try one last time to keep the picture of the boy imprinted in your mind. Eyes darting rapidly, you attempt to scan the paddock for anyone looking remotely like him while you make your way towards the bright orange and blue indicators of the McLaren garage.

The frequency of orange-clad individuals grows the further you stray from the safety of Red Bull’s garage, and you feel your heartbeat begin to increase. Worried that someone would stop you before you could approach the one person you had traveled all the way to Silverstone for in the first place, you quicken your pace.

You’re mere meters away when you spot him. Pushing past a few people while trying to keep your eyes trained on him, you watch as he turns around to talk briefly with the woman next to him.

Huffing, you muster up the little confidence you have and tap him on the shoulder.

His confusion is evident and the blonde woman next to him does not look pleased to have been interrupted. The silence is palpable as they stare at you, expecting an explanation for the abrupt ending of their conversation.

“Hi,” is all you can deliver. You’re at a loss for words while the woman next to him seems to lose what little patience she has with you. Everything you had rehearsed beforehand, gone. Your mind is foggy and your mouth feels dry as you try to compose yourself. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? It won’t be long, I promise.” Your voice breaks at the end and you wish you had never agreed to get on that stupid red-eye to Silverstone in the first place.

Lando offers a look of sympathy and then turns to the woman next to him. “Charlotte, could you just give us a second?”

Pursing her lips and turning on her heel, the woman walks away, heading towards the mouth of the McLaren garage. She’s far enough away that you’re out of earshot, but close enough that you feel her gaze linger as Lando turns back to face you.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he tells you with a smile. “We can take a picture if you want or I can sign some stuff for you.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mentally slapping your palm against your forehead and forcing yourself to get a grip. Idiot. “Fuck, sorry, that sounded so rude! It’s just-” you rush to explain.

“Oh no, it’s okay!” he stammers. “I should’ve guessed from the Red Bull shirt anway.”

You both share an awkward laugh before you compose yourself and reach a shaky hand into your bag.

“This is going to sound so weird, but I was online shopping for a new watch the other day because I lost mine, and I’m pretty sure I bought the one that was stolen from you. I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. I just...well, here,” you say, offering the watch and its temporary box to Lando.

He looks at you, taking the box only to go wide-eyed at the contents inside.

“I have all the information that I was able to get, but the ad was taken off of eBay and I really wanted to do the right thing and give it back to you. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, earning a few looks from people passing by and catching Charlotte’s attention once more. “Sorry, sorry. How did you get this?”

Amused, you laugh quietly while he studies the watch intently. “That was my dad’s reaction too. Basically there was a listing for it on eBay and it was sort of an impulse buy,” you explain. “I didn’t see the news coverage of what happened until afterwards and I felt awful. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, I genuinely had no idea.”

Shrugging, he plays it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.” It’s hard to miss his sudden change in attitude from the interview you watched moments ago and you can’t help but wonder whether he has your or the watch’s presence to thank.

There is a brief moment of silence between you both before he continues. “How much did you pay for it?”

“It was so cheap, honestly,” you say. “Nothing compared to the original price, I’m sure.”

Charlotte, alerted by Lando’s attention-grabbing reaction to being reunited by his watch, returns to where the two of you are standing. “Oh wow, did you find a replacement watch for him?” she asks you, clearly impressed by the apparent likeness.

“No, Charlotte”, he corrects her. “It’s my one. Look.” He hands the watch to his PR manager, who receives it so gently you think she’s afraid it might shatter in her hands. Flipping the watch between her fingers, she studies the small engraving on the underside of the face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Lando nods. “It’s the exact date it was given to me, there’s no way anyone else could know that and make a copy of it.”

You feel the need to justify yourself to her. “It was listed online and I bought it before I knew anything about the situation. I didn’t even really know who Lando was until I saw what happened on the news, I swear.” You anticipate her anger or disapproval, preparing yourself to withstand the lecture you’re about to receive and mentally promising that, as soon as it’s over, you can run back to your dad and tell him you just want to go home.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaims. “We all thought we’d never see it again and you found it on accident.” The smile she gives you sets your mind at ease. “Technically, this is a police matter now, so I’ll have to hand it over to the right people, but this helps us tremendously. Did you get any information about the seller?”

You explain the situation to her, about how the listing was taken offline but you have a printout of the messages and address the seller gave you, which you hand her from your bag. She lets you know that someone may get in touch soon to ask questions but not to worry, that it’s only a formality. Eventually, she asks if you’d like to watch free practice from a spot in the mobile hospitality unit, but you politely decline, explaining that you needed to get back to your dad in the Red Bull garage instead.

Charlotte smiles fondly at Lando and presses the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Come on, you, we have to go and get ready now anyway.”

He takes off his hat, cheeks flushing as he makes an effort to quickly brush the curls lining his forehead, placing it back on and dismissing Charlotte with a wave of his hand. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

Once the two of you are alone, he pulls out his phone. “Do you have Venmo? I’ll pay you back, it’s not fair that you had to waste your money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Lando seems unconvinced. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Seriously, it’s all good.”

“Well,” he continues awkwardly. “I have to go, but are you here for the whole weekend or...?”

You shake your head. “Just today. I’m not into Formula 1, I find it a little bit boring.”

“Seriously?! The fastest cars in the world and you’re calling it boring? Why even come to something like Silverstone if it’s so boring?” he feigns offense, doing air quotes as he imitates your apparent disdain for the sport.

Laughing quietly, you shrug. “I have family at Red Bull, so it was basically just luck and convenience that you were in the U.K. this weekend,” you clarify. “I don’t really understand Formula 1, that’s all.”

“Fair enough, it’s not for everyone I suppose,” Lando replies. “So who in your family works at Red–” The end of his question is drowned out by the sound of his name called by an evidently disgruntled, impatient engineer.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta go, but, um,” he exhales with a nervous laugh. “I still feel like I need to repay you in some way. Do you want to go get a drink after the race on Sunday? I’m busy for the next few days but Sunday night I’ll be free. Only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything.”

You laugh, appreciative that the nervousness was shared. “That– Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll give you my number.”

He types your details into his phone before apologizing once more, thanking you again, and rushing off into the garage.

——

On Sunday, you let your dad believe he’s the one who convinced you to stay for the entire race weekend, but it’s the promise of Lando’s company later that night and the endearing text messages on your phone that prompts the desire to see this weekend through. You had spent the previous nights on your phone, going through driver and team Instagram accounts, as well as the F1 website, to get an idea of what to expect. Typically, it would pain you to look through motorsport news pages, especially with so many of the reports centering around Max and his vie for the championship as of late, but you manage.

You notice almost immediately while settling into your spot at the back of the garage that the energy does not match your own. You are enthusiastic and eager, while the rest of the team is stressed and rushes around you. Presumably, it’s because race day impacts their livelihoods and paycheks whereas it only dictates your family’s dinner topics, but, nevertheless, your excitement refuses to simmer.

Unfortunately, if it was weird for you to be seen at the McLaren garage before the first free practice, it would be infinitely more suspicious for you to be lingering around on race day, so you were not able to catch Lando at all since your initial meeting on Friday. However, you made sure to message him good luck beforehand, to which he thanked you and expressed excitement for your upcoming night.

“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll be on the pitwall,” your dad says, snapping you out of your whirring mind. He notices your obscure behavior, quick to comment on it. “Is it weird? Being here after so long?”

You nod, shrugging. “Unusual, for sure. So much has changed since the last time I came and watched, but I’m excited, though.”

“Well, it’s always good to have you here.”

Reciprocating your dad’s grin, you silently send him on his way. He exits quickly and leaves you to your own devices. Though, your own devices look to consist of impatiently waiting for the race to start and scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Ironically, your boredom with pre-race antics appears to create quite the dichotomy against the chaos exuding from the garage you find yourself encompassed in.

Regardless, your attention is regained when frequent cuts are made to the drivers in their cars, and you recognise that the race will be starting soon. You are temporarily startled when the cars begin moving without hearing an official announcement, but quickly realisee that it is merely a formation lap and no one else around you seems to be paying all too much mind to it.

When the cars return to their positions on the grid, you watch eagerly as the lights flash and the announcers begin yelling. You keep your eyes trained on the orange car towards the front of the grid, watching Lando so intently that you almost miss what happens to the cars in front of him.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the events unfold: the Red Bull car out front collides with what you identify as a Mercedes, spinning and slamming into the barrier. Gasps chorus across the garage as the screens replay slowed clips of the crash as an announcement states that the safety car has been deployed. They replay it from every conceivable angle, your astonishment at the severity is present upon your first viewing, but it’s only after the sixth clip that it clicks in your head that the person in the car is Max.

“For the second time this season, Hamilton and Verstappen clash and tangle on the opening lap, but, this time, it is ending in dramatic consequences for the championship leader.”

If you had perceived the pre-race behavior in the garage as chaotic, this was a whole new level of absurdity.

People rush around you while orders are shouted and frustrations are verbalised.

Your dad is angry.

The last time you recall him behaving like this was when your younger sister had broken the wine glasses he had bought for your mother on their honeymoon. You, however, ignore his yelling and remain encapsulated by the TV, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the events unfolding finally, finally register in your brain.

Car number 33 is in the wall and out of the race, and your ex-boyfriend is inside, silent and unmoving.

____________

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

[nastybuckybarnes]

In a Heartbeat  -  Seven

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Injuries, Fluff, Fluff, FLUFF

Word Count: 4.1K

A/n: Here she is! Part seven! I’m gonna write a little epilogue but the fic can very well end here! I love this series with my whole heart and soul omg

Series Masterlist

~*~

He’s numb.

So damn numb.

Nothing even matters. His ears are ringing, the bright lights bouncing off the linoleum floors are fucking with his eyes but he doesn’t care because you’ve been in the operating room for hours and all he wants is to see you, to make sure you’re okay.

No one’s said a single thing to him about whether or not you’re okay, and it’s taking all of his self-control not to break down that door and see for himself.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, jolting him from his thoughts and bringing him back to the loud sounds of the waiting room.

He furrows his brows at Steve, confused out of his mind until he sees Tommy in his other arm, head resting against his father's shoulder and a casted arm hanging limply at his side.

“Hey Tommy, how you feeling?” The brunet asks, his voice rough and hoarse with lack of use.

The six-year-old only whimpers softly in response, burrowing further into his father’s neck.

“He’s okay. Doctor’s got him on some painkillers. Said it was a clean break from pounding on that window.” Bucky stands up, rubbing his nephew on the back. “You’re a hero, buddy. Just like your daddy.” Tommy sniffles and nods, the sight breaking the man’s heart.

“You should head home for the night, Buck. Shower, rest, then come back in the morning.” He clenches his jaw and swallows hard, shaking his head.

“I-I can’t, Steve. What if... what if she comes out and I’m not here? Or what if...” He trails off, not even wanting to entertain the idea of the other option.

“I saw Nat on her way down here. Ask her for an update and then go home. You’ve had a long day. And when she’s out of surgery she's gonna be upset to see that you’ve exhausted yourself out here in the waiting room.” Steve has a point. Both men are still in their fire gear, having rushed to the hospital directly from the fire.

It’s after midnight now.

“I’m taking Tommy home. Take care of yourself tonight, Buck. If not for you, then for her.” He nods, eyes on the floor as the blond leaves, his son curled up against his side.

“Barnes? You’re still here?” He looks up at the sound of Natasha’s voice, desperation evident on his face as she walks over to him.

“I’ve got no update other than she’s unstable and that they’re doing everything they can. It’ll be another few hours before she’s out of surgery and even then, she’s going straight to the ICU and won’t be awake for at least a day or so.” He lets out a terribly shaky breath but nods, rubbing his eyes then pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Y-you’ll call if there are any updates, right? I’m just gonna pop home and shower and sleep for a few hours but I'll be back first thing in the morning.” She nods, taking his hand and squeezing tightly.

“I’m off for the rest of the night, so I’ll be sticking around bugging the nurses for updates whenever I can. Might even bribe an intern with good coffee, not this hospital shit.” Bucky chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Okay.” He takes a step towards the exit then hesitates, looking back at the redhead for a. moment. “Do you think she’s gonna make it?” He asks, his voice soft and broken and nearly lost among the sea of people.

Natasha swallows hard and avoids his eyes, taking a deep breath before answering.

“The doctors are doing everything they can.” A rehearsed answer. An answer she gives to relatives to let them know that they shouldn’t expect much.

He says nothing, only gives her a firm nod, then turns and leaves the hospital.

Hot droplets of water rain down on him, washing away the stench of smoke and the physical reminder of the events of the day. But no heat and no water pressure will wash away the sorrow in his soul. The absolute unadulterated fear that grips his bones and seeps into his bloodstream. That is something that won’t be washed away by any amount of water and suds.

His movements are mechanical, scrub, rinse, dry, dress.

The sleep that finds him is restless and fitful, filled with nightmares that will haunt him for nights to come. Every thought, both waking and otherwise, are occupied by you. Your face, your smile, your laugh, and the thought that he may never experience any of them again.

He's back at the hospital at six-thirty, coffee in his metal hand because his flesh one is shaking too much.

Just as he’s walking to the reception desk, he sees Natasha walking towards the waiting room. Her face is unreadable when she sees him, but he notices her take a deep breath.

“What is it?” He asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

“She’s out of surgery. She’s still unstable, hasn’t woken up yet, but she’s been out for about three hours. She probably won’t wake up until this evening.” He takes a few deep breaths then nods, a bubble of relief hugging him tenderly.

“Where is she?” Nat sighs and turns on her heel, leading him towards your room.

“James, I’m not going to sugar coat this for you. She’s not doing well. There’s still a fair chance that she won’t wake up.” She stops, looking up at him with vulnerability in her eyes, tears brimming.

“What is it?” He’s nervous, his heart feels like it’s going to explode.

“They’re saying she needs a transplant. That her heart won’t last for much longer and if she wants any hope of surviving more than a couple years, she’ll need a new heart.”

The air leaves his lungs in a whoosh, almost as if someone punched him in the gut. He stumbles back a step, coffee dropped and hands coming to the tops of his thighs as he hunches over, trying to catch his breath.

“That’s a best-case scenario. Worst case is she... well... we should’ve said our goodbyes. But she’s strong. She’ll pull through. She has to pull through.” That last part is whispered so softly that the brunet almost misses it.

“Nat,” his voice breaks, it cracks and splinters and shatters in pieces on the linoleum that he doesn’t have the energy to pick up. He can’t pick himself back up. Not if you might not wake up. He just can’t.

“Sit down, c’mon.” She helps him lean back against the wall, sliding down until he’s seated, arms draped over his knees and his head hanging heavily between them.

He can’t breathe.

A sick voice in his head screams that this is what you must’ve been feeling, this terrible tightness in your chest, this inability to draw in a single damn breath. It’s unbearable and for just a moment he realizes he wouldn’t blame you if you gave up, if you just let it take you. But he shakes that thought from his head and instead focuses on you fighting. You need to fight. If you can pull through, then they can find you a new heart and you’ll be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You have to be okay.

~*~

Everything feels still. Dry. Bland.

If you could pin it to a colour, that colour would be beige.

Everything feels beige.

You’ve been awake for a little while now, gathering your bearings and trying to remember what happened. The last thing you remember is the fire bell... Wanda telling you not to go... and then running back into the building to find Tommy.

Tommy.

Your heart picks up in speed, pain flaring through your chest at the action, and an alarm starts beeping rapidly.

It takes only seconds for the door to open, nurses and doctors flooding into the room and checking the various machines around you while you grab at the front of your hospital gown uselessly, trying to alleviate the pain.

“(Y/n), I need you to take a big breath with me, okay?” A doctor says, her brown eyes focused on yours. You nod, inhaling with her for a moment then exhaling. You do this a few times and the machine gradually stops, your heart slowing as whatever they injected into your bloodstream takes effect.

Nurses slowly trickle out, leaving just you and the doctor.

“Well, you sure know how to make an entrance,” she says with a smile, looking over your chart.

“What can I say, Doc? I’ve got a flair for the dramatic.” Your voice is weak, far weaker than it should be, and that alone scares you.

She chuckles softly, smiling at your words before tucking the chart under her arm and looking at you straight on.

“You being alive right now is an absolute miracle,” she says softly, taking a step towards the bed then motioning to the chair beside it, asking wordlessly if she can take a seat.

You nod, taking a few deep breaths as you prepare to hear whatever news she has for you.

“Your heart stopped twice on the way to the hospital, and the second time we almost couldn’t get it going again. Your heart is weak, and what you endured nearly ruptured your left atrium and you had severe lacerations of your ventricles. It is most comparable to a very severe heart attack, and you’re lucky to have survived.”

She doesn’t look like she’s delivering good news. No, she should be happy if you’re lucky to have survived. That fact alone puts you on edge.

“What is it? What... what’s wrong with my heart now?” You know it can’t be good judging only by the look on her face. It’s a look you’ve seen far too many times.

“With the rate you’re going, your heart will give out completely in three or four years. And it won’t be a pleasant process. You’ll be in pain, bedridden and hospitalized because you won’t be able to move. The only alternative is a transplant.” The world around you shifts from beige to grey, the clouds dark and the room sorrowful.

Your ears start ringing, loud and painfully and it takes everything in you not to rip them right off.

“S-so that’s it then? I’m gonna die in three years if I’m lucky? I’ve only got three years left?” She sighs and looks down at her hands, “the only other option would be to put you on a waiting list for a new heart, but we cannot guarantee that you’ll get it in time, but it’s worth a shot.” You shake your head, tears falling from your eyes and splattering on the ugly blue hospital blanket.

“I don’t want a new heart! I don’t want to go through a process and get my hopes up over something that I won’t get in time.” You sniffle and shove your face in your hands, the steady beeping of the machine next to you making you want to cry even harder.

“I’ll give you some time, (Y/n).” The doctor gets up and leaves, a sad look on her face as she turns to the pair waiting anxiously outside your door.

Natasha pushes herself to her feet, her eyes wide with curiosity and desperation.

“I recommend you give her space. She’s... processing everything,” Doctor Palmer says softly, giving Natasha a sad smile before walking away to handle her other patients.

Nat exchanges looks with Bucky then slowly walks to the door.

“Just give me a minute to see how she’s doing, okay? I’ll tell her you’re out here waiting, I just wanna see if she needs anything.” He takes a deep breath but nods, understanding that Natasha would be able to tell, if only from a medical standpoint, what you need.

You keep your face in your hands, tears wetting your palms, as the door opens again.

“Beans?” Nat’s voice makes you stiffen, sniffling and wiping your eyes before peeking up at her.

Her heart shatters in her chest at the sight of you.

Skin dull, eyes heavy and sunken. She’s seen a lot of sick people before but never would she have put you in the same category as them. Now though? Now, you look the part.

“I uh... I heard the news. Bugged the nurses for updates and they finally caved.”

Your bottom lip wobbles and then a sob bubbles out of your chest.

Nat’s face falls and she slides onto the bed beside you, pulling you into a tight embrace while you sob.

“Oh beans,” she whispers, smoothing your hair away from your face.

“I don’t want a new heart!” You cry, tears soaking her shirt. She hugs you, holds you tightly while you cry out your frustrations, your sorrows.

It’s agony.

She has so many questions, so much she wants to say, but she knows better.

She holds her tongue, wanting you to be in a better headspace before she talks to you about your options. It’s too soon. The wound is too fresh.

Bucky sits impatiently outside of the room the whole time, leg bouncing and flesh fingers trembling.

Natasha comes out of your room a short while later, sniffling and wiping at her cheeks.

“What’s happening? Is she okay?” The redhead nods, taking a few deep breaths.

“I’ve seen a lot of sick people, Barnes. A lot of them. But seeing her... seeing my friend so weak and tiny...” She shakes her head, looking up at him with glossy eyes.

“I’m scared, Buck.” Bucky pulls her into a hug, his own breaths shaking.

“It's okay. It’s gonna be okay.” She sniffles again then speaks, “she’s asleep again. She should be good to see you the next time she wakes up though. I’m sure she misses you.” He squeezes his eyes shut but nods, trying to mentally prepare himself to see you in such a fragile state.

~*~

Bucky doesn’t know how to feel.

He doesn’t even want to feel.

Helpless.

That’s the word that sums it up the best.

Seeing you on that hospital bed, tubes attached to your face, arms, and chest, he feels absolutely helpless.

“Hey,” he murmurs, smiling gently when you look up from your book.

“Bucky... Hi.” Your voice is raspy and hoarse, and he has to take a few shaky breaths to stop from crying.

“You mind if I sit?” You shake your head, motioning to the chair beside your bed.

He takes a seat and looks at you closely, his eyes welling up with tears.

“How ya feelin, pretty girl?” You huff a breath out through your nose then shrug, trying your hardest to stay strong in front of him.

“I uh... I’ve been better, I gotta say.” He chuckles weakly then nods, sniffling and dropping his gaze for a moment.

“Nat uh... Nat told me what the doctors said. About your heart and stuff. That’s... intense.” It’s not the best word but it’s the only one he can find.

You blow a breath out through your mouth and nod.

“It’s scary,” you whisper, not looking up from your hands even when he takes them in his.

“I’m scared. I don’t want to be put on a waiting list only to not get one in time. And there are people who need a new heart more than I do. People who want one more than I do.” He furrows his brows and cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“What do you mean, you don’t want a new heart? Why wouldn’t you want one?”

You sigh heavily, “because, James. This is my heart. It’s the heart that I’ve lived with for my whole life. I don’t want a new one because this one is mine. This is the one that’s dealt with heartbreaks and betrayals. This is the one that’s gotten me through the bad days and the good. And this is the one that chose you. I don’t want a different one. I wanna keep this one. And don’t you dare tell me that my days are numbered if I keep this one because my days are numbered regardless.”

You finally look up at him, fire in your eyes as you express everything that’s been going on in your mind.

“We’re all gonna die someday, and it may not be the way we expect or the way we want, and we won’t ever be fully ready for it. But it’s gonna happen. I’d much rather know that I spent my life doing what I wanted on my terms. If my days are numbered, I'd rather enjoy them than spend them waiting for a heart I may never get. My heart’s still got a few years left in it. Careful years, yeah, but years no less.”

Tears stain his cheeks and he nods, sniffling twice then pressing a kiss to your hands.

“I’m not going to try and change your mind, Doll. The choice is completely yours and no matter what you decide to do, I’ll stay by your side through all of it, I promise. You’re my girl, my best girl, my only girl, and I want you to do what’s best for you.” You squeeze your eyes shut, having mentally prepared yourself for him to put up a fight, not for him to be so supportive of your decision.

“I love you, (Y/n). And I’m gonna cherish every fucking moment that you let me spend with you because I love you. I thought,” he pauses, pulling a hand back to scrub the tears off of his cheeks only for more to fall.

“I thought I’d lose you before getting a chance to truly tell you. But I’m not gonna waste any more time because life is a precious gift. I love you, (Y/n). So much. To the fucking ends of the Earth. I love you and I don't want a day to go by where you don’t know just how much I love you.”

You whimper, his confession making warmth spread through your body and tears rain down your cheeks.

“I-I love you too, James. With every ounce of my heart, I love you. And I don't want to let you down and I never want to hurt you.” He closes his eyes, content to bask in the weight of your words for a moment longer, a private, intimate moment.

He eventually settles his head on the bed next to your hip, and your fingers find their way into his luscious brown locks, twirling the thick strands around mindlessly.

“When are you getting discharged?” He asks, his voice muffled by the bed.

“I’m not sure yet. Doctor Palmer said she wants to keep me here for at least another week or so to monitor my heart and take me off the medication, and then maybe some more time after that depending on how weak I am.” He nods, nuzzling against you some more.

“I’m not going back to work ‘till you’re out,” he says matter-of-factly.

You only giggle, shaking your head.

“James, that’s not even plausible. You’ve got bills to pay. Besides, you’ll get tired of being here. I’m gonna spend most of my time sleeping or bugging the nurses for some real food.” He lifts his head, eyes full of vulnerability.

“I just don't wanna leave you and then...” He trails off but you understand his concern.

“I’m gonna be okay. Doctor Palmer says I’m doing okay. I’m sure Nat will continue bugging her for updates and she’ll let you know if there’s anything concerning happening. But I’m gonna be fine, I swear.” He watches you for a moment longer before nodding and pressing his head against your thigh.

A thought bubbles into your mind and you tug gently on his hair to get his attention.

“What happened to Tommy?” You ask, voice tight and filled with apprehension.

Bucky only smiles gently.

“Lil guy’s a hero. He busted that window open, that’s how we found you two. Broke his arm but he’s okay. Says he looks like me so he likes it.” A smile finds its way onto your face at the idea of Tommy looking up to his uncle so much.

“He’s already gotten everyone at the firehouse to sign it, and I’m sure when he’s back to school he’ll get everyone there to sign it too. But the lil guy’s a hero. Gonna make a good firefighter.” You nod, mind flashing back to those last few moments in the school.

“I was so scared, James. I-I couldn’t protect him and I didn’t know what to do.” He reaches up and strokes your cheek gently, shushing you softly.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. It’s okay. Everyone’s okay.” You take a few deep breaths and nod, trying to calm down before your heart rate picks up too much.

“You need to worry about yourself, and not everyone else. Focus on getting better, okay? And then, when you’re ready, I’m gonna take you out on a date and show you just how much you can enjoy life, okay?”

You nod, smiling at him.

“Okay.”

~*~

“Miss (Y/l/n)!” Tommy runs at you full speed, nearly knocking you over when he barrels into your legs.

Bucky’s quick to steady you, opening his mouth to reprimand his nephew but you stop him, raising a hand to cut him off.

“Hey, Tommy! How’s my little superhero feeling?” He pulls back and smiles up at you.

“I got another cast so now my arm looks just like uncle Bucky’s!” You glance at the new blue cast and smile brightly.

“Look at that! And you’re a hero just like him too, huh?” He nods excitedly then digs around in his pocket for a moment.

“Here!” He hands you a sharpie then points to a blank space on his cast.

“I made sure to leave room for you to sign it!” Your face softens and you crouch down in front of him, signing your name and drawing a small picture.

“Thank you, Tommy.” He nods, glancing over his shoulder as his dad calls his name.

“C’mon Tommy! You gonna help us move or are you gonna help miss (Y/l/n) get organized?” He looks between you and his dad then runs over to the moving truck, excitedly grabbing whatever his little arms can carry then bringing them into the house.

Bucky wraps an arm around your waist and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“You ready?” You look up at your new house, then over at him, nodding without hesitation.

“Absolutely.”

The moving process is long and tedious, and after seven hours of lifting, unboxing, cleaning, and organizing, you’re about ready to call it a day.

“Pizza’s on its way, and Nat ran out to grab some beers,” Bucky says, coming up into the master bedroom. Concern immediately colours his features as he sees the way you’re sitting. You’re on the bed, hunched over with one hand on your mouth and the other on your lower abdomen.

“(Y/n)?” He asks, coming to a crouch in front of you and trying to get a look at your face.

You take a few deep breaths then nod, opening your eyes and offering him a weak smile.

“You okay?” You nod again but he seems unconvinced.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You take a deep breath and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I uh.. not really. I wanted to tell you in a better way but I guess this is as good as it’s going to get.” His heart is in his throat, absolutely terrified of what you’re going to tell him.

You’ve been going to the doctor a lot more frequently, and your energy levels have plummeted.

He knew you didn’t have time left but it hasn’t even been six months since the fire.

You pull his hand to your stomach and rest it there gently, eyes finding his as you wait for it to click.

He stares at his hand in confusion, that confusion melting away as he realizes what you’re telling him.

“Wait, are you...?”  His eyes are wide, eyebrows raised and heart pounding.

You only nod, tears welling up in your eyes as he launches up and wraps his arms around your frame.

“Oh my god. Oh my god! I’m gonna be a dad!” You giggle wetly, tears of joy falling and getting soaked up by his shirt.

“We’re gonna have a baby.” He pulls back, hands on your small baby bump.

“How far along are you?” He asks, cradling the bump delicately between his hands.

“About three months. And the doctor said that they’ve already got a birth plan ready, and different pills for me to take to calm my heart.” His glossy eyes look up at you, so full of love and adoration.

“I can’t believe it. I...” he stops, leaning in the gently kiss your lips then pulls you into another tight embrace.

“Thank you, (Y/n). Thank you.”

[queenshelby]

The Secret – Part Four/Final Part

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Fem Reader

Words: 2050

Warnings: Smut

Tag List (Cillian Murphy):

@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal   @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse   @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  @zozeebo  @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa  @littlewierdalien  @sad-huffle-nerd  @theflamecrystal   @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @themissthang  @0ghostwriter0  @stylescanbeatmyback  @1-800-peakyblinders​ @datewithgianni  @momoneymolife  @ntmynouis

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @margoo0 @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee  @daydreamingnymph  @fookingshelby  

-----------

Over the next two weeks, Cillian and you continued to keep your relationship a secret on set. You both believed that no one knew that you were seeing each other. But this was far from the truth. By that time, both Emma and Anthony knew about you. Yet they never spoke about it.

Anthony could understand why you and Cillian weren’t forthcoming about your relationship. You only just started working on set during this season of Peaky Blinders and Cillian was one of the producers. There would clearly be some controversy and gossip if people found out especially since there also was a rather large age gap between you.

Nonetheless, you hated to keep your relationship a secret especially when you saw other women on set showing some interest in Cillian.

There was one woman in particular who bothered you and this was Cillian’s new assistant Amanda.

She showed an obvious interest in Cillian and, being Cillian, he was oblivious about it which was somewhat adorable. He never noticed when women were crushing on him, yet he was the one who tried very hard to set everyone else up on dates.

After some filming during early hours of the morning, Amanda had yet another breakdown. It seemed that she couldn’t handle Cillian’s erratic schedule and, whilst you knew that Cillian was somewhat frustrated about it, he remained calm and even gentle, telling her not to worry too much about getting things wrong.

He was a patient and kind man and you loved exactly that about him, but when it came to Amanda, his kind and patient nature irritated you and you were just about to have your first argument.

In his trailer, you couldn’t help but confront him about his interactions with Amanda.

‘You do realise she is doing these things on purpose to get your attention, right?’ you sighed as Cillian read through his schedule for the remainder of the day. By that time, you both had already been up for five hours and you were tired after you had spent all night together with Cillian.

‘Are you jealous?’ Cillian chuckled with a grin on his face, not taking you seriously at all.

‘No, why would I be jealous?’ you asked annoyed just before Cillian took both of your hands into his and pulled you closer towards him.

‘Exactly. You have no reason to’ Cillian said before pressing his lips onto yours. ‘I am in love with you, no one else’ he added as your lips drifted apart.

‘I am just over this…us hiding our relationship from everyone. Despite, she is clearly taking it a bit far don’t you think?’ you pouted, waiting for Cillian to kiss you again.

‘She is very attentive, that’s for sure’ Cillian chuckled, ignoring your comment and your pout, but deep down inside, he was sick of it too. He didn’t like Amanda’s behaviour and he hated having to hide his feeling for you. He wanted to spend every night with you without guilt or having to worry about getting caught, especially after a long day of filming.

‘You aren’t taking me seriously Cilly’ you pouted again and, just after you did, Cillian pressed his lips back onto yours.

Just as you were sharing another passionate kiss, you heard a knock on the trailer door.

‘Cillian, it’s Amanda. Would you like to grab some lunch?’ she asked, causing you to roll your eyes once again with his lips still on yours.

Cillian pulled away and laughed quietly for a moment before he shouted out ‘Sorry Amanda, I can’t. Y/N and I are rehearsing the next scene’ Cillian said loudly but yet politely.

‘We are?’ you asked, causing Cillian to laugh and nod at the same time.

Amanda left shortly thereafter and, just as she did, you placed your thumb over Cillian’s lips suggestively.

‘Alright, so, let’s rehearse’ you whispered and pulled him even closer towards you. In response, with one swift movement, he sat you up on the trailer’s kitchen bench.

‘You do realise this next scene is between Tommy and Lizzie though, right?’ you smiled.

‘I don’t think Amanda realises’ Cillian chuckled before running both of his hands over your legs.

‘Well, you can think about me later during your takes with Natasha’ you giggled as you ran your hand over his crotch and began unbuckling his belt as he positioned himself in between your legs.

‘What are you doing?’ Cillian asked as you finally reached the zipper of his suit pants. You wouldn’t admit it, but you liked it when he was dressed as Thomas Shelby, in the whole and entire outfit.

‘Claiming what is mine Mr Shelby’ you whispered with a slight giggle, causing Cillian to chuckle.

‘The crew is outside’ Cillian said, trying to push your hand away from his already erect cock.

‘Then we'll have to be quiet, won't we’ you responded before freeing his member slowly.

Cillian lost his composure at that point. As usual, when you showed Cillian your desire for him, he was completely under your control, ready to give you whatever you wanted.

He let out a deep sigh as you began stroking his cock for a moment before jumping down from the counter bench again and bending forward to take him in your mouth.

In response to your wet lips touching his hard cock, Cillian took in another sharp breath. It was hard for him to resist you, almost impossible.

You swirled your tongue over the top half of his hard member before taking him all in right against the back of your throat, testing your gag reflex each time.

‘Fuck’ Cillian moaned as he gave into the sensation and you began to bob your head up and down his long shaft.

You continued that for five minutes and by the you were gushing with wetness and couldn't wait any longer, you needed him inside you.

You broke away from his swollen cock and stood up before turning around leaning forward over the counter, facing the door of trailer.

Without words, Cillian positioned himself behind you and lifted up your skirt gently before pushing down your panties in a haste.

He couldn't stop you from getting what you wanted and he was certainly willing to give it to you now that he was all worked up.

Within seconds, he lined himself up with your wet entrance and pushed forward.

‘Mmm, god damn’ you whispered in blissful joy as he instantly hit your sweet spot. He always felt so good when he entered you, stretching and filling you the way he did.

‘Shhhhhh’ Cillian whispered as he began to move in and out of you slowly.

You adjusted yourself around Cillian’s cock and grounded into him, pushing back against him. You wanted him to take you hard, claim you. He grunted his approval as you started bouncing backwards and, as he pushed forwards with several heavy thrusts, you felt like he was hitting you in the throat with each thrust into your centre.

Cillian held your hips, urging you to bounce harder each time and you almost felt him pushing you into the counter with each thrust.

You knew this had to end quickly and, unlike other times where you would try and draw out your high for as long as possible, you let go as he slammed into you over and over again.

All hell broke loose in your body when Cillian reached between your legs to rub his fingers over your clit at the same time he thrusted into you. Stars shot through your vision and you thought you might pass out from the pleasure. You felt Cillian spasm inside you and a flood of his wet cum started leaking from your core.

Your orgasms washed over you in sync and so were you uncontrolled moans as, all of a sudden, the door to Cillian’s trailer opened.

‘Fuck’ Cillian shouted all of a sudden as he pulled out of you and quickly pulled up his pants.

Luckily, anything other than your upper bodies was covered by the counter front of the kitchenette. Nonetheless, it was obvious to anyone what you were doing as Cillian was leaning over you and his face rested on your neck before the door opened suddenly.

You wanted to sink to the ground with embarrassment right then and there as you saw Finn’s face, flushed and full of questions.

‘Amanda organised some sandwiches for you, saying you were busy rehearsing’ Finn said after he cleared his throat with a slight chuckle.

‘It’s not what it looks like’ you said with an equally flushed face.

‘Sure’ Finn said somewhat angrily as he placed the sandwiches onto the kitchen counter and walked out.

‘This…is bad’ Cillian said to you as Finn left and you nodded with agreement. You knew it was bad and unprofessional.

You pulled up your panties quickly and asked Cillian what he wanted to do now that Finn knew.

‘I will talk to him’ Cillian said just before he followed Finn, not knowing exactly what he would tell him just yet.

It took Cillian several minutes to catch up with Finn who, by that point, was furious about what he saw. Cillian knew that Finn was interested in you and Finn had asked Cillian for help several times, wanting to convince you to go on a date with him, to give him a chance.

‘Can we talk?’ Cillian asked as he finally found Finn down at the docks, preparing for his next scene.

‘So, you can find out who else I might be interested in and take your chances?’ Finn asked angrily as he put down his script.

‘Listen, I know it looks bad but I couldn’t tell anyone about it. I am sure you realise why’ Cillian said, causing Finn to nod.

‘Out of all women here you had to get involved with the one woman I am interested in’ Finn said, still annoyed about Cillian’s actions.

‘It was Y/N who pursued me and didn’t exactly plan for this to happen, falling for a woman half my age. It just happened’ Cillian said as he sat down next to Finn.

‘How long?’ Finn asked curiously.

‘Eight weeks. We’ve been keeping it quiet’ Cillian explained, causing Finn to nod.

‘Right. I feel like an idiot now’ Finn responded.

‘I think it should be me who feels like the idiot’ Cillian responded just as Anthony arrived, getting the area ready for the next scene.

‘Anything wrong?’ Anthony asked, causing Cillian to look at Finn with questions running through his mind.

Finn shook his head before telling Cillian politely that he needed to get ready for his next scene with Paul.

Cillian nodded and thanked Finn for his time before making his way back to you.

‘What did he say?’ you asked, desperately wanting to know where this would leave you and Cillian after the recent encounter.

‘Not much really, but I think we need to make our relationship public’ Cillian sighed.

‘Is he going to tell anyone?’ you asked worried.

‘That he caught us having sex in my trailer? Probably not’ Cillian laughed. ‘But, I think that we should still come clean’ Cillian suggested and you nodded in agreement and it was that same evening, over dinner, that you announced your relationship to the crew and the cast.

To your surprise, it wasn’t a surprise at all to some of your friends and cast members that you were a couple. In fact, Anthony had hatched a bet with one of the other crew members who didn’t believe the rumours.

He won $50 pounds and your best friend was glad to know that she would get the apartment you shared to herself for the next few months until filming wrapped up since, no doubt, you preferred spending your nights with Cillian from now on.

[hajimine]

BETWEEN THE NOTES — SEMI EITA x GN!READER

synopsis: for as long as you can remember, you and Semi Eita have always hated each other—but a couple of tender glances and one too many bottles of beer later, you find out that maybe you were looking at it the wrong way this whole time.

genre: fluff, (kinda) enemies to lovers, musician!au, mutual pining but they’re both idiots, jealousy, etc.

warnings: alcohol + intoxication (nothing bad happens), slight suggestive themes, vulgar language, kinda fast paced?

wc: ~2.5k

to: @archivednikes happy birthday shawdy <3

special thanks to: @rintaroll for beta-ing & telling me a lil bit about how bands work and stuff bc idk shit lol :,)

“Semi, get your ass moving,” you huff. “You’re gonna make me late.”

He gives you a smug look and raises a slitted eyebrow. “Did something crawl up your ass and died? What’s up with you?”

You exhale heavily through your nose and stare at him, unimpressed.

“We gotta catch the afternoon train if you wanna reach the venue in time for our gig. This is a really good opportunity for me, don’t you dare mess it up.” you say, gathering the last of your things for the trip.

There is a tingling sensation crawling down your spine, as if someone is staring at you. You look over your shoulder curiously, opening your mouth to utter another snarky remark to get your partner to stop gawking around and get ready.

But the intensity behind his gaze caught you by surprise.

Those hazel eyes of his—ones that are usually sharp and cold—held a sort of softness in them as he looks at you. When you caught him staring, his gaze did not falter one bit.

You couldn’t stop your eyes from traveling down the perfect slope of his nose, continuing down to his pouty lips.

As much as you hate him, you can’t deny that Semi Eita is an attractive man. Heck, even the word attractive isn’t enough to express how infuriatingly hot he is.

Your gaze stays on his lips for a second too long. Have they always looked this soft and inviting?

The dry cough from the opposite side of the room is the only thing that managed to break you out of this trance. Semi Eita’s trance.

Your manager stands by the door, tapping her foot on the wooden tiles impatiently.

“Now, lovebirds,” she narrows her eyes, “Save the PDA for tonight, yeah? We’ve got a schedule to follow.”

You roll your eyes at her, cheeks uncomfortably warm. And just like that, the strange yet tender moment you shared with Semi dissipated into thin air.

。。。

You don’t know if you should take pity on the gray-haired singer or if you should laugh at him.

Currently, Semi’s head is bowed down in shame as he gets an earful from his manager in the middle of a crowded train.

You see, the four of you should’ve arrived at the venue by now. Both your managers are very strict about schedules, and they planned to arrive at the bar two hours before the agreed time.

Thankfully, his bandmates have been a little more punctual than him and have successfully boarded the 4pm train. But Mr. Popular right here just had to stop every few minutes to take pictures with every single fan he met on the way to the station.

“It’s half past five now,” his manager whisper-shouts, “Do you know what that means?”

Semi tries to give her an awkward smile to calm her down. It doesn’t work.

“It’s rush hour! What if we won’t reach the bar in time? It could ruin both your careers, do you know that?” she glares at Semi once again, but there is less bite in her voice now.

“I’m sorry,” Semi starts, plastering a charming smile on his face, “I only wanted to be nice to the fans. Wouldn’t make too good of an impression if I just ignored them, no?”

His manager sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated. She motions for Semi to stop talking with a wave of her hand.

The singer grins, and out of the corner of your eyes, you can sense his sharp gaze on you once more.

You try to ignore it.

。。。

When your group reaches the bar, Semi’s bandmates are almost done preparing themselves for the gig.

The bar is dimly lit and cool, the multitudes of warm overhead lighting being the only source of light in the room. It’s not too busy tonight, you observe. Some people still donned their work clothes, perhaps rushing over to the bar right after a long day at work—mingling around with friends to let loose for a little and enjoy themselves.

“Dude, where were you?” Aito asks, eyebrows turned downwards in a frown.

Semi pats the guitarist on the side of his head, “Relax, we’ve got plenty of time to prepare.”

Aito rolls his eyes, completely used to his bandmate’s antics.

“Whatever,” he huffs. “By the way, are we gonna have a little after party later?”

“Uh,” Semi’s eyes flicker towards you for one second, then back to Aito, “I dunno man, might be too tired to get wasted tonight.”

The guitarist narrows his eyes. He didn’t miss the way Semi’s gaze lingered on you.

“Y/N,” Aito smirks. “You coming to the after party?”

You were listening to their conversation this whole time, finding the whole exchange quite amusing.

“Eh, I don’t see why not,” you smile sweetly, “It’s gonna be even better now that this dude isn’t coming anyways.” You pointed your thumb at the vocalist.

From where he’s standing, you hear Semi scoff.

“Y’know what?” he sneers, “On second thought, I am going. How does that make you feel, huh?”

You shrug, feigning indifference.

“I literally do not care.”

“Piss off.”

Aito throws his head back in laughter, shaking his head as he walks away from the scene, muttering about people being too clueless and dense for their own damn good.

You adjusted your equipment bag on your shoulder, exhaling loudly to try and calm your heart down.

。。。

It is in moments like these that you remember why you decided to go forth with this career path, no matter how rocky it may be.

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you sing the lyrics of you and Semi’s song; every ounce of the jittery nerves you had just a few moments ago long gone.

There’s nobody else in this world that can ever take your place

Some of the customers are listening intently, others just nodding along to the song, and the rest not even listening at all.

You could hear your heartbeat thumping loudly against your chest, the sweat trickling down your forehead and into your eyes making it harder for you to see the crowd.

And when the day’s all done and dusted, all I ever need is to be in your arms again

You whip your head towards Semi, just like the countless times you rehearsed this song together.

“It shows chemistry,” your manager had said, “play it up for the crowd, will ya?”

The butterflies in your stomach flutters about restlessly when you notice that Semi has been looking at you this whole time.

His eyes—sharp and intense—held your gaze, unabashed. Steady. Sure.

Will you stay tonight? ‘Cause baby you’re all that I need, and you’re all that I want.

And in that moment, with your eyes locked on each other, the world seems to stop.

Nothing else matters, Semi’s lopsided smile says, only you.

。。。

The performance flew by in the blink of an eye, and it’s a little past midnight now. As promised, your managers held a little after party in the shared lounge of your penthouse suite.

It’s not as fancy as it sounds, you smile to yourself. There are suspicious stains on the gray carpet, and the furniture smells vaguely of cigarette smoke and sweat.

Bottles of beers have already littered the floor and glass table, and you haven’t even started drinking.

“Duuuude,” Yuuto slurs, “Why are ya so tense for?”

The bassist points at you and Semi, eyelids drooping as he tries his best to keep them open.

“C’mon guys,” Aito clasps his shoulders and massages them roughly, “Relax a little, we did amazing tonight.”

Semi shrugs his friend’s hands away, annoyed. He snatches an unopened bottle of beer from the cooler and opens the cap with his teeth.

You gulp. He hands you the bottle wordlessly before grabbing another one for himself, chugging it down quickly. You mirror his actions, hoping that the alcohol can dull the annoying fluttering in your stomach that refuses to leave ever since the two of you shared that intimate moment on stage.

For fuck’s sake, what’s going on with me?

Your trick works, in a way. Your stomach feels pleasantly warm now, and your breathing has finally evened out. Another unopened bottle of beer lays invitingly on the couch and you reach for it, opting for a bottle opener instead of doing it like Semi.

“Bro,” Yuuto grins at the singer, drool threatening to leave the corner of his mouth, “Did’ya see that blonde chick in the front row? She was hardcore eye-fucking you dude.”

“Ah,” Semi takes another swig of his beer, a cute flush blossoming in his cheeks.

Wait, what. Cute?

“She gave me her number when we were gathering up our stuff.” He runs his hand through his hair.

“You gonna hit her up or what?” Aito teases, smirking.

The singer shrugs, “Maybe, I dunno.”

Your breath hitches, and Aito’s smirk widens. You raise your eyebrows at him, silently telling him to fuck off.

“Where’s Kai?” you hear Semi ask. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen the drummer since after the show was over.

“Oh,” the guitarist laughs, “Fucker left us for some girl he saw in the bar. Might see him tomorrow morning, might not. Who knows?”

The vocalist hums and walks over to where you’re sitting, plopping down on the old couch.

“The managers?” Semi casually drapes his arm on the back of the sofa. You feel yourself tensing as your heart races uncontrollably, and the singer looks over at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

Aito scratches the back of his neck, quickly losing interest in the conversation.

“They decided to sleep in early. Long day, I guess.”

Semi nods and rests his head on the top of the couch, exposing his defined jawline. His eyelashes look so pretty from this angle, they’re long and fluttery and they almost…

Huh?

“Eita, are you gonna hit that blonde girl up or nah?” Aito provokes, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You clench your teeth and reach for yet another bottle—your fourth one this past hour. Or fifth. You don’t bother counting. Semi looks over at you again, but this time his eyes holds a sort of concern in them. You scoff to yourself.

“Uh,” the singer looks at his friend weirdly, “Why are you so insistent on this? I did say maybe didn’t I?”

Aito laughs. You almost recoil in disgust.

“Oh nothing,” he chuckles, “It’s just that she’s really hot and she’s your type so—”

You stand up abruptly, knocking over some empty beer bottles by accident. The regret is immediate. You can feel the acid in your stomach traveling up your esophagus, tickling the back of your throat.

Semi quickly stands up when you clasp a hand over your mouth, trying your best to hold it together.

“Shit,” he mutters, “You okay?”

He rubs tiny circles on the small of your back, an action that’s supposed to be soothing but instead causes tingles to run up and down your spine. You shiver.

Another wave of nausea hits before you could respond, causing your knees to almost give out under you.

“Whoa there, angel,” Semi wraps his arm around your waist, holding you flush to his side to support your weight.

You groan softly as your head spins uncomfortably. Droplets of cold sweat is starting to form on your forehead, adding another layer of discomfort upon you.

“You wanna go to your bedroom?” Semi murmurs close to your ear. You shiver again. At this, Semi thought that you’re freezing so he drapes his leather jacket on your shoulders, holding you close.

You nod weakly as you try to blink the black spots in your vision away.

From somewhere around the room, you hear Aito snicker, “Stay safe!”

You turn your head around to give him a deathly glare, but all you see is a big blob of blurriness.

Dammit.

。。。

Semi takes the key card from your bag and pushes the door open, placing your duffel bag on the floor after

He guides you to the bathroom—with gentleness you rarely see from him—and sets the toilet cover down so you can sit on it while he wets a towel with the running tap water.

“You still feel dizzy?” he asks, voice soft.

You stare at his fingers as he wrings the towel and shakes your head.

Semi holds out the cloth and pats your forehead with it, the coolness allowing you to feel a little more refreshed.

“Do you want me to make you some tea?” he wipes the back of your neck carefully.

Shit. Has he always been this thoughtful?

You shake your head again, telling him that you just want to go to sleep.

He sighs and gives you a half-smile, holding out his arm to help you to the bed.

Semi still has it in him to give you a little but of privacy as you wiggle out of your tight jeans, looking away until you slip under the covers.

He helps you pull the plush white comforter closer to your chest, tucking you in.

Your mind doesn’t feel as hazy as it was a few hours ago, but the leftover alcohol coursing through your veins gave you a sort of boost to your impulses.

“Eita,” you whisper, reaching out towards the singer, “Stay?”

The singer halts in his steps and turns to look at you.

“Uh, I don’t know Y/N,” he starts, “You’re drunk right now.”

“No I’m not,” you say, steady voice proving your point. “Please?”

Semi glances over at the door and sighs. He chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds before sighing again.

“Okay.”

。。。

You’re struggling to open your eyes when you wake up, the harsh sunlight streaming into the room completely unfiltered.

Drunk you completely forgot to close the blinds, it seems.

You groan audibly, wanting to pull the covers above your head to hide yourself from this cruel world.

You freeze. Why can you feel someone’s soft breaths on the crown of your head?

Nervously, you reach out in front of you, eyes still shut closed. Oh no.

You force your eyes open, grimacing from the sudden brightness. Your eyes widen at the sight in front of you. Semi Eita, your supposed nemesis, is sleeping soundly a few inches away from you, arms wrapped around your waist.

What the hell happened last night?

A small squeak leaves your mouth as you fully realize the situation you’re in. The small noise wakes Semi up from his slumber, causing him to slowly open his eyes, squinting at the bright light.

“Morning, angel,” he croaks, voice raspy with sleep.

My god does he look pretty in the morning.

You stay there, frozen and unblinking. All the words at the tip of your tongue seem to disappear from existence.

Semi blinks, sitting up quickly.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he rubs his eyes vigorously, “I should’ve said no when you asked me to stay. Fuck, you were drunk and I—”

You grab the back of his neck and pull him closer to you, a small smile gracing your lips.

Your thumb grazes Semi’s bottom lip, dragging it down every so slightly before releasing it, enjoying the way he seems to unravel under your touch.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?” you murmur, trying to keep your cool as your heart hammers against your chest loudly.

At this, Semi breaks out of his reverie and laughs, “I thought you’d never ask.”

a/n: if you’ve made it this far, please feel free to let me know what you think about this fic! and please REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED mwah <3

© HAJIMINE — all rights reserved. please do not repost, copy, or claim any of my works as your own, thank you.

[writefightandflightclub]

Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees​. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to  read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @casifer-is-king​ (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman​

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.  

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.  

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.  

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.  

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.  

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

[flameoutfics]

We’re Only Young and Naive Still Chapter 1

Summary: Nora is the first woman in the NHL, a recent call-up to the Calgary Flames, who has her own reasons for being there, much to the hesitation of her new teammates. As they get to know her though, she’ll find the family she never knew she wanted and sparks fly with a certain-future-captain.  *This fic will update every Monday. 

Nora waited outside the locker room for the rest of the team to join. She had been waiting for them to head out on the ice, knowing that they were in various states of undress behind the other wall. She had scrambled to get changed in the small bathroom that a member of the Avalanche’s front office had led her to. He’d sheepishly told her that this was the best that they could do and Nora had just nodded. She’d had to change in supply closets before in the absence of a women’s restroom close to the ice level. 

Waiting in the empty corridor for the team allowed her anxiety to fester. Nora could only imagine what was going to await her once she got out onto the ice. There were some who were excited for her to become the first female NHL player to ever play a professional game. She knew they had clambered to get tickets, to show the little girls that anything was possible and that they, too, could join the NHL some day. Nora was nervous to step into that role of a role model, but she didn’t mind. It was the other faction, the one who had already mentioned her on Twitter and caused her to change her Instagram settings that worried her. They didn’t want her to play, they didn’t want a woman in the NHL. Nora could only imagine what they would say after her first game, that anything she’d do wouldn’t be good enough, that she was proof of why women didn’t belong in the NHL. Nora was so lost in her thoughts that she was jolted by the sound of the locker room door opening. 

Jacob Markstrom readjusted his goalie mask on his face and headed out to the ice for warm ups. Nora followed close behind until they got to the ice’s edge. 

“You first,” Jacob nodded towards the ice and gently tapped her on the back of her legs with his goalie stick. Nora sighed. It was tradition for players playing their first game to skate the first lap solo, but she’d rather forgo it. Nevertheless, she gritted her teeth and took her first steps onto the ice. For a moment, she hoped that with her hair tucked into her helmet, people wouldn’t recognize her, but as she started to gain momentum the crowd ignited. It was like everyone had an opinion. Sure she heard the cheers, but intermingled with them she heard the boos. To be honest, she wasn’t sure which there was more of. Much to her relief, after the first solo lap, the rest of the team piled on the ice and joined her for warm ups and she felt herself relax as she began to blend in with the other red jerseys. 

Nora played 5:43 in her first NHL game. It wasn’t a lot, but it was a first. Nothing remarkable happened, and the Flames lost 3-1 in the end. It wasn’t an Auston Matthews level debut by any means but it wasn’t bad. She’d completed most of her passes and she’d made all of her line changes. Sutter didn’t play her much, nor did she expect it. She knew how he felt about having her on his team. She’d been great in the AHL racking up points and causing the hockey writers to wonder if she was going to break the glass ceiling and play in the NHL. Then she was brought up to the NHL and started practicing with the team, always being a healthy scratch when the final line up was decided. But the Flames kept losing and Nora knew that there was pressure on Sutter from the front office to play her. She wasn’t naive to the press that would surround her debut, neither was Brad. So, when Sutter finally announced that she was going to play her first NHL game, it wasn’t completely a surprise, but the timing took her off guard. The rest of the team had acknowledged it with polite cheers, but Nora knew that they weren’t thrilled to have her there either. 

She’d sat in the locker room after the game, still fully in her gear while Sutter reamed them. “None of you played well today. Fuck, she played better than half of you and it was her first fucking game,” Sutter said as he pointed Nora out. She felt the cold gaze of the other players turn towards her as Sutter had pretty much just put a target on her back. She drowned the rest of his diatribe out and as she snuck a glance around the room, it looked like the rest of the team was also ignoring him. When he stormed off, Nora finally felt like she could breathe and retreated to the bathroom where she’d gotten dressed. 

She’d only been in there for a few minutes before there was a knock on the door. 

“Nora, they’re going to want you for post-game interviews,” Tanya, the PR rep said, from outside of the bathroom where Nora stripped out of her gear. She was sweaty from the game but knew she’d have to wait until she made it back to the hotel room before she could 

“Okay,” Nora agreed, even though she knew that she was going to be the focus of the interview, “is anyone else going to be there?” 

“Matthew will be too,” Tanya said. Nora sighed to herself but nodded. 

“Okay, I’ll be out in a minute,” Nora said. She wished it was Jacob or even Johnny doing the interview with her instead of Matthew. She didn’t hate him, but she didn’t like him either. Since she’d been called up to practice with the team, he’d coolly ignored her. Most of the guys treated her that way too, with Jacob and Johnny being two exceptions. 

Matthew was already waiting at the table that had been set up for them for press availability. He glanced up at her and nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything. Nora didn’t know what she was expecting. Did she think he’d say ‘hi’ or ‘great job today’? They weren’t friends, they were barely even teammates. 

“Alright, let’s start with the first question,” Tanya said. 

“Nora, how did your first game in the NHL feel?” a reporter asked. It was a softball question and one that Nora appreciated. 

“It was great. It was a dream come true, honestly,” Nora said, “and I’m really fortunate to be able to be here and on such an amazing team to share the game with them.”

“It’s not the result that I’m sure you wished for, though,” the reporter followed up.

“No,” Nora conceded, “I definitely thought that I could have played better, especially in the third period, but Matthew had an amazing goal in the second period, and really it’s just an honor to be here and play a game in the NHL. 

“Any family here today to celebrate your first game with you?” A different reporter asked. 

Nora pasted a smile on her face, “No, unfortunately they couldn’t make it, but I know they were watching from home.” 

“I have a question for Nora…” another reporter started and Nora wished that just one of them could direct their attention to Matthew. 

“Why aren’t you in the NWHL?” a reporter asked. That caused Nora to pause. The answer caught in her throat. She knew that was the question that thousands of people had on their minds. There was a league for female hockey players, a great league, so why wasn’t Nora playing in it? Nora had rehearsed the answer to the inevitable in the mirror for what felt like hundreds of times, but here the words failed her. 

Tanya looked over at her and watched as she floundered for a response. “Sorry,” Nora said as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “would you mind repeating the question?”

“Sure, Nora, why aren’t you in the NWHL?” the reporter repeated. 

“I- I-...”

“Alright, I think our time has wrapped up,” Tanya said as she closed out the interview, saving Nora from answering. Once all the reporters left, Nora turned to Tanya. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I couldn’t answer that.”

Tanya smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Don’t worry, we can discuss some possible answers and better prepare you for media availability in the future.”

“Thanks,” Nora said. Matthew hadn’t said anything except for the one question directed towards him about his second-period goal. All Nora wanted to do was go back to her hotel room and take a nice warm shower. She didn’t give either of them a chance to say anything and instead headed out and grabbed her coat, knowing her gear would travel with the rest of the team’s. She walked the couple of blocks back to the hotel. She kept her head down, hoping to remain unrecognized by fans who were still lingering by the arena and made it back to her hotel room without running into anyone. She stripped out of her Flames-branded gear and headed for the shower. In the mirror, she could already see bruises starting to develop from where she’d been checked into the boards.  She should have been ecstatic to be playing in the NHL; most people in her position would be, but she didn’t. She just wanted the day to be over and to go to bed. That was what made her sad, that she didn’t care that much about being in the NHL, it was just a means to an end. Before she went to sleep, she took one more look at her phone and reminded herself why she was doing this. She knew why she was playing in the NHL; she just couldn’t say it. 

Nora glanced around the dining room for breakfast the next day looking for a place to sit. It felt like high school all over again. Ideally, she would have sat near Jacob or Johnny, but their tables were all filled so instead she sat in an open seat with some of the other newer players, Elias, and Matthew. They were happily chatting about some football game that Nora knew nothing about. She tried to follow along for a while, but after realizing that she didn’t really have anything to contribute, she hurriedly ate her breakfast and wanted to rush back to her room. She cleared her plate and offered a faint excuse for something she’d forgotten in her room, hoping to leave. It wasn’t like any of them would notice that she was gone anyways. She’d only made it a little ways before she heard footsteps follow her out. 

“What’s your problem?” Matthew asked as he cornered Nora. 

“I don’t have a problem,” Nora said. 

“You could at least try to pretend to be interested in getting along with the team,” Matthew said.

“What are you talking about?” Nora asked. 

“You didn’t come out with us last night,” Matthew said. 

“I wasn’t invited,” Nora answered.

“Everyone was,” Matthew said. 

“Well I wasn’t,” Nora insisted. 

“It was in the group chat,” Matthew said. 

“I’m not in the group chat, so I didn’t see the message,” Nora said. 

“Oh,” Matthew said. 

“Yeah,” Nora said.

Matthew fished out his phone and fiddled around with a few buttons. “There, you should be added now.”

“Thanks,” Nora said. Matthew looked like he was going to say something more but reconsidered. 

“Ready for the flight?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah,” Nora replied, “I’ll be back down soon.” She headed back up to her room and collapsed on the bed, with just a few minutes before she’d have to pack her things for the flight. Against her better judgement she scrolled through the group chat back to previous messages and saw messages from when it had been announced that she’d been called up to the Flames.

Johnny: That girl from the AHL’s being brought up. 

Peter: Really? I didn’t think she was that good.

Elias: She’s on a five-game goal streak.

Matthew: We’re getting a girl on the team? Are we really that bad that they need to bring her up? 

Nora sighed and put her phone away. Tears pricked her eyes as she tried to blink them away. There were other comments like that in the group chat that they hadn’t bothered to delete and Nora read them, wanting to know what her teammates really thought about her. Reactions ranged from ambivalent to disgust, with most somewhere in the middle. There was a knock on the door as a warning to head downstairs and Nora tried to compose herself. 

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked when Nora arrived downstairs with her bag. 

“Yeah, I’m ready to head to Detroit,” Nora replied with a fake smile on her face. 

[mirrorforevers]

here, there, and everywhere • graham coxon/reader

this fic is based on two prompts y'all sent me:

and

this fic really tested all of my blur knowledge holy Fuck. blur as talking heads au i guess. how cool would it be if they

1. had a girl bassist instead of the cheese tory dude

2. werent as unhappy as they were in the mid 90s (just a bit)

3. were just a little 🤏🏻 bit more female friendly lets just pretend this is a universe where the blurjob passes didnt exist heh

it took me everything i had to make this sound as realistic as it could be. u know these girls who think they could fix patrick bateman or don draper? perhaps y’all could fix blur

consider this a gift n not only me writing for your prompt, @nottuned! thank u so much for all your support n encouragement n for always bein so sweet 🥺 i hope u enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

let’s see how many references to unfortunate britpop moments y’all can find in this

also i hope i captured the silliness of the gossip and drama in that era well. if you enjoyed it, please leave an ask telling me more! ur feedback is rly important to me 😔✊🏻

tw (?) reader has shitty parents

word count: 7.938 (this one's quite long!)

smut. set in the 90s. au.

You were unlocking your door when you heard your house phone ring. The shrill sound echoed through the empty corridors as you hurriedly unwrapped your scarf, tossing your keys and backpack on nearby furniture as you ran to answer the call.

“Hello?” You answer, panting.

“Y/N?”

“Dave?” You smile, that call was a very welcome surprise. Your friend owed you an answer.

-

A few weeks ago, Dave Rowntree, your music classmate who became a close friend, told you that he had teamed up with two other proficient musicians to form a band. Dave was ecstatic, and every day he had new stories about his new friends to tell you between breakfasts and lunches that you shared between the countless hours of rehearsals. Even though you weren't part of the group, you already felt that you knew Damon and Graham like the back of your hand. Yin and Yang. One was expansive, ambitious, vain, impulsive. The other, shy, introspective, anxious and careful.

Damon Albarn wanted to be an actor, Graham Coxon had a firm foot in the visual arts. One was a fan of grand classical compositions, the other was a Beatles fan. They had been friends since they were children, in a seemingly unbreakable bond. Damon dropped out of his theater class not only because out of a sudden he had found a bigger calling in music instead of acting, but also because he couldn't stand being away from his best friend for so long. You found yourself often imagining their faces and voices while trying to make all of the wild and endearingly funny stories Dave told you more tangible in your head.

It was not long before Dave started dropping little hints that they needed someone else for their project. “It’s not that Graham isn’t good at bass,” he’d say, “but we could do better.” It wasn't at the top of your plans to be part of a band right now, especially as you were preparing intensely to join the Royal Academy of Music, and he knew it. When you mentioned the conversations you had with Dave about the boys on your family dinner, in quiet wonder and timid want of being part of something really exciting, your parents wrinkled their noses. Focus on the greater things, they’d say. Don’t let these boys distract you from your goal.

Our goal, they meant to say. Since you were born, you never knew if the things you wanted were really your will or theirs.

But anyway.

That dynamic went on for a while, until the day Dave invited you to audition for them while you shared a Diet Coke in the tube home.

“Will it take too much of my time?” You asked, coyly.

“Bold of you to assume we’ll let you in that quickly.” He chuckles, amused by your confidence. You playfully elbow him in return. He knew how good you were at what you did, though, and there’s lightness in his tone when he continues, “But no, unless you let it. You’ll probably have to stand up to Damon every once in a while.” He sips the drink, handing it over to you.

“What about Graham? How much is he determined to make it big?”

“Damon’s the one who wants it the most. Graham’s studying Fine Arts at Goldsmiths, so. There’s still cautiousness in him.”

“Huh. Okay then.” You reply, thoughts running wild. “Do we have a time and date?”

“Is tomorrow ok to you?”

“Sure. After our class?”

“Perfect.” The train reaches his station. He ruffles your hair: “See you tomorrow then.”

“See you.”

You don’t tell anything about it to your parents, you just warn them that you’ll arrive a bit later than usual. Dave’s intel was crucial to your choice of songs: knowing Graham was the beatlemaniac and also the rational brake to Damon’s tireless ambition, you knew who to please and have as an ally, so you build an innovative and fresh mashup of Paul McCartney’s greatest basslines to play for them. Of course it could backfire, but you didn’t care. You had a hell of a good ear anyway and if Damon wanted you to play anything out of the blue, you would improvise beautifully over it.

The day comes. You didn’t know why you were that nervous for an amateur audition. You weren’t even sure if it was the right path to follow, given that, depending on how focused Damon really was and how contagious his aspiration was, being part of a band could really take you out of your predestinated course. The reason why you were so nervous, now thinking a little more about it, may be because deep inside, you want your path to be a little less predictable. You didn’t want to fill your heart with hopes that you might make it big and travel all over the world because you didn’t even know them. But… what if it clicks? You knew some people in the scene whose work was getting seriously recognized out there.

Meeting them for the first time was an enigmatic experience. Damon was incredibly brash and cocky - not the first theater kid you’ve met in your life. Graham was way more approachable, though also a bit conceited when pushed just right. You wondered if you’d fit in that boys’ club, and decided you wouldn’t be an easy target for discredit or any kind of shit they might give you. “Took me a while to fully get their trust. You’ll do just fine”, Dave said, out of their earshot.

That gave you more fuel to play amazingly well. Damon definitely wasn’t one to be impressed quickly, but he was, when you finished your set. So was Graham - Graham was starry eyed with your performance, actually. Albarn showed you a song and asked you if you could improvise to it, just as you imagined. Of course you could, on the first play. You even suggested some adjustments to its structure. Your feedback was welcomed and noted.

-

Even though everything went surprisingly well, you still weren't sure if you would be a member of “Seymour”, as they called themselves. (You knew it wasn’t the best name, but you didn’t have a better suggestion at the time so you’ve kept your opinion to yourself.) Graham became eerily quiet out of a sudden and wouldn’t cross eyes with you the entire time you were there. Damon, well, was Damon. Perhaps he thought you were too ordinary and mainstream for deciding to play Beatles when he’s trying to be the new avant-garde Jesus.

But Dave's news was different than you expected. “They really, really enjoyed your audition. As I thought they would.” You can hear the smile in his voice. "When can you rehearse with us?"

-

Months after, on your first gig as a fully formed and integrated band, Damon was hit in the face by a guy twice his size, Graham vomited onstage and you and Dave had to take care of both. A beautiful way to close the already exquisite day you had, after you fought with your parents, got kicked out of your childhood home and gave up on entering the Royal Academy of Music two days after you received your acceptance letter featuring rave reviews of your entrance exam.

Dealing with these boys - no, grown-ass men - was hard, but not completely unpleasant. If it were totally unpleasant, you wouldn’t give up on your entire life to embark on such an adventure.

You - plural you - were so gifted and Damon’s compositions were so good. You could see that artsy pretentious mess of an act going somewhere. Of course, you were a bit lost in your life, but so were they, as you ran from city to city meeting new people and trying new things in your journey to fame.

Loneliness, once a close friend, became a distant acquaintance. One you didn’t know anymore.

You confess you were getting worried, though, with how much money you had left on your savings and how much you were spending lately now that your parents weren’t an active part of your life. Wanting to eat something you cannot dream of buying without that money being really useful in a much more critical situation, not having nearly enough money to replace something important that broke or got torn off was frustrating. Some basic things became luxuries out of a sudden.

One day in particular, you very briefly mentioned that you were dying to eat a slice of chocolate cake, but your voice was so small and everyone was so immersed in their duties you thought no one gave two shits to what you said. Two days later, Graham arrived late at rehearsal with a small chocolate cake in his hands, handing it over to you like it was a completely ordinary act. Nothing in the way he acted told you he expected a reward, it was so natural and… gentle. You knew no one in your band could buy a chocolate cake without it being apocalyptic to their personal finances during that time.

That day, you were assured by fate that feeling lost together was better than feeling guided alone.

-

The band finally got on track - strictly musically speaking. Personally speaking, many contemporaries who followed you at parties and other events described you as an ever-growing odd, annoying and intermittently disarming bunch - and Blur and its members became household names, at least in the UK. It became harder and harder everyday to impose yourself as an entire industry and its target public aimed to tear you down. Men couldn’t understand.

(Graham Coxon was the one who tried the hardest to.)

It was four in the morning. You’ve got used to following your bandmates to hospitals, running away from trouble or knowing when to relish in it. But it was the first time you offered yourself to clean up dried blood from one’s face, given how much you hated seeing the fluid and even fainted when younger whenever exposed to it.

You, so delicately, wipe the saline solution-soaked cotton across Graham’s face, who flinches at the cold sensation on his still sensitive skin. He stares at you with the eyes of a child, and you couldn’t help but give him a slight, warm smile in return, which he retributes. Your face conveyed gratitude and affection towards the one you were taking care of. Your hands still struggled to stay completely still after the surge of adrenaline your body received a few hours ago.

Being the only girl in a massive band, and one the music magazines and mainstream media loved sexualizing, meant having paparazzis in your window in odd hours (not that that’s acceptable in any hour, but you had to lower your standards even more these days), meant having different photographers trying to pressure you to get into all kinds of uncomfortable angles with skimpy-ass dresses and just count on the intervention of your fellow bandmates so they would stop, also having invasive male fans who would try to harass you in any way they could.

Of course the day where one of your bandmates would get into a fist fight with one of these men inserted into these categories would come. And even though they were all protective of you, each in their own peculiar, increasingly contradictory way, Graham’s dedication to it was sometimes commendable.

You were making your way through a small corridor of people on your way to the stage when a random guy cupped one of your breasts. It’s not like the venue was incredibly tight, it could not have been on accident and it made your blood boil. You turned around to scream at him, and Graham, who was just behind you, threw a punch directly towards the man’s face, without thinking twice.

And oh boy, took a lot of people and a sweet amount of time to separate the two after that.

After all was said and done, Graham had a few scratches, a black eye and a cut brow. He kept dodging your many “sorrys”, “you didn’t have to do this” and other expressions of guilt. “You have nothing to be sorry about, he deserved it”, he kept assuring you, like a mantra, just giving in to your pleas when you supplicated to take care of his wounds during intermission and after the show.

“I get why you did what you did, Gra. I hate that you took such a risk because of me, but I understand.” you say, voice cracking from not using it for a while after spending some good minutes in complete silence taking care of him. “However,” you soak another cotton ball in the saline solution a roadie got you, punctuating the word with a squeeze to the cotton to remove excess liquid. “I was worried sick about you. What if he… had a knife or something? You could’ve got seriously injured. Or killed.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly able to have a good fight,” after wincing from the contact of the cold wet cotton with his dried blood, he purses his lips in a forced, shy smile, trying to light up the mood. He notices your hands are still shaking from the adrenaline, and takes one of them in his bigger ones, trying to calm you down. The fact that he did this for you, coupled with the fear and how tired you felt of having to go through that kind of situation once again, made you cry-laugh from how overwhelmed you felt.

His expression changes to one of pure compassion in an instant. “Hey, don’t--oh my,” he gets up from his chair to embrace you as you pour your frustrations through fat tears running down his shoulder.

“It’s so exhausting,” you mumble, through sobs. “Now I’m putting you in danger too. I feel like I did and I’m still doing everything wrong. I should be the one giving you a shoulder to cry on.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong! Anything at all, I promise you,” he says, tenderly, running his hands through your hair, still holding you tight. “It was his fault! I decided it was the right thing to do. You’re worth the risk. What people have been putting you through is unacceptable.”

“I’m not worth the risk!�� You break apart from his arms, trying to get your point across. “What would I do without you if someone killed you? You need to be more careful!”

The silence hangs heavy between you two thanks to the weight of your words.

“You should’ve asked me before you lunged at him, at least. I don’t know.” You wipe your many tears as you move towards the nearest bottle of water to try to calm yourself down. “It’ll never end. I’m so afraid that these situations will get even worse. That,” you motion at his wounds and dirty clothes, “is a bloody tragedy. It’s a tragedy things escalated to this point. You can’t do that forever.”

“This is just a consequence. And something I would do for you in a heartbeat whenever necessary.”

“Graham, I don’t want you to get hurt because--”

“They hurt you. I won’t let you go through that alone. Besides,” he comes closer to you again. “As I already told you, I can take care of myself, most of the time.” He takes your face in his hands, his fingers so delicately running across your cheeks to dry your tears. You knew that gesture wasn’t his way of asking you for anything you weren’t ready to give him yet. He just wanted you to feel safe. “And I want to take care of you.”

“I’m the one cleaning your wounds.”

“A great partnership, I think.” Coxon chuckles softly, and finally gets a smile out of you. As he always does. “And they make me look cool, don’t you think?”

“Shut up.” You giggle, still feeling too emotional to return to the stage. You sigh: “Thank you for being there for me. You know I’m still not very used to it. Just please be safe.”

The roadie returns, a little flustered by interrupting your little moment together. “5 minutes and you’re back, guys.”

“Okay!” You both turn to answer her.

“I’ll be. No need to thank me for anything, Y/N.” He answers, giving your forehead a little kiss. “Let’s go.”

“Give me two minutes. I’ll be right behind you.”

-

“What’s it like, being the only woman in the band?”

Four eyerolls at once don’t seem to faze the interviewer. She waits for your response.

Apparently the thousand invasive questions regarding Damon’s love life and the same bullshit treatment of women as either rare specimen or sex dolls is what pleases the audience of music TV shows these days.

“What do you think?” is what you say.

“Must be a thrill to have these beautiful boys around you all the time. And we’ve heard you never even took advantage of it!”

You don’t like where this is heading. “Is that… a bad thing? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Perhaps some of our lady viewers might think it is. No judgement though!” She raises her hands. “You do you, it’s just that it’s quite unexpected to see prudes in non-Christian bands. I mean… from what we’ve heard.”

“I’m sorry? What are you trying to say? What did you hear?”

Her tongue clicks while she stares at you with defiance and mischief on her eyes, as she goes a little further and raises her voice so it can overlay yours. “Oh love. You do know what I’m talking about. There’s no need to be ashamed of being a virgin.”

Your cheek burns intensely and the only thing you wished for was for the ground to swallow you whole. Dave and Graham are especially uncomfortable. Damon’s a bit amused. The three knew almost everything there was to know about you. The one topic that surprisingly they didn’t know about is that you’re still a virgin.

They know you’ve been single for a long time. They know that’s part of what draws so much attention and twisted lore regarding you and your past, but that’s not something they felt they needed to know about you at all, and you truly never felt the need to comment about that with any of them, and they haven’t asked. Not even Mr. “the way to be successful in this game is to make all the boys wanna be you and all the girls wanna sleep with you. In your case that’d work in reverse” Damon Albarn.

“Is that even something that should be discussed in an interview about our music? Is that what your boss told you to ask her about?” Dave answers, his tone venomous.

“Musicians are way more than just music. You’re entertainment in every sense of the word.”

“Who told you that about me?” You asked, not sure if you want to know the answer.

“A lovely elderly lady who lives in Elgin Crescent. She knows you so well.”

That’s your mum. That’s how far low your relationship has degraded. You’re not surprised. That doesn’t feel less like a punch on your gut, but you don’t feel like tumbling again. Not today.

“I know who you’re talking about. Tell her I asked her to go fuck herself and burn in hell. In that order.”

“But that’s your--”

“Yes, she is my mum!” If people are going to expose you anyway, then why don’t you do it on your terms? “We’re truly entertainment in every sense of the word, aren’t we. Not everyone’s mum’s a cunt. Some of us aren’t that lucky.”

“You want to be the next Gallagher sister with the spicy remarks?”

“Not sure. But I do want to be the last person you ever get to interview.”

-

The management of the band wasn’t at all surprised your interview became UK’s topic of the week. People were heavily divided between family is family and we shouldn’t hate our relatives and blood isn’t everything, family can be shitty too. Your bandmates were proud of you. The management was angry but tried to understand, and didn’t press you for further explanations. They suggested a two-week break from everything so Blur could rest their image and start a fresh cycle after that, and you gracefully accepted it.

The whole thing seemed so ridiculous the more you thought about it. Did your mum tell the reporter about that gratuitously? What was their conversation like? How did that even happen?

You became the butt of jokes in some places. You saw other famous people doing challenges between them, countdowns, all sorts of crude remarks. What a pathetic, sad chapter of your career.

You dial Graham, and you feel like your heart was about to burst out of your chest.

“Hey, Gra. It’s me.”

“Hey, Y/N.” He sounds pleasantly surprised. “How's it going?”

“Better, I guess. I have to take my mind off all that chaos though. Are you available right now?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been owing me a movie night for quite a while now and I miss spending time with you. Wanna come over?”

“Aww. Sure, I--um. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“I’m pretty sure I got everything we need here--ah… I think I don’t have any more beers.”

“I’ll buy some then. See ya in a few minutes.”

Actually, you couldn’t take all that chaos off your mind because that was the only thing in it. You’re feeling so nervous.

The main reasons sex wasn’t a priority for you until now were:

You didn’t have any real opportunities of losing your virginity in your teens. You were impossibly introspective until, like, 3, 4 years ago, and the way your family worked hasn’t really allowed you to get really close to people. Be it boyfriends, girlfriends or just friends. Anything that threatened to take time off the various tasks and classes your parents assigned to you just couldn’t be part of your life. To be honest, you still struggled a bit to form meaningful connections with people thanks to how you grew up.

The moment you stopped being shy, you noticed it was a real man’s world out there, especially in music, classical or not. You didn’t want anyone to think you fucked your way up to the top, you didn’t want any messy affairs. Also, you had yourself, and you didn’t get all of the hype regarding the concept of screwing someone. But apparently there’s a lot you’ve been missing, given the importance people seem to give to it. After that incident, even though you swore to yourself you wouldn’t give in to any kind of misogynistic pressure, that was one that really got under your skin.

You never really found someone who you felt 100% safe with in that sense until the one who’s about to arrive at your house appeared in your life. Bloody hell, and you don’t even have anything romantic going on. By the time you were a Blur member, you’ve fooled around a bit, but not all the way. You knew how to kiss, knew how to touch yourself and even brought manual satisfaction to some random fool you thought you were into one time. But perhaps this is the time to go all the way. Why not? Everyone knew how close you two were. He made you feel special. He was so kind. And gorgeous. And--

You hear a knock on your door. It’s him. Beers in hand, hair somewhat in place, twitchy as ever.

He comes inside and you feel like your legs will give up anytime. It was not the first time he visited you. It was one of many, actually, and he noticed you were acting… different.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks after a brief dialogue between you two, after plating some snacks for both of you.

“Graham...” You sigh, being really careful with your words. “What is your perception of me?”

“My perception of you?” He smiles. “I… think you’re great. You’re fun to be around. You’re one of the best musicians I know, if not the best. Why are you asking me that?”

“N-nothing. It’s nothing. Also, I asked the wrong question. What was your first perception of me?”

“Uh… the day of your audition?”

“Exactly. You barely talked to me that day.”

His eyes lower to his own feet. “I was really timid, actually. I wasn’t used to being near any girl, especially one who… w-would spend so much time around me if everything went well.”

You giggle. “I thought you hated me.”

“Never!” his smile turns into a full blown laughter. You melt at his confession. “Also because it seemed like you were trying to read my mind or something.”

“Of course! Because I thought you hated me!” Now that was a laughter you two shared. You do a voice: “‘Why is that pesky girl trying to get in my band?’”

“My goodness, no! I don’t even sound like that - you know what, I changed my mind. You suck. Because, besides the fact you don’t even know what I sound like, you still haven’t told me why you are asking me that in the first place.”

You couldn’t help but notice how he slightly cornered you physically in one of the kitchen corridors. Graham could be really persuasive when he wanted to.

“Okay. Right. Um. I’ve been thinking about some stuff.”

“What, exactly?”

“Everything that happened this month. The great virginity debacle,” you roll your eyes, and he scoffs.

“You don’t own anyone any information about what you do or don't do with your life. Everyone’s being so invasive. That was incredibly childish of the reporter to do, and we talked about that hundreds of times.”

“Yeah, but… you know what, forget it.”

“Tell me, Y/N. I just said that because I want you to know you were not in the wrong.”

“I know. It’s just… I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s silly for me to… keep closing myself for affection. Any kind of affection.”

“What are you talking about?” His brows furrowed in curiosity.

“I’m not sure if it’s the pressure that finally got under my skin, but… I’m willing to learn what all the fuss is about. Maybe it’s silly that I’m still a virgin.”

He bites his lips, still processing what you just said, expression unreadable. Perhaps you’ve treaded a ground you shouldn’t. You step back both literally and figuratively. “I’m sorry I even brought that up--”

“No, no, don’t be.” He assures you. “I’m just… surprised, that’s all. I swear.”

“And...” You know what. You already went too far, so why not go all the way. You’ve already gone way past the point of no return. “I was wondering if… you would… popmycherry?”

His eyes widen, yours still closed. When you finally open them, he’s closer to you again.

If his head was a machine, you’re sure it would be releasing lots of steam and shaking due to overprocessing. You felt like you just ruined everything.

“Y/N, you don’t need to do it if you don’t really want to.”

“But I want it! At first I thought I didn’t, but then I thought...”

“I don’t want to be part of that if you’re just doing it to fulfill weird expectations.”

“But it’s not that. Not just... that. I asked about your perception of me because I really like you, Gra. I think we should be more than friends and I wanted to know what you think about me. And I want to know what the fuss is about, yes, but I’m not telling you that just so I can lose my virginity to prove some point. I’m telling you that because I like you, I want to kiss you, and I think it would be a great idea if you showed me what it’s like. Y-you know, sex.”

“I-I can’t believe it. Did you even have any movie in mind?” His smile’s back, but you’re still not confident about what his answer will be.

“I didn’t. I’m sorry. You don’t have to--”

He sighs. “I was in love with you the moment I first saw you, actually.” He says it like he’s releasing a huge load out of his back, his arms crossed. Now your eyes widen, and you hold your breath without even noticing. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I know how you feel, or, felt about relationships, so… there wasn’t any reason for me to tell you that. And what I said about being timid was just half of the truth.”

“Huh?”

“I also was really intimidated by how pretty you looked. You can’t imagine how.”

“No way.”

“It’s true. I felt like I wasn’t even worthy of looking at you, really.”

“You’re joking. That’s mean, Gra.”

“I’m not. I’m really not.” He doesn’t look like he is joking. He looks relieved. “I’m really not. That’s why I’m so surprised by your request.”

“I’m nothing special.”

“You are everything to me. But I can’t accept your offer, not now.”

“Are you… seeing someone? Am I too late?”

“No. Definitely not. I just want you to be sure you’re not doing it because people are saying you should.”

“Graham, I’m a grown woman.”

“I know.”

Graham carefully presses his slightly chapped lips to yours, kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds before pulling away; his voice is impossibly silky when he suggests, “Let’s watch a movie. How about The Godfather? I heard it’s airing tonight. Then, if in two weeks you don’t change your mind, tell me and I’ll be glad to help you with what you want. Do we have a deal?”

“That’s so unfair. I want you so bad.” You whisper.

“Tell me if you still do in two weeks.”

You sigh, defeated. “...Deal.”

-

You definitely notice the subtle shift in Graham’s personality and actions after that fateful night. If you were already close, both figuratively and literally, it now seemed like he would use any excuse to always touch you, be near you, sometimes tease you. The shift was subtle, though, don’t forget it’s still Graham Coxon we’re talking about - the constant “is it okay if”s or “is it alright if I”s were still there, as careful as ever. You don’t even talk about your deal that entire time, or even kiss again - sometimes you wondered if it was even real or just a fabrication of your mind.

The way he now caressed your hand discreetly when you listened to Damon’s ramblings, the way his hands now went directly to your waist when your games became too handsy, the way he seemed to be madly in love with everything you were and still are from the start - made you realize you were ready for this man to be a consistent part of your life.

The dust of the controversy was settled, and your own intentions were 100% clear to you now. The societal pressure has waned. The need for Graham to be your first persisted. After exactly 2 weeks have passed, you call him again, yearning to share the answer with him.

One beep.

Two beeps.

Three beeps.

Four beeps. “Hello?”

You release a sigh hidden deep inside of your lungs. “Graham, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh. It’s been two weeks.” You could hear the contemplative tone of his voice.

“...Yeah. That’s precisely the reason I’m calling you.”

“Do you still want to…?”

“...Desperately.”

“Ok.” He chuckles, flustered as hell on the other side of the phone, probably one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard. “Right. Ok. Your place or mine?”

“I think there’ll be an element of mystery if I go to your place this time.” You lose some of the constraints this silly shyness has been tying you on. “Do you have everything we might need there?”

“We don’t need a dungeon, you know.”

“The basics.” You make your smile heard.

“I do have… I do have the basics.”

“See you in a few minutes then.”

“Will you want to… ease into it? Or just go straight to it?”

“God, don’t make it awkward!” Your cheeks burn, your smile turning into contagious laughter. “Maybe… I don’t know. Ease into it, I guess? A movie night… but with s-something else?”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“Alright then. See you.”

“See you.”

-

You don’t choose any particularly fancy or sexy clothes, instead settling for a slightly oversized yellow striped shirt he gave you as a birthday present some months ago and some skirt that fit you well. He wasn’t one to lavish his loved ones with gifts all the time, but few things were as precious as the look on his face whenever he saw you wearing something he gave you or, hell, even eating something he paid for you. You’re thrilled to see it again when he opens the door for you, it easing some of your deepest doubts.

2001: A Space Odyssey is already playing on the TV when you arrive. Despite it being one of your favorite movies of all time, and his, you’re not mad it was already halfway through when you arrived. It wasn’t your main priority to rewatch it for the 17th time tonight.

He offers you some wine, which you accept to ease the nerves. You sit on his couch, and he shares the cozy space with you, now mindlessly throwing one of his arms around your shoulders. You cuddle up to him, and everything seems peaceful in the world for a while.

The tip of his fingers softly caress your lifted knee, absentmindedly. You couldn’t help but notice how well his body fits with yours, how your skin was apparently made for him to touch, and the anxiety rumbles in your stomach like a storm in a wild wavy sea. After some minutes, you raise your head, his big brown eyes meeting yours as if asking you a silent question. You leaned up a bit more to press your lips to his, in a silent answer. The sweetness in him makes this moment as precious as every other moment you ever shared with him. His hands enter your hair, making you shiver a bit from the unfamiliarity and the electricity of it all - but it doesn’t sway you from deepening the kiss, wanting more of his taste, more of this, more of him.

“Do you wanna take this to the bed?” He whispers, after noticing your moans were becoming more frequent and needy. You nod, and you are taken by surprise when he carries you bridal style to it, hiding your excited giggles in his broad shoulders.

Graham wasn’t exactly the most organized man in the world - so the fact that his bedroom was now impossibly tidy was something that positively caught your attention. He put some planning into this. He lays you down and you part your legs, beckoning him to meet you between them. He does, and you go back to the breathtaking makeout session. You notice he’s holding himself back a bit, taking his time, his warm tongue moving smoothly, not hurriedly, against yours. His self control falters a bit though, given how he can’t stop grinding against you. You follow the rhythm of his hips a bit timidly and not nearly as in sync as you’d really like, though the pressure his covered cock is creating against your core can already be felt and some particular thrusts are able to fill at least partially the aching, wet need growing within you.

“How do you feel about oral?” He asks, breath warm near your ear, his voice raspy and spent by his desire for you.

“Um… It would be my first time receiving or doing it.”

“Would you like me to go down on you?”

“Wow. I never thought I would hear you saying something like that.” You smile, still assimilating the situation you’re in, trying not to show how badly his voice is affecting you. “Sure.”

“I never thought I would get to propose this to you. Aren’t we full of surprises lately.” He smiles back, warmly. He notices your hands trembling a bit from how anxious you are while you’re taking off your underwear with his help, and as he lowers himself to where you need him most, he takes your hands in his as an act of reassurance. “Tell me what you like. Tell me if what I’m doing works for you. I want this to be a great experience.”

“You want me to get addicted to you, that’s what you want,” He chuckles, lovingly kissing your thigh as a reply. “Okay, Gra. Guess I’ll find out along the way.”

You quickly take a peak below you to see the lower half of his face disappear in the middle of your thighs. The sight alone sets your fire ablaze, as he hooks his arms around your thighs and lifts you closer to his mouth, his lips ghosting over the curls between your legs tantalizingly and his breath catching when your hips jerk forward.

As he begins his ministrations, you immediately notice it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. That feeling was completely alien to you. It was even wetter than you expected, and weird, but powerfully pleasant. Before this exact moment, you had a firm belief that hardly anyone else would make you feel the same way, or better, than you do yourself, but apparently you were very wrong. Thankfully you were wrong. “My god,” you gasp as the flat of his tongue drags over your folds, too much and not enough, and you jerk at the contact. “This is great. So weird, but-- great.”

He moans at your response, his movements carefully enthusiastic. He works his tongue between your folds and traces up to curl the tip of it around your clit, and it’s quite endearing and madly arousing to see how he eats out you like you’re the sweetest and tastier dessert he has ever tasted. You involuntarily buck against him with a desperate sound the moment he moves his tongue and lips in a particularly wicked way, something that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but you still feel the need to highlight in case it didn’t - “That. Keep doing that, please,”

And he does. The building of this climax is also different than the ones you already had by your own hands, and is more coy. As he sees the drops of sweat sliding along your soft skin and the expressions on your face as you get lost in this new but enchanting sensations, his hesitation and self-control fades away; there’s nothing uncertain in the way he buries his face in your cunt now, nothing restrained in the groan he lets out as he devours you and drinks you down as if you’re the first stream of water he has seen in days.

His tongue glides deeper in your folds again and again, swirling up through the wetness you’re coated with to tease at your clit while he grunts and strains closer, squeezing your thighs with both hands tight. The wave of heat inside of you is cresting so fast, you don't even know how to tell him, how to signal that you’re nearly done for and, in the end, it happens too fast to even try. He sucks at your clit, circling it with his tongue, once, twice, and then you’re crying out, shaking underneath him, trying to keep your thighs from clenching too hard around his head as he laps you through it with with urgent whimpers and moans, as if he cannot have enough of you.

You’re still trembling when he rises, the look on his face revealing to you how proud he feels by making you feel this way. It looks so good on him.

You fail miserably at the simple task of connecting words together after that, choosing instead to collect your remaining strength, prop yourself up and beckon him again to keep kissing him and learn, through his talented tongue, how you taste. He kisses the thin fabric of the shirt at your chest that covers you from view, your throat, your jaw, and before he reaches your impatient lips, he notes, sinfully, “Seems like you enjoyed yourself, love.”

“That was… unbelievable. Stars, I want to make you feel good too. Please show me how.”

“Keep kissing me,” he begs, voice still strained from how aroused he is. “I want to be inside you so bad. Let’s get you prepared.” You’re still so sensitive, you tread on overstimulation when his fingers lightly touch your clit, making you break the kiss in a hiss. He traces a line on your folds, inspecting the impact his mouth had on you. “So wet for me.”

“Bit slower, Gra,” He complies to your breathy plea, his fingers now more tame as he slowly spreads your wetness throughout your pussy. He stretches towards the nightstand to grab a bottle of lube, interrupting his contact to spread some on his fingers before unhurriedly slipping his middle finger inside of you. The coldness of the gel makes you shiver in surprise, the easiness brought by it very welcomed. Again - the sensation is odd. Completely unfamiliar. The feeling of having something inside of you for the first time, going further than you ever dared to try, probing, exploring; the coldness of the lube clashing against your burning hot cunt. But it also felt nice. The focused look on his face was adorable, he looked like he was a scientist in the middle of very complex research.

Despite the panting, the messy hair and the fire in his eyes.

Your body already has a lot of new sensations to process simultaneously, so when he asks you to take off your bra and shirt so his tongue can work on your nipples - which you gladly accept, you feel like you’re on sensual overload. His tongue, again, so talented, takes your mind off the slight burning you feel when he introduces his ring finger to your soaked, throbbing core, his focused, carefully overpowering and constant stimulation driving you insane.

“Does it feel good?” He asks, voice muffled by your breast. You nod, carried by the wave of pleasure sweeping you.

“Yes. God, yes.” You pant, tangling your fingers tightly on his thick hair as an encouragement, a desperate sound escaping from your lips the moment he reaches a certain point within you you didn’t even know existed, hot mouth continuing to lick and suck your nipple. Even though you were spent by your last orgasm, he was indeed getting you addicted to those new feelings, and even though this was heavenly, truly heavenly, you needed more. “Gra, I’m ready, I think.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

Releasing your nipple from his lips with a sounding pop, he eagerly frees himself from his trousers - hard as a brick - and puts protection and lubrication on, swiftly positioning himself between your thighs while stroking himself to the sight in front of him. You motion to take off your skirt, and he holds your hand, not letting you. “Don’t. It’ll be really hot to fuck you in this.” He confesses, giving your forehead a kiss in a very different context than before. He aligns his forehead with yours, each of your lips just barely touching while you breathe each other’s air. He looks deep into your eyes, slowly running the tip of his cock between the slick folds of your pussy, coating himself in the remnants of your pleasure. “Do you trust me?”

You trust me to know your limits? Not to go any further if you don’t really want me to?

“Absolutely.”

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head. You feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, as he finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck. He then, very slowly, penetrates you, stopping when he hears the noises you make indicating you’re struggling to adjust to his presence. Out of everything you’ve felt in the last minutes, this was by far the most painful sensation. “This-- is new,” you note, your face completely incapable of hiding the discomfort. He also notices that.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

“It’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”

“It’s not supposed to be about endurance, you know.” He says, a bit breathless and worried, caressing your hair. “Tell me when it’s okay to move. Or if you feel too much pain.”

After some long seconds and some deep breaths, you say: “Okay. Go on.”

“As you wish.”

He moves inside you at a very slow pace, the lubrication clearly making it easier for you to handle it. It still hurts, significantly, but the sensation of being filled is also surprisingly arousing.

His hand moves to your sensitive clit again in small, measured circles, your little moans being a mixture of the pain of penetration and the sheer ecstasy of seeing him falling apart because of you. The way his chest heaves while the drops of sweat start pearling his fair skin, the furrowed brows and broken groans, the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room - everything’s making your chest burst in love and satisfaction. You tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow; it stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you, and Graham becomes even more vocal as he picks up a steady and gradually faster pace. He turned all of your keys, it’s about time you turn some of his.

“Graham, deeper,” you whimper, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you. His name rips itself from your throat while Coxon clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you. He found denying you to be impossible.

He snarls and curses as he holds you down and rails you, determined to make you sing again before he finishes, and to his delight, your heightened sensitivity gives him what he wants. And this time, he couldn't hold on.

Graham kisses you one last time as he groans and gives in, head dropping to your neck again. You didn’t reach a second climax, but stars, what an experience you just had.

When he comes back to himself enough to realise he still had you practically folded in half, he carefully pulls his softening cock free, taking the condom off and taking the strands of hair out of your face as you struggle to catch your breath. You suggest a shared bath, a suggestion he gladly accepts.

Too tired and too sore for pillow talk, comfortable silence falls as your hand finds his, and you lay, listening to each other’s breathing slowly settle.

I could get used to his little snore on my chest, is the last thought that twinkles on your mind before you fall asleep snuggled with him.

[legoshi-plz]

Pretenses Part Five (Louis x Reader)

Summary: Louis is a spoiled prince and you are a clumsy maid. Prince! Louis x Canine!Dog! Reader.

Warning: NSFW (+18)

Despite Louis’ outwardly composed nature, inside he was in full blown panic mode.

He had just finished up yet another uneventful dinner with his father and his future bride; now it was time to return to his chambers. His chambers he hadn’t been in since this morning. His chambers where he was currently holding you hostage.

Louis stood in front of his door for who knows how long before finally opening it with great hesitation, preparing himself for your angry, perhaps even violent response. Instead he was greeted with.... silence. You were on the bed where he’d left you, sound asleep.

Louis couldn’t help the relieved flutter of his tail at the sight of your sleeping form.

You had curled under the covers, probably to keep warm in the cold air of his chambers, your form rising and falling peacefully as you snoozed. Louis approached you slowly, checking to make sure you were actually asleep before his hands flew to throw off his royal regalia.

Once free from the confines of his complex uniform, he was under the covers immediately. Bringing your snoozing figure into his arms. You didn’t move a muscle; it was evident you were a heavy sleeper. Louis already knew this from his time watching you as you took your midday naps in his chambers but he didn’t know it was to such a great extent. He shifted so that he could lay his head on your chest, arms encircling your waist. He listened to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, his breathing slowing down to match your own.

He was asleep in minutes.

////////

You awoke to a weight on your chest and the smell of Louis’ cologne surrounding you. When you opened your eyes, the brightness assaulted your vision, making you attempt to turn away but that attempt was futile.

The Prince, who definitely wasn’t there when you fell asleep yesterday, was laying directly on top of you with his head on your chest, arms in a deadlock around your waist. You were caged beneath him, his weight pinning you down. You contemplated screaming bloody murder, hoping you could shock him into letting you go and make a run for it but decided against it. You doubted he’d remember to lock the door behind him, that could possibly be an opportunity for you to escape. You slowly began trying to pull his long arms from you when you felt his grip tighten.

“Don’t even think about it,” Louis mumbled, nuzzling further into your neck.

“My liege, please stop this indecency. As rightful heir to the thrown, a lowly maid such as myself would only sully-

“How long did you practice that one? Is that what you were doing yesterday while I was gone? Rehearsing pleas so I’d let you go?” Louis chuckled, finally opening his eyes. Sleepy amber orbs met your own irises and you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his brown eyes looked in the morning sun. They didn’t reflect the light but instead nearly consumed it, a complete contrast to the brown of his fur.

“You must be hungry? You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, if that. I’ll call the kitchen and have them bring us something up. Breakfast in bed doesn’t sound too bad,” Louis bit his lip as his eyes drank in your form beneath him. He definitely looked hungry, yet for something other than food; his eyes were burning with barely contained lust.

“I-I have to go, my Prince. I have to perform my duties in the kitch-AH,” you were cut off when Louis sat up and brought you with him as he pulled you onto his lap to straddle him. You felt your fur prickle with embarrassment as you realized not only was he shirtless, but he also seemed to be only in his underwear, the dark blue embroided material providing a very thin barrier to the Prince’s most precious asset.

“What about your duties to me?” Louis hummed, rubbing his hands up and down the fur of your outter thighs. The top of your uniform was still very much ripped open, so you brought your arms up to cover yourself, the blankets you’d been curled under no longer providing you coverage.

“Ah ah ah, you should know better than to hide yourself from me,” Louis hummed, prying your arms from your chest. He leaned forward, his mouth capturing once of your hardened nipples. The feeling of his hot tongue on your sensitive peak sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Pr-pr-princeee, pleaaaase,” you moaned lightly, your voice nothing more than a breathy whisper.

Louis ignored you, instead moving to the other peak while his hands found themselves back at your plush hips. He rocked upwards into you, his hard member making its presence know.

“Take these off,” Louis mumbled against your areola, tugging at your panties. When you hesitated, he simply sighed before ripping them off himself.

“My Pri-

“Shut up,” Louis groaned against your chest, the vibrations further stimulating your raised peak. Louis plunged his fingers into your arching cavern just as he had the day before. You felt your head swirl in embarrassment and arousal, the two emotions battling for dominance.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you? How long I’ve desired you?” Louis asked, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw. His eyes burned with such passion for you, it was hard to not look away.

“That’s it, ride my hand. Just like that,” Louis grunted and you hadn’t even noticed your pelvis had begun grinding into his hand to meet the thrusts of his fingers. Your body was moving completely on its own, anything to help relieve the pressure growing in your lower belly.

Suddenly, Louis ceased his movements, lifting you up slightly with one hand while he pulled his underwear down with the other. His member sprang to life, resting against his abdomen as it stood glistening with precum. Being a stag and royalty, it was natural to assume he’d be well-endowed but nothing could have prepared you for the vision that was his impressive length.

He took your hands in his own larger ones and wrapped them around his weeping shaft. He let out a soft “fuck...” as he guided your hands up and down. He let go once you found your own rhythm, no longer needing his assistance for such a simple act.

“You’re so good at this- too good, actually. Did you touch Azuki’s mutt like this? Huh?” Louis asked breathlessly, his death grip returning to your thighs.

“I already told you yesterday, we aren’t like... that...” you grumbled, swiping your fingers over his sensitive cockhead, causing a needy groan to tear from his throat.

“Then what were you two like? You were already letting that filthy mongrel close enough to scent you, it’d be nothing for you to get on your knees for him.” Louis said angrily and you suddenly remembered exactly where you were and, more importantly, who you were with.

No amount of pretty words and declarations of desire were going to keep Louis’ true nature at bay for long. He was vile and malicious at heart. You knew this. He’d proven it to you time and time again. So when was it finally going to register in your dumb little brain?

You released his cock immediately, and climbed off his lap and out of his bed. You headed straight for the door but Louis was faster, grabbing and pinning you against the very door you’d been trying to exit from.

“Why do you keep running away from me? Can’t you see what I’m trying to do here?” Louis groaned into the nape of your neck. It sent shivers down your spine and you resisted the urge to arch into him.

“You’re trying to control me, to manipulate me”

“I’m trying to love you.” Louis craned his head back to look into your eyes. He saw no warmth in them.

“You have a peculiar way of expressing your ‘love’, my lord,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Annnnd we’re back to the incorrect formalities. Every time I feel we’ve taken one step forward, you move three spaces back. Why do you insist on fighting me so? I know you feel it, I can’t be imagining this attraction between us,” Louis finished, the grip on you wrists that previously had you pinned against the door now residing so that he could caress your forearms with the pads of his thumbs.

“I fight it because I know my place. I’m a dog, your highness. Lower than any other Herbivore commoner, and amongst the unfavorable even within Carnivore spaces. Most of the animals around here think I should be banished for even working within the castle during the day, let alone catering to you.”

“Their opinions don’t matter, they have no authority here-”

“It does matter, your highness. Because once your infatuation with me ceases, which is inevitable, you will return to your fiancé, marry her, be crowned King, and produce heirs. And all I’ll have is my life as a lowly commoner. That’s the natural order of things.” You lamented, your voice feeling thick with emotion.

“So what, you believe your future is with Azuki’s guard dog? Popping out litter after litter for him until you die? That’s no way to live, he can’t commit to you. His life already belongs to another woman and that’s Azuki.”

“You don’t think I know that? I’m fully aware of the hold our future Queen has over him. I’m just grateful for every moment he chooses to share with me. Makes my life a little less lonely...,”

“I could make your life less lonely! I could do that for you, better than he ever could!” Louis was slightly begging now, he could hear it in his own voice but he was beyond the point of caring.

“Don’t you see I feel my loneliest when I’m with you? All you’ve ever made me feel was small, and stupid, and unworthy. Legoshi doesn’t point out how I misuse words just to remind me of how uneducated I am. He doesn’t point out how unrefined my taste pallet is or force me to eat food outside of the carnivore diet. He doesn’t drag me out of bed at night to look at some stupid star a million miles away on some balcony when I’m afraid of heights. He doesn’t tell me where I can and can’t go, who I can and can’t see, just because he felt like it. He doesn’t humiliate me every chance he gets! He doesn’t boss me around just because he can!” There were hot tears streaming down your face. You had been holding this in for a long time.

“I see...,” Louis said finally breaking the silence. He released you from his grasp and took a step back. He adjusted himself, tucking his forgotten member fully back into his underwear. Though he had a beautiful body envious to those of Gods, he seemed almost shy about his lack of clothing now.

He glanced at your tattered uniform before muttering a “wait here... please...”, and walking towards one of the humongous wardrobes in his room. He pulled out a pristine, new uniform and walked back over to hand it to you.

“I kept a lot of these on hand, in case you ever wanted.... a more comfortable bed to lay your head at night...” Louis’s voice had never seemed so clouded. You silently accepted the uniform.

“You have my deepest apologies for my behavior. Such veracity was never my intention. I hereby relieve you of all obligation to me. You may return to the kitchen or to the gardens or to somewhere new if you like. Whereever you choose to go is fine, I’ll notify Stallworth of my approval. I...” Louis hesitated, finally bringing his eyes up yours.

“You’re free to go.”

/////////

A/N: I finally know how I want this story to end so hopefully they’ll only be two more parts for this series and it’ll reach it’s completion! Also thank you all again for 1K!

[eideticmemory]

PERFORMANCE | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: You film a sex scene with Matthew Gray Gubler, and have a big urge to try it off camera.

Word Count: 2,953.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, choking, 18 year age gap between adults.

You filmed the sex scene in one take.

The cool air trailed over your bare breasts as you laid against the bed, Matthew’s torso between your legs, his lips on your neck. You had never done a sex scene before, but you knew it shouldn’t have felt this good. You knew your moans should’ve been fake, your facial expressions exaggerated, your body working in an absentminded rhythm. But you found yourself trembling, weak, releasing breathy moans into his ear. All from the feeling of Matthew creating friction between your legs. In an unscripted moment, he gropped your boobs in his hands, and the force sent your back arching. You became so focused on the sensation of his body, the heat trapped under the duvet cover, and his lips as they pressed against yours, the eyes of the crew were drowned out - long forgotten.

When the director yelled “cut!” you pined for Matthew’s lips, the sudden loss of them leaving a bitter feeling in your stomach. Holding eye contact with him, you allowed him to help you out of bed. He promptly handed you your robe, and you couldn’t help but watch as he began to put on his own. Your eyes raked down his body, studying his skin, his torso, his chest, his hips. Your arms folded over your chest to hold the clothing in place, you quickly removed yourself from set and disappeared for the rest of the day.

It would be hours before you got over the feeling. The intensity, the passion, and the pure embarrassment of allowing to let yourself get carried away. It was silly to think a man, of Matthew’s status and age, would find a way to express any sexual attraction towards you. It was wildly unprofessional of you, not to mention completely inappropriate considering the 18 year age gap. But, fuck, you couldn’t help but think about it.

After a substantial amount of time locked away in your dressing room, you finally gathered the courage to head out and head home. You kept your head down as you went to exit the set, eyes trained on your feet. Headphones in, you weren’t sure someone had called your name, but you still stopped in your tracks. When you turned around, one earbud in your hand, you saw Matthew, racing over to you. 

“Hey,” he smiled. “You going home?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Tired.”

“Aw, man,” he sighed. “I was hoping we could, uh, run some lines together? Prepare for tomorrow’s shoot? But if you’re tired, then—“

“I’m not tired,” you interrupted him. The words flowed from your mouth before you could catch them. “We can run lines. That’s-that’s cool.” 

He gave you a soft smile, his eyes peering into yours. “Awesome. My trailer?” 

You gave him a speechless nod, still attempting to catch your breath at the sight of him. You followed him into his dressing room, with him opening the door for you to grant you entrance. You stepped in shyly, and set your bag down on the couch. 

“Nice place you got here,” you said.

He closed the door behind himself and laughed, “Thank you.”

You dug your script out of your purse and sat down beside the accessory, flipping through the pages awkwardly. “So, what scenes did you want to rehearse?”

“How about,” he whispered, holding his own script in his hands. “Our second love scene?” 

You cut your eyes up at him, your breath caught in your throat, “You teasing me?” You pouted.

“Teasing you about what?” He smirked. 

You shyly shook your head, and looked down at your toes as he took a seat beside you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Matthew’s eyes went wide, the shock of yours words having him taken aback. “Uncomfortable? [y/n],” he chuckled under his breath. “You made me...the complete opposite of uncomfortable. I might have been, um, a little too comfortable. It’s a sex scene. It happens.” 

“What do you do...um, when-when it does happen?” You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye, but you could see he was smiling. 

“Just rehearse,” he shrugged. “Get aquatinted with the other until you fall into your own groove.”

“Wow,” you looked up at him, a sly smile on your face. “So much wisdom.”

“Is that a jab at my age, kid?” He gasped, trying to keep from laughing. “Because I gotta tell you, that hurts.”

“No, no,” you shook your head. “So, let’s get aquatinted then. Um, page 67?” You asked, pinning the paper in your script. 

He nodded, “Yep. So, again, we have to improvise the scene. The initiation, the tension, the act itself.”

“Right. So...how should we start?”

“Hm...” he hummed. “Can you start reading your lines? We can do some quick improv.”

You shrugged, “Sure.” 

You set your script down and began to recite the words from memory, staring at the space across from you as directed, and putting on a somber face. “I don’t know why you came here,” you murmured, presenting a voice on the verge of breaking. “You want to sit here and pretend to care about me, when we both know that’s not the case—“

Matthew watched you for a long time before he started kissing your neck, “I wanted to see you,” he breathed against your skin. “I had to see you.”

You draw in a shaky breath, feeling Matthew’s hand on your leg. “Had to see me? See me? You-you haven’t called me since...since....” You trailed off, Matthew’s lips now tracing your jaw with soft kisses. His mouth felt nice. Like it was meant to be on your body. 

“You okay, [y/n]?” Matthew whispered in your ear. By now, your bodies were pressed together, your shoulder leaning into his chest as his hand moved to your inner thigh. 

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m fine.” 

“You don’t get touched often, do you?” He asked. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, and only shook your head no in response. 

“How?” He kissed your cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I’ve never...” You licked your lips. “Never...never, um...”

He pulled away from you instantly, his eyes concentrated on your face. “You’re a virgin?” 

You looked away as you nodded. “And please don’t give me the whole ‘22-year-old-virgin’ speech. I know it’s lame.” 

“Hey, look at me,” He pressed his fingertips into your chin and lifted your head up. “It’s not lame. Not at all.” 

“However,” you spoke quickly. “I’m-I’m not entirely attached to this virginity. I’ve been meaning to get rid of it, actually.”

He looked at you for a moment, and scoffed, “[y/n]...”

“What?” You whined, turning to face him. “Did you not see me earlier? I’m a complete mess for you.” 

“I don’t want you to regret this. I don’t want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable or anything like that. And I don’t want you to regret choosing me.”

You stood to your feet, calmly positioning yourself in front of him. You pulled your shirt over your head and dropped it to the floor, your bra following. You began massaging your breast as he watched. “I could kind of tell...that maybe, you liked these.” 

He bit his lip, “Fuck, [y/n].”

You boldly straddled his lap, pressing your boobs into his chest. “I...I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

“You...have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he whispered. “At all.”

You placed a sweet kiss to his lips, “Show me. Please?” 

So, he did. He kissed you, fiercely, and had you laid out on the couch in seconds. He expertly removed your shorts and panties, tossing them to the other side of the room. His enjoyed the view of your body as he kneeled down between your legs. “You’re so beautiful,” he told you. “And so lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. His finger presses against your clit and rubbed you in small circles. “Because I’m taking it easy on you tonight.”

You gulped, and started pant at the small touch. You watched him as he leaned down and kissed your labia. “You’re already so wet,” he commented. He drew a finger over your slit, “Here, see?” He placed the covered fingers against your bottom lip and you instinctively opened your mouth to suck on it. 

“Good girl,” he purred. “Perfect.”

He dove his head in and ate you out. There's something about the way Matthew does it. Like he's starving. Like he's dying and you’re the cure. Like he's in the desert and you’re the only drink of water. He devours you. Completely buries his face and presses his tongue down with so much force, it sends chills up your spine. His hands are tight on your thighs as his tongue encircles one spot on your clit, the one he knows drives you wild.

Embarassingly quickly, your orgasm built in your stomach. When you first noticed it, you began to pull at Matthew’s hair. Push his head away, clench your thighs together. But he only responded by swatting your hands away, putting one hand around both your wrists and the other on your breast. 

“M-Matthew,” you whimpered. “Ah, fuck, I—“

He looked up at you, his eyes peering into your soul from under his eyelashes. He sped up the velocity of his tongue, the muscle applying immense pressure to your bundle of nerves. 

“Mm,” you whined, attempting to pull your hands from his grasp - no success. “Please, please, please.”

You tried so hard. So hard. But it was good, and it was Matthew, and you came. His name falling off of your lips and your chest heaving up and down. He rolls his tongue along your slit, the stickiness covering his mouth. He stared up at you, hungrily, “So, so lucky.” He whispered.

Matthew pulled a condom from his pocket, and hovered over you as he pulled his pants down to his thighs and released his cock. You licked your lips, to which he gave you a knowing smile. Condom on, he sat beside you on the couch, “Ride me.” He commanded.

“What?” You murmured. “I-I don’t know how to do that.”

He chuckled, “I’ve got you, just come sit on my dick.” 

How can you say no to that? You sat up and straddled his lap once again, body shaking with anxiety. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

You nodded, holding yourself up on his shoulders. His hands guided your hips as you slowly, very slowly, sunk down onto his cock, the length and girth filling you up. You let out a vulnerable whine, biting onto your lip. 

“Stay with me, babygirl,” he said. “You’re doing so good.”

With his erection fully buried inside your, you fell against his body, sitting completely still. He asked if you were okay again, and you replied by sitting up, looking him in the eye and saying a quiet, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he whispered. His hands gripped onto your ass, waiting to guide you. “So, you’re just gonna raise your hips up, like this,” he pushed your thighs up, his cock pulling out of you about halfway. “And then you’re gonna come back down.” He relaxed his arms, allowing you to take his length back inside of you. 

Immediately adjusting to the movement, you started to bounce on him, slowly, awkwardly, and he loved it. 

“Oh, yeah,” he moaned, leaning back to watch you. “Fuck yeah. There you go, baby. You got it.”

You smiled at the encouragement and absentmindedly started to rock your hips faster, the sensation of his dick sending you into a trance. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he swore. “Your pussy is so, so fucking good. Give it to me, beautiful, give it all to me. I want it.”

That’s when you lost yourself. You supported yourself by placing your palms on his chest and continued to ride him, quickly, eagerly. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead and you couldn’t stop your jaw from dropping. You’d been touched by other guys, kissed by other guys, eaten out by other guys. But it wasn’t like this. Nothing was ever like this. 

"Look at me," he said. "Look at me."

There's a hint of pleading in his voice, but just enough power to compel you to open your eyes. 

“Let me pound you,” he requested. “Hm? Let me make you come on my dick, huh?” 

And before you could fully nod, he stilled your hips, grasping them in his hands and angled himself before slamming into you. You threw your head back and let out a guttural moan. Shivers racked your body as his hips picked up this new momentum, fucking you so hard and so fast that the couch wobbled. 

“Ah! A-Ah!” You cried out.

“C’mon, [y/n], you can take it. Say you can take it.”

“I-“ you stuttered. “I can take it. I can take it.”

“Mhm, yes, you can.”

Staring into Matthew's eyes while he's pounding into you is a religious experience. When you open your eyes and make that first bit of contact, his jaw drops and this strangled moan came out. 

"Is this good?"

"Yes."

"Tell me it's good."

"H--huh—fu--it's good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"How good?"

"So good."

"Say it again."

"S--so good."

It is. It's so good. He buried his face in your neck, making the loudest groans possible against your skin. And you felt his tongue licking from the base of your neck to the edge of your jaw, slimy and icky and drool dripping down your skin. So dirty, so disgusting, Jesus christ. He knows the spot. The one right on your jaw line that sends you over the edge. And he sucks on it endlessly while one hand begins to play with your boob, teasing the nipple between his fingers. Then there’s his tongue again, making it's way to your ear. 

"Say my name."

"Oh, my G--god."

"Say it." And he nibbled on your ear. Your eyes rolled back. "Who's fucking you?"

"M-M-Matthew." 

"Who?"

"M--fuck-Matthew."

He found your clit, such ease, such speed. He presses his middle finger down, the pressure alone making you squeeze his bicep with all your strength. You squeaked, you gasped, you trembled, you tensed up. "Fu-ck."

And he rubbed in circles, quick, hard. Hard. 

"A-ah. Fuck. M—Matthew, please." There were tears in your eyes. Literal tears. He looked at you and wiped them away, not breaking the gaze for a second.

"Oh, baby, you're so close."

You nodded.

"Your legs are so tense, you can b-barely hold your eyes open, your pussy's so tight, fuck." 

You were so, so close. 

"Am I right?" 

"Yes."

"About what?"

"I'm gon-Ah! I'm gonna come."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then do it." And his hand moved at super sonic speed, the motion of his fingers moving at almost the same tempo as his hips.

That did it. The curve, the fingers, the way he looks at you. You threw your head back. You came. It was good. It was long. His hands. Your throat. Fuck.

“Oh, come on, baby,” he cooes. His hand smacked your face, lightly, just forceful enough to pull you from your daze. “Don’t wear out on me now. That was only number two. I know that’s not all you’ve got.”

“Matthew,” you whimpered.

“Hm?” His hips have slowed to this sweet, tempered rhythm, the tip of his tongue pressed against your bottom lip. The steady pumps send shivers through your spine. “Do you want to stop, baby?” 

You dug your nails into his shoulders, your eyes soft and pouty, misted with tears. 

“[y/n],” he calls. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you shook your head. Quickly, harshly, your face flushed and your body quivering. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Can you give me one more? Just one more, baby.” 

“Matthew, I can’t,” you whine. “I can’t, I can’t come again.”

“Yes, you can, you can give me a third one. Watch,” His thumbs locates your clit once again, the mere touch drawing a shaky moan from your lips. “One more, baby. That’s all I want. Just one more. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, weakly, holding his face in your hands. 

He's real good about making sure you come again. But when you do, after you ride it out, it's all about him and you’re all for it. He grabs you  by the throat and watches you tremble, sticking his thumb into your mouth. 

"Fuck. Fuck!" he moans. "Mm, am I being too rough?"

Rough? Yes. You could feel him in your chest he's pounding you so hard. It's sloppy and uncoordinated and you feel like you could come again in seconds with the amount of force he's using. 

"No. Keep going." You begged. 

"Fuck." His voice, so dark, so deep. 

He grips onto your throat harder and leans in. "Where do you want it?"

This man is so hot.

You do nothing but stick your tongue out, exposing your throat. He laughed and nodded, biting his lip as he pushes into you harder and harder. 

The transition from your pussy to your mouth was quick. The second he was down your throat, he came and he held onto your hair while he did. He tensed up, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back. "Agh! Uh! H-huh! Fuck. Fuck."

What calms you down, after the waves and waves and waves of intensity, is the sound of Matthew’s heartbeat. You end up with your ear pressed to his chest as you two bundle up on the couch, your fingertips tracing his sweaty skin. 

He kissed your forehead, “You okay?”

“Thought you said you were taking it easy on me tonight.” You giggled. 

“Oh baby,” he huffed. “That was easy.”

[thelittleboyfromloveactually]

Two Shorten the Road

part 1

joel dawson x reader

warnings: cussing? idk, bad writing.....fluff, cuteness, monsters(is this a warning), mentions of death, SPOILERS

word count: 2154

prompt: when your best friend decides to leave your colony to go find the love of his life, you decide to join him on his journey even if you aren’t so happy about where this journey is going

Welp I did it, I took it into my own hands. I am writing a joel dawson series. Because we👏need 👏more👏joel👏fics👏 it’s basically the movie, almost the same script but obviously slightly different…ENJOY! <3

No one in my generation or later had a typical upbringing, I mean some of us did but then the world ended. This type of thing sounds straight out of some apocalyptic movie, but we basically live in one now. Agatha 616, an asteroid heading straight for earth, I know, so original. So we all came together and did what we do best, blow things up. Yup, we blew up teh asteroid, and humanity was saved! We thought. But here’s the thing about rockets, they are made of a bunch of chemical compounds which eventually rained back down on earth. Suddenly there were these Aileen creatures that mutated and started eating us. Ants, lizards, roaches, crocodiles, you name it. Our president was even killed by a giant moth. Ya….not so original now huh? We suddenly need tanks to kill ants, oh man I remember the good old days when a shoe would do just fine. Sometimes even the tanks didn’t work. Eventually the really big ones and our military took each other out and we lost 95% of the human population in a year! Those of us who survived hid, bunkers, caves, panic rooms, all around the world. So for the last seven years I’ve been hiding in an underground bunker. It’s really not as bad as it sounds, and it’s better than getting eaten alive. It’s a great group of people and we all love each other.

“Are you sure they’re asleep?”

“Who?”

“Y/N and joel!”

“Oh ya I’m sure”

“Joel? Y/n?”

“He’s asleep”

Actually we are both awake. Me and my best friend joel have kinda mastered faking being asleep. Our beds are right across from each other so we normally just lie there and make stupid faces at each other. We are the only two single people in our bunker. Nice huh? Joel is my best friend. I met him when I joined the colony. He’s the sweetest. It’s funny cause everyone thinks we should just have sex already because that’s literally all everyone else does. But we are way above that. Anyway, joel is in love with his girlfriend from before the colony, her name is Aimee. With one “I” and two “e”s. He loves to talk about her, he writes her letters. So in reality, I am the only one who is not in love in this bunker. I’ve never had a boyfriend, ever, even before the world ended.

We don’t really get any sleep. The moaning kinda keeps us awake. I got up and out of my bed and headed for the kitchen. I heard Joel’s bed creak and then his footsteps as he followed behind me. Another annoying thing about being down here is that to get to the kitchen from my room, you have to walk though other people’s bedrooms. Oh shit, they are busy, why would they leave their door open. Me and Joel stopped.

“Oh” joel and I said in unison

“Hey Y/N! Hey Joel!” Ava said

“Oh hey Ava” Joel said, we didn’t dare look over to our left.

“Y/N how’s it going?” Tim asked

“T-totally good tim, h-how are you doing” I asked

“Yeah, good” he responded

“I uh we couldn’t sleep” said Joel looking at the ceiling

“Ya we know the feeling” Ava said with a laugh

“Yeah probably not for the…..same reasons” joel said looking straight ahead

“Your guyses door was open, did you…did you know that?” I asked

“Yeah we know” they said

I shook my head and knitted my eyebrows together

“Okay” joel trailed off

Ever since Tim’s parents were eaten by a swarm of termites he and Ava have gotten really close, in every way.

“Okay, goodnight” joel said as we walked

Basically everyone is coupled up down here, a baby was born last winter! Welcome to the apocalypse kid. Ok if we ever get out of this, that would be an awesome story to tell your kids. “Oh ya I was born in an underground bunker doing a monster apocalypse” “yes exactly like World War Z but with bugs bigger than a 5 story building”. I mean come on.

So your probably wonder how the hell we get food, we’ll we have a cow. Gurdy. Gurdy is great. We also have a hunting party that brings back whatever they can from the surface. It’s gotten harder and harder, cause we ran out of bullets. And facing one of those things with a handmade weapon is just as hard as it sounds. It’s very very difficult. I go with them….sometimes. I still get scared. But I’ve been out quite a lot, especially compared to my man joel over here. I’ve been out maybe 30 times, he’s been out…maybe once, or not even. He’s the chef of the bunker. He makes super good Minestrone.

Me and joel like to hang out with Mavis. A robot. Yup. Not much for conversation, her batter is shot. Just like every other mavis I would imagine. When I’m not hunting we hang out with her. But sometimes I just go read. Reading and joel keep me sane. I mean sometimes joel drives me insane but I still love him. I have quite the collection of books too! I’ve got Emma by Jane Austen, a couple random ones that we found, all the hunger games and Harry Potter books, some mysteries that stopped being mysteries after a while, and then of course some smutty romance books for personal entertainment.

Joel likes to say that his thing is target practice. He has never hit the target but ya know, gotta entertain yourself. I think his thing is drawing though, he has this book that he draws in from Aimee. It’s really cool actually. He’s really good.

I sat watching Joel as he tried to hit the target, laughing a little every time he missed. It was cute how hard he tried.

“Shut up” he said shaking his laugh away

I laughed again, but then suddenly the lights started flickering. You could hear screeches and creeks echoing through the bunker. Joel turned to look at me. Worry and determination in his eyes. We both scrambled out of the room and into the kitchen where everyone was preparing.

“Hustle, hustle people we’ve gotta move”

I turned to look at Joel but then realized that he wasn’t next to me. Where did he go? Worry flooded through me. Suddenly the clanking of our weapon started behind me.

“Hey guys!” Joel said as he rammed into the railing, I shook my head. “Guys! I’ve got the weapons” he smiled at me

A few people walked over to him taking them out of his hands

“Stay” said Tim

“W-what?” Joel asked looking around in confusion

Everyone was talking and barking orders “grab what you need and let’s go! Y/N you coming?”

My eyes shot open “yes! Yup!” I jumped up and grabbed the bow and arrow from Joel.

“W-what's happening?” He asked innocently “what’s going on?”

“There’s a breach” said Tim

“What do you mean? Like inside the bunker breach?!” He asked

“Yes joel! Now come on!” I told him, patting him on the pack as I followed the others

He followed me and watched the plan get arranged

“Anna, Y/N and I will engage. Anderson and Tom plank him”

“Plank him, ya ok where do you guys need me? You want me to uh come through the rear or..?” Joel asked eagerly

“I don’t think your going to pass this joel” I told him

“Pass what? You guys need help, let me help” said clutching his crossbow

“You gonna make me say it?” said Sam

“Say what?!” God he was so adorably clueless

“You can’t handle it joel, your shook” said Sam, we all began getting into positions

“Ya ok, yes so you guys don’t get scared..ever?” He asked still getting ready to fight

“We get scared, we all get scared joel, but you get really scared” said Sam

“They are trying to make you feel bad joel” I said sweetly, trying to calm him down

“We love you joel”

“But your a liability”

“Ok why did that speech feel so rehearsed? And what about Y/N? She’s like…ya know?” He said bobbing his head

“Joel-“ suddenly the bunker shook and the lights flicked again

“Ok 30 meters out! Let’s move!” And we were off

Leaving joel and some others behind. You could hear the growling of whatever we were up against

I followed the others and listened carefully. I was freaking shaking. Don’t ask how I got sucked into becoming one the the hunters. Kinda just happened and I was just-

“OH SHIT!” I heard someone yell, it was too dark to see. Someone was gone, that thing took them. I couldn’t even see it. Oh fuck my life. Everyone began scattering, running away from the monster. I stopped running to take a breath, when I realized I was alone. Nicely done Y/N. The lights kept flickering. I heard something blow up in the distance.

“Conned? Conner?” I heard a whisper, one I knew all too well. Shit, joel. I ran toward the sound, and had no idea I was also running toward certain death. I stopped running. There it was, that thing. I’d never seen this before. I didn’t recognize it. I stayed silent, not moving at all. It slowly crawled over a shower curtain. Oh fuck. He was going toward joel! I quickly grabbed my bow and arrow and shot it. Right though the face. Next to its….eye I guess you could call it. Joel stood there, frozen.

I slowly walked over to him “Joel, hey are you ok?” I asked as I slipped my hand into his. He was trembling. Tears ran down his cheeks. He has a bad freezing problem, so I've been helping him work on it.

About an hour later I sat with Joel, still holding his hand as he stared out into space. We could hear everyone talking. How could this have happened?

“It ripped through steal”

“Anderson and I resealed the Breach point, nothings getting in that way again”

“But why did it happen?”

I tried to toon it out, and I hoped Joel did too.

“Joel, do you wanna talk about it?” I asked squeezing his hand, he looked so sad, which just crushed me

He shook his head

“Ok….” I nodded, I leaned into hug him but was interrupted by his voice

“How far away is Aimee's colony?” He asked

I pulled back, looking at him confused. The talking stopped and everyone look at him

“What?” Tim asked

“Aimee’s colony, how far away is it?” He repeated

“About 85 miles” he said as he furrowed his brows

“How long will it take to get there?”

“What do you mean joel?” I asked leaning closer to him

“Just humor me, how long?” He insisted

“7 days” said Tim

“Someone who’s armed and trained would hardly last 50miles, but you…joel” Ava said, I felt bad for him, he really didn’t deserve any of this

“Alright” Tim continued “now I need volunteers”

“I’m gonna go” joel said

No one said anything, they just stared

“It’s an impossible journey joel” said Tim, crossing his arms

Joel stood up, moving around my chair. “No im serious…I love you guys but there’s only one person in this world who ever truly made me happy and she’s only 85 miles away” he said strongly “I’m gonna go see her” I could see his mind was made up

God he was such a romantic, how could you not love this guy? Sure it hurts when your best friend tells you that you didn’t make him truly happy. Especially when you maybe sorta kinda have a crush on him.

He let out a breath “woah, that felt awesome” he said as he walked off to start packing

I stood there for a second processing and thinking, but then suddenly my mouth took over and well….

“I’m coming with you!” I said, he froze “I mean you can’t leave me here with these middle aged people, and your my best friend so” I shrugged

“I’ll come back for you I promise” he walked over to me “I can’t let you put yourself in even more danger” he said grabbing my arms

“I can’t let you put yourself in danger knowing that I could have helped protect you” I said, he stared blankly at me

I smiled “o-ohK…then I guess…” he trailed off

“Cool I’ll go pack” I skipped past him. Was I scared? Hell yes. But like I said, I needed to help joel and protect him in every way I can. And sure I wasn’t so happy that he was returning to his long lost love but if it made him happy then I would live. And anyway, two do shorten the road.

[tillxthexearthxstartsxtoxcrumble]

Bobby made a list of all the possible things that could’ve gone wrong that day. He was going to update it that night, once the show was done and they had rocked out the Orpheum. It started out great. The four boys woke up with hardly any sleep in them because of their excitement for the day, but nothing could kill their adrenaline for the day ahead of them. Even Bobby, who usually tried to hide his emotions, was almost all smiles that morning. They all got their parents to agree to let them stay the night in the studio. 

“Just think, later tonight we could have a manager and we could finally get big like we’ve always dreamed!” Luke said, being the band’s usual hype man. Reggie nodded,

“Yeah! Who knows what’s gonna happen tonight, but it’s gonna be a big night.” Alex smiled in response, but the band knew the fact that their entire future was almost riding on that night, it would make him more anxious than the rest of them. They were all anxious about it, of course, but they wouldn’t let it take away from their excitement in any way. 

“No matter what happens I’m sure everything will turn out good in the end.” Bobby tried subtly reassuring Alex, which didn’t do much, but Alex appreciated the attempt. 

“Yeah for sure.” he nodded. They knew he wouldn’t wanna ruin their fun with this, so they all shared a look and immediately knew what to do. 

“Hey, let’s go check out the area. Maybe we’ll be able to meet some fans!” Reggie got his big grin, opening the garage doors for them to start on their quest to calm Alex down at least in the slightest. 

Bobby’s list of things that could go wrong - 1. An instrument could get damaged.

They ended up seeing some people already lining up outside the orpheum, waiting just so they could get good spots. All of their hearts felt like they were flying when they saw the sight. Alex actually got a real smile at that, not the one he gave them to make them feel better. 

“Luke, are you sure you wanna open with ‘Now or Never’?” Bobby questioned him, “It kinda feels like one we should save for last, y’know, to really blow them all away. It’s our song we always hear the most positive response to.”

“That’s exactly why we gotta start with it, man! We gotta show everyone how good we are, catch them by surprise and keep them on the edge of their seats. I don’t want them to just enjoy us at the end, we gotta keep them going the whole time!” Bobby couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s enthusiasm. 

“All right, fine, but if the crowd doesn’t seem as passionate about the rest, don’t blame me.” Reggie chuckled and put his arm around his friends.

“I say we go check out the area and see if we wanna get something to eat and we just kill time for a while before we go and rehearse.” 

~♧~

That’s what they did for a while, they ended up having a lot of fun and they managed to get their nerves set aside and that allowed them to get fully excited for the show later that night. 

“Hey, do any of you wanna hear my joke about the blunt pencil? Oh it doesn’t matter, it’s pointless.”  Bobby said, and he got an evil grin at the sound of his friends letting out an annoyed groan. 

“No, I want to hear it!” Reggie said excitedly, which only made his friends get more tired of them. 

“Reggie that-” at the look on Reggie’s face Alex just paused and sighed, “okay.” 

Luke decided to ignore the terrible puns going on and turned to his friends. “Hey, let’s go do that sound check- we don’t wanna not be ready for our performance.” 

~♧~

“You sure you don’t wanna go with them? I’m not sure you’ll be able to occupy yourself for two hours.” Rose smiled at him, 

“Nah, they’ll be fine. I’m not sure even they could fuck everything up in the time they go get food and come back.“  Bobby chuckled, trying to come up with more flirty lines but given his tendency to use terrible puns, he’s not exactly the best with flirting either. 

It had been almost an hour and a half since they’d left. Bobby knew it might’ve taken them awhile to find food and get it but it shouldn’t be taking them this long. 

“Bobby, I say we just go out and search for them. Maybe they lost track of time and we just need to go get them.” Rose suggested to the anxious guitar player. 

“No- No, they wouldn’t ever lose track of time. This means the world to them. They’ll be here. I know they will. Even if they died, they’d find a way to play the Orpheum.” Bobby started pacing back and forth. They both knew he was just trying to convince himself at that point, “They wouldn’t miss this.”

Bobby’s list of things that could go wrong - 2.The equipment is messed up.

“Luke, R-Reggie” Alex croaked out, tears streaming down his cheeks from the pain. They didn’t respond. Alex felt everything inside him stop. They were gone. The pain from the hotdogs weren’t even anything compared to the loss he felt. Alex screamed, his two best friends just died. He started coughing up blood, everyone around him trying to save the boy but knowing they couldn’t.

“Please, I don’t wanna die.” 

Bobby started getting a little upset at them for taking this long, they had missed the rest of rehearsal and they only had minutes before they were supposed to go on stage. Why were they taking so long?

“I don’t wanna go to hell.” He begged.

Bobby could hear everyone chanting just thirty feet away. They were late, he couldn’t go on without them. He felt everything in his body freeze up when he saw the doors open, he hoped it was them.

The last thing Alex heard was a thumping noise filling his ears, slowing down into nothing, and a scream. 

“Are you Robert?”

Bobby nodded, a wave of fear washing over him. He knew it would be bad but nothing could prepare him for why this man was here. 

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but.. You won’t be playing tonight.”   

“Alex Mercer, time of death at 10:24 PM”

Bobby stopped breathing for a moment, “What do you mean?”

Everything felt like a blur after that. 

“Kid, I don’t know how to tell you this.” the next words felt as if they were being said through a loudspeaker, as Bobby was underwater. “Your bandmates all passed away about half an hour ago.” 

Bobby’s list of things that could go wrong - 3.One of them is late.

Bobby was completely calm with the next few words. “Why wasn’t I told right away?” It caught the officer off guard. He shifted, slightly worried at how easily this kid was taking the loss of his friends.

“We had to fix everything up and tell their parents-” before the officer could even finish, Bobby took his guitar off and smashed it right at his feet, which would have hurt like hell if he had cared enough to notice. Bobby was now shaking, but no one could tell if it was out of anger or pain. He had a look that they couldn’t read. He looked at the broken guitar, feeling a mix of dread and relief from doing that. By now, the crowd had started to get quiet after the loud crash of the guitar.

Still trying to stay completely calm, he responded “I’m sorry about that officer. I gotta go, now.” Bobby started walking off only to be stopped.

“We’re gonna have to take you in for investigation. We apologise, but we have to go down to the office.” Bobby paused for a moment, staring off into the distance before he burst into tears. He collapsed, and Rose rushed forward to help him. She’d still been in shock about the whole situation. Just hours ago, she flirted with people who are now dead. 

“I- I did this, didn’t I?” Bobby whispered to Rose, she felt her heart break. The officer got more suspicious, thinking this was some kind of act. To try and trick them, he confesses to the act and acts broken about it so no one truly suspects him. People can think that sometimes, when they aren’t the ones affected by the situation. 

“We’re going down to the office right now, if you try to resist I will have to arrest you. I don’t wanna do that to a kid, so let’s just go right now and we can get it all settled.” Bobby stood up, but he couldn’t feel his legs. The noise from earlier came back - like he was underwater, pushing up against the waves and trying to escape, but losing the fight. The officer held him by the arm and pulled him along.

~♧~

“Why didn’t you go with them to have the hot dogs?” Officer Smith asked. Bobby glanced at the voice recorder, still feeling like none of this was real.

“I stayed behind to talk with Rose.” He knew how stupid it sounded. They’d already gone over it but he was already interrogated and ripped apart by that. Bobby couldn’t believe how stupid it sounded, either. 

Officer Smith was clearly exhausted, he hadn’t gotten any real evidence so far and he tried doubling down on questions but it wasn’t working. He sighed, pressing stop on the voice recorder. 

“Alright, well, we’re gonna let you go home but we’ll have to schedule another interrogation.” Bobby yet again felt like he was pushed underwater. He wanted to say it was him, it was all his fault. He should’ve stopped them, but he didn’t. That might as well make him a killer. He wanted to scream at the officer, to tell him it was all his fault. “You should’ve stopped them”  he felt a voice whisper. That voice was him. Bobby knew that. But it didn’t hurt any less. Now the water he’s fighting against is a raging sea, and it’s pitch black out. He can’t tell which way is up and which is down. 

Bobby nodded, and got up to leave. As soon as he left the interrogation room, he felt free, though. He felt as if the moon was finally shining a light for him to see which way to go. He started running, he had to tell them about what just happened. How he got into trouble with the police, they’d be concerned but they’re the only ones he can see right now. 

He ran faster than he’d ever run in his life before, nearly getting hit by several cars. He saw a girl, she was sitting there in shock. He slowed down just a bit, he heard her muttering something about flirting with death. Bobby recognized her as one of the fans who was lined up outside the Orpheum earlier. He decided not to mess with it, he needed to see his friends.

Bobby was halfway home, and he started to go numb again. They won’t be there. Bobby shook those thoughts away, they would be there. They had to be. Maybe he just... imagined the last few hours. They haven’t even rehearsed yet.

As soon as Bobby opened the doors, he knew it was all real. The only thing he could see, was a dark, empty room. He collapsed to the ground, and this time, the numbness didn’t die down. 

The only way Bobby knew he was crying- no, sobbing at that point - was because his neighbor came out to see what had happened. So as soon as the old woman saw her neighbor sitting there, sobbing like he’d just lost the most important thing in the world to him, she had to see if he was okay. 

When she went up to him and tapped him on his shoulder, he didn’t even react. He was still crying, staring at the dark garage. 

Bobby was thinking of all he just lost. 

He’d lost Luke, the passionate writer of the group. Luke was the one in the first place to have come up with the idea of them being in a band together. Him and Luke had been friends since they were at least seven years old. He was there for Luke’s birthday when he first got his guitar, he remembered the excitement Luke had on his face. He was there for all of it, he and Luke worked together on a lot of songs. Luke, the one who would tease him and have fun with almost everything they did. Luke, who he let stay in his garage because his parents wouldn’t let him play music. 

Then there was Reggie, the sweet and innocent soul that Bobby had met next, they hadn’t been friends for quite as long but they got along really well. Bobby regretted every time he didn’t take one of Reggie’s offers for hugs, even if they were joke offers. He rarely wrote music with Reggie but he remembered hearing his country songs and country was never Bobby’s style but he definitely liked Reggie’s country songs. They held passion and happiness, it was Reggie’s escape just as much as it was Luke’s. 

Then there was Alex, the one who used to have a really good family life. He and his parents always got along, they always let him play music. They didn’t like the idea of him being in a band, but they never tried to stop him. Then he came out and all that changed. He was one of the most talented and humble people Bobby had ever met. He was kind and also the most sarcastic and snarky person Bobby had ever met. 

He’d lost them.

“Robert, are you okay?” He got snapped out of his thoughts as he looked at his neighbor with tears still streaming down his face. How could he be alright? His entire world just collapsed around him. He lost everyone he loved. But Bobby couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even open his mouth. 

He recalls a time once, when he was younger, at the beach. Before he met any of the guys. He’s surprised he even remembers a time before them - he’s known them for what feels like his entire life. He was always a good swimmer, growing up by the water, but being small and easily pushed over left him defenseless as a particularly strong wave pulled him under. He remembers feeling helpless. Wondering if he might drown. 

Sitting there, in the studio, he thinks that he might as well stay under and let the water fill his lungs.

The entirety of the next few months, that feeling stayed the same. He’d hardly spoken a word to anyone, so his parents made him go to a therapist, but they didn’t understand why he would look past him and mutter random words, why the parents said he talks to himself almost all day. Of course, they knew the boy had lost his best friends , but with how Bobby seemed to handle every other problem in life, they knew that this broke him. 

Bobby had to see his therapist at least once a week for many, many years. But Bobby never felt the same. Yes, he was freed of any suspicion under having killed them by the police. But he still felt like he was being pushed farther underwater by large waves, and he’d accepted that he’d never get out of that ocean.  

He changed his name, found new people, and even started to make music again. But he couldn’t write any new music. Nothing good, anyway. He couldn’t do it without his band, his family. Every time he released a song, he just felt more numb. More cold.

He felt moments of happiness, yes. He felt that with Olivia, who he was with for a long time. He had new friends. He had many, many fans. But somehow, none of it felt like it would ever change the fact that he lost his family. 

Only a few years later, he saw the sunlight. His little girl, Carrie. His hope, his joy. Olivia and him had split up, but he knew he could provide the best life for her. He might not be able to get out of the ocean, but he can see his way around now. It didn’t have to change his loss of his friends, it didn’t change his guilt, but he had something to live for.

 Maybe he could survive. 

Taglist: @nickalicious @futurearchaeologyprof @never-straight-no @queenmolina @suckerforpsychos @nervousmiracletrash @bluedarkness @queer-fandom-frog @bi-reginald @jelly-to-my-jam

You can thank @bi-reginald for the editing and some of the writing! 🖤